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madamechrissy · 12 days ago

Text

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, smut and light angst- this chap -blow jobs in the limo hehe, cunnilingus, multiple rounds, hints of breed kink, lowkey daddy issues, Satoru being a fucking menace, public play, backshots, praise and degradation, creampie, lots of emotions, mild angst. wc- 10.6k

Only one more part left!

<<<part two - part four (Final) -soon

Part Three

You wake up with a thick muscled arm around you, pressed right under your breasts, a thigh in between yours, blinking the sleep out of your eyes with the light filtering in through the big window in Satoru’s room. Little dustmotes float in the ray shooting across, you yawn a bit, sore and feeling every inch of your body almost weak from last night.

Waking up in Satoru Gojo’s arms was everything you’ve dreamed about, you certainly could not tell him that, you shouldn’t even think that, but here you are, looking back at him to find his eyes wide open, reflecting the lights shining in. You gasp in surprise, and he just smiles a bit, brushing your hair back from where it’s slipped out of the pony tail he put it in.

“You’re up finally,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on your head now. “I was trying to get up but you looked really comfy.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to stay and wait,” he just nuzzles your neck, and you bite back a moan, rolling your hips just a bit, soaking his thigh when you start feeling that wetness pour. “Mnh…”

“Fuck,” he moans now, a hand slipping around, finding your clit under the now wrinkled dress shirt you wear. “I’ve been hard since I woke up with your ass on me like that.”

“You should have done something about it,” you tease softly, rolling them again, it feels so good, his lazy little circles on your clit. “Maybe I’d have liked waking up to your cock inside me.”

“You’re brought here to take me out,” he’s gruff, you’re giggling when he presses up on your clit, making you soak his fingers. “I wouldn’t do that while you’re asleep though, little freak.”

“Not even if I - ah - asked?” He shakes his head, you’re gripping his arm with your fingernails pressing against them, feeling the muscles tense as he moves it.

“You’re awake now,” he is aching to slip inside of you, precum drooling out of his tip when he pulls his thigh back, sliding his boxers down so it can spring free. “Can you take me, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, I can,” he chuckles a bit, throwing one of your thighs over his, angling his hips so that his tip presses between your folds. “Oh my g-god, please…”

“Please what, pretty girl?” He turns your chin to face him, studying your lidded gaze, the dilation of your pupils. “Tell me what you need.”

“Want you in me, Satoru, please- ah!” Satoru presses in, just a bit with his tip, you’re so sore it hurts in the best fucking way, the feel of that stretch inside you. He kisses you, fuck even in the morning he’s somehow sweet, perfect with his messy white locks so askew, cupping your face. You moan into his mouth, while he pulls back and presses in again.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart,” his words are little breaths against your lips, while he pulls that wetness out with his cock, bit by bit, taking your fingers and kissing them delicately. “Touch yourself.”

His soft command nearly ends you, a blush decorating your cheeks with the prettiest color, Satoru slips your hand down now, letting your fingers run along your little clit while he pulls back. “W-want your fingers, mnh!”

“If you make yourself cum, I’ll give you them, hmm? Be a good girl and rub your pretty little clit just for me,” he’s husky, breathy, the sheets thrown off now when he tugs you closer, sinking deep. “You sore baby?”

“Very,” you admit softly, running your fingers along your slick that drips down, as he sinks deeper. “Ah!”

“Thought you could handle me, all that talk last night,” he taunts softly, thrusting slowly inside your walls, they’re gripping him so tightly he almost can’t stand how good it feels, wrapping his cock. “Poor little cunt, she can’t take me huh?”

“Yes I c-can,” you gasp as he stretches you further, your fingers falling off your clit, he puts them back, shoving deeper. “Satoru!”

“Rub your clit for me, you’re not listening sweetheart,” he puts your fingers back, sucking in a breath when your hips buck at the pressure of his tip against your cervix now. “Do I need to move them for you?”

“They don’t work,” you’re mumbling now, eyes rolling back when he fucks deeper, harder, using his free hand to press your own fingers on you. “Not as good as yours, want them.”

“Then make yourself cum like this, and I’ll give them to you,” he’s urging them on, a slow rhythm of his cock inside you – achingly slow. It’s maddening, pushing you just close to the edge but not far enough, your fingers fall again, he pauses his thrusts. “Maybe I should pull out, show you how to touch yourself.”

“Don’t pull out, please,” his cock presses on your spot deep inside you, making your vision blurry. Your fingers roll again, making you more and more sensitive while his thick cock sinks inside you eager, soppy hole, you’re so wet your fingers slip, almost falling off with your efforts. “Satoru…”

“Let me feel you cum, then I’ll give it to you baby.” Satoru’s eyes flutter, pressing a hot kiss on the side of your neck, wrapping his hand around it and squeezing just a bit, making you fuzzy.

You’re lost in how good it feels, his cock and your delicate fingers, while you feel every vein, every ridge of his cock, including the head that’s thicker, sinking in until he’s bottomed out inside you. You scream out, the sound just a little desperate gasp with the pressure he’s putting on your throat now with his huge hand, he moans your name and almost ends you.

“M’gonna cum - ngh!” Your little whines make him thicken inside you, he leans up to watch you shatter for him, your fingers falling as your cunt pulses around him, wetness gushing. “Satoru!”

“Good girl, just look at you,” he whispers, taking your fingers now and slipping them right into his mouth, cheeks hallowing, sucking your juices off them, tongue swirling. You’re whining out, gushing more and more, sticking to your inner thigh from the force of your orgasm, you’re trembling in his strong hold, eating up his praise. “Want mine now?”

You nod eagerly, he chuckles, teasing you again, just a brush of that rough finger on you, making it twitch in response. “Mnh, stop teasing.”

“Can you really take me again like this?” His words echo in your ears, still achingly slow, driving you insane.

“I can, fuck just - ah!” Satoru lifts your thigh, slamming his cock inside you now, you’re shaking when he arches his hips, pressing up higher, that curved cock stuffing you too full now.

“Thought you could handle it,” he’s grinning against your neck, rolling his finger faster, fucking you harder, you’re struggling to take him, already sensitive. “Too much for you?”

“N-no, want all of you,” your words are slurred as if you’re drunk, but you’re just drunk off him. Satoru moans and kisses you again, hungrier this time. Your words fuck his brain chemistry, while your cunt is milking him, begging for cum inside her.

All of him.

He tries not to think the dumbest things, this can only be fleeting, the last thing he needs at his grown age is to fall for you, but it’s something he’s never heard. And the way you look at him, while he pushes in so deep, you gasp as the thrust jerks your body, lips parted, looking so pretty just waking up. He’s lost for a moment, pausing and staring down at you.

You look right back up at him, his finger moves slowly, but he stays right where he is, so deep you can’t even remember where Satoru ends and you begin any longer. His brilliant blue eyes are swirling while they stare at you, and he opens his mouth, as if to say something. You roll your hips, grinding against him, he’s groaning, precum leaking against your cervix now.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, it’s all he can say then. He can’t say that your words touched him, you’re young and he doesn’t need to confuse you. But his heart aches thinking of the moment this ends, the brief feeling of being with you better than anything he’s ever experienced. You swallow nervously, shaking your head, and he glares. “You are beautiful.”

“You are,” he chuckles then, kissing you again, taking it slow, it’s intimate – too intimate – when he pulls back, and you’re close again. “Will you cum with me, Satoru? In me? Please…”

“Fuck,” he’s picking up the pace, the lewd sound of your soppy cunt and his skin smacking loud in the quiet suite, mixing with your sighs and his breaths. “Then cum with me, just for me.”

You’re nodding, kissing him again when he rolls his hips just right, right along with your clit, until you cum all over him. He’s covered in you, fucking you through the orgasm, every one of your nerve endings on fire, you’re desperately rocking, clinging to him tightly as it rocks through you. So exquisite in its sensations that your eyes fill with tears, how perfect he feels, on you, in you, with you.

“Ready for me? Gonna fill you so fucking much,” you nod, and he lets go, cock thickening and throbbing when he finally thrusts up once, twice, three times, then flooding you. “F-fuck… sweetheart… she’s taking it so well.” His words are a mix of husky and desperate, little whines against you while he hugs you tightly.

“Ah!” you’re screaming out, so warm from his cum, making you flit from one orgasm to the next, his fingers slip off your clit then, slipping into your mouth, letting you ride it out while you suck them.

“That’s it, you took it all, you’re so good for me,” his words are as insane as he pushes that cum inside you, pulling out his fingers to grip your chin, kissing you, you both take a moment to catch your breath. “How’s she feeling?”

“Fine!” He laughs now, the sound resonating and enveloping you, while strong arms hold you close, cock still hard inside you, twitching with his little spurts of more and more cum. “I am fine, I can take it.”

“As much as I want to be inside you constantly, I will not have you actually hurting, you have to tell me.” His concern is clear, how he looks at you so lovingly almost, eyes you’ve always been enamored with now looking at you that way, it’s almost too much to take.

“I want as much as you want to give me.” He sighs, watching how the sunlight dances on your pretty face, with far too much affection. “What do you have to do today? My second audition isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I have to go to a lunch meeting with a bunch of rich geezers,” he grumbles, burying his face against your neck now. “I’d love to have you cockwarm me in a meeting, imagine how much better it’d be.”

“Cockwarming?” You ask, confused, he nips at your shoulder, tugging his dress shirt down, pressing in again, relishing in your gasp at the stretch. “What’s that?”

“Where you just sit on it, I wouldn’t let you move, could you even do that? You’re always trying to wriggle and pull back.” He presses forward, and you jerk back, earning another laugh. “Case in point.”

“I could, but only alone with you of course.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to ever see you anyway,” he trails off, the gravity of his words hitting too hard, when your phone rings. You both tense, he eases out of you with a squelching pop, covered in strings of gossamer and pearly white, a mess you’ve both made. “Go ahead and get it.”

“Right…” You go to stand and wobble, he steadies you with a satisfied little smirk as he does.

“Can’t walk baby?”

“I can!” He’s dying when you wobble to the phone, looking back with a pretty scowl, until you see who’s calling. “Shit… Hey dad!”

Satoru grimaces, watching as you press your thighs together in his dress shirt, fuck it looks good on you, hanging off one shoulder, so long it’s to your knees, buttons all open from earlier. He wonders if that cum is trickling out of your pretty pussy, hastily jumping up to clean himself off in the bathroom, trying to feel some fucking guilt, what kind of friend even is he.

He’s known Suguru forever, from day one there were inseparable, and here he is wiping your arousal off his cock after fucking you over and over last night. He peers at you while you pace back and forth, running a hand over your hair and tugging that pony tail out, letting it fall gently, a mess he’d have to brush later. All he can think is how he wants to make the most of this time with you.

Not just fucking you either.

He wants to go out with you, just you and him, a dumb foolish fucking thought, one a man his age shouldn’t be having. Here he was, worried that you'd get confused, hurt, but he feels more confusion. You're clearly infatuated with him, but soon he'd be some distant memory, and that hurt him deeply.

It's not like it could ever work with almost twenty years between you both. You'd want to be young and have fun, where would that leave him in your life? How does he look at you normally after he's buried his face between your thighs, looking into your eyes like that?

“Satoru,” you come over to him now, he is brushing his teeth, rinsing then. “Dad will be here late tonight, like two am. He's got a hotel so he told me to stay with you for the night again… but then…”

“So, he'll be here for your final audition?” He smiles and you nod, but your eyes are glassy. “Aren't you happy?”

“I'm fucking selfish, a bad daughter.”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “What now?”

“My first thought wasn't excitement, it was… I was…” You're a mess, sniffling now, he pulls you to his chest gently, holding your body to him in a way that will cause a gaping hole when he can’t anymore. Satoru feels too good.

“Shh, you're not a bad daughter, how can you think that?”

“I was upset I get less time of this, of you.” You look up at him, he swipes your tears, sighing. “It is selfish.”

“Tch,” he shakes his head now. “You're young and having fun, that's normal to feel.”

“Fun… you think it's… just fun then?” You look down, he curses softly, tilting your chin up. Your heart races as much as it breaks into pieces already.

How would anyone ever compare now that you've had him?

“It's not just fun to me,” he says softly, swallowing nervously for just a moment. “But that's what this has to be. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

“We can never do that to dad you mean,” he nods, brushing those messy locks gently. “But it feels more to you?”

“I wouldn't have crossed that line for fun, a fucked up line that I should feel terrible for.” His voice is hoarse, breaking just a bit when he cups your face now, you smell the mint of his toothpaste, feel his strong hands against your cheeks.

“I don't feel terrible either,” you admit softly. “Except for the thought of not being excited enough about him being there.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, okay?”

You sigh, nodding and going to brush your teeth, when he stands behind you, brushing your tangled hair carefully. “Satoru…”

“Hmm?”

“You make it hard not to adore you.” He pauses now, you flush, cursing under your breath. “I mean you're just so… special. And amazing.”

“Stroking my ego after stroking my cock?” He teases softly, arms on either side of you, pressing his hard body on yours as he sets down the brush.

“I mean it, though. Those women were really stupid.”

“And your boys are stupid,” he wraps an arm around you, gripping your tit right over that top, sighing as your nipples press. “You're perfect.”

He kisses you again, you're turned to him, his hand splaying your tummy. “Mnh!”

“If you knew my fucking thoughts right now you'd run.” His words rush through you, tummy just clenching even as sore as you are, you’d let him take you again and again.

“Acting big and bad?” You tease, he smirks then splaying his fingers to cover you, making you feel so small next to him, only fucking your addled mind further.

“You have no idea what's in my mind,” he pictures things vividly now, having you play piano and be his pretty little wife, he’d buy you the most expensive grand piano there is in existence, listen to you play all day. “I can’t say them all.”

“Mmm, say one of them, just try me,” you tease, but when you see the heat in his gaze, you falter. “What are you thinking?”

“Filling you up full of me,” he’s pressing harder on your tummy, you eye him in the mirror, breaths coming in short little pants now. “Pretty tits leaking milk, fuck babies into you.” His other hand grips your tit, squishing it and brushing the nipple, eliciting a whine from your lips.

“Y-you think that?” He exhales, pressing a kiss on your neck while strong, thick arms wrap your body tightly.

“Lock you away where none of these boys can reach you,” his tone is dark, filling you with all those images so fucking clearly. “Stuff I shouldn’t be thinking, things that won’t happen – but it’s all I can picture when I’m looking at you, knowing my cum is slipping out.”

You arch against him now, turning your head for his kisses, hungry, messy and so fucking desperate. You both know it’s nonsense, it’s things that are insane to talk about, but it just makes you wetter, just makes him harder. The neediness of both of you spills while he’s slipping his calloused fingers against your bare breast now, nipple taut against his palm.

“Should tell me shut up,” he whispers, cupping your face and leaning down low over you. “Why don’t you?”

“Because I wanna hear it all.” He’s sighing, his phone going off then, the alarm for him to get ready.

“Fuck…” He kisses you again, over and over, while the little chimes go off, hard to hear from the two of you moaning into each other’s lips. “How about I take you out tonight, buy you something pretty to wear? Before my fantasy time is all up tomorrow…” you hear it then, hidden by playfulness, that he doesn’t want it to end so quickly.

You turn in his arms to look up at him. “A date with Satoru Gojo? All my childhood fantasies are coming true.”

“You’re so bratty,” he smiles, heartbreakingly handsome, and the longing just fills you more and more. “Making me feel even older when you say that shit.”

“You’re far from old,” he sighs, tugging back a bit now, your fingers still resting on his forearms, his thick, muscled body on display in just the boxers eating up your imagination. “You don’t have to buy me a dress.”

