#I set up meetings with three thinking it would be easy

[ink-perfect]

“care to dance, princess?”

you, nami and sanji are gathered for a drink (or five) on the deck, watching as the sun sets. as nami suddenly leaves, however, the once-calm evening takes a more intense turn for the two of you that remain...

as the thousand sunny floats across the waves, gently rocking you side to side, you nudge periodically into your two neighbours: nami and sanji. the three of you are gathered on one side of a table littered with empty beer bottles, watching the sun slowly melt into the end of the ocean and paint the sky brilliant hues of pink, orange and blue. it’s a beautifully tranquil moment, but drunken giggles break the atmosphere each time you and nami make contact.

when it happens with sanji, however, the mood shifts again. your body tenses, and the laughter dies, replaced by an awkward stillness. usually, it’s easy between you two, but tonight, something feels different. the warm glow of candlelight flickers across his face, and the alcohol seems to thicken the air between you, making each accidental brush of your arm against his feel weightier, charged with an unspoken tension that lingers longer than it should.

nami seems to sense this too, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head as she glances between you and sanji. her expression softens into a knowing smile as she starts to rise, unsteadily swaying on her feet. “long day tomorrow… gotta find the best… charting pens… and whatnot… at the island markets,” she slurs, the smirk playing on her lips showing how painstakingly obvious her lie is. before either of you can even think to call her out, she’s already skipping away, her steps clumsy and uneven from the alcohol. this makes sanji laugh, although your frames of mind aren’t any clearer. 

a heavy silence fills the air for a few beats, sending rapid boosts of adrenaline through the both of you, making you feel more sober than ever all of a sudden. without warning, sanji turns to fully face you - this unexpected shift makes a shiver shoot up your spine, equal parts nervousness and excitement. he studies you for a moment, eyes darting across your face, before finally meeting your eyes once more.

“care to dance, princess?”

the question makes you laugh out loud - not because of the request itself, but because of the way it’s delivered: the refined english, the pet name, his extended hand - it’s all so sanji. it’s then that you realise how much his presence brings you comfort. the playful banter, the random flirting that once seemed so casual, now feels like an anchor, something that puts you at ease, holding you to a bay of warmth and familiarity.

sanji doesn’t immediately catch on to the innocent reason behind your laughter, however. his eyes fall, uncertainty flickering across his face. he’s never felt like this before - unsure of his words. the cook, usually a master of smooth lines and endless charm with any woman in sight, has been second-guessing himself lately, especially around you.

it started the moment he realised he liked you for more than just your beauty. the depth of that feeling unsettled him, how naturally you’d taken root in his thoughts. suddenly, his usual flirtatious comments and dramatic proclamations seemed hollow compared to the connection he shared with you. over time, the other women who once caught his eye faded into the background, their allure paling next to the warmth you brought him. he had stopped chasing fantasies, focusing instead on the real moments he had with you. 

as your laughter fades and you catch sight of his expression, you reach out and take his hand, squeezing it softly in reassurance. the slight upward curve of your lips, the sparkle in your eyes - these things tell him what he needs to know. he’s fine.

“i’m laughing because you’re such a dork, sanji,” you explain, the softness in your laughter steadying his racing heart. “but yes, i would love to dance with you.”

his grin returns, brighter than before, and with a smooth twirl of his wrist, he pulls you gently to your feet. you don’t know how he's organised it, but music begins to play. your right hand finds his left, while his other arm slips around your waist, locking the two of you into an incredibly close position. you and sanji begin to sway, smiling like fools as you try to figure out footwork and coordination. once you find a steady rhythm, the atmosphere shifts once more - this time, into something even more exhilarating.

“you’re not so bad at this, buster.” you tease, your voice cracking with nervousness as you pull him closer.

sanji raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “not so bad? love, you won’t find a dancer better than me anywhere across the seven seas,” he declares, his voice oozing with confidence. the teasing glint in his eye only makes you laugh harder, the tension between you softening as he leans into his familiar charm, effortlessly pulling you into his world with that signature bravado.

you give him an exaggerated nod as a response, feigning agreement, but a part of you knows that there is truth in his proclamation. his firm hand on the small of your back, his focused yet still flirtatious look, the way he leads you with him across the deck - he really is skilled. 

so much so that the world outside of this moment ceases to exist. as you look into his eyes, the cook's heart beats wildly: not because of a passing crush or a whimsical flirtation for once. it's because he’s dancing with you - someone who’s become so much more than a fleeting fancy. the moment is the most intimate feeling he’s ever had, and his cheeks feel like molten lava. it is insane to him that his hands are on you right now, not only because he has craved your touch, but because he can feel how real you are. from where his arm is perched, your heartbeat drums into his palm, sending warmth coursing through his veins with every thump. he’s with you, and to him that is a blessing.

as the song draws to a close, sanji pulls you even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “this is the best dance i've ever had.”

you tilt your head slightly, catching his gaze. the intensity in his eyes, the way they hold yours with such depth, tells you more than words ever could. you smile, a soft, genuine smile that reaches your eyes. “i’d have to agree. it’s perfect.”

the music fades, but neither of you makes a move to break the embrace. instead, you remain in that shared space, savouring the closeness and the unspoken promise of what could be. as the last notes of the song drift away, sanji takes a deep breath, his fingers gently grazing up and down your back.

with a soft, contented sigh, he leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “then let’s make more of these moments, yeah?”

your heart swells, and you nod, wanting nothing more. “i’d love that.”

and so, as the thousand sunny continues to sail under the starry sky, you and sanji stand together, holding each other. every glance and smile exchanged says what words can’t: that something between the two of you has shifted for good, and you are so ready for whatever it entails.

-- ౨ৎ

masterlist

[reidsworld]

Scars of Time Chapter Three: (Don't Fear) The Reaper

Summary: In which you and Logan meet the X-Men.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Fluff, Angst

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, arguing, use of Y/N

Word Count: 5.3k

Song… (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult

Mars speaks… hey… it’s been a while😅 picked this song cause i couldn’t think of anything else that would fit this lmao

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | < Previous Part | Next Part >

2000

The road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the wilderness. Logan gripped the wheel of his truck, eyes focused on the horizon, while you sat beside him, your hand resting lightly on his thigh. It had been three years since that night in the bar, and in that time, your lives had become a shared journey through the vast, ever-changing landscape of North America.

In those three years, you'd weathered countless miles together, each town a fleeting chapter in your story. From the initial sparks of connection, your relationship had deepened into something profound and steady. You’d grown accustomed to the life of constant movement, of nights spent in dingy motels and mornings starting with the scent of gasoline and cigars. Each stop had its own rhythm, its own set of challenges and triumphs, but through it all, you and Logan had found a rhythm of your own.

You'd learned to navigate his world of violence and seclusion with a blend of tenderness and resilience. The nights after his fights were always a mix of adrenaline and intimacy, where the rough edges of his life softened in the glow of your presence. You’d watched him slowly let down the walls he’d built around himself, revealing glimpses of vulnerability that were rare and precious.

Despite the unsteady nature of your life, there was a comforting familiarity in your days together. The way he would glance at you from the driver's seat, the way his laughter would break through the silence of the truck's cab—these were the moments that anchored you, making the chaos of your travels feel almost like home.

But as you settled into this routine, you couldn’t help but feel a lingering restlessness. The sense of always being on the run, the uncertainty of where you’d end up next, gnawed at you. You had found something enduring with Logan, a love that made the dark moments lighter, but there was an unspoken longing for a place where you could both put down roots, a place where the endless road could finally come to an end.

“Where are we headed next?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Logan glanced at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a gig lined up in Laughlin City. Figured I’d make a little cash.”

You sighed, knowing exactly what that meant. “Another fight?”

Logan’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of mild irritation. “It’s easy money, Y/N.”

You turned to face him, concern etched in your features. “Logan, you don’t need to do this. We don’t need the money that bad.”

“I don’t get hurt,” he countered, his tone defensive. “You know that.”

“I know,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it’s not about that. I don’t like seeing you in that ring, taking hits just for a few bucks. It… it feels wrong. And I—”

“Y/N, I’m fine,” Logan interrupted, though his tone lacked its usual gruffness. “I can handle it.”

You reached out and placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know you can. But I love you, Logan. And it scares me, watching you fight like that. Even if you don’t get hurt, I don’t want you to keep doing it.”

Logan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. He didn’t respond, but the tension in his jaw told you he was listening.

The crowd roared, their shouts echoing off the grimy walls of the underground arena, but for you, the noise faded into a distant hum. Your eyes were fixed on Logan in the ring, the harsh lights casting deep shadows across his face. The man he was fighting was relentless, landing blow after brutal blow, and every strike seemed to land with a sickening thud. Each punch, each slam, was like a knife twisting in your heart. You clenched your fists, your knuckles turning white, as you watched Logan take hit after hit, his normally stoic expression faltering with each brutal impact. The sight of him, battered and bloodied, made it hard to breathe, your worry intensifying with every second he remained in the ring.

As Logan endured the relentless assault, your silent pleas became a quiet mantra in the chaos of the arena. Your eyes never left him, and in the midst of the pounding fists and frenzied crowd, you found yourself whispering, “Come on, Logan. Fight back. You can do it.” Despite the roar of the spectators, your voice, though soft, cut through the din, reaching him clearly thanks to his heightened senses.

Logan’s head snapped in your direction, catching the unwavering support in your eyes. A spark ignited in him, and he straightened, shaking off the disorientation from the pounding he’d endured. With a fierce growl, he shifted gears, his movements swift and precise. The change was instantaneous; where he had been a punching bag, he now became a whirlwind of fury. With a series of powerful strikes and calculated blows, Logan took control, swiftly and decisively turning the tide of the fight. The crowd’s cheers grew louder as the man crumpled under Logan’s relentless assault, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

After the fight, the crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving the area around the cage quiet and littered with the aftermath of the night’s events. Logan emerged from the cage, his chest glistening with sweat and a satisfied, albeit weary, expression on his face. He made his way over to where you were waiting, arms crossed, your eyes tracking his every move with a mix of concern and annoyance.

You approached him as he reached you, handing him his clothes with a sigh. “Here you go,” you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. “You know I hate seeing you like this.”

Logan took the clothes from you, pulling his shirt over his head and slipping into the jacket. He met your gaze with a look of regret. “I know, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

You gave him a soft but resigned smile. “I love you.”