“I want to dress you up, just once,” his murmur is soft, fingers trailing across the collar that’s popped up on one side, fixing it. “Will you let me?”

“Dress me up, hmm? Something fancy?” He chuckles, while you press a kiss to his pectoral, thick and well built, like every inch of him, he sucks in a breath.

“Yeah, something fancy, dress you up like my pretty doll, would you like that sweetheart?” His voice lowers an octave as your lips brush against the flat nipple of his, your fingers trailing down the rippling obliques and making goosebumps rise.

“Your doll?” You look up with dilated eyes, expression far too sexy for him to handle in that moment, mixing with the way you say that. “Just for tonight I guess, though?”

“I’ll make it a memorable night, sweetheart,” he tugs you up against him, arm around your waist, the other hand cupping you under your chin. “If you be a good girl and dress up for me.”

“I will be, promise, sir.”

“Shit don’t call me that,” he hears his alarm start again, sighing now. “I have to get ready. I’ll have something sent to you, take a shower or a bath to relax those muscles, huh?”

“I will,” you’re blushing again, he smirks at how cute you are, a pang hitting his chest as he thinks of not seeing you like this again. “One more kiss, I need to be greedy today.”

“I’ll enjoy you being greedy,” his voice is so husky, kissing you over and over before he pulls back with a breath. “I’ll be back in time for us to go out, I’ll make some reservations.”

“Sounds good!” You decide to do just that, taking a shower, before he leaves he tugs aside the shower door though, whistling, only for you to gasp and giggle at him. “Perv!”

“Psh, just needed one more look,” he chuckles and heads out, leaving you to lean against the tile wall, letting the hot spray hit your sore and aching body. Your inner thighs were killing you, your back is sore from arching, your cunt is throbbing from this morning and last night.

But you can’t help but think you’ve never felt this good, and feel the dread of when just this short little few days in Gojo’s world ends.

*****

“Holy fuck,” Gojo walks in later that afternoon, to see you wearing the pretty dress he ordered, it’s black with glittery sequins just hugging your body. You turn nervously from slipping on an earring, bent over the bathroom counter, smiling at him then. He doesn’t even know what to say, suddenly speechless for the first time in his life when you walk up to him.

Gojo wasn’t a man to not have plenty of words to speak, in fact he always had a lot to say, whether it was intelligent, just snarky, sarcastic or funny, he’s used to women – fuck he’s been married and engaged. Seen women in the finest money could offer, and your dress was ridiculously expensive, he’d made sure of it, but the way it fits you takes his breath away.

He thought that was a funny saying, to take your breath away, he supposes you have been doing that since your graduation, but he’d made sure not to consciously acknowledge that. Even now, he knows he shouldn’t be dressing you up, taking you out, when this is fleeting, it’s a lapse in good judgement right? Not something he realizes he’s always been missing in his life.

Almost as if nothing mattered until you said those words.

I’ll never forget anything about you.

“Is it all right? I tried to do very elegant makeup to go with it,” you do a little spin, showcasing the expanse of your back - he’d made sure to get one that dipped low. “Satoru?”

His lips part to speak as you slip closer, and you just feel so beautiful with how he looks at you, you’re not sure how to explain it or capture it, but the way those blue eyes drink you in is heady. He holds your hands, stepping back and looking at you again, taking a little shaky breath, fingers slipping up to your bare wrists, smiling just a little bit.

“I may have got you something else,” he slips a little velvet bag from his jacket now, you gasp. “I just passed by a store and it looked really pretty.”

“Satoru, you didn’t have to do that, the dress is already too much…” You trail off, he’s already pulling out a bracelet, a pretty white gold chain with a little blue gemstone right in the center. “Oh it’s beautiful!”

“Might as well spoil you the one day I can,” you feel it, the longing in his voice, the things he doesn’t say but shows with every action. “Can I put it on you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he unclasps it, you can’t stop your eyes from watering, when he puts it delicately on your wrists, turning the gem so that it hits the center of your wrist, his finger trailing. “It’s almost as pretty as your eyes.”

“You think so?” He teases, smirking and stepping closer. “Let’s go, you look perfect.”

The restaurant is perfect, the secluded little table he reserved far away from any prying eyes. His gaze slipping down your body, the tits just a little revealed in that dress, his big hand running up and down the small of your back, while you lean against him, letting him order for you.

If you told childhood you that you’d be here on a date in the fanciest restaurant you’ve seen with Satoru Gojo, she wouldn’t have believed you. Neither would teenage you, or even you last year. The way he’s got an arm casually draped across your bare shoulders, leaned back and grinning, like it’s just so very natural for him to be here, with you.

Your tummy flutters, when the waitress clearly makes eyes at him, flirting and bending over to show her breasts to him. You look away, she’s very pretty, but Satoru tugs you closer. “My date will have the blush, please.”

Your lips tremulously smile at that, when she pouts and then comes back and hands you both glasses. You know after tonight he’d belong to whomever got lucky enough to breathe his air, but for tonight, you’re selfish. You want him all to yourself in fact, tugging his hand on your leg as another waitress practically gushes at your Satoru Gojo.

He was yours tonight.

Satoru slips his hand up your thigh, underneath the white heavy cloth now, leaning over you, your eyes dart to his lips, glossy and plump. “You’re so turned on already, just from this?” He taunts you, slipping that hand even higher, your breath catches, every inch of your body responding.

“You know what you do to me,” his thumb brushes your inner thigh, feeling your heat against him, watching you bite your lip to hold back a moan. “She was flirting with you.”

“Yeah, she was,” he tilts his head now, studying you with lowering white lashes, shadows from the flickering lights of the candles on the table casting shadows on the planes of his handsome face. “So you had to make sure to put my hand there?”

Your eyes lower, you can’t be jealous or possessive of something you don’t even have, but it doesn’t matter how irrational it is - he’s right. It is how you really feel. You just nod then, shifting your hips against the seat when he slips his hand up higher, staring as he sits next to you at that intimate little table, brushing his thumb against the soaking lace of your panties.

“Are you jealous?” He teases, words smooth as fucking honey from his lips, your lashes flutter while you feel that pleasure hitting, that thumb pushing right up against your clit between your lips.

“I c-can’t be,” you whisper back, fingers gripping his wrist as he moves them, in tantalizing circles now, it’s damn near impossible not to cry out in the middle of the restaurant. “Satoru…”

“You are though, I saw it on your pretty little face,” he slips his fingers underneath that fabric now, watching you with those swirling blue eyes, running his fingers down your slit. “Aren’t you the one here next to me?”

“Only for tonight though,” you bury your face against the crook of his neck, lips brushing against hot skin when he prods your entrance with a finger tip, feeling the wetness as he presses it in. “Mnh…”

“Will you miss my fingers, baby?” He’s acting as if he’s teasing, when he’s actually lost in your scent, everything about you, curling his finger just a bit, watching you avidly when you lean back, looking up at him.

“Will you miss my pussy, Satoru?” He glares at you, only earning a giggle, you lean forward and sip wine just to have his finger deeper, smirking against his own wine glass when he feels you tighten up.

“Wonder if you could keep quiet,” he whispers against your ear. “If I had you cum right here?”

“Y-you can’t…” He’s sipping his wine with ease while his finger sinks inside you, as if you two are casually having a meal, when your phone rings.

“Answer it, go ahead,” he’s a demon, you’ve been in love with a demon your whole life, disguised as some pretty angel. “Can’t talk?”

“If I talk normal, you eat me out all I want,” he just grins now. “And if I can’t, I’ll suck you all you want.”

“They’re both a win, but go ahead,” you curse when you see who it is, but you answer as he presses up.

“Y-yes dad? How are you?” You’re scowling at Gojo, but he’s simply popping a sweet in his mouth, angling his fingers differently just so it rubs right on your spot, you barely hold back a whine.

“Hi honey, we’re at the airport, we’ll be there later than I thought.” You hear your dad’s girlfriend and a little dog in the background, while Satoru’s making you drip.

“Oh, that’s such good news dad,” you suck in a breath now, thighs closing on his hand. “You’ll make it to see me tomorrow.”

“I will, how’s it with Satoru?”

“It’s um… it’s fine, we’re actually eating dinner…” Satoru’s slipping another finger now, stretching your cunt out, your eyes almost roll back, everything out of focus, while he simply smiles all friendly at the waitress who comes.

“Another glass please,” he says, and your dad hears him.

“Let me talk to him, I need to thank him for everything.” Suguru says, you almost laugh, handing it to Satoru now, ignoring the fact that you hear your cunt squishing and clicking with how messy it is.

“Dad wants to thank you for taking care of me.” You hand him the phone, and he’s still smirking, taking it casually without missing a single wicked stroke of his long fucking fingers.

“Hey Suguru.” He leans back, like it’s nothing, a casual conversation between best friends. He really wants some guilt, but the only thing he currently regrets is saying this was just for this weekend, when he never wants it to end.

“Satoru,” his friend’s voice should deter him, but he enjoys fingering you just a little more, blue eyes drifting across your features. “How’d she do at that audition? She’s amazing, right?”

“She is amazing, she’s just so…” he presses up inside your gummy walls, you almost choke on your wine as he pushes you over the edge. “She’s so talented, you know?”

“I’ll kill you.” You whisper, scowling at his big white grin.

One moment, he’s the sweet man buying you this beautiful fucking dress, a bracelet, then the next he’s buried his fingers in your snug cunt and casually talking to your dad. “She is talented, I can’t wait to see her tomorrow. Is it fine if she stays one more night?”

“Oh, I don’t mind her staying at all…” he eyes you now, snowy lashes lowering over his eyes, dilated from the dim lights of the restaurant. “She’s been really… easy…” he almost makes you cum, this jerk. “To stay with.”

“She is a good girl,” Suguru says, pride clear in his voice.

“Good girl, yes I agree.” You’re scowling even deeper as he’s outright being diabolical, handing you the phone now. “He wants to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take the phone with a shaky hand right when Satoru rolls a thumb on your clit, trying to focus. “Daddy - I mean dad!?”

Satoru snorts in laughter, you smack him. “Can call me that later,” he whispers in your ear, rubbing faster with the rough pad of his thumb. “Good girl.”

“Shut up!” You hiss at him, then your dad says your name. “Sorry, dad the waitress was here.”

“Ah, you haven’t called me daddy since you were just a little girl, gonna get me emotional, kid.” Your eyes flutter shut while Satoru sips wine and tortures you, taking a breath and focusing.

“I love you, I can’t w-wait to… see you…” You’re biting at your lip, thankful no one was around your table - imagine how your face looks, while Satoru smirks at you.

“I can’t wait either! All right, don’t drink too much wine.”

“I won’t, text me when you get in, okay?” You ask, gasping and covering your mouth when he’s pumping those thick fingers in and out now.

“I will, you have fun.”

“I will!” You’re over enthusiastic, hanging up the phone now, Satoru smirks down at you, leaning too close, lips right against yours. “You’re a whole menace to society, y’know that!?”

“And you love it,” you shake your head at him, setting the phone down when he crooks his fingers again. “Bet I make you say daddy again.”

“You wish…” You bury your face, he’s been teasing you and teasing you, it’s too much to hold back, you press a kiss to his neck, leaning up to whisper in his ear now. “You want me to call you that?”

“Maybe I do,” he exhales when teeth nip his earlobe, dying to be back inside you then and there. “You’re close, aren’t you baby?”

“Very close, please…” You’re shifting, the wetness loud to your ears when he moves faster and faster, the pressure building in your core.

“I’ll give you what you need, let go.”

His soft order is met with your bite on his neck, muffling the cries as you finally release – as if you were waiting on his permission. He lets out a shaky breath, while your walls spasm, and the pleasure makes you weak, drifting across your body, until all you can think of is having him inside you again.

You leave teeth marks against the side of his neck, perfect indentations which caused such pleasure he himself is leaking pre, especially after feeling your arousal pour over his fingers. He hardly pulls it together for you, lost in your lidded eyes when you pull back, hand just gripping his wrist when his fingers slip out, he swipes them across your inner thigh, sighing.

“Wanna go back to the suite now.”

He chuckles at you, brushing your hair back gently. “You need to eat dinner, especially with that wine you’ve been downing.”

“Oh fine… but… I think I won.” You grin and he laughs softly again, shaking his head.

“You did win, but I’ll enjoy losing to you just once…” The waitress brings your orders then, he’s ordered what has always been your favorite dish, surprising you then as it comes. “I know you’re picky.”

“How can you remember this?” You ask softly, blinking just a bit, adjusting yourself after he’d made you a mess secretly.

“I know every time we’ve gone out to eat in the past few years you’ve ordered it, last time with that loser you brought.” He cuts your steak up for you, it falls apart easily with each slice, tenderness filling you at how he just does it, imagining what it would be like to have that forever.

Stupid, it’s stupid.

You can never have a man like Satoru Gojo. You thought forever that he was this unattainable and almost ethereal man, something to worship and gush over. But he was a real person, thoughtful and caring, yes the sex was fucking insane, so was the pleasure… but it was everything else that made you love him.

Now as he’s just talking and smiling the way he does, you almost can’t hold it back, every feeling overwhelming and almost making you dizzy with the effects. Of watching him grin and make a joke, taking a bite of your food to tease you, it just felt too natural, too perfect, like every piece clicking in place for the first time in your life.

But how can you ever be with him?

You’d do anything, but it was clear for Satoru that you couldn’t have a future because of who your dad was to him. Maybe it was easier, before you knew that it was possible, girlhood fantasies written in diaries, just filled with how much you loved him. But then, it was a dream, to have a taste of him and to let it go seemed almost a cruel joke.

You couldn’t imagine not having this though, at least once in your life to feel love, and to feel loved, even if you’re not sure that’s it for him. But the way he cares for you, the way he brushes your knots out in that mirror, and made sure you had water when you were drunk. Even now, he’s placing a bite in your mouth, making sure you eat, talking about the performance tomorrow excitedly.

How badly would it hurt to let this go?

“You’re all quiet now, are you still mad at me for the phone call?” He tries to keep it light, but you hear the apprehension in his voice.

“No, even though it was an evil move,” he’s smirking again, far too charming for his own good. “I guess I’m just feeling like this is some dream, one I’ll have to wake up from tomorrow.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs now, brushing your hair back from your brow, cupping your face. “I won’t ever forget this either, okay?”

A tear falls, which he swipes gently. “You promise?”

“How could I?” Satoru leans closer, pressing a kiss on your lips, perhaps to everyone you look like normal lovers, not what this really was. “How could anyone forget you either? Bet every boy cried after you ran out.”

“They probably did,” you smile evilly, he laughs and slips another bite between your lips, the mood just a little lighter. “The last dinner, he was um… my first.”

“Oh?” Satoru doesn’t like to hear it, any of it, some stupid insane possessive thought rampaging his mind.

“Yeah, I was a little too excited that I saw you in that suit,” his cheeks flush just a little pink at your words. “Then I guess I figured I couldn’t wait forever, because I thought that you and I…”

“Were a fever dream.”

“That. Wait…”

“I felt that too, sitting across from you and thinking the worst thoughts,” you inhale a bit, a shaky hand setting down your fork, letting him kiss your brow softly. “I thought about dragging you out to that bathroom, looking at you in the mirror while I fucked you.”

“You did? Then?” He sighs, nodding, tilting your chin up and watching how the candlelights dance along your cheeks.

“Yeah, then. Think I didn’t see how beautiful you were?” You shake your head and he sighs. “I tried to make sure I wasn’t obvious, because…”

“Because you can’t be openly attracted to me.”

“Not just your dad, what about everyone?” He swipes a hand through his locks. “Thinking you’re with some old man. Some sugar baby or something.”

“You’re Satoru Gojo, okay?” You cup his face with both hands, as if trying to get some sense into him. “No one would think that.”

“Yeah, well,” he pulls off one hand, kissing your wrist where the bracelet sets. “I’d totally be a sugar daddy with you.”

“Oh would you,” he nods and you giggle at him, the mood just a bit lifted. What hurts the most is the way you feel in his presence, the way you’ve never felt with anyone. But you try to keep the mood light, seeing mischief back in his eyes. “You lost that bet, you know.”

“You haven’t eaten enough yet, bratty girl. You can wait a little, can’t you?” You pout, way too cute – and Satoru does think of spoiling you then. Taking you away somewhere no one could find either of you, have you dripping with diamonds across every perfect inch of your body.

The fantasies feel too tangible.

The limo ride back is spent with his lavish kisses across your lips, your throat, his hands pressing against your waist. Your cries in his mouth when your hair falls to the side of both of you, silky and tickling his cheek, making him grab it, pull it back, the pain pricking your scalp so sweetly. Before he can say anything, you’re sinking to your knees in that gown.

“Baby, you won, remember?” He teases, but you’re already undoing the black buttons of his dark slacks, pressing a kiss to his abdomen with you untuck that dress shirt. He sucks in a breath, hands gripping your hair again, while you slide down his boxers just enough. “Fuck…”

“You can do that after, I wanna feel you in the back of my throat.” He damn near growls at that, letting you suck on his pink, leaky tip, tonguing his precum, looking up to see his flushed face.

“Can you take me down your tight little throat?” You pull back, stroking him with your hand, cock slick with your saliva already, glistening and thickening even more.

“I want to try to,” you’ve never sucked someone this big, but you would ruin your throat for him gladly. “Will you fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck you’re evil,” you almost giggle, but it’s cut off, when he shoves his long shaft deep inside your hot, eager mouth. “Be a good girl, and show me how much you can take, hmm?”

Satoru’s commanding voice is back, this mix of sweetness and sexiness, filthy and caring, experienced yet willing to let you take the lead. You haven’t ever loved blow jobs, in fact it wasn’t something you were particularly fond of, but with Satoru you couldn’t help but crave it, crave more of him fucking your face. It made you clench your thighs together, pressing on your heels now for some friction.

He’s slipping deeper, you gag just a bit and pull back, he brushes your cheek gently, while still pulling at your hair, blue eyes barely shown with his lidded gaze. “Sweetheart, relax that throat f’me, hmm? Can you?”

You nod, doing just that, relaxing it while he bucks up his hips, your nails pressing against his muscled thighs over the expensive material. His head falls back for a moment, moaning while the two of you ride in the privacy of the limo, thinking how good you feel, how pretty your eyes look like that, tearing up just a bit from how much you’re taking.

“That’s it,” he whispers, that voice alone could make you cum, while he tugs your mouth down, feeling the bulge in your throat and groaning then. “Fuck, breathe through your nose, okay?”

“Mnh…” you’re whining out now, dying to have him inside you, inhaling through your nose until you take more than half of him, and the sounds are fucking filthy, the wetness, the suction, the moans.

“You’re doing so fucking good, your slutty little throat is taking me like that? God feel you,” he’s lost now, letting out the softest gasp, almost a whimper while you work him so well, sucking more and more until you’ve damn near taken all of him. “F-fuck, my sweet girl is just a slut for me, hmm?”

You’re whining in response, cunt pulsing around air, wanting to get filled by him, eating up his praise. You’re letting him fuck your throat now, his gasps just urging you on, the blush on his cheeks making him all that sexier to you. You exhale through your nose now, choking on him.

“Want me to use you, huh?” You look at him, giving the smallest nod as you pull back just a bit, lapping your tongue around the ridge of his cock. “Use you like a pretty cocksleeve, want me to cum right in your mouth baby?”

You pull back, lips swollen, tears from being gagged slipping just a bit, his huge hands are cupping your face while his long legs are spread, cock drooling more precum from his little hole on his now reddened tip. “I want to swallow you, I want you to use me till you cum.”

“Fuck,” he’s aggressive with it then, shoving your head down, pausing to make sure it’s okay then. “If it’s too much just tap my leg, okay?”

You whine in response, tapping to show him, then Satoru fucking loses it, he’s muttering strings of obscene words, mixed with little sweet declarations, all while he fucks up inside your throat. Your eyes roll back then flutter shut, feeling him use you, his hands just maneuvering your head while his hips press up, until you feel him thickening in your throat.

“You just want me to fuck your throat, don’t you? Like you’re made for that,” he’s lost in the feeling of you, wrapping his cock, devotedly sucking him, driving him insane while you push him closer. “After you swallow me, I’m going to fuck your pretty cunt again, fill her with more cum. She’s greedy, you’re greedy, huh?”

“Mmm…” You can’t talk, just letting him move as you obediently bob your head on him, hands slipping up under his dress shirt.

“Perfect, pretty toy, all dressed up f’me, all fucked out f’me, mnh,” he’s barely holding his composure, gruffly whispering the obscenities to you, until he feels himself about to bust. “Ready for it, want you to swallow every drop, will you baby?”

Your answer is sucking harder, and Satoru pushes forward, hand on the back of your head, groaning when he finally cums, flooding your mouth and throat with his white sticky cum. So sweet you can’t help but think, Satoru’s cum is sweet, it tasted heady and addictive while you swallow it down so greedy now. You tasted both of you last night, but now you fully get him swallowed.

“Oh fuck, you’re perfect,” the soft praise almost ends you, sucking his cum down your throat in greedy gulps, opening your eyes to see his own are bright blue, his pouty lips bitten. “C’mere.”

You lean up, letting him adjust himself, he kisses his release right off your lips, you whine into them, trembling with how badly you need him. “Satoru, please.”

“I’ll take such good care of you, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your cheek carefully, kisses intensifying when the limo comes to a stop. “Come on, love.”

Love.

It may be casual or sweet, in the moment, but it’s desperately what you feel, when he practically devours you. In the quiet of the suite now, just the sounds of your breaths and the rustle of clothing. He sinks to his knees, shirtless beneath you, slipping up that expensive dress until it’s right on your hips, pressing kisses along your inner thigh.

Your hands tug at his strands, head smacking the wall you’re against, gasping out as he licks you right over your soaked lace. “Satoru!”

“I’m gonna have this taste on my tongue forever,” he doesn’t want to fucking say it, but it comes out either way, needy and desperate while his tongue works you, until your fabric is pathetic, soaked and thin. “Put your leg on my shoulder.”

You do just that after he slips off your panties, they hook and dangle on your ankle, your thigh slung over a broad shoulder now, balancing yourself precariously. He laps a stripe right up your slit, moaning and dipping the tip of his tongue in your hole, tasting all your juices that pour. Your cunt is spasming from all the play earlier, already ultra sensitive, hips jerking and pulling him closer.

“You taste s’fucking sweet, my god,” he’s humming while he drinks you in, shocking you when he snatches up your other thigh, just holding you there against the wall.

“Y-you can’t just…”

“Trust me, I can,” he grins now, pinning your fucking hips, just holding you and diving back down, strong hands gripping you bruisingly – fuck you wish the bruises would last forever. You’re terrified just being held like this, but then you trust him, his strength, his control over you, your thighs pressing against his head. “Want you to cum for me, just me, only me. Can you?”

“Y-yes, ngh!” Your sexy whines hit his ears, the plush of your thighs pressing on either side, muffling it just a bit while he uses you, holding your ass and thighs up like you’re nothing, sipping every drop. “M’close!”

Satoru focuses on the underside of your clit, which twitches in response, letting your juices soak his face, soak his chest in that open dress shirt and loose tie. He’s sucking your tiny clit right in his mouth, feeling you tense, hearing your whines, knowing you’re close. You’re hopelessly clinging to him, tugging his hair at the roots, cunt drooling across his lips, down his chin, when you shatter.

For him, just for him.

He shouldn’t think that, it’ll make it harder to let you go, but it’s all he can think, standing then as you’re still in the throes of your orgasm, lifting you again like it’s nothing with your thighs around him again. “T-Toru…”

He falters at the little nickname, swallowing nervously for a moment. No one has ever made him nervous, but here you are, he’s drowning in you – he wants to drown in you forever. He slips his cock out of half undone pants, your heels still on your feet while you cling to his neck, and you feel his tip prod at your soppy hole, which quivers as he presses just a bit.

“Please, in me, fuck me,” you’re begging him, needy and desperate, when he smirks just a bit. “Oh no, what’s that look!?”

“Should ask me better, sweetheart…” He presses that tip in just enough to torture you, cunt gripping him so tight.

“Mnh, said ple-ease,” your words fall from your lips, a whine, broken.

“Please what baby?” You shake your head, managing a glare, and he pulls back now. “Aw, I really wanted to cum inside you, gonna have to eat you out more.”

“No!? Satoru!” He’s carrying you right over to the bed, slipping off your dress and flinging it to the floor like it’s not worth thousands. “In me, please.”

“Mmm, let me eat it from the back this time,” he’s ridiculous, putting you on your hands and knees now. “Arch for me, lemme see her like this.”

“If you fuck me,” you glare back as he chuckles, running his fingers up and down your slit. “Please, jerk.”

“Ah-ah, that’s not how we ask for things,” he fingers you again, you want his cock so badly you jerk back, earning a firm smack on your ass, he watches his handprint bloom with delight. “What do we say?”

“Oh you’re so fucking ridiculous - ah, god put it in!”

“Mmm…” he’s running his tip up and down your slit, over and over, your thighs shake as you arch more, back in a perfect curve, cunt drooling. “If you ask nicely, I’ll give you all of my cock.”

“Y-you jerk… ow!” Another smack, he’s grinning, you don’t even have to look to know, while you’re gripping the soft comforter. “Please fuck me, daddy - ah!”

Satoru shoves his curved cock deep in your cunt in one thrust, filling you so full so quick you cry out, trembling while he grips your hair with one hand, pulling it, making you arch more. “Want me to fuck you like my pretty slut, baby?”

“Please, please fuck me like your slut, wanna be…” Your words get slurred now, while he fucks into you hard, the mix of degrading words and sweet ones the perfect combination to your ears, cock stuffing you full in a slow pace. “More, more I can take it, please…”

“Greedy little thing, need all my cock,” he bottoms out, tip slamming your cervix, making you jerk and cry out, gasping for air when he gets rough with you. But even as rough with you he’s murmuring – “Beautiful, fucking perfect, such a good girl, this all for me, isn’t it?”

“Just you, mnh!” He’s picking up the pace now, pressing your head against the mattress, you moan into it, toes curling as his balls smack your clit over and over, cock stretching you, ruining you. You can’t help but mumble and cry when you cum for him, with a roll of his hips, while he presses more weight on you, heavy and inviting.

“Do you want all this cum, baby? How do we ask, have you learned?” He’s whispering, fucked out look behind you, leaning forward and tugging you up to cup your face, looking right at you.

“Cum in me, daddy fill me up please,” he groans desperately, kissing you as you cry out. “In me, in me.”

He cums more than he had in your mouth, gasping while his cum coats your walls, which greedily grip him, as if to milk every drop for herself. “Taking it so well, fuck you’re perfect.”

“So much… Toru…”

You’re a mess once he’s finished pumping you, and he leans across you, cock still nestled in your snug walls. “We’re so going to hell,” he grumbles. You giggle, breathless, as he laughs softly, shaking his head as he presses kisses down your shoulder. “I am going at least.”

“It’s worth it.” He smiles against your skin, pulling back and dripping the two of you.

“Let’s clean you up.”

The aftercare makes you too emotional, the way he gently wipes you, the kisses all over your body, still overheated from him. Pressing his lips to every mark and bruise he’s left like little apologies, brushing your hair and helping you get dressed, wearing one of his dress shirts so he can see you in it the last time.

It hurts more that he’s that caring, that sweet, everything.

You both lay there and hold each other, he wonders if you’re asleep, you’re so quiet and your breathing is slowed down. Satoru aches to say what’s truly on his mind, but he knows it’s insane. He almost wants to tell Suguru, to keep you, but that would be so selfish, when you have your whole life ahead of you.

Would you really want him when you’re older? When it wasn’t an infatuation? It’s madness to think it, but here he is, the thoughts storming through.

“Are you asleep?” He murmurs finally, you shake your head. “Me either.”

“Um… Satoru…”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” you whisper, blinking back tears when he tugs you against him, cradling your body to him. “I thought I could do this casually, but now I feel foolish.”

“I don’t think either of us knew it would be like this,” he caresses your cheek so delicately, swallowing back his own emotions. “I don’t want you to forget me, it’s really fucking selfish.”

“It’s not, and I will never forget you.” You kiss him, desperately now, he swipes at tears that fall, pulling back for a breath. “I hope someone who truly loves you meets you, but I also know I’ll be a jealous bitch about it.”

He laughs, even as his own tears fall, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s even cried. “I hope a good guy treats you right, but I’ll just be picturing bending you over and fucking your perfect little cunt again.”

You straddle him, surprising him then, the sheets slipping down you, a tangled mess while he holds your waist. “One more time then. I lied.”

“One more time.” He slams his lips on yours, you’re both so lost in each other you’re just barely passing out when the sun rises, in his arms.

*****

Your audition goes amazing, the final one, and now you will get your dream of going to Julliard. The piece you play is something you composed for Satoru long ago, of course he wouldn’t know, but how he watches you shows how proud he is. Right next to his best friend, who’s getting emotional - something you don’t see often from him, and his new girlfriend is excited, clapping her hands.

You’re giving a little bow as you thank the directors, and you get that letter you’ve dreamed of, rushing over to hug Suguru now. He picks you up tightly, holding you up high like you’re still a kid, you giggle and press a kiss on his cheek. “Honey I could not be more proud of you.”

“Thanks dad,” you wrap your arms around his neck, feet dangling, while Satoru watches you two, and your eyes meet his over Suguru’s shoulder. He eases you down, his girlfriend hugs you too, Satoru comes up then, patting your head. “Hey now, don’t mess up my hair.”

“Uh huh, you did amazing, c’mere.” He tugs you to him in an affectionate hug, but you feel his heart race as he presses a quick kiss on your hair, one would mistake it for a family friend perhaps. One wouldn’t notice the heartbreak you feel as you snuggle against his broad chest, inhaling his cologne that’s ingrained in your memory.

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper, trying to act like the tears are for the excitement, the relief – not what it really was. You smile tremulously and pull back, trying to gather yourself. “Will you come to my first big show?”

He hesitates, knowing how badly it’ll fucking hurt, wondering who you’ll be with by then, wondering if this pain will ease any, hoping he’ll carry some fucking guilt by then. Will he look back and know he fucked up by doing this, will you move on and remember him as a fun experience?

That’s what is best for you, but Satoru is selfish.

He wants more than he should, but he loves you enough to know you have to live your life, that you have an entire life ahead of you, and you need to live it. He would always support you, from afar, and wonder what things would be like if the situation was just a little different. Would it hurt like this forever?

Love, he fell in love with his best friend’s daughter, who is looking at him, with her father right next to her, while he struggles to compose himself. Satoru Gojo, always composed, always perfect, but here he is, faltering. “You want me there?”

“Of course I do, you’re like my good luck charm now.” You smile brightly, he wants to swipe your tears off your cheeks, but he can’t do that.

He can’t have you anymore.

“Of course, I’ll come see your show. You just let me know.” You hug him once more, and Suguru comes up, putting an arm on his shoulder as you go talk to his girlfriend, giggling and being too pretty to put into words.

“Thanks for taking care of her, I really appreciate it.” Satoru finally feels just a little bad, about how he’d take care of you.

“Yeah, it’s nothing, just let her chill in the suite and brought her to her audition, don’t worry about it.” Suguru sighs, looking at you now.