He managed a small smile in return, though the guilt in his eyes was evident. “I love you too, darlin'. Now come on, I need a beer.”

You both walked across the dimly lit room to the bar. Logan’s heavy steps were matched by your lighter ones, the silence between you filled with unspoken understanding.

As the two of you sat down on the bar stools, Logan spoke, "I'll have a beer and…"

“I’ll just have some water, please,” you added.

Logan pulled out some cash as he took a drag of his cigar. The bartender quickly brought over your drinks before turning to get Logan’s change. As the TV played the news, you couldn’t help but glance over at the only other person sitting at the bar, a girl.

“Ellis Island… opening its doors again… Preparations are nearly completed for the upcoming United Nations World Summit… The leaders of over 200 nations will discuss issues ranging from… to the mutant phenomenon…”

The last few words spoken by the news reporter caught both your and Logan’s attention. You noticed the girl perk up at those words before turning her head toward you as if she thought you were onto her for some reason. You squinted your eyes as you made eye contact with her.

The sound of footsteps approaching and a tap on Logan’s shoulder caused the two of you to turn around.

“You owe me some money,” the man from Logan’s last fight said. His friend tried to get him to walk away, but he quickly brushed him off.

“No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it.”

He shrugged his friend off again and leaned in to whisper in Logan’s ear.

“I know what you are.”

Logan turned his head. “You lost your money. You keep this up, you’ll lose something else.”

The man began to walk away but quickly turned back around with a knife.

“Look out!” the girl shouted.

“Logan!”

Logan turned and pinned the guy. His claws extended on both sides of the man’s neck, the middle claw slowly inching toward his throat.

“Get out of my bar, freak,” the bartender said, cocking his shotgun at the back of Logan's head. In one swift motion, Logan sliced through the shotgun, sending gunpowder and debris flying everywhere.

He growled, glancing between the bartender, the man, and the girl.

“Logan, let’s go,” you said sternly. His claws retracted as he looked into your eyes. You nodded toward the exit before moving to leave. You made eye contact with the girl one last time as Logan followed you out. The weight of their gazes lingered on the two of you as you left the barn-like building.

The truck’s engine rumbled softly as it idled, parked in the dimly lit lot beside the bar. The cool night air seeped through the slightly open windows, mingling with the lingering tension from the night’s events. Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements a bit jerky as he tried to shake off the adrenaline still coursing through him.

You followed him into the truck, the door shutting behind you with a heavy thud. You glanced at him, noting the way his fingers clenched the steering wheel as if trying to ground himself. He glanced over, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes.

“What the hell was that back there?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling under the surface. “You didn’t need to escalate things like that.”

Logan scoffed, and he shot you a look of irritation. “I escalated things? He was the one who pulled a knife on me, Y/N. I was just defending myself.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I get that he had a knife, but you didn’t need to go to the extreme. You could’ve handled it differently.”

Logan's expression shifted, the frustration in his eyes mingling with something softer. “What do you want me to do? Let him stab me? I was protecting us.”

You moved closer, placing your hands gently over his. “It’s not just about the fight. It’s about how it affects you. I don’t like seeing you like this—having to fight and getting into these kinds of situations.”

Logan's shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked down at his hands, where the claws had retracted. You could see the residual tension in his grip, a reminder of the struggle that had just occurred.

“Let me help,” you said softly, your voice soothing as you began to heal the lingering pain in his hands, your hands emitting a soft glow. The warmth of your touch seemed to bring a sense of calm, even if the emotional strain was still there.

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, the discomfort easing as your healing ability worked its magic. When he finally met your gaze again, his eyes held a mix of appreciation and regret. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… sometimes I feel like I need to prove something, to show that I’m still in control.”

You shook your head, a gentle smile on your lips despite the frustration still simmering. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, Logan. I just want you safe. You mean too much to me to see you getting hurt like this.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and he gave you a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful.”

You nodded, giving his hands a final reassuring squeeze before pulling back. “That’s all I ask.”

With a sigh, Logan turned the key in the ignition, and the truck’s engine roared to life. As he drove away from the bar, the silence between you was filled with a quiet understanding, the night’s events slowly giving way to the comforting routine of being together.

Logan slowed the truck, his sharp eyes narrowing at the sound of a thudding noise coming from the trailer behind. The faint echo reverberated through the night, unsettling the quiet rhythm of the drive.

“Stay here,” he muttered, his voice low and commanding, the unspoken edge of protectiveness familiar to you by now.

You nodded, not arguing, even though you hated being left in the dark. His hand briefly brushed yours as he reached for the door handle, a silent reassurance before he stepped out, disappearing into the shadows. Alone in the truck, you strained to listen. Muffled voices reached you, Logan's gruff tone unmistakable.

Moments later, the truck door swung open, and Logan climbed back inside, his movements abrupt. The slam of the door jolted the quiet atmosphere, making you raise an eyebrow at him.

“No, you didn’t,” he growled, his face set in a tight scowl.

You shot him a look, silently asking for an explanation. Logan sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. His frustration hung heavy in the air.

“Just some kid tryin’ to hitch a ride,” he muttered, but you caught the tension in his voice, a hint of something deeper.

You exchanged a glance with him, silently asking really? Before you could press him further, the truck lurched to a stop again. Logan avoided your gaze for a second before the passenger door opened, and a familiar face climbed in—the girl from the bar.

You shifted in your seat, sliding closer to Logan to make room for her. He grumbled under his breath, but didn’t protest. His arm brushed yours, a subtle reminder of the space you two shared—close and protective, even in moments like these.

With a soft smile, you reached into the glove box, pulling out a granola bar. “Figured you might be hungry,” you said, handing it to her.

The girl looked surprised at the kindness, her guarded expression faltering. “Thanks,” she mumbled, quickly taking off her gloves and devouring the snack.

“I’m Rogue,” she said after a moment, her voice tentative but grateful.

“Y/N,” you replied, your tone friendly. “Nice to meet you.”

You offered her a reassuring smile, sensing the weight she carried behind her eyes. She glanced over at Logan, then at you, as if trying to piece together your relationship. When she noticed Logan's dog tags around his neck, her curiosity won out.

“Were you in the army?” she asked, her voice soft but direct. “Don’t those mean you were in the army?”

Logan’s face hardened instantly, and without a word, he tucked the tags back under his shirt. You reached over and lightly touched his arm, grounding him. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his shoulders eased at your touch. You had that effect on him—an unspoken comfort.

Rogue looked around the truck, her eyes sweeping over the worn seats, the cluttered dashboard, the makeshift home you'd both created on the road. "Wow," she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“What?” you and Logan asked in unison, making her pause.

“Suddenly, my life doesn’t look so bad,” she said bluntly, though there was no malice in her tone, just raw honesty.

You scoffed lightly at her words, but it was more amused than offended. “Hey, if you prefer the road…”

“No, no!” Rogue quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It looks great. Cozy, even.”

You noticed her rubbing her hands together, trying to warm them. Without a second thought, you turned the heater on and gestured towards the vents. “Here, put your hands by the heater,” you suggested warmly, moving to help her.

She recoiled instantly, her body language suddenly tense. “It’s nothing personal,” she explained hurriedly, slipping her gloves back on. “It’s just… when people touch my skin, something happens.”

You furrowed your brow in concern, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of something?” you asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Rogue admitted, her voice quieter now. “They just get hurt.”

There was a heavy silence, only broken by Logan's low voice. “Fair enough,” he grunted, taking a drag from his cigar as he gripped the wheel.

“When they come out, does it hurt?” Rogue asked, her gaze shifting to Logan’s hands.

“Every time,” Logan responded gruffly, but his hand reflexively tightened under yours. You glanced at Logan, noticing his usual stoic expression falter for just a second. You placed your hand gently on his thigh, offering comfort. He didn’t flinch—your touch was something that always calmed him. Even after all this time, you knew the pain he felt from his claws coming out lingered, not just physically, but deep in his mind. You squeezed his thigh gently, silently reminding him he wasn’t alone in this.

“So… what kind of name is Rogue?” Logan asked after a beat, clearly trying to shift the conversation.

Rogue smiled faintly, catching on. “I don’t know. What kind of name is Wolverine?”

You let out a soft laugh before speaking up. “His name is Logan,” you teased, giving Logan a playful nudge. He rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying his amusement.

Rogue’s curiosity didn’t stop there. “Marie,” she said, introducing herself. “Are you like us? Why don’t you have a code name?”

You shrugged, glancing out the window as the road stretched endlessly ahead. “Yeah, I can heal people,” you said, a bit casually. “But I guess I’ve never really had a reason to come up with one.”

Rogue seemed to take a liking to you, her smile warmer now. “You should think of one. Something cool.”

“I’ll let ya know when I do,” you smiled back at her, then turned to Logan, who was watching the exchange silently. There was something unspoken between the three of you now—a connection. Maybe not a family, but something close enough to survive the road ahead.

“You know, you should wear your seatbelt,” Rogue said, breaking the tense silence that had settled in the truck.

Logan glanced sideways at her, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “Hey, look, kid, I don’t need advice on auto safety–”

Before he could finish, the truck lurched violently as it crashed headlong into a fallen tree, the impact cutting him off mid-sentence. The force sent Logan hurtling through the windshield, shattering glass in every direction. Your heart pounded as you braced against the dashboard, barely processing the chaos.

By the time you gathered your senses, you could already see Logan slowly standing up outside, a deep gouge in his face knitting itself back together as his healing factor kicked in.

“You guys alright?” His voice, gruff but steady, called out.

You nodded, shaken but unhurt, though your eyes immediately darted to Rogue. She was clearly panicking, her hands gripping the seat tightly. “I’m stuck!” she shouted, her voice rising with fear.

Logan’s attention snapped to something behind you. His nose twitched, and his expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air. That familiar, unnerving look crossed his face—the one that always signalled danger.

“Lo?” you asked cautiously, fear creeping into your voice as his claws suddenly unsheathed with a menacing snikt.

Before you could react, a massive figure lunged out of the darkness, crashing into Logan with bone-crushing force and throwing him into a nearby tree. The sickening sound of the impact echoed in the night.

“Logan!” You screamed, heart racing. Instinctively, you scrambled to get out of the truck, but your attention shifted to the trailer, where flames were already licking at the edges. Rogue needed help, and fast.

You turned back to her, torn between rushing to Logan’s side or getting Rogue to safety. The loud, bone-rattling sound of Logan’s body slamming onto the roof of the truck made your decision for you. You forced yourself to trust that Logan would be okay—he always was.

The fire roared louder, and the truck groaned under the heat, its metal frame straining. You leaned over toward Rogue, your voice trying to sound calm despite the chaos. “It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

Panic flared in Rogue’s eyes, but she nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The fire cast eerie shadows, growing brighter as the situation worsened. You kept trying to reassure her, working quickly to free her from the seatbelt.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted, and you spotted two figures in the distance. A beam of energy shot toward the towering man attacking Logan, sending him flying back. Your heart pounded harder—whoever they were, they were helping.

Just as you managed to loosen Rogue’s seatbelt, the truck door was ripped open. A man stood there, his face set with determination. Without a word, he shot a beam of red light from his eyes, severing the seatbelt in one clean hit. His presence was commanding, and there was no time to question it.

“Come on!” he shouted, pulling you and Rogue free just as the truck exploded behind you. The force of the blast sent heat and debris in every direction, but you were already clear, tumbling into the dirt with Rogue at your side.

The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin, but it did little to calm your nerves. Logan lay on a stretcher nearby, still unconscious, his usual tough exterior softened by sleep. His face was unmarred now, thanks to his healing factor, but you could sense the tension still lingering in the air. You sat beside him, your hand resting on his arm, grounding yourself in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Across from you, Rogue sat stiffly in her seat, her wide eyes darting between the unfamiliar figures in the cockpit. The man behind the controls—Cyclops—glanced back occasionally, his visor hiding any readable expression. The woman beside him, with striking white hair and an air of quiet calm, gave you a reassuring smile before turning her attention back to the flight.

You could feel the tension building in your chest. The silence was heavy, and finally, you couldn't hold back any longer. “Where are you taking us?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. Your protective instincts were on high alert.

Storm turned her chair slightly to face you, her tone gentle but firm. “We’re taking you to a safe place—the X-Mansion. You’ll be protected there.”

You frowned, glancing down at Logan before meeting her eyes again. “Protected from what? Who are you people?”

Cyclops turned slightly in his seat, his posture rigid. “We’re mutants, like you and Logan. We’re part of the X-Men—a group that helps others like us.”

Your grip on Logan’s arm tightened slightly, a defensive reaction to the unknown. “And how do you know so much about us?” you asked, your voice edged with suspicion. You hadn’t trusted anyone in years, especially not people who seemed to know more than they were letting on.

Storm met your gaze, her expression softening with understanding. “We’ve been monitoring unusual activity involving mutants in the area. Logan’s powers—his healing factor, his claws—aren’t exactly subtle, and neither are yours. We knew you’d eventually need help.”

Your stomach twisted uneasily at the thought of being watched. “So, what—you’ve just been spying on us?”

Cyclops shook his head, his tone steady but firm. “It’s not like that. We monitor for mutant activity because we’ve seen what happens when people like us get caught by the wrong hands. We’re trying to prevent that from happening to you.”

Your eyes narrowed, scepticism flaring. “You mean like the people who attacked us?”

“Exactly,” Storm said softly. “There are people out there—organisations—that hunt mutants. They want to control us, or worse, eliminate us. We’ve seen it happen.”

The words hit harder than you expected, the reality of what she was saying sinking in. You and Logan had been on the run for so long, always keeping a low profile, always expecting the next fight. But somehow, they had still found you.

Rogue, sensing the tension in the air, shifted in her seat. “So… this mansion,” she asked tentatively, “what is it, like a school?”

Storm nodded, her expression softening as she addressed Rogue. “Yes, it’s a school where mutants learn to control their powers. But it’s also a home, a place where you don’t have to hide who you are.”

Rogue’s eyes lit up slightly at the idea. “That sounds… kind of nice,” she murmured, clearly intrigued by the thought of not having to be afraid of her own abilities.

You, on the other hand, remained wary. “And what about Logan?” you pressed, your gaze flicking back to him. “What happens to him?”

Cyclops turned in his seat to face you fully. “Logan will be safe. Professor Xavier—he’s the one who runs the school—can help him. He’s helped a lot of us.”

“Help him how?” you asked, brow furrowing. You had spent years watching Logan battle with the fragments of his memory, struggling to piece together the life he could barely remember. The idea of someone messing with his mind didn’t sit right with you.

“Xavier’s a telepath,” Storm explained, her voice gentle. “He can help Logan recover memories, if that’s what he wants.”

Your stomach twisted again at the thought of someone digging through Logan’s head, dredging up things that might be better left forgotten. “And what if he doesn’t want to remember?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost pleading.

“That’s his choice,” Cyclops said simply. “We’re not forcing him into anything. But at least he’ll have the chance to decide.”

You glanced down at Logan, his usually sharp, focused expression softened in sleep. The thought of him having answers, of finally putting the pieces together, was tempting, but the risks felt too high.

Rogue’s voice broke through your thoughts. “So… there’s more of us? At the mansion?”

Storm smiled, her eyes warm. “Yes. There are students and teachers—others like you who are learning to control their abilities.”

Rogue looked over at you, her expression hopeful, and you offered her a small nod, though your own uncertainty still weighed heavily on you. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone.

You weren’t so sure. Trust didn’t come easily, especially after so many years of running, hiding, and fighting to survive. But as the jet sped through the sky, you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe, just maybe, this place could offer something different. Something better.

Your hand squeezed Logan’s gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles as the X-Mansion came into view through the jet’s window.

You sat in Charles Xavier’s office, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on your chest. The polished wood desk, the rows of ancient books, and the stillness of the room seemed surreal, a stark contrast to the chaos you had barely escaped. Your thoughts wandered to Logan, who was being monitored in the basement by Jean Grey. You hated being apart from him after everything that had happened.

The door creaked open, and instinctively, your head shot up. Logan stepped into the room, looking a bit out of place in black sweatpants and an oversized X-Men sweater, half-zipped and worn without a shirt. His eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for you, and when they found you, the tension in his shoulders eased.

You stood up from your chair and crossed the room to meet him halfway. The second you were within reach, Logan pulled you into a firm embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if confirming you were real, safe. His grip was strong, a little desperate, and you could feel the exhaustion radiating from him.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but thick with concern.

You pressed your face against his chest, the familiar warmth of him grounding you. “I’m fine,” you whispered. “What about you?”

Logan pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His eyes searched yours, lingering for a moment longer than usual, as if ensuring you were truly unharmed. “I’m alright,” he said softly, but his expression tightened. “Where’s the girl?” he asked, referring to Rogue.

“Rogue? She’s here, safe,” Charles answered calmly from behind his desk.

Logan’s attention snapped to Charles, his brows furrowing. “Really?”

Before you could say anything else, the door opened again. Two people entered—one a tall man with a visor, the other a striking woman with white hair. Their expressions were calm, but serious, a contrast to the light banter you often shared with Logan.

Charles wheeled forward slightly, gesturing to them. “Ah, Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm, and Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.”

You smiled at them in recognition, offering a small, polite hello. They nodded back, their gazes assessing but not unfriendly.

Another figure walked in behind them, a woman with red hair and a composed presence.

“And I believe you’ve already met Dr. Jean Grey,” Charles added with a faint smile.

Logan gave a nod but remained guarded, his eyes following Jean as she moved to stand next to Charles.

“You’re in my school for the gifted,” Charles continued. “For mutants. You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”

Logan crossed his arms over his chest, his scepticism apparent. “What’s a Magneto?” The question came out almost simultaneously from both you and Logan, and you shared a small look.

Charles didn't seem fazed by the interruption. “He’s a very powerful mutant who believes a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a real stand-up guy.”

Charles pressed on, his voice measured. “I’ve been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is one of his associates—someone known as Sabretooth.”

Logan’s brow shot up at that, and a short, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Sabretooth?” His tone dripped with sarcasm as he turned toward Storm, pointing at her with a click of his tongue, “Storm.”

He shifted his gaze to Charles, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What do they call you? Wheels?”

A brief silence hung in the air as Logan’s remark settled. You shot him a look, trying to rein in the humour bubbling up, but his teasing was a small relief after the stress of the day.

Charles, unflappable, merely smiled. But Logan wasn’t done. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. With a quick glance at you, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

Before you could even react, Scott stepped into Logan’s path, blocking the exit. Logan immediately dropped your hand and squared off with Scott, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer.

“Cyclops, right? You wanna get out of my way?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Logan, stop,” you urged, stepping forward and reaching for his arm. “Just hear him out, okay?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling as if he was ready for a fight, but he stayed still. You could feel the tension between him and Scott, thick in the air.

Before things could escalate, Charles spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “Logan,” he said quietly, his tone cutting through the room. “It’s been almost 15 years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are.”

Logan’s grip on Scott loosened, his expression shifting. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

Charles didn’t stop. “Give me a chance,” he said gently. “I may be able to help you find some answers.”

Logan looked over at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “How do you know?” he asked, his voice low but edged with vulnerability.

Instead of answering aloud, Charles’ voice echoed in Logan’s mind. You could see the brief flash of shock on his face as he realised what had just happened.

Logan blinked, the hard edges of his expression softening into a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “What is this place?” he asked, a faint, bemused grin tugging at his lips.

Charles smiled kindly. “Come,” he said, gesturing to both of you. “I’ll show you two around.”

Mars speaks... (again) guess who finally updated!! Any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

Tags... @annagraceevanss @jane-the-virgin0 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @paintlavillered @morganas-pendragons @lanabobana @inthetub @kellyxo1 @lillycore @twinky-wink @politicstanner @emiemiemiii @savy-luvs-dilfs @charlyrmv @rockerchick05 @londonbeachgirl @lefroggie @swthxrrry @marifilue @th3mrskory @aesthetic0cherryblossom

[frogwithgun]

Omg what is happening guys?

Y'all loved part one so much lol

So screw it part two here!

Anyways enjoyyyyy

------------------------

"Dad come on! You've been sitting here forever." Nanako said, attempting to push Geto off the couch. Why was he on the couch anyways?

Great question.

See, Geto had the rare opportunity to meet the CEO of Six Eyes Inc.. Where he failed to recognize that unmistakable face and charm. And then got asked for his number. Which would have been a dream come true for the man.