“I’m so proud of her, but I know she was nervous, and I couldn’t be here for her. I’m glad you were.”

“I’ll always be there for her,” you catch his words, and Suguru looks between you for a moment. “I guess we got close this weekend.”

“I see this, you used to just tease her all the time,” Suguru says, you look down, unable to even handle the conversation. “Didn’t you used to prank his girlfriends?”

“You did!?”

“Shut it, they deserved it.” You smile all mean, and it seems almost easy then, to act like it’s all normal, as you all head out of the enormous hall, standing out in the brisk new york air.

“Are you coming to dinner with us before we leave?” Suguru asks, but Satoru knows good and fucking well if he’s near you, he can’t handle it. Impossible not to touch you now that he knows what you feel like, not to kiss you, fall into you.

“I have a business dinner,” your face falls, he hates himself for a moment at that, but you both know it’s what he has to do. He tilts your chin up for a moment, smiling at you, it takes everything not to kiss you and say fuck all sense. “I will be there for your big show, nothing will stop me.”

“Thank you again, Satoru.” You hug him once more, far too tightly, he chuckles and pats your head, like he used to, before pulling back.

“Suguru, I’ll see you soon, and you…” he eyes you now. “You’ll kill it, don’t stress, okay?”

You just nod, and your dad assumes your tears are happiness, not what they truly are – the pain of watching the love of your entire life peering at you before he slips in the back of that limo. You let him hug you, saying his praises, but it doesn’t do enough to fix your aching heart, just like Satoru when he’s all alone, cursing softly and covering his face.

Everything feels wrong leaving you.

You text him that night, a simple good night message, but it means too much, how it feels to read it from you. He texts you a good night, sweetheart before sleeping in the hotel bed alone.

He’s alone, like he always was before.

And the sheets smell like you.

*****

Six months later

“I’m so excited!” You’re staying the night with your dad in one of the suites right by your school, he’s laughing good naturedly as you practice on the keyboard you brought with you.

“I’m excited too, oh Satoru’s calling,” he answers. Your fingers stop before they hit the keys. “Oh we’re in the next room! Yeah, let’s all meet up after, I have my parents here and everything.”

He’s planning a big get together with all your family who have come to town, but Satoru’s name makes everything come back vividly. The pain of not speaking to him for six months, of not seeing him once, knowing at times he was in town, but he never wrote to you, he never reached out again.

He kept his promise.

“I know she’s excited you’re coming,” Suguru says, and Satoru can’t help but smile as he pictures you. “You won’t believe how much she’s grown with her skill.”

Satoru would believe it.

He’s snuck in the back of that theater and watched you play over the months, any time he’s in town he does. You couldn’t see him, but he could see you – working those keys, while he aches to sit right on that bench with you, wants to press kisses on your neck, whisper that encouragement. But he leaves as quietly as he comes, knowing he shouldn’t even be doing that.

It took everything to stay away, but he couldn’t fully let you go.

“I’m excited to see,” he murmurs, shutting his eyes as he pictures you. Since then, there’s been no women in his life, there’s just no comparing. You torture his dreams and his waking thoughts. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Satoru’s on his way,” you feel your heart pounding almost out of your chest when your dad hangs up the phone, coming over to you and brushing your hair back. “Are you ready for this concert?”

“I’m ready.” You smile brightly, wondering in what world you see Satoru Gojo again and don’t hurt, what world you could move on in.

How could you handle seeing him again, knowing he can’t be yours?

Ty for the love on this mini series <3 Promise they will have a good ending hehe

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

@valentinegab3 @vinnababy @sakisworld @satorupied @lolliibunny @coralbae @lnette04 @delightfulstay @zephyairies @flowerymenendez @yomama2089 @chocoyanchan @hargun-s @ic-slxt @lovelytwixx @lily-bisque @sirencholia @etosh0e @yesdere @luciferlikesducks @frankoceanfan9911 @sukunaslilsocks @dientesdefresa @maah-sama @amesenseii @lem-hhn @keiiate @ttrinity @monster-effer @coffinboy666 @neliislost @thequeenofcurses @inzanekillian @gojoswaterbottle @melotter @buckturd @artbligh @msniks @shibataimu @macchianikato @neohoestechnology @levislug @trsh-kitty @satsattoru @erisfayred @gh0stgirl333 @silverfangmarks @smashlyn89 @hwngez

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nekonaps0 · 2 months ago

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You are NAUGHTY!! Pt1

✦part2 part3

✦ characters: third years

✦ gn!reader

✦ dirty jokes

✦ their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

Trey Clover

“Trey, your hands are always so steady when you’re baking… I bet they’d be just as good at frosting something a little more... sinful.”

Trey pauses mid-stir.

He slowly turns to you, lifts an eyebrow, and smiles… that calm, confident smile that betrays a whole lot of fluster he’s pushing down like a champ.

“Now… you know I’m sweet, not sinful… Unless you’re asking for a special recipe?”

He acts smooth, but his ears are a little red, and he starts avoiding eye contact as he stirs too quickly. If you catch him off guard again?

“You’re really playing with fire, sugar. Don’t be surprised if I bake you into something irresistible.”

Cater Diamond

“Cater, you’re always taking pics of your food… wanna snap one of me with just the whipped cream next time?”

He screams. Actually.

“OMG, bae!! You can’t just say stuff like that out loud… I mean, you can, but I might melt~!”

His phone is nearly dropped. He fans himself with his phone, bites his lip in mock-shock, then gets way too close.

“So when’s this whipped cream shoot happening? I gotta prep my lighting. And my appetite~”

You just turned this flirt-war into a full-on event. He's now plotting outfits and hashtags like:

#TooHotToPost #BlessedAndUndressed.

Leona Kingscholar

“You know Leona, if you keep growling like that, I’m gonna start thinking you want me under you for real.”

Leona stops. Smirks. Stretches lazily like a big cat about to ruin your life.

“Tch. You really wanna play that game, herbivore?”

He’s unfazed—in fact, he’s pleased. He loves a partner who’s bold and flirty, especially if it gets under his skin just enough to spark a reaction.

He’ll lean in close, voice low and teasing:

“Careful now… jokes like that’ll land you in a position you can’t handle.”

You’ve awakened the predator.

Congratulations.

Vil Schoenheit

“Vil, if you keep ordering me around like that, I’m going to start confusing your instructions with dirty talk.”

Pin-drop silence.

Vil looks at you like you just slapped him across the cheek and called him beautiful… Which you kind of did.

Then he slowly smiles like a cat that’s just noticed a helpless mouse.

“Is that so? Well, darling… perhaps next time, I’ll make the difference clearer. Shall I demonstrate?”

He lives for a well-timed, well-structured innuendo. You impressed him. And now he’s inspired.

Careful what doors you open with this man.

Rook Hunt

“Rook, I must be your next hunt… 'cause I can feel you stalking my thoughts—especially when I’m alone in bed.”

He gasps like you just confessed undying love and slapped him with a silk glove.

“Mon dieu! Ma chère, you wound me with your words… and thrill me all the same!”

He clutches his heart, swoons into a chair, and then grins like the predator he is.

“Such a delicious line, dripping with wickedness! Shall I pursue you now, or wait until the moonlight bathes us in temptation?”

You’ve turned the poet into a freak, and he is so here for it.

Malleus Draconia

“Malleus, you’re so tall. I bet even your horns are compensating for something~”

Malleus stares. Blinks. Tilts his head.

“...I was unaware you believed my horns served… compensatory functions. Should I… correct that misunderstanding?”

He’s 100% confused at first, not because he’s innocent, but because your innuendo feels like riddles to him.

But once he gets it, once Lilia or someone explain it later, perhaps?

Oh, he remembers it.

The next time you flirt?

“You’ve been teasing me my dear. Perhaps I ought to show you that dragons need not compensate for anything.”

And he’ll say it with that calm, deep voice and a tilt of his head that promises danger.

Lilia Vanrouge

“Lilia, you might look small, but something tells me you could absolutely wreck me if you wanted to.”

He chuckles. Like full-blown villain laugh.

“Oh ho~! My, my~ What a bold darling you are tonight!”

He floats toward you, arms behind his back, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Is that a request? Or are you simply hoping I take the hint?”

You’ve just turned on flirt-mode Lilia, and he’s dangerous. Expect teasing, whispering, and no personal space for hours.

“Now, let’s see just how wreckable you are, hmm~?”

Idia Shroud

“Hey Idia~ Wanna roleplay? I’ll be the innocent maiden and you can ‘hack’ your way into my firewall”

Idia dies.

Straight up collapses onto the floor, hood over his face, glowing like a neon strawberry.

“Wh—Whaaaaa—?! THAT’S—THAT’S NOT A DIALOGUE OPTION IN REAL LIFE!!”

He short-circuits. His hair flares pink. He makes incomprehensible noises.

The idea that you, his amazing, goddess-tier s/o, are flirting like this??

It sends him spiraling. In a good way.

Mostly.

Later, in private, he’ll try to flirt back:

“H-Heh… you keep this up and I’ll… uhh… overheat and crash, probably…”

He's trying, okay? Reward him with kisses.

..............................................................................................................................

Hehehe~ I’m back ✨

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tteotlma · 3 months ago

Text

Mine to Keep

--- A quiet moment turns heated as Joel reminds you why some things are better kept just between the two of you.

Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader (4kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; explicit sexual content, heavy sexual tension, age gap, possessiveness, jealousy, hiding a relationship, emotional vulnerability, mild anxiety, groping (over/under clothes), neck kissing, hair pulling, power imbalance (protective/possessive), soft dominance, slow-burn to heat, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection, private/domestic intimacy, mild language.

a/n: BC IM GONNA ACT LIKE NOTHING BAD HAS EVER HAPPENED EVER; have just for some reason been thinking a lot abt pedro lately it’s absolutely insane, also now that lent is over i’ve taken up gardening again and i’m just yearning so inspired again.

The wooden screen door swung open effortlessly, to your surprise, to a clean and empty kitchen save for the half drunk mug of coffee on the kitchen island. The jagged edges of the chipped paint on the door caused your skin to rise as you cushioned the door on your bare shoulder to not let the door slam shut.

You let in a breath about to call out, but the faint sound of music could be heard playing in the other room. Stepping lightly around the corner, and peeking behind the wall you saw your current beau— well, the back of his head but him nonetheless. He was sitting on the sofa, gazing down at something on his lap as the late afternoon sun showered him in rays of light. You watched as small dust particles floated around his frame, and it was then you realized you were holding your breath.

Letting out a small huff of air you hoped the floor wouldn’t creak beneath your shoes as you took slow steps towards the open room. You were in a quiet awe watching a moment of rare vulnerability, the man you figured was just permanently stiff now had his back hunched, causing his shoulders to slouch. Despite his slacked frame he was still broad, taking up a large amount of quiet space. Eyeing the outline of his body, you watched how the muscles of his traps dipped below the neckline of his shirt, only a sliver of sun kissed skin visible between the curls at the base of his head, and the fabric of his ratty t shirt and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of the exposed skin, you found yourself reactively sticking your hand out to grasp that warmth—and grab you did.

You let your fingers graze the side of his neck, finally giving away that you were here. The flesh beneath your fingers went rigid, and a small chuckle hid behind a puff of air left your body. Leaning your body over the back of the sofa your hands again finding the base of his neck fingers entangling in the strands of his outgrown curls tugging ever so slightly.

“Hi.” You whispered, pressing your lips to his temple.

“Almos’ scared me half to death,” He said, trying to play it off by flipping a page of the town newspaper. Your fingers left his hair and slid down his neck, and chest to clasp your fingers together, arms hung around the man.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist,” you snickered lightly, resting your chin in the crook of his neck staring at his fingers. “It’s not every day you see Joel Miller relaxing.” Your fingers started roaming his chest again, coming to toy lightly with the stubble on his jawline. His skin was warm from the summer sun, and the Wyoming heat. Joel cleared his throat, rustling the papers in his fingers shifting beneath your weight.

“I wasn’t relaxing, I was jus’ readin’ up.” He shook his shoulders lightly to try and shoo you off, and you did just briefly enough to realize he was wearing his reading glasses, yet another rare sight.

“Right, because Jackson Hole is so big.” You teased, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

He cleared his throat again, beginning to fold the pamphlet between his hands eyeing you from the side.

“Ellie?” He asks tossing the papers to the side, he then moves his fingers to take his glasses off, but you stop him, enveloping his fingers with yours.

“Out with Dina,” you say, a hand finding its way back to his salt and pepper curls tucking loose strands behind his ear.

“Are you—”

“Saw them with my own two eyes at that food hall.” You reassured him, already knowing if he was going to ask for reassurance.

“Next to your very much in love Brother and his wife.” You mumbled, and you felt a deep sigh leave his body and only the sound of music played softly in the background as a pause of silence passed between the two of you. Joel held your fingers, resting his prickled cheek against your forearm as you rested on his shoulders.

“Joel,” you whispered, you took his silence as a sign to continue. “Why don’t you want anyone to know about us?” you said softly, hoping your question didn’t just break this glass bubble you were both floating in.

But it was eating away at you, especially when you saw what seemed like everyone and their brothers' mothers in a tooth-rotting, core cringing relationship.

Joel cleared his throat and shifted in his cushiony seat.

“W-well, uh…” He cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. You kept running your fingers through his hair, gentle and steady, trying to ease him. You knew he didn’t mean any harm with how he was fumbling—he was just like an old car that needed a few tries to get going.

“What’s got you thinking like this?” He quickly rushes out, grabbing your hand, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You debated on telling him the drawn out version of word jumble, and anxious rambling or tell him outright like you’ve been rehearsing.

“I would just—” You grabbed his hands again, thumbs caressing his calloused fingers noticing the faint tan forming beneath his wrist watch. Suddenly struck with shyness you shrug, toying with his hands. “Sometimes, I’d just… love to hold hands with you.” you said said, voice getting softer with each syllable.

“Sweetheart,” He whispers, pulling your hands, and bringing you around the arm of the sofa. Your hand trails the length of his right arm, muscles taut beneath the pads of your fingers. You watch the hairs on his arm stand, as your nails lightly scratch the surface of his skin. He makes you stand before him.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, placing you in the space between his legs, your knees pressing gently against the edge of the sofa. You feel yourself pouting, lips tugging downward despite your best effort to stay composed. Joel’s large hands wrap around yours, rough palms hot against your skin as he brings them to his lips. The soft brush of his mouth on the back of your hand sends a flush to your cheeks, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“As much as I would love to show everyone what’s mine…” he says, voice low, as he leans forward, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. He kisses the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate, before his hands slide up the length of your forearms, settling at your hips, fingers curling into the small of your back.

“Right now…” he presses a small kiss just above your waistband, his lips lingering against your skin before he looks up at you, gaze steady, almost searching. “I just wanna keep this ours, for a little longer,” he murmurs, arms tightening around you. One hand dips lower, fingers brushing over the sliver of bare skin where your shirt lifts, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it.

"It’s good like this. Just you and me."

You feel him breathe you in, feel the way his fingers linger at your waist, grounding himself in the warmth of your body like he needs the contact to stay present.

"I think about it too," he says quietly. "What it’d be like, not keeping it quiet." His hand rests firm, steady against you, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. "But... I ain’t had something like this in a long time."

His voice trails off, thick with something unspoken, thumb still moving like he can’t bring himself to stop, can’t let go.

"I just... I wanna hold onto it a little longer, like this."

You cradle his head in your hands, fingers threading through his hair before dragging down the length of his back, nails scratching softly against the fabric of his shirt as you let out a deep, aching sigh. Joel’s thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch firmer now as he pulls back just enough to see you.