The girls know from all those hours he'd spend watching interviews about Gojo Satoru that he had a celebrity crush of some sorts. So he should have been elated to give out his number! And he would have as well.

If he hadn't told him that he doesn't give out his number while working. "No. Let me die here." Mimiko came along and together the twins were able to push him off the couch and onto the floor. Still he didn't move.

"Dad come on! You need to go to work." Now they both tried to get him to sit up. And it wasn't easy to move him. So they just gave up. Making Geto hit his head on the hardwood floor. "Ow! Alright fine." He grumbled.

And that is how he found himself standing in front of that corner store wondering if he took a wrong turn. The store had been redesigned entirely. It looked expensive now. Jesus did they all want modern looks?

He brushed it off and walked inside. Stepping behind the register and into the break room. At least that was the same. The air conditioner still screamed in protest. The lights still flickered slightly. And the furniture was still broken.

Geto set his things down on the table carefully. He knew that slamming them down would make the table collapse. Whether that was from experience or not he wouldn't say.

He turned around and jumped. "JESUS CHRIST!" He cried and put a hand over his heart. The man who had snuck up on him looked far to formal to be there.

His hair was a almost perfect blonde. And he wore glasses that suited him well. His eyes were a shade of hazel that looked beautiful. And he wore a suit for some reason. The strangest part was that he had a gray suit, with a blue undershirt, and a yellow speckled tie.

Just what was going on? The man didn't smile. Nor did he laugh. He simple sighed. "Not Jesus. Nanami Kento." Geto nodded. Still slightly jumpy. Now he really was suspicious. "Uh hi? I'm Geto-" "Yes I know your name." Rude much? Geto thought to himself.

Nanami seemed to know what he was thinking. And chose to ignore it. "I am your new manager. Your place of work has been bought by Six Eyes Inc. and I have been chosen to oversee it. You report to me." This had to be some dream.

Or maybe it was a joke? Yeah that was probably it. Geto laughed and shook his head. "Alright, you got me. Hilarious." Geto started to gather his hair into a half bun. "Come on man, let's get to work." Nanami raised an eyebrow.

Then Geto stopped and mimicked him. "Stop that at once. You think I would joke about this?" Geto looked around the break room. Making a vague gesture around. "I mean, yeah." Nanami looked at the break room in disgust.

Then Nanami sighed. "You are not what I was expecting." He muttered. Geto nodded. The gauges in his ears were probably strike one. And the fact that he had lip piercings, an eyebrow piercing, and a septum piercing.

Of course that combined with the fact that he had a couple tattoos was probably what Nanami was talking about. "Are you in a gang or something?" Geto laughed and shook his head. "No. Just have a lot of tattoos." Nanami sighed.

This was going to be a headache.

---------------------

Yeah this is definitely a headache.

It had only been an hour into his shift and he's already had three customers complain about the quality of certain products. "Ma'am I just work here. I don't make the products." Despite that, none of them listened.

The only thing going for him was the fact that Nanami actually defended him. Unlike his previous manager. That was something going for him at least.

And Nanami happened to be rather observant as well. He could tell when a customer was about to blow up or when they were about to try and trick Geto. Which he did not stand for at all.

Nanami is terrifying.

---------------------------

"So Six Eyes inc., what's that like?" Geto was trying to make small talk with Nanami. And found it very difficult. "The CEO is a manchild and impulsive. He acts like he's 12 when he's 28. It's like he never grew up." Nanami said exasperated.

Geto nodded. I just wanted to know what it was like, not your whole life story. But ok I guess. "Oh that sounds bad." Nanami nodded. "It is. He's so immature and reckless. Honestly the only reason the company hasn't collapsed yet is because of me." I doubt it.

Geto felt like Nanami might hate Gojo. Just a little bit. "So why do you work there?" Nanami looked at him. Face blank. "Money." Well, at least he's straight forward? Nanami gave a slight huff and leaned his head back.

Still terrifying.

-----------------------

Ijichi jumps as the doors to the office slam open. A disheveled Gojo holding them open with a gleam in his eyes. "Ijichi!~" The man in question gulps. That sing song tone of voice is never a good sign. Not even when it's said in such a cheerful way.

Gojo strides into the room with a slight bounce in his step. "The store is mine now! So that means," he drums his fingers on the desk as he plops down into his plush leather chair, "he's my employee!"

Again, poor Ijichi cannot tell where this conversation is going. "Yes?" Gojo laughs and springs out of his chair. Striding over to Ijichi and tossing his arms around him. "Yes! That means I have an excuse to talk to him!" Because just talking to him like a normal person would be so hard. Ijich thinks to himself.

But he says nothing. To afraid of the white haired man to say anything other then "Yes sir." Which Gojo takes happily. "Now I just have to figure out how to get him in here." Ijichi looks at the still open doors.

So close, yet so far. "Ijichi! Don't run now! We were just getting started!~"Oh God he's trapped.

---------------

Three grueling hours later and Gojo has concocted a 'master plan'. And Ijichi is still staring longly at the now closed doors.

Gojo happily sits at his desk. Eating a lollipop. As he often does. In many interviews he has admitted to freely having a sweet tooth. He's more famous for it because of the amount of candy he eats in interviews.

Seriously it is a major problem. "Alrighty then! All I have to do is call him into my office and bada bing bada boom, we start dating." Of all plans Ijichi has ever heard, that one is probably the worst.

Scratch that, definitely the worst. "Sir do you even know anything about him?" Gojo puts a hand over his heart. "I am wounded! Of course I know about him! He's 6'3, has two daughters, works at the corner store I bought, and is the one."

"How do you know he has two daughters?" Gojo smiles. "He has hair on his work uniform. I imagine they like to hug him a lot. And the hair colors just didn't match his." Now Ijichi is just disturbed. "How long have you spent looking at him?"

Gojo waves his hand and turns away from Ijichi. "Oh just two or three years." He mumbles. And Ijichi just decides he'd rather ignore it then say something. "Sir you need to talk to him." Gojo rolls his eyes. "My good looks will talk for me."

--------------------

His good looks did not in fact talk for him.

He called Nanami and told him to bring Geto to his office. And now they are just staring at each other. Not saying a single word. And it's starting to look like Gojo might actually have to try.

"¥2,000 says Gojo fails and fucks it up." Nanami whispers to Ijichi. Who shakes his head. He's sure Gojo won't fuck it up. After all he's Gojo-

"You stupid prick! How could you?!" And he spoke to soon. Nanami holds his hand out to Ijichi who reluctantly hands over the money. "No I just meant that I could never because they're a waste of time!"

Oh Gojo is really fucking it up.

-----------------------

And here is part two! I'm sorry if this isn't written very well lol. English is very hard and I'm not the best with it. But I do hope you enjoy this shitty part two.

Lots of love tadpoles 💚💚💚

[h0neyfreak]

Choosing a wedding photographer was easily top ten most stressful decisions about how to spend a lot of money on account of all wedding photographers being talented and friendly and fun to talk to and my crippling inability to let people down or reject them. I kind of assumed there would be one natural choice but then there were two and I was ready to call off the whole wedding and fake my death.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[anadiasmount]

as time gets close - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: almost close to your due date, what is wrong with a late-night grocery trip with your very excited and anxiously waiting fiance?

wc: 1.8k | masterlist | jude's masterlist

psa 🗣️: a little dad! jude blurb bc we haven’t seen much of this on the timeline!! like always hope you enjoy 🤍

"why are you bending down? you know that is bad for you," you rolled your eyes at your fiance's scolding, grabbing the keys from the floor. "i dropped the keys by accident," you say as you pick the correct key that belonged to the lock. jude rubbed your belly, ensuring you were okay before helping you out to the car, the reusable bags tucked underneath his arm.

"did you bring the list?" you ask him seeing as he nods and pulls it out from the pockets of his hoodie. "i did. i also brought you some snacks because you didn't eat much after getting some nausea," you pouted your lips leaning up to peck his cheek thanking him. "what would i do without you?" you tease, a playful scoff falling from his lips.

"what makes you think you'd be without me? i'm attached to you for life remember?" he grabs your left hand kissing over your ring finger as he gives you a knowing look. you feel as he brings your intertwined hands to your belly, "and you're carrying my baby in there."

"really i couldn't tell," you say sarcastically.

"let's make it quick because my feet already hurt and i want to sleep," you advised letting out a tired yawn. despite being close to your due date, you still had some work to do before maternity leave. making calls to set meetings, attending them over zoom, filing paperwork, in charge of making sure the firm doesn't backfire, and planning some stuff out for your wedding.

jude had told you multiple times to take it easy, but placing that aside, he always helped you unconditionally. in the shower, when cooking, taking care of chores, before bed, and attending all your doctor's appointments. he was your personal midwife and wanted to take care of you the most he could.

you remembered to look on his face when you told him you were expecting, the tears on his face as he spoke to your barely bump all night and traced his hands on your belly. singing and humming lullabies and stories about his day. since then he wanted to protect you the best he could.

going to the grocery store at this time was nothing new, in fact, it became so prevalent now that you were pregnant because you craved everything. making jude do a late run to pick up your cravings or groceries for the upcoming weeks. the same store, at the same time.

you placed your purse on the cart, snuggling into your jacket as the cold air inside the store blew you away. you followed jude who picked out veggies and greens for his meal prepping, helping him tie the bags and weigh them on the digital scale that produced labels. you watched in awe as your boyfriend picked out three pairs of different flowers. "what are these for?" you asked, smelling the flowery scent.

"for the house. we need to replace the old ones that dried out," jude says with a shy grin. "you were the one who said plants and flowers bring a sense of home into our house, " jude recalled your words, kissing your temple, pushing the cart since it became a bit heavier. "i did say that didn't i? well i wasn't wrong," you shrug, wrapping a hand around his bicep as he trailed along isles to pick up the different items on the list.

he did all the heavy lifting as you reached and picked stuff up from your level, like spices and eggs. you turn your back for a few seconds to retrieve some milk and coffee beans for the morning, to see the cart filled with pop tarts and other salty snacks. "no no no," you shake your head, as jude whines out protests. "y/n we need them! they're even on sale!"

“jude, i don’t care! we just got some three days ago!,” you say laughing, putting back the box of pop tarts. “y/n i’m telling you right now, in a couple of hours or days you’re gonna have me running back here for them,” jude states following behind you.