You meet his eyes, face to face, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at how good he looks—his glasses slipping low on his nose, jaw tense, eyes soft. It only makes your chest tighten more.

You huff, frustration bubbling up.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” you say, quiet, yet certain.

Joel’s eyes stay on you, hands steady at your waist.

“I know you don’t.”

He swallows hard, more of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, onto your skin.

“But this—what we’ve got right now—it’s the only thing in a long time that’s felt…” His eyes search yours, waiting for that unspoken understanding, and when he finds it, he leans in, voice low.

“I’m not ready to give that up. Not yet.”

Your forehead rests against his, as if the closeness alone could quiet the anxiety crawling its way up your throat.

“Can… we really keep going like this?”

Your fingers find their solace in the curls at the nape of his neck, playing with them in slow, nervous motions, your nails lightly tapping against the arms of his glasses with every other pass. You can’t help but watch your hands move, almost detached, like they don’t belong to you anymore.

It’s some quiet reminder—how much you already lean on him, how even now, you’re using the feel of him to steady yourself, to keep your worry at bay.

Joel lets out a soft chuckle to the side as he straightens up, leaning into the back of the sofa with a sigh, his eyebrows scrunched with disappointment but you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

His hands pull you easily, guiding you into his lap, like a missing puzzle piece. Straddling him now, your knees press into the cushion, chest light against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath meeting yours.

His hands move down your sides, and around the curve of your ass to rest against the sides of your thighs, his palm’s warm against the fabric on your legs. “You’re here. I’m here. Is there somethin’ else we need that I’m missin’?”

Your eyes search his, drawn to the fine lines at the corners, the way they crease softly when he looks at you like this. The sun has left its mark on him, scattering faint freckles and warm tones across his skin, like time didn’t just pass—it stayed, settling gently. As if in a trance, your eyes find a way to his lips, holding his face delicately in your hands, you shake your head slowly.

“Baby girl,” his fingers burn against your skin, his voice low, and rough, “I’m tryin’ to keep you to myself, just a little longer.”

His thumb drags slowly over your skin.

“Ain’t ready to let everyone see what’s mine.” And with one more look, you feel yourself caving. You subconsciously lean in closer, absolutely weak to whatever hold he seems to have on you.

“Damn you, Miller,” you whisper, and he lets out a small snort, breath fanning across your lips.

His hands slide up from their place on your thighs, slowly, fingers pressing into the soft give of your skin before settling at your hips, pulling you closer.

You watch his hands, almost dazed, as your jean-covered knees shift, dragging his shirt up ever so slightly along his sides. The fabric rises, revealing the warm skin beneath—soft, familiar, the faint line of his waist exposed in the now dimming light.

You don’t look up. Not yet.

Your hands slide what feels incredibly slow from his jaw down his neck and chest, fingertips tracing the edge where his shirt had risen, drawn to the heat of him. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady, waiting.

And then you look at him, really look, taking him in for all he’s worth, and you lean in, tapping your forehead to his, the plastic of his glasses cool against the bridge of your nose. You dip your fingers beneath the neckline of his shirt and pull him closer. Your lips tentatively brush against his, light as breath, your eyes half-lidded, hoping—waiting—for him to meet you there.

When his lips finally touch yours, he kisses you, really kisses you, it’s slow, and deliberate at first, like he’s aware of how delicate this moment is. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it in the way his hands dig into your exposed skin, dragging you flush against him, no space, no air, just him.

His kiss stays soft, for a moment. The kind of soft that makes your chest ache, makes you lean in harder, chasing the heat of his mouth, the way his lips part just enough to taste you, to take more. Your hands trail up his neck and down his chest, in slack patterns stopping at times to caress his ears, or toy with his tousled hair.

His tongue brushes yours, just a flick, just enough to make your stomach twist. and you feel his hands slide, lower now, gripping at the curve of your ass, squeezing like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

You let out something between a sigh and a whimper, and that’s all Joel Miller needs.

The already searing kiss somehow deepens, rougher now, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothes it with his tongue, pulling you impossibly close, taking and giving all at once.

You sigh into him, your breath warm between you, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, tugging at it as you shift in his lap. The cotton stretches under your hands, bunching in your fists as you press closer, the solid weight of him beneath your palms impossible to ignore.

Your hands roam, slow, dragging over his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric, your fingers curling, groping softly here and there—testing, squeezing, not quite gentle, not rough, just needing, just taking your time as you explore the shape of him. The way he breathes beneath you, steady but tight, makes you linger, pressing your palms flat before curling them again, feeling the give of muscle, the warmth that seems to rise with every touch.

Your hands drift lower, fingers dragging across the stretched fabric, and it’s only when you shift again that you feel it—your knuckles brushing against the sliver of skin exposed just above his waistband. You pause there, just for a moment, fingers tentatively skimming the heat of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, where the faintest line of hair disappears beneath the waist of his jeans.

He tenses, breath catching against your lips, and you can’t help the small smile that ghosts across yours.

One hand finds its way back to the curve of his neck, slipping beneath the neckline of his shirt, holding him there, grounding him, grounding yourself. You lean in to kiss him again, your hips pressed firm to his, and your other hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing the bare skin of his stomach, light at first, like a question, before smoothing higher, feeling the heat, the tension, the way he shifts beneath you like he’s trying to stay still, but he can’t.

His hand slides up your back, slow, firm, until his fingers are tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough for him to pull you away.

When you let him pull you back, it’s only enough to breathe, to see him with his lips swollen, eyes heavy, chest rising hard beneath your hands. You stay close, your breath still tangled with his, the warmth between you humming, thick.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, fingers brushing the warm skin on his back, light, deliberate.

“My, my, Mr. Miller...” your voice is low, soft, but there’s no mistaking the edge of it, “I’m seeing all kinds of sides to you today.”

You feel the way he tenses under you, the pause in his breath.

Your thumb drags along the curve of his necklline, slow, tracing.

“Didn’t think you got jealous.” The words are almost a whisper, your eyes focusing on his skin exposed fingers ghosting, not quite touching.

“Didn’t know you could be so...” you pause, fingers slipping beneath the waistline of his shirt into the curls at the base of his belly button, your palm warm against the heat of his skin. He gazes down, and watches your hand move beneath the fabric of his shirt. “...soft.”

The heat of the room caused his glasses to slide further down his nose, as we quickly glanced up at you. Smirking slightly at his disheveled state you take your hand that’s on his shoulder and swiftly push his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose before a smirk found its way to your lips.

The weight of his gaze was heavy on you as he doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leans in, his breath hot against your cheek, and then lower, until his lips find the spot just below your jaw, kissing you slow, open-mouthed, like he has all the time in the world, like he’s content to feel you melt into him.

His hand moves from your body, sliding down your arm, fingers tracing lightly until they curl around your wrist, rough and sure. He doesn’t speak, just guides you, pulling your hand from his shoulder, slow and steady, down the curve of his chest, lower, until your knuckles meet the hem of his shirt.

And then he pulls you under.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, joining the other hand already resting there, against the warmth of his stomach, where the muscles are tight beneath your touch, where the faint trail of hair leads down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he holds your wrist there, pressing your hand lower, like he wants you to feel just how much he’s burning, how much of him is wound up right beneath your palm. His breath stutters against your neck, lips still moving over your skin, kissing, nipping, but slower now—like he’s caught in it, too.

You feel the heat of him, the way he shifts beneath you, hips pressing up ever so slightly, chasing your touch as your hands move together, exploring the firm planes of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, groping, lingering, hoping to god you’d take more—but instead, your breath catches, something low in your belly pulling tight, and though you don’t stop, not really, your hands stay, palms still pressed to the bare skin of his stomach, fingers splayed, feeling the way he stays warm beneath you, the tension thick, still humming between your bodies, heavy and close.

You lean back—not far, not fully, just enough to draw in a breath, to see him, to take in the way he looks, the way he’s fallen back into the sofa, not letting go but giving in, his chest rising sharp beneath your touch, his shirt pushed up, bunched high enough that you can still feel him, still press into him, skin flushed deep across his chest, creeping high along his neck, blooming in his cheeks, the color settling there, soft and red and beautiful in a way you weren’t prepared for.

And you don’t move your hands—you can’t—because there’s something about feeling him like this, about having him beneath you, so undone, so real, that makes it impossible to pull away, impossible to even think about letting go.

His hair’s a mess, still tangled from your fingers, the curls at the nape damp with heat, and those glasses—slipping low, crooked, barely holding on—make him look ruined in the best way, like no one’s ever touched him like this, like no one else should ever get the chance.

Your thumb drags slowly over his waist, your other hand rising slightly, feeling the way his stomach still trembles under your touch, and your breath hitches—not from what he’s doing, but from what he is, from what you see, what you feel, what you know.

“Yeah...” the word leaves you soft, low, more breath than sound, your eyes locked on him, watching the way he stays with you, caught in it, flushed and open and completely yours. “No one else should see you like this.”

You feel him shift beneath you, his breath deepening, like he knows, like he’s heard exactly what he needed, and you press your hands to him, firmer now, like you’re holding him there—not just to feel, but to claim, to remind yourself that this, him, all of it, belongs to you.

And you’re definitely not letting anyone else have it.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

---

a/n: WAAAHHHHH I WANT TO KEEP HIM SAFE IN MY ARMS FOREVER (also not really edited so soz for the typos)

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT 💛

2K notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 4 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: BOSTON'S ENGAGEMENT PROPOSAL * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where, at the Boston show of the Surprise Party Tour, Matt finally reveals his first solo surprise of the tour: proposing to Y/N.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt felt like a complete idiot.

Which was honestly fine.

Normal, even.

Because what else are you supposed to feel when you walk into Tiffany & Co alone, camera in one hand, jacket half-zipped, and the literal knowledge in your brain that today’s the day you buy your engagement ring?

The second the glass doors swished shut behind him, he instantly felt underdressed. The place was too clean. Too bright. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where even your footsteps sound loud, and you’re 90% sure the floor costs more than your car.

"Okay." He muttered, clicking on the small camera in his hand, flipping the screen so he could see himself, waving with his free hand. His messy strands were doing their own thing, and his voice cracked a little. "Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

The Tiffany logo glimmered in the reflection behind him, all silver and serious. He turned the lens toward the inside of the store, slowly panning across the display cases that sparkled so hard it hurt to look at them.

Everything was white and silver and pale blue. Velvet chairs. Smooth marble counters. Employees moving around like they were floating, all super polished and weirdly calm, which was the opposite of how he felt.

He found a small table in the center of the room with a modern glass vase on it and propped his camera there using the tiny tripod suction he’d brought.

"I sent an entire email explaining this to the brand and asking for permission to record it. They gave me it. I even brought it printed." He laughed breathlessly, angling the lens to frame the table and the chairs across from it.

Matt sat down and let out a quiet breath, tapping his fingers anxiously on the edge of the table.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting walking in here. Like maybe it would hit him differently, feel more real. But all he felt was this warm weight in his chest and the nonstop loop in his head.

Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up.

A woman appeared after a few moments, dressed in sleek black with a small Tiffany-blue badge on her chest. Her heels clicked quietly as she walked toward him, her smile calm and super professional but not cold.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She said warmly.

"Yeah, hey." He stood up awkwardly, then realized she didn’t expect that and just kind of hovered in a weird half-stand before sitting back down.

She smiled kindly.

"I’m Elena. Thank you for coming in today. I've been informed of your plans."

He nodded.

"That's great! Thank you."

Elena let out a soft laugh at how stiff he looked and pulled up a chair across from him.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The words still made his brain stutter. But he nodded.

"Okay, then let's start." She said, already opening a small black folder in front of her.

Matt sat back and rubbed his beard covered jaw. The room felt big. And small. And too real.

"Alright." Elena said, flipping open a tray of sample bands, all lined in rows with tiny cards that probably had words like platinum and cushion cut on them. "Let’s talk about her. What does she like?"

Matt blinked at the rings for a second, overwhelmed by sparkle. Then he focused.

"She actually wears a lot of jewelry." He started, voice calmer now that they were actually talking logistics. "She wears gold more than silver, but like both. And she hates anything super chunky or loud. She's more into the delicate, kinda simple stuff. Like she has these tiny gold hoops she wears almost every day and these little rings that look like... minimalist or whatever."

Elena nodded, already pulling a few bands from the tray and setting them aside.

"This gives us a lot to play with, actually."

"Good." Matt said, nodding. "She also... okay, I don’t know if this helps, but she likes stuff that’s classic but not boring, y’know? She’s not trendy. That sounds kinda corny, but..."

"No, that’s perfect." Elena said, already unlocking another small drawer in the case nearby.

Matt glanced down at all the million options, fingers drumming a quiet beat against the edge as his brain tried to concentrate.

Fuck, he wished his brothers were there.

Chris would’ve made him laugh to calm him down while Nick would’ve asked twenty questions about resale value and the clarity of the stone or whatever.

It was weird doing something this big without them next to him. Like losing your phone and realizing how much you depended on it. He was so used to them being right there in every step.

But not this time.

This was just him.

"Here." Elena said gently, breaking the spiral as she placed a new tray in front of him. "I think we’re getting close."

Matt leaned in, eyes scanning the rings. One stood out immediately.

It was delicate, so thin he almost missed the band entirely. A single oval-cut diamond sat in the middle with six claws holding it in place, no extra flash, no weird shapes, just clean and clear and... her.

He pointed to it, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"That one’s really nice."

Elena smiled like she’d been waiting for him to say that.

"That’s one of our most classic solitaire styles. Platinum band. Oval diamond."

He tilted his head.

"Yeah... she’d actually wear that. Like she’d live in that."

"Exactly." Elena said. "You want something she’ll love now and thirty years from now."

They added a curved matching band that hugged the engagement ring perfectly. It looked like the two rings were designed to never be apart.

Matt stared at them for a second too long.

"Can I- uh... get a second to record this?" He asked, already reaching for his camera and bringing it closer.

He lifted the box gently, showing the rings to the lens and whispering.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

The big screen flicked for a millisecond before showing the banner with 'SURPRISE' written in big white letters.

The noise was immediate, and it only seemed to increase when the countdown appeared seconds after, huge and bold across the giant screen. The numbers started ticking down from 5, all in that signature grainy style.

The theater echoed with voices. People clutched their phones tighter. Someone behind Y/N whispered a breathless "Oh my god, it has to be Matt", but she didn’t even register it at first, her eyes glued to the screen.

And then, there he was.

Matt.

Standing in front of a camera, looking directly into it while adjusting his tie.

The crowd lost it.

They weren’t even at fault for their reaction. Six shows had passed through, and Matt wasn't the one bringing a solo surprise in none of them.

Matt smiled at the screams. He stood up from the orange couch on the left, where he’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and grabbed his mic.

The crowd didn’t calm down. If anything, they screamed harder, but there was something about his nervous little laugh that softened everything around it.

He walked to the side of the stage, shoes scuffing the dark wood, and turned toward one of the wooden shelves that were part of the set.

"Okay, okay." Matt said into the mic, voice shaking slightly but still him. "I’m gonna need you guys to chill a little, like, just enough for me to hear myself, alright?"

The crowd laughed but actually obeyed. Kind of.

"I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time." He admitted, glancing out at the audience like they were all his best friends and not strangers in a dark room. "And I’ve honestly never been this nervous before."

He paused.

Looked down.

And without needing to search, his eyes dropped straight to the middle seat in the front row.

Y/N.

There she was, sitting all cute and clueless, smiling so big it almost hurt him. She had that gentle sparkle in her eyes that only came out when she was happy in quiet ways.

She had no idea. Not even close. And God, she was going to freak out.

Matt felt his heart full-on trip over itself.