“am not!” you quickly defend, bringing a hand to your aching back. “are too! last night you had me running out for cheetos. what’s it going to be today? kettled popcorn? or wingstop?” jude teased making you rolls your eyes and focusing back on to what needed to get done. “don’t forget we need to pick some of that acid reflex stuff for you, to get rid of the heartburn,” jude reminds you, taking the cart and walking out of the pop tarts isle, sneaking a box in for you.

“what’s left on the list?” you ask him, taking out a small snack you had in your purse and offering some to jude. “we need bananas, strawberries, orange juice, and meats for upcoming dinners…” jude reads the list one by one, using his index finger as he goes along.

you pass by an isle grabbing some cereal and granola for your yogurts and bowls. jude insisting he grabs his favorite too since you refuse to share from your part. as you wait by the deli section jude come behind you, grabbing your belly and relieving some of the pressure.

you immediately lay your head back on his shoulder sighing in relief, hearing jude chuckle and place a kiss on your head. “almost there darling,” he whispered running one of his hands along your tummy. “i know what you’re doing jude… and if this baby starts kicking right now i’ll leave you here,” you warn.

“i’m just trying to help you love. doesn’t it feel good?” he reprimanded as you nodded. “yes but not when she starts kicking, i swear she does it on purpose and it’s your fault. like she knows it you,” you said feeling your lower back less tense and heavy. "i kid you not, last night she almost made me pee from this hard kick!"

"sounds to me like we have a mini footballer coming into our lives," said jude continuing to hold your belly since you were tired and your baby was heavy. he had read the method online with other tips and tricks. jude got more into reading when he found out you were pregnant, wanting to know every effect and secret to ensure a healthy and safe pregnancy.

"let's hope not, i don't think i could handle cleaning up broken stuff around the house every day," you sigh, releasing yourself from his hold because you began to get hot. you didn’t understand how your body was so quick to adjust and then de-adjust from hot and cold, but it was so easy and it drove you mad sometimes.

“you okay?” jude softened his eyes as you let out a breath of despair, holding your hand and feeling a sit squeezed tightly against his. “yeah just got a mini cramp,” you held your back and practiced breathing methods you learned, “i’m good, i promise,” you kiss his hand before retrieving the meats from the butcher. "we'll get home soon, and i promise you a warm tea and massage okay?"

"did you want chocolate or strawberry milk?" jude held up the pint containers, "strawberry, we still have chocolate milk at home," you said, jude nodding as he quickly picked the orange juice and your favorite yogurts. "i was never a fan of sweet or flavored milk but these are soooo good," you exaggerated, jude smiling hard down at you.

"never a fan? these were my childhood as a kid! my mum used to buy these or the powder to make it ourselves," jude says recalling a old memory thinking of his babygirl. "you reckon she'll like them too?" jude spoke softly as he saw you give him a fast nod. if there was one thing loved it was discussing his babygirl. he was so anxious and wanted to meet her. the itch in his teeth getting bigger as every day passes.

to hold her while she slept, hug her to keep her warm, coddle her to sleep, feed her. he was ready for it all. he loved to shop and spoil her already. her carrier, crib, different books, toys, and stuffed animals like he had as a kid. she didn't know it yet, but she would be jude's second best friend. firstly you. always you.

they saw if one ever finds love at first sight, and jude definitely did with you. a smile so bright, eyes gleaming with happiness, a stranger who he fell madly with almost immediately after hearing her say hello. through ups and downs, you found your way to each other and since then, it's a love story for the movies. jude had his career blowing, a beautiful fiancee, and now a baby on the way. what more could he want?

as jude helped bag the groceries into the recycled bags you had, you paid and thanked the cashier whom you got close with on nights like these. asking how her day was, about her kids, anything special, always something to distract her. "you two have a safe night!" she yelled as you turned and thanked, wishing her a good night as well.

after you insisted on helping, you carried four light bags as jude carried most bags since he hated double trips. you guys quickly unpacked everything, longing and wishing to get into bed. you ensure the stove and other appliances are off, grabbing your tea and heading upstairs with jude.

"lay here for me," jude instructed, grabbing some cream and begging to smooth and massage out the muscles on your legs and shoulders. "after we have her, i promise i'll return every single thing you did for me while i was pregnant," you say struggled and full pleasure as the tension went away at jude's fingertips. "oh i'm fully expecting the injured boyfriend method again," jude teased as he finished up.

he grabbed a new book, laying on your side as you brushed and played with a few curls on his head, twirling them around your finger as he breathed softly. he looked so gentle and full of excitement like this, reading to your babygirl, who sensed her daddy's voice as she kicked. she knew, she always knew.

he applied your belly oil to prevent any stretch marks and kissed the small ones that formed along the way. jude cherished your body for carrying his baby in there, for being able to give and bring a new life into his and yours. you laid on your side, jude's chest connecting and fitting the crevasse on your back, holding your tummy as in a way to keep it safe.

you placed and locked hands with his, as jude wishing you a goodnight, peering kissed on your shoulders then finally lips, moaning in delight, a tiny groan leaving his lips. "i love you so much darling," he whispered, kissing your temple and snuggling into you more. "iloveyoutoojude," you said fast, with a playful smile on your lips as you felt a familiar sensation of a certain craving. "okay now i do want some pop tarts..."

"are you serious right now?"

[on-leatheredwings]

Checkmate

Yandere! Tim Drake / (AFAB) Reader

> romantic, rated M > tw/cw: yandere-typical behaviors (obsession). M rating is for a boner. just some sexual tension. reader is mentioned as bisexual.

> summary: Intellectually, Tim falls fast. Romantically, he falls hard. Seems this time it's both. > a/n: i just wanted to post some tim practice, pls let me know if i did okay. I made him a bit of a fuckboy i guess but ngl i think tim’s just run through af 😭 > word count: 1268

Tim likes you. And knowing himself, soon, he’s going to really like you.

More than anticipated, too. He didn’t think he’d have much of an opinion at all on you, when you had first met on your first day, in your new position as his personal assistant.

Personal assistant. 

At the reveal, he exchanged a hard look with Bruce across the room. Tim Drake had not been slacking on the job. And sometimes he had the eye bags to prove it.

Tim hadn’t even said anything yet, when you chirped, “Think of it as delegation.”

You gave him a pleasant, albeit cheeky look – which he respected. If you had the qualifications and enough charm to impress the hiring manager, who was a notorious hardass in interviews, you were probably fine. Probably more than fine.

Either way, he expected to forget your existence until you texted or called him to remind him about meetings he hadn’t forgotten about.

It turns out, you had… personality. Probably more than you should’ve, working in the professional setting of Wayne Enterprises. You dealt with Tim’s shit (absences, excuses), but gave as good as you got (ultimatums, thinly-veiled blackmail to run and tell Bruce). You were also… very attractive. And clever. And smart. And insightful.

And God, he wonders if you have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. And he wonders if he can somehow orchestrate a breakup. 

Tim moves a chess piece across the board. 

Okay, maybe he’s being too hasty. 

Oh, for the love of– you know what? No, he isn’t being too hasty. Anyone working in such close quarters with the heir apparent of Wayne Enterprises is heavily vetted. But it’s about time he did his own background check on you. He has made it three whole months without doing so. 

See, he really is getting over his control issues. Eat that, Stephanie.

Okay, if he’s going to entertain the idea of courting you– Wait, wait, since when was it courting? Yeah, no. He’s merely entertaining the thought of you. He’s been burned too many times now to start courting.

Let’s talk about having sex first before we start talking about dating, he jests with himself.

Anyway. He wonders what would be the most interesting means of going about this. Coming out and confessing would be a little boring. Too easy. His eyes wander to your lips. You’re too focused on making your next move to notice him ogling the soft swell of your chest beneath a sharp button-up. You’ve rolled up the sleeves – very casual for this very casual hangout. You both lounge on your bed, in your bedroom, in your apartment, because if Tim wins, you don’t get to hound him on personally contacting investors. (Sometimes, you gotta leave malcontents out to dry. Make them miss you.)

He hopes you like being experimented with. Or maybe you like experimenting on others. He would do anything you liked because, man, it’s thrilling to know people and their wants. Anything you give, he could take it–

Tim startles as a realization comes to his mind. 

… Him. Taking it.

Is that something he wants? To bottom for you? … Is that something… he wants? 

Yes.

Now that the idea has been conceived, yes, he wants that. So that’s that. 

The reality of whether you’d want to do that… is slim… maybe? You’re bi as well. Maybe that changes things. He’s not going to think about it too hard, because now he’s getting excited.

Tim would love for the skittering, synapses-firing-on-all-cylinders effect in his brain to cool down – for everything to wash over with cool calculation and academic interest. He manages to do that much for even the most intriguing cases. But you… Tim sighs.

And now he’s hard.

Tim shifts uncomfortably. He’s lying on his stomach, held up by his forearms. 

He sighs, even though there’s an evil piece of his brain snickering and taunting, “But you love this, though!” Evil, evil.

At Tim’s increasing silence, you lift a brow. Man, he’s been out of it all game.

“Tim?” He comes back to planet Earth. “It’s your move. Again.” You wear a Cheshire grin. “It’s almost like we’re taking turns, or something.”

He blinks, baby blue eyes clearing up. He shifts in his spot, feeling trills of pleasure from friction against erection. Your sheets. Against his erection. He bites back a smile. Okay, yes, he loves this. He likes hiding like this, right under your nose.

Him getting a boner was a development he had foreseen coming ten minutes ago, once he started daydreaming about you. So he just went ahead and casually switched positions. A risk, but a calculated one. He was pretty sure there’d be no reason for him to get up and expose the tent in his jeans. And boy does he love it when he’s right.

Tim goes to move another piece, when he glances up at you and nearly goes slack-jawed. You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you wet your lips, seemingly meditating on something.

You meditate on him. After all, Tim is so… pretty. Pretty in a way unlike the rest of his gorgeous brothers. He has pretty eyes framed by dark lashes and a smaller frame, though he’s deceptively muscled under the clean-cut slacks and button ups. He has silky black hair that often falls into his eyes; a defined jaw. And pale skin. He is notably the palest in his family, burning miserably on beach days. It is that pale skin, contrasted so sharply with his dark green tee, that brings your eyes to his collarbones.

Tim nearly erupts.

Fuck, yes. He caught you staring. It takes him self-restraint not to puff out his chest or try to show more skin, lest he reveal his hard-on.

You snap out of it only moments after he notices, grin returning to your face.

“You know if you lose focus like that, I’m going to win,” you tease, almost childlike mischief in your expression. 

Tim so badly wants to parrot the words back at you, but he doesn’t want to scare you into never checking him out ever again. The little inch you just gave him– oh, he intends to take a mile. Whatever small acquiesces you give in the future, he knows he’ll take that and much more.

Now, he’s hungry for you. As soon as this game is done, he’s going to create a new case study file, just for you. He could start kicking his feet at the thought, he's that excited. He’s excited! 

He’ll put the pedestrian, basic stuff like your height, weight, alma mater, major, past jobs and experiences. Somehow get into your social media that’s all on private mode to see what you’re always laughing at on that damn phone. He’s also going to bring up your phone records, go through your email, go through your physical mail. Oh, fuck, surveillance. He’s already in your room, too, luckily. If only he had more of his bugs on hand… The ones he always keeps in his belt buckle will do for now. Also, Tim needs to think of some way to acquire your breast, waist, and hip size – he has a good idea of those measurements, but he wants to know. When is the next time you’ll be out of the house and not at work, he wonders–

“Tim,” you whine, impatient. The sound is music to his ears.

Tim’s eyes rise from the board to your pouting face, and he smiles apologetically. Suddenly, your face dawns with disbelief and indignance.

Tim swiftly picks up one last piece and knocks one yours over.

“Checkmate.”

[lazycats-stuff]

Please write Damian x friend reader who's really shy, and they have to make a school project together, and they do so at the manor, but because the reader is shy he doesn't want to meet the family. The family (to annoy damian) want to meet this friends, but Damian actually likes the reader and tries to protect him from his brother's

Hell yes. Oh I love this. The fam would do this. Alfred would be stopping them. I don't know why, but this gif is really adorable to me.

Summary: Damian has a crush and the boys decide to annoy them

Warnings: fluff, angst?, Damian comes out to Bruce and Alfred, shy reader... Mostly fluff though.

Damian Wayne, the son of Batman has a crush on his classmate. Yes, you read it correctly. Damian has a crush on (Y/N) (L/N), a shy boy in his class. Damian thought he was adorable and his shyness made him even more cute to Damian, but Damian knew for a fact that he didn't have a chance with (Y/N).

Anyone who dates a Wayne, will be in the spotlight. And being in high school doesn't make it any better. The pressures and the fact that the girls and some guys were throwing themselves at him and for that, he only got his reputation as cold, not interested in anyone.

That made it much more difficult to even think about approaching (Y/N).

And the fact he was suffering alone made it painful. He didn't tell his family, knowing that they would push him to talk to him, but they wouldn't understand the situation that Damian is in. For Damian, (Y/N) is something that is both within his reach and yet so far, far away.

Damian has come to terms with the fact that he will never be able to be with (Y/N). If only he knew about (Y/N)'s feelings...

But fate has some other plans. During a biology class, the teacher announced that he will pair the kids to make a project. Damian dreaded it because there are two bad outcomes that could come out of it.

One is that he ends up with a person who wouldn't do anything and would just use it for bragging rights and would annoy him to no end. It would be awful and Damian would have to control himself to not kill someone and not to cause a scene.

And the second one is the fact that there is a chance that he will be paired up with (Y/N). That wasn't bad per say, not at all, not by any means. But... The mere fact that he would be paired with his crush wouldn't be easy, not even for Damian. He may have a lot self control, but with (Y/N)...

Damian remained calm when he was paired with (Y/N). Only externally. Internally? He was screaming. How does he even approach him? How in the hell? Okay... Try to be nice...

Damian rubbed his lips, trying to remain calm and devise a plan. Approach him when everyone leaves the classroom. Then tell him and give him phone number so they can contact one another... Okay... That's the first two steps.

Wait... What about his family? Oh no... Well, that's a thing to worry about later.

Damian took a deep breath as he approached (Y/N). (Y/N) blushed already and look at Damian with an uneasy smile. " Hi Damian. "

" Hey (Y/N). Can you give me your number so that I can text you the time and we can contact each other. " Damian said as he took his phone out, allowing (Y/N) to put his phone number in. (Y/N) did just that, ever so nervously.

Damian watched in silence, waiting patiently. After that, (Y/N) quietly mumbled see you later and left. Damian followed him, but in a much slower pace. He walked to his own locker, getting his stuff and leaving the school quickly, going to the car to let Alfred drive him away.

During the drive, Alfred noticed that Damian was bothered by something, but he knew that asking was going to be like pulling teeth. Painful and no one would even bother to do it, but Damian wasn't an average person nor a child.

So all in all, it will be a painful conversation, no matter how they turn it.

" Damian, can we talk? " Bruce asked as he sat down next to him on the couch, Alfred setting down the tea for the three of them.

" About what? " Damian asked as he put a book down on the coffee table. Bruce and Alfred got ready for this. Alfred sat down next to Damian, but not too close, just keeping some space in between the two.

" Something is bothering you and we want to know what's going on. " Bruce has started gently and Damian's internal guard went up quickly. They clearly don't know what, but... How will his father react about hearing that he is gay? Oh God...

" Nothing is bothering me. " Damian lied quickly, but Bruce saw right through it.

" You can always talk to us Damian.. You can always come to me, I will never judge you. " Bruce said softly and Damian had to take a very deep breath to stay calm...

Is he really going to come out now?

" It's... " Damian started, clearly out of his comfort zone. " I have a crush... "

Bruce and Alfred smiled. Damian is in love. " And what's her name? " Alfred asked.

And here it is.

" It's his. It's (Y/N). " Damian said quietly, getting ready for rejection.

There was silence for a couple of moments before Bruce hugged Damian tightly. Damian was shocked at that, more so when Alfred hugged him too, but he didn't question it by any means. He hugged Bruce back tightly.

" Please don't tell me that you think we were going to reject you master Damian. " Alfred said from behind, still hugging his grandson.

" Oh Damian... " Bruce said quietly, making sure to squeeze Damian tightly. " I would never judge you for being gay. You are my son and I won't love you any less. " Bruce says softly, rocking his son a bit to calm him down.

Damian nodded, hiding his face, not wanting these tears to fall down. He didn't want them to be seen.

And the time has finally come. (Y/N) has arrived into the manor and Bruce made sure to tell his other sons to stay clear and away from the library today. He said a few warnings and the other three seemed to listen.

Again, seemed.

The project was going well. Damian has been calmer and (Y/N) has been quiet, but was working hard to make it the best project ever. Damian was impressed by that and more impressed that his brother's weren't bothering him or (Y/N). But there was a bad feeling in the back of Damian's mind.

Something was going to happen.

And Damian isn't liking this at all.

And he was right. After an hour, Jason popped his head in. Damian whipped his head around so quickly that (Y/N) thought he got whiplash. (Y/N) blushed slightly at the sight of Jason who had a smirk on his face.

Damian got up quickly. No. This is not going to happen.

" Out Todd. " Damian said as he walked up to him and started pushing him out.

" Oh come on, I just want to meet you frie-" Jason was cut off with the door slamming in his face. He smirked at the sight of the barely controlled anger from Damian.

Oh he loves to push those buttons.

Damian took a deep breath and turned to (Y/N) with a small smile. " My apologies (Y/N), Todd is annoying and he loves to push my buttons. " Damian said as he sat back down and (Y/N) nodded with a small smile.

" It's okay, siblings are annoying. " (Y/N) said quietly.

" Do you have one? " Damian asked as he moved a notebook out of the way.

" A single child, I'm afraid. " (Y/N) said and Damian nodded.

And everything was fine. Until one hour later.

Now Tim popped his head in and Damian was going to kill him.

" Out Drake. " Damian said as he quickly stood up and started pushing him out, still calm, trying to not scare (Y/N), who just watched in silence and wonder.

" Oh Damian, " Tim started, but Damian just threw him out and slammed the door. (Y/N) raised his brow, curious, but to hesitant to ask.

" Again, my apologies, they are just annoying. " Damian said yet again and sat back down, getting focused to continue working on the project.

The silence was nice and comfortable and the library was just peaceful.

That was until the doors opened for the 3rd time and Damian stood up quickly, pushing out Dick into the hallway, closing the door.

" What the hell is wrong with you three?! " Damian whispered yelled and Dick sheepishly smiled.

" I just wanted to check on you two, to see if you need any help. " Dick said quietly.

" Sure. Make sure that these two don't come by again. " Damian said coldly and went back inside, clearly annoyed, trying to calm himself. But the moment he set his eyes on (Y/N), he was calmer and less annoyed.

" Sorry, another brother is annoying today. " Damian said, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm down.

" Are they always like this? " (Y/N) asked softly and Damian nodded.

" I'm afraid so. " Damian said, glaring at the door for a second before he focused back onto the project.

After some times, they have actually managed to finish it. Damian was happy, but then this means that hanging out with (Y/N) is over. After this, they probably won't ever talk.

But Damian just couldn't let it go. He had to confess.

He had to.

But is he brave enough? Maybe.

" (Y/N)? Before you go, I need to tell you something. " Damian said once they were outside.

(Y/N) nodded and waited for Damian to speak.

" I... I like you. A lot... And... You are allow to say no, but do you want to go out with me? " Damian asked softly.

(Y/N) was outright speechless. Damian felt the same way? This had to be a dream...

" I would love to. " (Y/N) said, blushing like mad and rubbing the back of his neck.

" I'll text you the plans later. We can go tomorrow. " Damian said and Alfred got the car ready to drive (Y/N) back to his home. After (Y/N) and Alfred left, Damian slowly turned to his brothers who were eaves dropping.

" You 3 have 5 seconds to run before I get you. " Damian said coldly and the three quickly ran. Damian chased after Jason.

Bruce simply sipped his coffee. It's not worth his nerves. Or annoyance. Or even the agitation.

Bruce sigh. Just let it be.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

-

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself. 

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity. 

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come. 

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building. 

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do. 

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.” 

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you. 

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light. 

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again. 

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse. 

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks. 

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer. 

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west. 

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose. 

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.” 

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk. 

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone. 

“Family.” 

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.” 

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.” 

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out. 

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle. 

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty. 

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office. 

“No.” 

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm. 

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door. 

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm. 

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing. 