She was wearing the red and black Ralph Lauren jacket he had used on Philadelphia, and her hands were folded over her legs. She was watching him like she was proud just to see him standing there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And that made it worse.

And better.

And way harder not to cry.

Chris and Nick were now on the left couch, explaining the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint Matt was going to show to the public.

"Matt." Chris called, adjusting his mic. "We’re gonna be here all night if you don’t open that damn shelf."

The crowd cracked up.

Matt rolled his eyes dramatically to the audience, grinning as he turned back toward the cabinet door.

"Okay." He said, laughing through his nose. He reached out, fingers gripping the cool handle. "Let’s see what the hint is."

He pulled it open.

A ring.

Not the ring.

Just a ring.

It was chunky and bold and totally not bridal. Something from Paula, their stylist. Gold with a flat top, engraved with something random that didn’t matter.

Matt grabbed it and shut the cabinet again, turning around. He made his way back to the couch, but instead of sitting down, he stood in front of his brothers and held up the ring for them to see.

Nick leaned forward.

"What is that? A mafia ring?"

Chris squinted.

"Wait, wait- is your surprise a jewelry line? Are you releasing jewelry for Yesterday's Problem now?"

The mention of Matt's mystery brand made a crazy effect over the crowd, who screamed and begged for it to be about Yesterday's Problem.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the youngest.

"No, of course not." He pressed his lips together in a smug kind of way, then looked over his shoulder to the crowd. "Y’all are so off." He laughed under his breath.

Nick sat back with his arms crossed.

"This is too vague."

Matt ignored him. He tucked the fake ring in his jacket right pocket, feeling it clinking against the hidden velvet box, and finally walked over to the opposite couch.

He sat down slowly, smoothing his jeans and adjusting his mic. And for the first time, he looked up, not at the crowd, not at his brothers, but to the grandstand section near the side stage.

He found them instantly.

His parents. Nate. Mikayla. Sam.

All there. All watching.

Their expressions were... hard to read. Focused. Neutral, but expectant. His mom had her hands clasped near her chin, her brows slightly knit. His dad was still.

Matt swallowed. Looked back to the screen.

"Well, let's see what I did."

And then the video started.

It didn’t come with any fanfare or intro, which already made it so different from the slow builds Chris and Nick did for theirs.

"Okay."

Video-Matt’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and kind of nervous. On screen, the camera shook slightly as he clicked on it and flipped the screen to face him. He waved awkwardly with his free hand, his expression caught between a smile and full-on panic.

"Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

A wave of laughter rippled across the theater at how awkwardly he opened the video.

On stage, Chris squinted at the screen, tilting his head.

"Wait, where even is he?"

Matt hadn’t said it, but the massive, gleaming Tiffany & Co. logo was reflected behind him in the video - polished silver letters on a blue-tinted wall.

The moment the logo came into focus, Nick let out a confused noise beside Chris, practically leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Is that-"

"Bro, is he in Tiffany’s?" Chris finished, brows furrowed.

Even Y/N blinked in quiet surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she watched Matt on the screen set the camera down on a sleek little table inside the boutique. She’d never seen him even mention Tiffany jewelry. Vivienne Westwood was his thing, silver chains, edgy rings.

But she still smiled wide because he looked nervous as hell.

Matt, onscreen, muttered something about having emailed the brand beforehand to ask for permission to film, even flashing a crumpled printout of the email at the camera.

"I even brought it printed." He chuckled under his breath, clearly trying not to combust from stress as he fixed the frame.

Back on stage, Chris snorted.

"Why does he look like he’s about to commit a crime?"

Nick leaned toward the mic.

"Your surprise is that you stole some expensive jewelry, Matt?"

The crowd laughed again, some people clapping, some just wheezing into their hands.

Y/N was frowning now, eyes glued to the screen. Matt hadn’t looked that nervous since- well, since he asked her to move in with him from Boston to LA years ago.

On screen, Matt sat down at the table, his fingers tapping a beat on the edge like he couldn’t stop moving.

Moments later, a woman walked into frame - sleek black outfit, small Tiffany-blue name tag pinned to her chest.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She asked with a kind smile.

Matt stood up too fast and then kind of froze mid-stand like he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before sitting back down with a stiff, nervous nod.

Y/N laughed quietly, leaning forward in her seat.

"Oh, baby..." She mumbled, her heart just full.

"I’m Elena." The woman said, settling into the chair across from him. "Thanks for coming in today. I’ve been informed of your plans."

On the couch, Nick let out a quiet, "What plans?"

Chris nudged him but was just as confused.

"That’s great! Thank you." Matt said in the video, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Elena smiled, clearly used to this kind of energy.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The theater went silent.

Chris blinked.

Nick sat all the way back into the couch like the air had been punched out of him.

The crowd gasped.

And Y/N... Y/N froze entirely.

Her jaw went slack. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, twitched.

Did she hear that right?

Chris was the first to react.

"Wait- WHAT?" He half-shouted into his mic.

Nick was still staring at the screen, eyebrows drawn so hard together that they were practically touching.

"She just said- she said engagement- he- what?"

The audience exploded in a mix of laughter, shocked screams, and collective gasping.

Y/N covered her mouth, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding in her chest so loud it drowned everything else out.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the boy on the screen, the boy she’d loved quietly, gently, patiently, for what felt like forever, who was sitting inside Tiffany & Co., looking like he was going to throw up from nerves, and apparently about to buy a ring.

For her.

Matt had been planning this.

He had planned this entire thing.

"Oh my god." She whispered behind her hand, her voice shaking with shock and joy and every emotion crashing together in her chest.

Chris turned slowly to look at her from the stage, his mouth slightly open like he was seeing the twist in a movie.

"You knew about this?" He asked, pointing to the screen.

Y/N shook her head so fast it almost made her dizzy.

"How could I know this, Chris?!" She squeaked, the words barely coming out.

Nick blinked rapidly, rubbing his forehead.

"Chris, a wedding propose is supposed to be a secret to the one being proposed."

But Chris still hadn’t recovered.

"A ring, dude. Like... for real. We’re on stage, and he’s proposing?"

Y/N sat back slowly, staring up at the screen like it was made of stars. Her lips trembled, not from sadness or fear or anything close to hesitation, but just from the way her entire soul felt like it was floating.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

This was Matt.

Her Matt.

And somehow, he’d managed to turn an ordinary night into the most extraordinary moment of her life.

The video continued playing, but no one really moved.

The entire theater was still.

Hearts pounding.

Eyes wide.

Waiting for the big moment.

The last frame of the surprise video froze on the big screen, the tiny velvet box open in Matt’s hand, his voice low and trembling, whispering like a private secret.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

And then... nothing. The screen went black.

For a second - two, maybe three - the entire venue was suspended in absolute silence. No screams, no gasps, no whispers. Just air. Thick and vibrating with a kind of collective disbelief that made everything feel just a little unreal, like the world had glitched and was still buffering.

Then someone - probably a fan in the front row - gasped out loud.

And the silence cracked.

A mix of choked sobs, happy cries, shocked laughter, and chaotic squeals broke like a wave through the audience.

Mary Lou covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide and glossy. Mikayla had literal tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching the side of Nate's hoodie. Even the tour crew was caught off guard, one of the lighting guys had his jaw dropped like he was about to cry.

Nick blinked rapidly and turned toward Chris, totally stunned.

And then there was Y/N.

She was still seated, her mouth parted just slightly, her eyes wide and blinking slow, like she was trying to make sense of gravity again. Her entire body felt... floaty. Like she wasn’t quite in the room anymore. Like she was watching someone else live her life and was just now realizing that someone else was... her.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. She couldn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

And then Matt stood up.

Still on stage, in front of the giant screen, with tears in his eyes and his heart practically written all over his face.

He looked at her.

Just her.

And the noise around them blurred into something distant and unimportant. He brought the mic up to his lips, eyes momentarily running from hers.

"Can- uh, can one of you help her up here?" He asked, nodding toward the security guard on the right side of the stage, voice trembling through the speakers.

The crowd seemed to become louder.

Screams. Cries. People clapping and jumping. Y/N could barely process the guard gently approaching her, a soft smile on his face, as he reached out a hand.

She blinked at him.

Then blinked again.

"Come on, sweetheart." Matt said into the mic, his voice cracking. His smile was soft and a little wobbly. "It’s okay."

That’s when her legs finally moved. Barely. But they moved.

The crowd cheered louder as she slowly stood up, holding her shaky hands to her chest, fingers scratching against the glitter of her shirt - the same one that Nick was using.

She followed the security guard to the edge of the stage, the warm lights making everything feel more surreal, more floaty. Like a fever dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

And then, she was there.

Up on stage.

Everything around her was blurry except for him.

Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt.

Standing there, eyes glassy, hands twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. He looked like he was holding back a loud cry.

"Come here, angel." He said again, softer this time. Just for her.

She walked toward him slowly. Feet barely touching the stage, everything trembling. The lights, the crowd, the sound, it all disappeared as she reached him and stopped a foot away.

His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at her, it was solid. Sure. Like there was nothing else he believed in more than her.

"Okay." Matt started, laughing nervously and brushing his fingers under his eye. "Uhm... wow. Okay. So... I had this whole thing in my head. Like, how I was gonna say it. But now I’m just... losing it."

She let out a teary laugh. So did the crowd.

Matt looked down for a second, then back up, voice steadier this time.

"I love you." He said first, like he had to just get that out before anything else. "I love you so much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her hands came up to her mouth, eyes already overflowing.

"You’ve been with me through everything. Everything, Y/N. When I was nobody. When we were filming in our parents' kitchen and only getting a hundred views. When I had zero dollars to my name. When I moved to LA with my brothers and literally lived on hope. You were there."

He sniffled.

"You’ve always been there."

Her whole body was trembling now. She could barely stand straight.

Matt stepped a little closer, reaching out with one shaky hand to hold hers, gripping tight like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I’m not good with words. You know that." He said, voice wobbling but warm. "But you- you’re everything to me. You’re the reason I’m even here. Not just like, here here." He gestured around at the stage. "But like- here."

Her lips quivered as she sobbed softly, squeezing his hand.

"I wake up every day, and I can’t believe I get to love you. That you love me back. That I get to see you reading on the couch or ranting about your series or dancing while you brush your teeth. You’re the best part of my day, every day." Another laugh cracked in his throat, wet and breathless. "I brought your perfume with me to Vegas so my shirts smelled like you. That’s where I’m at. That’s how far gone I am."

Y/N let out a choked laugh through her tears, wiping at her eyes, her fingertips coming out black with mascara. Matt laughed too, even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

And then he reached into the right pocket of his jacket.

The room seemed to still again.

He pulled out the small velvet box. Hands trembling.

She bit her lip. A hand flew to her chest.

And then Matt was getting down.

On one knee.

His knee hit the stage softly. He opened the box again, showing two beautiful rings sparkling under the lights, and tried to hold it up while still holding the mic. But his hands were too full.

Chris was already moving before Matt could even think of asking for help. He ran up to them, gently taking Matt’s mic right out of his hand, and held it up close to Matt’s mouth for him.

Matt looked up at his brother, breathless and laughing softly through the emotion.

"Thanks." He whispered, voice cracking.

Chris just smiled his widest smile, his eyes shining with tears, and nodded.

Matt turned back to Y/N, holding up the box in his shaking hands.

"Y/N." He said. "Please, allow me to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you marry me?"

And it was like the world held its breath.

All she could do was nod at first, crying and covering her face. Then she laughed through her tears and choked out.

"Yes. Yes. Oh my god- yes!"

The crowd exploded. Screams. Cries. Phones held high. Some people literally jumped. Nick tackled Chris in a hug. Their mom sobbed against Jimmy.

Matt stood up and pulled her into his arms so fast the empty box slipped, and they both stumbled a bit, laughing and crying and shaking.

And when he kissed her, right there in front of everyone, it wasn’t polished or pretty. It was messy. And emotional. And real.

"I love you so much." He whispered in her ear.

And she whispered back.

"I can’t believe you’re mine."

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other.

Two people on a stage. In front of thousands.

"The 'getting down on one knee' thing was successfully approved, Matt." Nick's voice echoed around the room from the speakers before two more bodies collapsed around them, holding them close.

They were the only ones in the world.

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luna-azzurra · 27 days ago

Text

Types of side characters

(because your MC is not the only one who matters lol)

ok look. not every side character needs to have a tragic backstory or some deeply poetic reason for existing. but if all your side characters feel like blank gray blobs floating around your protagonist like NPCs in a bad video game, your story’s gonna feel... empty. like, cool, the main character is Doing Important Things, but who cares if literally no one around them feels real?

.......

☾ The foil This is the character who exists to make your main character look like... more of themselves. like if your MC is all soft and hopeful, the foil’s the sarcastic realist who thinks feelings are a scam. or maybe your MC is arrogant and the foil is humble in a way that makes everyone notice how full of themself the MC is. they’re like a mirror but more passive aggressive. they don’t even need to say much, just being there makes the MC’s traits pop. kinda magical. kinda annoying.

☾ the mentor/guide/wise cryptic grandma type not always old. not always wise, tbh. but they know stuff and are weirdly good at giving advice that sounds vague until it suddenly makes sense three chapters later. usually shows up right when your MC is about to give up or do something dumb. sometimes they die (sorry), sometimes they vanish, sometimes they stick around and just make tea while the main character unravels emotionally.

☾ comic relief the one keeping your story from being a depression spiral) they’re dumb on purpose. or smart but act dumb. or just weird. but either way: they’re hilarious, and your readers will love them more than the protagonist and you’ll be mad about it but also proud. their jokes land at the best times. or the worst. either way, they matter. and sometimes they end up being the most emotionally grounded character in the entire cast. funny how that works.

☾ the love interest (hot plot complications) they kiss (eventually). or they don’t. maybe they break your MC’s heart. maybe they make them a better person. either way, they’re here to add feelings and force your protagonist to confront things like vulnerability and trust and whether or not they even know what love is. also probably hot. if they’re not hot, they better be interesting as hell.

☾ the antagonist/villain-but-not-always-the-BIG-bad not every villain needs to be some shadowy overlord. sometimes it’s your MC’s ex. or a rival. or their mom. the point is: they make your protagonist’s life harder. they should have actual motivations (please god do not make them evil just because they’re evil). bonus points if your MC kinda agrees with them but hates it.

☾ the bestie/the sidekick/the moral support we love these ones. they’re the ones who show up with snacks or bail the MC out of jail or send them that “are you ok??” text. maybe they’re a little messy themselves, but they care. they’ll fight for your protagonist, or at least keep them grounded when they start spiraling. they’re not always 100% loyal though. and that makes things interesting.

☾ family (the emotional landmines) parents. siblings. cousins. whatever. whether your MC is close to their family or totally estranged, the people who raised them (or didn’t) are shaping them. even if they’re not in the story much. even if they’re dead. family shows up in flashbacks, in trauma, in habits your MC doesn’t even notice they have. don’t sleep on this.

☾ background characters (world texture) these are the baristas, teachers, the guy who always jogs past the house with a weirdly aggressive dog. they don’t have arcs. they just exist. but the way they exist says a lot about the world. don’t overdo it, but don’t ignore them either. they're the difference between a story feeling like a play on an empty stage vs a real, breathing world.

☾ the rival not the villain. but they’re in competition with your MC. they might be better at everything. or worse, but way more charming. rivals push your protagonist to be better or to absolutely lose their mind. they can be friends! or lovers! or just that one guy who keeps showing up and being mildly infuriating. delicious tension. inject it directly.

☾ the observer these are the people who are on the sidelines but they see things. they might be narrating. or maybe they’re the little sibling watching all the drama unfold. they notice stuff. they comment on stuff. they ground the reader or give us another lens to view the story through. they’re kind of like the audience stand-in. or the narrator with opinions.

#side characters #writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writer tumblr #character development #writing advice #writblr #writing help #oc character #side character energy #writer stuff #writers of tumblr #writers #writeblr #writer community #writer things #writers and poets

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asxgard · 4 months ago

Note

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

��But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

#the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 4 months ago

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Pt 4 of the Danny is Tim's 99th attempt at cloning Kon. A 3 year old Danny finally meets his not dead anymore template.

[Pt 3: here] [Pt 5:Here]

Danny is so nervous he feels like he's going to throw up. His Template, who was dead and now isn't, is coming over to meet him. He knows his dad wouldn't let the guy near if he thought he'd react poorly to Danny, and Danny is excited about maybe having an adult (barely, technically, since he's 18) to help him figure out his new alien heritage, but he's still scared shitless. He wants this to go well so badly.

"Danny," Tim sighs in fond exasperation, "Come here, sweetheart."

Danny floats himself into dad's lap, tucking himself to his chest.

"Kon has been just as nervous to meet you." Tim kisses the top of Danny's head, just before Danny turns a wide-eyed look towards him. "He's the sweetest himbo and has been gushing about meeting you, but he's terrified you won't like him."

"Rweally?"

"Yeah, one of his deepest desires and deepest traumas is his want of family. But he doesn't want to pressure you into accepting any sort of relationship with him." Tim explains before cracking a sardonic smile. "Which is a big mood. I'm pretty sure most of the younger heroes have imposter syndrome."

"Why?"

"For many reasons. Kon was, and sometimes still is, discriminated against and frankly abused for being a clone. I forced my way into the Wayne family and was repeatedly told I didn't belong. Jason never had a stable life. Damian was a rape baby and raised in the LoA til he was 10. Dick was kicked out by Bruce once he aged out of fostering age. Jason's "not" boyfriend, Roy, was shunned for developing a drug habit after gaining significant trauma." Tim lists off. "A lot of the younger heroes couldn't lean on the adults in their lives, and it leaves scars. We've all found our footing, and deserve everything good we have in our lives, but the feeling of unworthiness is hard to escape."

Danny hugs his dad around the neck. He knew some of this dad and co lore, but it makes him sad each time. No one in his new family family has had easy lives, but are still so nice.

Tim suddenly looks mischievous, "All that to say, Kon has been texting me all morning about what he should wear, do I actually think you'll like him, if he should bring a gift or would you think he's bribing you to like him-"

"Tim!" A guy whines as he enters. He's wearing a leather jacket over a band t-shirt and black jeans. He clothes don't hide how he's shredded and probably 6 inches, at least, taller than Tim. He's holding a puzzle box and looks flustered and embarrassed.

"It's true!" Tim grins at the newcomer, before adjusting his angle to give Danny a slightly better view. "Danny, this is Kon, your DNA donor. Kon, this is my- our son, Danny."

Danny shyly waves as a blushing Kon sputters and protests Tim's choice of introductions.

"What? I did all the work, you just provided the DNA. Maybe if there's a next time, I'll let you help." Tim teases, and is hilariously oblivious to the gutter Danny can see Kon's mind drop into.

Danny has found his dad to be absolutely oblivious to anytime someone is into him, outside of Ra's. Danny watched so many people try to shoot their shot, and Tim cluelessly rebuff them. Danny thought he was doing it on purpose at first, but soon realized, no, his dad just has low self-esteem and truly doesn't think anyone finds him desirable. It's as funny as it is sad.

"So mean." Kon pouts before holding up the puzzle box for Danny to see the design. It's a thousand piece nebula puzzle. "I ended up getting you this puzzle. Tim- Your dad told me you love space and are super smart, so I thought you'd enjoy this puzzle."

Danny blinks, looking between the barely adults, before deciding to be funny. He says in his gravest voice. "So you chose bribery."

Danny gets the glorious view of Kon's face dropping in shock. Tim is literally shaking as he tries not to laugh, knowing Danny is pulling the guy's leg. The Drakes let him flounder for a moment, trying to find a response to that, before Danny can't help giggling, which pushes Tim over the edge and start cackling, startling Kon into silence.

"You should have seen your face!" Tim wheezes.

Kon gets a dopey look on his face. "You're just messing with me."

Danny nods with a grin. He wiggles to be put down, which Tim complies with, still giggling. Danny trots up to his template.

"You're silly." Danny informs him before holding his arms up and demanding. "Up!"

Kon quickly sets the puzzle on an end table near him before picking Danny up. He looks a little nervous when Danny stares hard at his face. "Um?"

Danny takes in all the shared features between them, some harder to see with the 16 year age difference, but it's sort of soothing to see. He gets distracted when he notices Kon's piercings, gasping and taking a closer look.

"How!?" He excitedly, but gently grabs Kon's ear piercings. Danny had gotten similar ear piercings when he was a ghost, and he misses them, but figured he wasn't going to be able to get them done in this body. It being nearly indestructible and all.

"Oh, my piercings?" Danny nods, leaning forward to take a closer look. "I'm sure you noticed it's hard to hurt us, but there's a rock called kryptonite, and depending on the colour, different things can happen."

"I thought kryptonite just hurt?" Danny asks, pulling back to look at Kon's face.

"It can. Green kryptonite is the most common, and it will hurt you. It turns off your powers and slowly poisons you, and if not taken away quickly, can kill us. Gold kryptonite is the rarest type and will permanently remove kryptonian abilities and usually leaves permanent injuries. So please do your best to avoid those types." Kon explains, "Red kryptonite should probably also be avoided, it makes kryptonians angry and turns off your inhibitions, but it won't technically hurt you to be exposed to it. The last colour I know of is blue. Blue kryptonite doesn't harm you or mess with your mental abilities. It just turns off all of your kryptonian abilities for however long it touches your skin. I have a blue kryptonite necklace I wear whenever I want tattoos or piercings."

Danny turns pleading eyes to his dad. "Can I get ear piercings??"

Danny can't help, but notice an infatuated smile on Tim's face before the man huffs a laugh and walks over. He runs a hand through Danny's hair.

"If you still want them when you're 5, I'll let you." Tim hums, "I don't want it to be an impulsive decision, and people will be less weird about a five year old getting their ears pierced. You might still get weird looks since you're a boy, but that's their problem, not yours."

"Okay!" Danny cheers. He hasn't told his dad about his past life/afterlife, so he can understand the hesitance over letting 3 year old get a body mod, even if it's just a single set of ear piercings, on what seems like a whim. He's honestly surprised he only has to wait til he's 5. Tim can be a bit of a helicopter parent, but then again, Tim really wants Danny to be his own person, never once shaming him for not fitting into a mold.

His aunts and uncles and grandpa have all made comments when they think he can't hear about how different or similar he is to Kon. Or when he shows gender non-conforming interests. Tim gets mad at them anytime he realizes Danny heard them. He doesn't want Danny to feel bad about any of it. Siting that "no shit" there's going to be similarities and differences, that's how children work, clone or not, and how gender is a social construct. He usually starts picking apart all of his siblings' behaviors at that point, pointing out what they inherented from Bruce, what is trauma born, and what's uniquely their's so he assumes they're from their respective parents, as well as all the things they do that don't fall under what society thinks their gender should do. It's funny, but also very nice. Danny loves his dad.

The true question right now, though, is: will he love, or even just like, his template? Danny doesn't hate what he's heard and seen so far, but actual fondness or affection needs time.

"How about we head to the gym?" Tim says, "Kon can show you some of his powers."

"Can I fly higher?" Danny isn't allowed to fly more than 4 feet in the air. Which is annoying, but fair. Again, he's 3.

"Only if you stay in arm's reach of Kon when you do."

"Okay!!" Danny cheers, purposely flailing around. Kon's hold on him tightens slightly to make sure he doesn't fall, but it's not painful. Another point to the DNA donor. That's about five in his favour during this interaction alone.

"Already flying, little man?" Kon grins.

"Yeah!"

"He figured out how to fly before how to run." Tim chuckles, "Now he does both any chance he gets. It keeps things lively."

"I imagine." Kon's grin turns a little gooey, before letting himself float and zip to the gym. "Let's have so fun!"

Danny can't help his chuckles. Kon flies there faster than Danny's allowed currently. It's fun!

Danny also can't help but notice Tim isn't in a rush to catch up. Meaning Tim fully trusts Kon with Danny's life. That's a trust that took the rest of the family months to gain, even though Tim knew they wouldn't hurt him. Danny isn't sure what to make of that knowledge, but it definitely makes him more inclined to like his template.

And by dinner time, Danny does genuinely like the guy. He respects everything Tim and Danny have to say, shows Danny a bunch of fun tricks with their powers, and let's Danny lead their games. He's fun, nice, and most importantly, not creepy. He clearly likes his dad in a more than friends way, but is hesitant to act on it, clearly not wanting to fuck up with either Tim or Danny.

Unfortunately for Danny, he can see Tim likes Kon back, but his dad is an idiot and doesn't realize it. So now he has to figure out how to get his dad to realize he's into his template without it being weird.

But really, what was Danny expecting? Trying to clone your "best friend" a hundred times isn't exactly hetero behavior. He decides he's going to enlist Uncle Damian and Uncle Jason. It's for his dad's own good at this point.

He also debates on if he's going to try to parent trap them. He likes Kon, but he doesn't know him well enough to commit to the bit just yet. He'll decide later, once he knows more.

#tim drake #batfam shenanigans #danny phantom #danny fenton #kon el #conner kent #dc titans #dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #clone danny #de aged danny #tw sa mention #tw child abuse #tw childhood trauma #tw child death

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norcigs · 1 month ago

Text

TEACH YOU

synop: rough jealous sex! very little plot, mostly just p0rn

warnings: charles is pretty mean, pnv, creampie, face fucking, use of slut, bitch, whore, toy and more.. dom charels, sub reader, spankings!, lot of degrading, some praise, aftercare!!!!

🛁: 4.8K words

you were being bratty. you knew that, you saw the way his jaw locked in place and eyes cut over you. you were pushing the line, and not letting up. charles hooked his pointer fingers in your belt loops on either side, pulling you flush against him. whispering something before he kissed the top of your head.

“if you keep acting like a whore, i'm gonna start treating you like one” he leaned into your ear, before he planted a punctuated kiss to your head, for any onlookers to be fooled by the intimacy.

did he think purring in your ear like that was gonna have you backing off?.. it only made you want it more. thighs clenching as you looked up at him with big wet eyes.

“what do you mean baby” you asked, as your voice towed the line between peace and war. batting your eyelashes, begging him to crack, to show a hint of the blaze behind his sugarsweet exterior.

unfortunately for you, charles didn't need much convincing. hand reaching around your jaw, gently, but demanding. jerking your gaze back onto him, as he pulled you in closer.

“dont act fucking dumb with me” his tone was laced with venom, as warmth spread from your crotch. he moved his hand to rest at the small of your back. not speaking, but still telling you, stay.

the party roared around you, your short red dress, floating against you. charlie's white shirt, wrinkled and top button undone now. people danced and shouted, but there was a stillness around you both. charles, all but twitching, as he waited for you to place the final straw. he could tell you whatever he wanted, praise you, degrade you, anything to make you act right. but both of you knew your mind was made up. you wanted to be taught a lesson, and he was just the guy to teach it. a guy walked toward you, definitely drunk, but carrying a cockiness that made him insufferable.

“hey pretty lady, is this guy your boyfriend” he slurred. charles' hand was still resting on your back. you leaned into him like he was familiar. his hand locked around your side, claiming. eyes darting to you, knowing before you responded, that you were not going to pass up an opportunity to piss him off.

“depends who’s asking” you responded, more for charles than anyone else. the answer was a resounding yes. the hickey he left on your ribcage last night, and the thin silver 16 necklace around your neck was proof enough. charles was your boyfriend, you belonged to him. no amount of teasing or flirting would change that.

the drunk guy took your response as an invitation. his hand raised towards yours, in an act to maybe pull you away. your hand didn't move to him. that wasn’t the game you were playing. charles’ hands dragged from behind you, around to rest on your stomach, encapsulating you. he leaned over your shoulder to speak to the man. hands only keeping you more flush to him. you rolled your hips against him, just in case you weren't already in enough trouble.

“trust me mate, you couldn't handle her” he told the guy, smirking like he had already won. really, he had. you two had an unspoken understanding of what it meant when you acted like this. it was never a betrayal of trust, nor an excuse for you to stray from him. sometimes, you just wanted him to fuck you with the possesion and boiled-blood only this behavior gave him. as the drunk walked away, not daring to tempt your boyfriend again, he dropped his head to your ear, kissing behind it.

“follow me to the car, dont say a fucking word until i ask you too,” he seperated from you, quickly spinning on his heels and walking out. his weight against your back missing made you feel hollow, and gave you an itch only he could scratch.

he didn't turn around, didn't wait for you, didn't slow a step. he walked to the car and sat in the driver’s seat. your heels clicked behind him as you tried to match his longer stride. he started the car without opening your door, or even glancing towards you. for a split second, you thought he might drive off and leave you there, wet and wanting.

when you sat down, dress riding to just below your crotch, you leaned toward him. warm hands wrapping around his bicep, needing to touch him. you pulled your face to his arm, kissing the top of it, sweetly. eyes staring up at him like he was heaven.

“sit still and dont touch me” he said, short, as he peeled your hands off himself. dropping your hands back to your lap, he finished “bad girls like you have to be punished”. his hand snaked around the back of your neck, as he found a grip that made you complacent to how he turned you. twisting you to look right up at him

“do you understand that, slut?” his eyes were dark as he searched your entire face for any glimpse of hesitation. unsurprisingly, he was met with your mouth parting, eager, and your head nodding hard enough to bounce your breasts.

the ride home consisted of you pushing your hips into the seat, and doing anything for charles' attention. pouting and whining when his gazed stayed straight forward, unimpressed by your begging.

parking the car in your driveway, he got out and muttered a quick “follow” to you. you listened, desperate to get inside so maybe he would finally touch you. he continued up the stairs toward your bedroom, as you turned to lock the front door and scurry up with him.

“baby, are you upset with me, i didn't mean–” regret pooled in your throat as charles had never used the silent treatment after you teased him. usually, he would take you to the club bathroom and turn you into mush as he ruined you. ruthless, fast, and mean. but this was different, this was calculated.

“didn't mean to what?” he cut you off as you stepped into the bedroom behind him. “didnt mean to act like some cheap fuck for any guy who stared at you?” he scoffed. “it seemed pretty intentional to me baby, and now you have some apologizing to do” he finished as he stepped towards you, closing the door behind you and keeping you surrounded against the wall.

he put both his hands around your neck and pulled you into a kiss. controlled by your throat, you had no say in how he kissed you. taking whatever he gave you, as your head had already started to go a little fuzzy. one hand moved to the back of your head, hand fisting your hair before he was pulling you down. he leaned over as you landed on your knees.

“been running this fucking mouth all night, gonna show you what it’s really good for” he told you, hand reaching to his belt, unbuckling himself. ripping down his black slacks, and pulling you up enough to be level with his cock.

he kept one hand in your hair, and used the other to free himself. moaning as you made eye contact with his cock. his grip hurt, but your mouth was watering. it was big, and heavy, and he popped it against your chin with force.

“open bitch,” your jaw slacked as he didn't waste a second before filling your throat with his length. your throat was wet and greedy, sucking instantly. he grunted as he angled his hips to fit fully inside you. you were gagging around him, tears already stinging your waterline.