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now. 

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake. 

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion. 

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention. 

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship. 

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair. 

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife. 

His wife. 

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband. 

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank. 

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves. 

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his. 

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors. 

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond. 

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment. 

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with. 

No chance of that now. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”

[eddiesxangel]

Clueless | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie’s an idiot and can’t pick up that you’ve been flirting with him for months…so you take things a step further.

Cw: SMUT, dom/mean!eddie, name calling (whore/ slut)

4 months ago…

Tonight you sat at the bar, your usual Saturday night hanging with your friends from school. There was live music and you’d been eying the lead singer for about three weeks. They played here every Saturday and tonight you brought your roommates Nancy and Robin to join you so they could finally see the mystery man you’ve been going on and on about.

The three of you had been there for about twenty minutes before they took the stage.

“They should be on any minute,” you say as you hear some of the people in the college car cheer. Your eyes instantly find the stage and your heart flutters. There he is, in all his glory.

You hear Robin's gaps and you look at her immediately.

“What is it Bin?” You ask

“Nothing!” Nancy cut her off before she could talk. She gave Robin a subtle nudge and she caught on.”

“Nothing-nothing I-uh swallowed the wrong way” she pretended to cough. What the hell is going on?

You’d forgotten about how weird they were acting halfway through the set. You'd gotten up to dance and enjoy the music. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. As the three of you got closer and closer to the stage it seemed like he couldn’t stop starting in your direction. A bright smile spread across his face and you couldn’t help but blush. You’d hoped it was because of you. You’d made eye contact and almost turned into a puddle.

After the set finished the three of you found an empty booth and took a break from dancing.

“So what did you guys think?” You asked excitedly.

“They were great” Robin smirked.

“Yea usually not my kind of thing but I liked it” Nancy giggled.

“Ok, what is going on? You’re acting weird?” You winced.

“Should we tell her?” Nancy looked at Robin.

“Tell me what?” You asked.

They didn’t get a chance to answer.

“Buckley! Wheeler!” You all turn to see the man of your dreams appearing at your booth.

Your eyes go wide when it finally hits you. They know him. This is amazing! They can introduce you!

You thought the night went as well as it could have. Eddie was glued to your side, he was the biggest flirt, and he gave you compliments about your hair and how you smelled really nice. You were touching his arm and giving sublet hints that you also found him really attractive. On top of that, the conversation was cheeky and fun, you never had an awkward moment where you felt like you needed to fill the silence. the conversation was great, he was really easy to talk to. So when you went home alone, you were beyond bummed.

Eddie and you were always gravitating towards one another whenever he would come over to visit with Robin and Nancy or when your roomies asked you to come to the bar with them to meet some friends from high school. You had become attached to one another very quickly.

One month ago…

“Eddie, can you help me with something? You called him over from in the kitchen.

“Sure thing sweetheart” he got up from the rest of the group and made his way to you. Your stomach flip-flopped any time he called you a cute pet name.

“How can I be of your assistance?” He clasped his hands behind his back.

“I can’t open it” you pout pointing the lid of the pickle jar towards him.

You were making a charcuterie board. Did you really need help? Absolutely not. The jar had already been opened but any excuse to get Eddie near you you took.

“You could have called any of the guys but you wanted me to help you with the pickles?” Eddie smirked. *pop* The jar opened with ease.

“Well yeah” you took a step closer so you see in his space. “You’re just so strong.” You graze your hand against his bare bicep before giving it a squeeze.

“You have Steve the jock to call over” he raised a brow. Is he being serious right now?

“well...yeah. But I’m sure all that strumming doesn’t hurt” You bit your lip as you tilted your head up at him.

“Eh,” he shrugged his shoulders. Passing you back the jar.

“Oh um, we’ll… thanks” You turn back to the wooden board feeling defeated as he went back to the rest of the group

3 weeks ago…

* ring, ring, ring*

“Hello?”

“Hey Eddie, it’s me” you smiled.

“Sweetness, how are you?” He asked

“I want to have a movie night next Friday.” You just came out and said it. No more beating around the bush.

“I’m down, what’s the genre we are thinking here?” He crossed his arms over his chest while the phone rested between his ear and shoulder.

“Hmmm, I don't know. Horror?” You chide.

“I didn’t think you liked them scary” he smirked.

“But I’ll have you to protect me” You throw him yet another bone.

“I’m sure you won’t need me with everyone there.” He shrugged.

“E-everyone?” You stutter.

“Yea, who else is going?” He questioned.

Shit. You rolled your eyes and stomped your foot like a child.

“Uh I’m, not sure on the final numbers yet.” You strutted.

“No worries Princess. Count me in” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“See you then Eddie” you hung up with a defeated sigh. UGH

2 weeks ago…

Movie night. You had the living room all set up, ready with drinks, snacks, pillows and blankets for everyone. The lot of you piled up in your small apartment, Robin Nancy, Steve, Jonathan, Argyle, and of course Eddie.

Ten minutes into watching the original Halloween movie you ‘shivered.’ You were sat between Jonathan and Eddie.

“You cold?" Jonathan asked pointing beside him.

“I am but I’m sure Eddie won’t mind sharing with me?” He already had the blanket draped over his lap.

“Hmm?” Eddie hummed.

“Mind sharing some blanket I’m a bit chilly.” You scoot a little closer towards him.

“Oh uh yea sure” he draped the blanket over your lap while his eyes never left the screen. Fully immersed in the story.

“Thanks Eddie.” You placed a hand on his upper thigh.

Eddie didn’t bay an eye. He just continued to keep his eyes on the screen.

As the movie progressed you genuinely were getting scared. Micheal Myers had jump-scared you one too many times. It was about the fifth one by the time you grabbed onto Eddie’s arm. Eddie just smirked down at you as you covered your eyes into his shoulder.

However, Eddie sat there like a statue, unfazed by your advances. Eddie never seemed to be bothered by them, but he also wasn’t picking up what you were putting down.

Halfway through the third movie, you'd given up. He didn't put his arm around you, he didn't ask if you wanted to be protected. And He never reacted to your hand placed on his upper thigh. All of your moves were useless, and you hoped you didn't make a fool out of yourself in front of your new group of friends.

1 week ago…

Nancy and Robin started to gush about how cute the two of you would be together and it was only making you grow more impatient that he wasn’t making a move.

“Am I just not pretty?” You bit your cuticle. You were sat with your two roommates in your shared living room having a relaxing evening in.

“What are you talking about?” Nancy quipped.

“Not true, trust me, babes, you’re a smoke show, trust me I'm a lesbian.” Robin pipped up making you laugh.

"What brought this on?"Nancy looked at you with concern in her eyes.

"I’ve been throwing myself at Eddie for months! And he hasn’t once tried to make a move?” You admitted.

“He’s so dumb” Nancy said under her breath.

"I'm sure Jonathan thinks I'm pathetic. He had to suffer through my attempts during our movie night, which by the way was supposed to be just Eddie and I but he had to ask about who else was coming and I panicked!" You burry your head in your hands.

"Want me to knock some sense into him?" Robin asked.

"God no! That's the last thing I need" You shook your head. "He probably is just trying to avoid hurting my feelings... maybe he doesn't know how to turn me down so he's pretending like it isn't happening." You thought out loud.

"Nu-uh I know for a fact tha-OW" Robin looked at Nancy after feeling her kick her under the table.

"What Robin is trying to say, is that you and Eddie are perfect for one another, trust us. He will eventually see. Sometimes you have to be literal with him.

What were they not telling you?

“I don’t know…has he ever said anything about me to you guys?." you fiddled with your cup.

You look up to see Robin and Nancy give a knowing look to one another. They weren’t telling you something. They were not being subtle.

"Believe me, you don't want to give up yet." Robin reassured.

"Ohhhh kay," you sighed and changed the subject.

Today

You were so nervous but excited. Eddie has finally asked you to hang out one-on-one. You'd thought maybe this was it, the line would be crossed, and the initial step over the hump would be taken. You were so hopeful and you repeated Robin's words over and over again in your head. You don't want to give up yet.

Before arriving you had prepared yourself. You did everything from shaving to picking out a matching bra and pantie set. You had spraying yourself with the same perfume he'd complimented you on the first night you officially met. You did your hair and makeup, and don't even get started on how long it took to choose the perfect outfit that was cute enough to look like you weren't trying too hard but looked amazing in non the less.

You knocked on the apartment door that read 416. You could hear the eager padding of Eddie making his way to the door. He opned it with a swoosh and his hair blew back like he was n a goddamn shampoo commercial.

"Hey Princess, come on in make yourself at home." He greeted you with a warm hug. As he let go he scanned you up and down. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on your chest. You’d picked a v neck top that extenuated your tits, even if it was just a t shirt.

“So what did you wanna do?” He asked as you examined his place. It was exactly what you’d imagine. Very boy, a bit cluttered but not dirty. It smelled fresh like he just put in a load of laundry.

“Would you teach me some guitar? If you don’t mind, I’ve always wanted to learn.” You smirk.

“You sure you want me as a teacher?” He tilts his head.

“Well why not have the best?” You flirt.

“Come on my guitar is in my room” he took your hand a lead you down the hall. Bingo

You walked into Eddie’s room and he lead you to sit in the edge of his bed.

“Ok sweetheart, first thing you need to know are the chords” he picked up his acoustic and handed it to you.

He sat beside you and proceeded to instruct you on where to place your fingers. Your hands not use to the awkward positions they kept a slipping away.

He placed each of his thighs on the sides of yours so you were sat right between his lap. His broad chest was pressed up to you.

“Here like this” Eddie scooted closer so he could help you place your hands in the correct position. You could feel his body heat radiating off of him as he placed his hand on yours. You swore you felt a jolt go through your body when he touched your skin.

“That’s better.” He whispered and your body broke out in a shiver as his breath cascaded down the side your neck.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it?” You look back at Eddie. He was so close your noses almost brushed. You could see his cheeks flair up into the pretties shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“Yea….” He was so close he just needed to close the gap! This was it, this was the moment. He just needs to lean in and….

“Here let’s try a few together now.” He moved your strumming arm to around the front of the guitar.

You were screaming at him him your head! The opportunity to kiss you was right there! Why didn’t he make a move?! Better yet why didn’t you? You cursed yourself for not being the one to lean in.