“is this what you wanted? wanted my dick as close to your brain as possible? so it could teach you your fucking place?” he mocked you, as he used his hands to pull your head on and off his cock– using you like a toy.

he laid the back of your head against the edge of the bed, lifting a foot to be level so he could pump himself down you with more force. hips snapping back and forth, his tip bruising a place in your throat you didn't know existed.

you clenched your hands and thighs together. staring up at him as he took what he wanted from you. tall and strong, head tilted back like he was in another world. his hands wrapped around your head, guiding you, felt oddly gentle now. your cunt leaking as you thought about how safe you were. he could be as rough as he wanted, you could fall apart for him completely, and the whole time you would never have to worry, it was still your charlie. your throat relaxed as you thought about how much you loved him.

“thats my girl, just let me use you” his head was still tipped back, but the way his dick was twitching you knew he was close. your tongue started doing what little it could to make it feel better for him. licking and suctioning anytime you could while he fucked your throat for just his pleasure. his mouth parted as noises fell softly from him.

your hands raised to his, his eyes shot back down to you at the softer touch. your doe eyes looking up at him like he was everything. he let his hands go from where he was using them to fuck your face, as you gently guided them back. you continued sucking him at the pace he had set. too hard, and too deep for how you usually liked it. but it was driving him crazy so you weren't going to stop now.

“fucking slut-” his words were long, drawn out like moans. “my fucking slut– all mine, you belong to me” his hands clasped behind his back as he only bucked softly into your begging throat, while you did the rest of the work for him. stood towering above you, like a statue, as you knelt before him, like something to be owned.

he grunted and bit his lip as hard as he could. his hips snapped forward as he kept his eyes trained down onto yours. you felt his whole length twitch before wet hot spurts were coating your throat. his hand reached back around to rest on the top of your head. he slowed your pace, only letting you bob gently, as he worked through his high. eyes shutting, lost in the moment. he blinked them back open to see you still staring at him wide-eyed, with your hands on his thighs keeping his cock as deep as possible. lips puckered perfectly around his length like you were made for it. pleasure surged back through him, sending a shiver down his spine. one last rope hit the roof of your mouth, before he was pulling you off completely.

spit connected his cock to your mouth until you pulled away far enough for the strands to break. you sat back on your ankles, gazing up at him, drunk in love and lust. he sat on the edge of the bed, and used the back of your head to guide your mouth to his. kissing you gently, like even after that, he could break you. the kiss held an unspoken tenderness, one that said, i love you and i trust you.

he grabbed your arms and guided you to crawl up to him, then adjusting to pull on your waist to help you up higher. the kiss began to blur from sweet promises to heated passion. he held your weight as you sat above him, straddling his waist. the kiss was messy now, teeth clacking and spit still resting on your chin. his hand found its way back to your scalp, clenching a fistful and pulling your head down. breaking your lips apart, and exposing your neck. his lips found your sensitive spots instantly.

“should leave dark marks on you hm?” he questioned between kisses, “so people can see what a nasty girl you are?” he continued as his fingers found their way to your still covered core. “parade you around the paddock? my pretty little girlfriend, who just lets me use her like a fleshlight? is that what you want, baby?” he finished, mocking, looking at you with the same stupid innocence you gave him earlier tonight.

you were whining into him now. the need to be fucked out weighing any attitude you had left.

“tell me what you want” he whispered against your skin, taunting you. you curled into him, getting any amount of closeness and friction you could.

“you charli, want you” you pouted and looked at him with gentle desperation. his hand wrapped back around your throat and pulled your lips just millimeters from his.

“dont use that sweet little name, i told you what happens to whores like you. you wanted this” his voice was sharp, hands rough against you. but somehow, his eyes were still so caring. you nodded pathetically as you dropped your head to his shoulder. he pulled the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders. letting it drape around you and lifting your tits out from behind the fabric. he pulled the bottom of the dress up to rest around your waist. your garment bunched into a belt now, he didnt bother pulling it all the way off of you.

your panties showed as he exposed you to him, red lace, breath leaving his mouth before he could catch it at the sight of you. pulling them to the side, he ran his fingers through your folds, never filling the emptiness.

“soaking fucking wet and i havent even touched you yet” he told you as your cheeks flushed. “does sucking my dick really get you this hot, bitch? or do you just like pissing me off?” you wanted to respond, wanted to shave a little cockiness off of him. but as you opened your mouth to retort, he dipped his fingers inside you. all that fell from your plush lips was an uncontrolled moan.

“yeah? you got something to say?” your hips were rolling, shaking your head no, as you didn't dare do anything to make him want to take his fingers out. riding him, leaking on his fingers, as he was barely one knuckle deep inside of you.

“all fours” was all he said as he lifted you to the spot of the bed next to him. knees resting right on the edge of the bed, back arching as you rested on your elbows. he stood behind you, feeling his warmth and stature radiating against your skin with the close proximity. he stared at your heat as you clenched around nothing, waiting. pushing your hips back as it ached to be so empty.

he slapped your ass, the sharp sting shooting through you as his hand soothed the red mark. you bit your lip, trying to keep yourself quiet, failing. the flash of pain returning as he reddened the other cheek.

“how many do you think you deserve, baby?” he stepped closer to you, dick standing straight up and bumping against your clit. his voice was tempting you, basking in the pleasure he got from making you choose your punishment.

“five, five charles please” you said as you struggled to even keep yourself on your elbows. fists clenching around any bedding they could as you desperately tried to keep yourself from falling apart. the slapping noise was louder this time, so was the strangled moan it pulled from you. it hurt more, longer, hitting the same spot he had before. his hand did what it could to soothe you, rub the pain away. but as his left hand connected harshly with the opposite side of your ass again, your moan was unmistakably pained. stinging and sharp, a softer moan following as he gripped the skin of your butt tight.

“taking your spankings so well, being so good for me” he praised you, knowing just when you needed it. keeping you stupid, and rutting against his dick. “can you take your last one honey?” he asked you, voice tender now. he was really asking, you could say no, you knew you could. beg for mercy and he would give it to you, no further questions. he would continue passed it, not letting it ruin the moment if you couldn't. never wanting to hurt you anymore than you asked him to.

“please” was all you muttered as you arched your butt further up to him. the cutting sound and pain followed, softer this time. not noticeably, not unless you really knew charles.

“thats my girl, shh, i know baby” he coaxed you. his hands rubbed at your skin gently. your moans were more sobbish now as the pain slowly weakened against your burning ass.

he grabbed your waist, demanding, controlling, pulling you flush against his front. your cunt parted as his dick made room for itself. separating you, but not filling you. raising your hips ever so slightly so your clit would grind against the veins of his length.

“tell me what you need, tell me who you need, slut” his voice was a ragged whisper. your whole body burned. heat radiating off of you from the inside out. the rush of dopamine feeling overwhelming. your head was spinning as you kept wrecked cries from leaving your mouth. you felt it start to hurt. the emptiness, the need, the want, the itch that covered every part of your skin he didn't touch.

“you– ple– please fuck me” tears streamed down your face as you lost control. it was overpowering. you wanted to turn around, fall to your knees, and cry for his dick. you wanted to tell him you couldn't live without it for one more second. every nerve in your body alight as he hummed softly to you.

he pulled back from you, separating just barely. you felt your throat open, ready to sob, before you could he plunged his cock into you, bottoming out immediately. the noise that was pushed from you was one of pleasure, or relief. they were so blurred together you couldn't tell the difference. he stayed still, for just a moment. a breath long enough for you to adjust, prepare. then he pulled halfway out and snapped his hips back against you with force.

you extended your arms, not capable of staying stable on your elbows. pushing your own face down into the mattress. this time, he used his hands to push your form forward, his tip just barely feeling the cold air before he pulled you back, rough.

the noises were perfectly disgusting. the wetness of your cunt squelching around him. the clap of your hips reconnecting. the way you moaned, charles would describe it as fucking angelic. him grunting behind you as your pussy sucked his cock like it needed it.

completely arched down, charles moved his hands to rest more on your lower back and hips. he used you for leverage. you held a majority of his weight as he pulled his cock and bottomed out with speed and strength. the rhythm was blistering. fast, hard, fucking, not making love. it would hurt tomorrow, but it felt too good to think about that right now. hell, you wanted it to hurt tomorrow.

“who’s pussy is this” he asked you, trying to hold back the purrs that threatened to fall from his own mouth. he moved his hand to the back of your head, turning you to look sideways. you could see him now, just out of the corner of your eye. he could see your face, see just how gone you were. smiling as you faded in and out of reality, thinking solely about his cock pumping in and out of you. his words finally made their way into your fuzzy head.

“is y-yours, always yu-rs” you slurred, eyes rolling gently as you let it all go. charlie wasn't sure if that went more to his dick or his heart. either way, he was now completely focused on making you cum around him. still using your arched back as leverage, he kept rutting into you relentlessly.

he angled his hips just slightly, perfectly adjusting for his tip to land right on the spot that makes you– you were screaming into the mattress. walls fluttering around him like his dick was made to fill you. knocking against the spot that drove you crazy, he watched as everything else left. all that was in your pretty little head was him, his dick, and pleasure.

you clenched around him so tight, it was making it hard to pull out. your cunt was pulling him in, and keeping him held there. he used his hold on your hips to pull and push you onto him. it helped with the movement, but the suction your hole had around him was maddening.

you bounced back and forth at charles’ mercy now. your body was limp, moldable to whatever he wanted. like the only muscle you had left was your tight fucking cunt. every part of you shook as he all but ragdolled you against him.

you opened your mouth to speak, to warn him. but the way you were gushing and clenching around him– he knew you all too well. his tip punished your sweetest spot. a bundle of nerves so deep inside you, somewhere only he could touch.

“i know baby, cum for me, show me how pretty you are when you fall apart” he told you. not needing you to waste any amount of thought on telling him what he already knew.

you tipped over the edge, as he collided with you again, deep and hard, he watched as you found the top of the climax. he couldn't help himself. pulling his hand back and spanking you one more time. the noise was harsh as the sweat on you and his hand aided it. the pain sent you tumbling off the peak before you had any say in it.

your eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in your body lit on fire, clenching up and relaxing entirely. your vision went hot and white behind your eyelids. your ears rang and your mouth dried up. like all of your other senses had shut off completely. like you were controlled entirely by your cunt, and by charles fucking in and out of you.

his thrusts were shallower now, gentler. he worked you through it. feeling the pleasure pour through you when he brushed against the spot he had been bruising. he tried– really tried, not to finish until he milked every drop of pleasure out of your orgasm. but the way your pussy was begging him to fill you, he couldn't deny it any longer.

you felt the surge of warm, stickiness coat your insides. another wave of pleasure washing over you without warning. like charles finishing sent an entire other orgasm crashing through you. you shouted his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

as euphoria drenched all of him, he kept rocking you back on him, coaxing you both. skin buzzing, brain fuzzy, you lazily fucked against him to take everything he had to give you. slowly, you both came down, as charles pumped into you a few more times. the remaining pieces of your orgasm raked through you, sending shivers to different parts of you, until his cock had rubbed every itching nerve satisfied.

your walls squeezed him barely as he left his length inside you while you both caught your breath. his hands were soft now, distinctly different from just moments ago. he leaned over you fully, letting his weight comfort you, ground you, pull you back to reality. brushing your hair to the side and kissing your shoulder so sweetly you could taste it.

“that’s it pretty girl, did so good for me” he whispered in your ear from behind you. hand rubbing and squeezing your sides. “took me so well, made me so proud” he continued as you finally found the strength to raise your eyelids. you blinked, heavy and slow, as a whine escaped you. his cock resting against bundles of nerves that felt overstimulated now. even as he was softening, he was still too big for your aching pussy.

“you ready?” he asked you. genuine, eyes searching. he didn't want to pull out abruptly, didn't want to empty you until you were ready. until you had come down enough to decide when his missing member wouldn't hurt more than it filling you.

“mhm” was all you had in you, as your tight suction relaxed and loosened around him. he dragged out gently, both of you mushy and softening. he rolled you over on your back, as delicate as you imagined an angel might. he returned to laying on you, giving just the right amount of weight to ground you but not overwhelm you.

he tucked his head into your neck, smiling against your soft skin. light kisses scattered across the area and trailing to your collar bones. you watched him, lazy. eyes full of love, admiration, and most importantly, trust.

“i love you” you told him, dreamy and blurred. his heart swelled as he pulled back to look at you. how beautiful you looked now, messy and taken. every inch of you was soft and longing to be held. an ache opened in his chest as he watched you. his beautiful girl.

“i love you, doll” he responded, accent heavy as the tiredness set in. “wanna shower? or just wipe off?” he questioned, not wanting to push you past where you wanted to be.

“jus sleep” you said as he smiled at you, so in love. he wanted you to be relaxed and comfortable. but he cared too much about you to let you go to sleep like this. he kissed you once more, soft, spit connecting you both as he pulled away.

deciding for you, he stumbled to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cool water. grabbing a dry towel as well. he returned to you, pouty, missing him. he grabbed your pjs, something comfy, light and loose.

something between protective, nurturing, and caring flushed charles skin as he knelt down to clean you up. you were exhausted, half asleep as he pulled you to sit up. using the dry towel to wipe your skin down, taking precaution not to be too harsh with the rough towel. he knelt down to your most intimate area, still radiating heat.

“this is gonna be a little cold, bubba, ill be quick” he said as he separated your knees and kissed the inside of your thigh. hissing as he used the wet rag to wipe your leaking and sore pussy. wiping you clean like you were a piece of fine art. detailed and delicate.

he pulled your panties up, cute pink ones with a little bow on the front, soft and silky as to not irritate your skin anymore. pulling his tshirt over your head, you giggled to each other as your arm got caught in the wrong hole.

throwing on a pair of shorts and using the dry towel to wipe himself down, not at all minding your sweat mixing with his. he was finally able to crawl into bed with you. you were very sleepy, lulling into a drowsy state each time charlie looked away from you.

he pulled your form up to his, laying your head on his chest and pulling your knee to have your leg over him as well. his thumbs drew light patterns and shapes on your thigh, as he pulled the covers over you and let you sink into his comfort.

“you okay baby?” he asked you, you didn't need to talk much. he just wanted to be extra sure you were as happy with tonight as he was.

“better than okay, you're pretty good in bed” you joked, tired, but cheeky. he laughed, honestly. mainly it was air escaping his nose, but his smile was big and you could see the white flash through the dark.

“i love you baby” he told you as your breathing slowed. he repeated it a few more times as you fell softly into the embrace of sleep. when you were drifted off entirely, he allowed himself to follow you. eyes heavy as the sound of your heartbeat was echoing around his head, as if it were his own.

#i have no excuses #this is just filth honestly #i would ask for forgiveness but ik u guys are whores too tehe #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #cl16 smut

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aroaessidhe · 2 years ago

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2023 reads

Ethera Grave

multiverse space opera

end of the trilogy

Caiden and Leta have finally reunited, and teamed up with their enemy to defeat his sister who’s trying to collapse the multiverse into one

but the only way to become powerful enough to defeat her might cause him to lose himself

sentient spaceships, lots of alien species, monster pets, bodyswapping, found family

#ethera grave #nophek gloss #essa hansen #aroaessidhe 2023 reads #hmm this was quite slow. or slow for me to read sdajgh #I enjoy the quieter character interaction and interesting world/alien stuff a lot more than the action/plot stuff #like i feel like i don’t quite grasp or care about all the big plot stuff sdfsd #like what are yall doing floating around in consciousness space....what is that about..#(the glossary explaining all the worldbuilding things.......helped at the end lmao)#still brief/vague on the aspec stuff but I guess it makes sense in context #leta is alloace imo?#this also does have a little bit of romances so not 100% a series with no romance #definitely focused/importance on platonic relationships tho

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hyukascampfire · 8 months ago

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𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.

And, there, he stands in front of you.

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”

“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.

“I used to come here all the time,” he says.

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

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