As you shake yourself out of your thoughts you feel his large hands move yours so you played a few notes in a row.

“Very good sunshine” he smirked. Those butterflies were back fluttering in your stomach.

You leaned back into Eddie’s chest with a hum. You felt his whole body on your back. His broad shoulders, his chest, his soft tummy and his hard crotch…

Your eyes blew wide open at the realization that Eddie was hard.

Eddie jerked back “I ugh, excuse me I just uh need to use the bathroom.” He mumbled before jumping off the bed like a bat out of hell.

You couldn’t believe it! So he was attracted to you…more than attracted at what you had felt. So why on earth did he run away?!

It has been a few minutes since Eddie left the bedroom and he still wasn’t back. Was he jerking off? It was he just waiting for it to go down?

You assumed it was the latter because in the middle of your internal monologue he walked back in.

“Sorry bout that, where were we?” He rounded the corner

“I think right about here” you hooked your thumbs under the hem of your shirt and swiftly pulled up your shirt, bra included and flashed your bare chest.

You didn’t think Eddie’s beautiful brown eyes couldn’t get any bugged but the sure did.

“Sweetheart, what uh-”

“Come on Eddie, don’t be shy” God he was so nervous it was adorable.

“Princess I-uh? you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You can touch them if you want.” You bite your lip.

Eddie doesn’t waist a second and rushed back towards the bed.

“Holy shit” he whispered to himself while cupping a breast in each hand. Eyes never leaving your chest.

You can only giggle at his reaction. He looked up to see the smile that broke on your face and couldn’t resist but to kiss you.

The moment his lips met yours it was like everything finally fell into place.

“Fuck you haven no idea what you do to me” Eddie gently pushed you down so you were on your back and inserted himself between your legs. he helped you take off your top and bra.

As his hand’s massaged your breasts you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

“Ya baby?” He ground his hips into your clothed centre.

“I want you Eddie.” You moaned

“Is that right?” Eddie asked cocking his head to look down at you.

You nod your head frivolously.

“You so desperate for this cock that you had to expose yourself to me like a little slut, is that it?” he growled in your ear.

This was not what you were expecting Eddie to be like in bed… well actually it was, before you’d met him. The rockstar version you’d seen on the bar stage 6 months ago. You’d expected him to be like this, but not your Eddie you know now. You imagined the Eddie you know now to be soft and gentle.

“Shit” you sigh as he bit down on the side of your neck.

“Mmmm you like that don’t you? You like being a whore for me?” Eddie slid down to latch his mouth on your nipple before flipping the two of you over.

“You want me so bad? Prove it.” he started unbuttoning his pants.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him when his cock was released from the confines of his underwear.

Eddie was big. You knew that when you felt his cock pressed against your lower back. But feeling it was much different than seeing it.

“Com’on babydoll” Eddie stroked your hair as you lowered your head to the tip of his cock. He let out a grunt when you gave it a chaste kiss.

“Don’t be a tease” he chuckled.

You engulfed him entirely running your lips to the base, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You dragged your head back up to the tip then fully down again.

“Fuck you’re taking me so well” he gripped your hair

You pop him out of your mouth and stroked his length with your hand.

“You like that Eddie? You like me being your dirty whore?” You say as you pump him in your hand.

“Fuck baby you’re filthy” he breaths.

You crawl up to kiss him as your hand still works him. His lips are so soft, and so gentle compared to the words that have been coming out of his mouth.

“Gotta fuck you.” He pulls away and pushes you back on your back and in one swift motion, Eddie pulls down your pants and underwear. “She’s already ready for me” he leaned down and licked you from your glistening hole to your clit in one agonizingly slow swipe.

“Mmmmph Eddie please” you ground your hips up for any sense of relief.

“Patients darlin’ ” he smirked before sucking on your clit.

“No, I’ve waited long enough, fuck me now.” You demanded.

“Yes ma’am” he didn’t even hesitate. His cock plunged into you. You let out a moan of pleasure as he stretched you out.

“Fuck you’re so big” you praise as he pulled almost all the way out

“You can take it” he slammed his hips back into you.

Eddie was relentless, he abused you cunt with no second thought to it.

“Fuckin should had this pussy weeks ago” he gritted through his teeth.

“You could have if you weren’t so-FUCK ME!”you cried.

Eddie didn’t let up, the way he was pounding your pussy was like heaven in earth. He slid his hand between your two bodies to massage your clit. It took him no time to find.

“Uuuuhhhhhnn” You called out in pleasure.

“What was that baby? I could have had you weeks ago? I bet I could have you little slut but I was waiting for the perfect moment” Eddie panted.

“Yes yes yes yes” you chanted. Yes to him and yes to the feeling of him hitting your g spot with each trust. Your orgasms was building and building.

“You gunna cum on this cock? Hmmm” he mocked.

“Fuck yes! Please I wanna cum so bad. Please. Fuck me Eddie, fuck me so good” you cried.

“Come for me baby girl” he cooed, still massaging your clit.

“Eddie!” You called as your orgasm took over your whole body. Waves of euphoria pluses through you.

“Good girl” Eddie praised and you shook below him. You cunt tightening around his cock was enough to throw him over the edge, cum spilling into you. Eddie rolled off you and layes down beside you.

A few moments of silence passed before you spoke up.

“So didn’t you know I was flirting with you this whole time or?” You looked over at him

“Pffft of course I did” he looked up at the ceiling.

You raised a brow at him. Even if he couldn’t see you Eddie could feel your eyes burning into him.

“Sure you did” you scoff with a laugh.

“Don’t make me come back over there” he threatened.

“Ooooo I’m so scared” you roll over and laugh into his cheek.

“Get over here” he pinned you down to the mattress.

Safe to say he definitely showed you two more times that night.



[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian!Reader. No pronouns so can be read as any gender!

Summary: Meet-ugly with the Red Hood due to a gas station robbery gone wrong.

Word count: ~2k

(I'm branching out to other fandoms, apparently. Let me know if you want a sequel. Enjoy!)

You weren't born in Gotham, so it sometimes still surprises you that you had adjusted so well to its particular brand of crazy.

You're from somewhere a little more south of New Jersey, although most places in the U.S. are a little south of Jersey unless you're a lobster farmer from Maine or a tree hugger from Vermont.

Both of those descriptions sound critical, but they weren't meant to be. Right about now you're seriously considering taking up lobster farming.

No one sane ever moves to Gotham. Everyone knows the stories, and even if most of the country didn't believe all of them, most people aren't stupid enough to disregard them. And you certainly weren't stupid. But rent was dirt cheap for a city, and so was tuition for GU's vet school. So you thought to yourself, "How bad could it really be," bought pepper spray and a taser, and accepted the admissions offer.

You'd always liked iced coffee more than green bean casserole and peach cobbler, anyway.

Reading news articles hadn't been enough to prepare you for the utter insanity of Gotham City, unfortunately. But you adapted. You always did. Upgraded your taser, memorized the bus schedule, learned the less sketchy areas of town, did your best not to get caught outside after dark. Kept your head down, ignored the crime lords and genetic experiments gone wrong and lunatics and vigilantes scurrying along the rooftops, and you'd survived for almost two years without many incidents.

But you'd gone to the library because you were critically unable to work in your apartment, gotten distracted by panicking about how little you really knew about next week's test content, and stared at the pages of your textbook for almost an hour as you fought back tears. So now you were running late and it was dark as you walked home because the buses were down. Of course they were. That lunatic that thought he was a crocodile had smashed a bunch last week and they hadn't been replaced yet.

Goosebumps prickle on the back of your neck, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Keep your head down. Criminals target the people that look most obviously paranoid first.

You're just burnt out. Severely. But the end of your sophomore year of veterinary school was looming, which meant you would have a relaxing three-month vacation before the next one started.

And no, you weren't thinking about next year's summer 'vacation' of clinicals. Because if this year was bad after a year of summer vacation, what will it do to you to have no break at all?

That's a future you problem, thankfully.

You're still feeling sorry for yourself when you reach the gas station right next to your apartment building. You walk right by it, remember what's in your fridge or pantry—thanks, grocery store self, thinking you don't need any snacking foods—then backtrack.

Since starting vet school, you've tried to be healthier with your eating habits. Brains lacking in nutrients absorb information less efficiently, after all. But you're still a sucker for Cheez-Its and energy drinks.

You won't drink it tonight, obviously.

Right as you put the items on the counter for the bored-looking cashier to scan the barcodes, something cold presses to your temple.

The cashier freezes, eyes blown wide with panic.

"Easy there," someone says to your left. A man, voice oily in a way that sets your teeth on edge immediately. "Do what I say, or I blow their brains out, then yours."

A gun.

A gun is pressed to your head.

Because of course it is. A shitty way to end a shitty day. You should have kept walking right past the gas station.

Before you moved to Gotham, you might have screamed and panicked, but you know better now. You know to stay calm.

You clench your fists to stop them from shaking so noticeably, but otherwise don't move. You've seen hostage situations before, because this is Gotham, but you've never been the hostage.

The gun feels heavy. And so cold, like it's sapping all the heat from your skin.

"Okay, dude," the cashier said soothingly. "You want the money in the register?"

The robber scoffs. "Obviously."

"All right." The cashier's voice is even and soft, unthreatening. You wonder if training for situations like these are required for cashiers in Gotham. It certainly hadn't been for your old job, although that hadn't been in New Jersey, and it hadn't been at a twenty-four seven gas station, either. "I need to get a key to unlock it, okay? So I'm reaching below the counter."

"Just get the key," the robber demands. The gun shifts against your temple. You fantasize for a half-second about acting like an action hero, disarming him and taking him down all on your own. But you're not a vigilante and you've never been in a real-life fight before. You don't think you're fast enough to get out of the barrel's way before he pulls the trigger. If you managed to shove it away, what if he fired and hit the cashier instead?

Then comes the sound of another gun clicking.

Great, you think half-hysterically. Just what we need. Even more deadly weapons.

"Lower the gun," growls a modulated voice, and everyone freezes.

The Red Hood is standing behind the robber, also pointing a gun to his head like the meme of people lined up in a church with guns aimed at the person in front of them.

The robber lets his gun dip a little bit. Distracted enough that it's not pressed directly to your temple anymore.

Not to brag, but you recover the quickest. It's probably the adrenaline.

Thank God you keep your keychain in hand while out at night. Your fingers shake, but you have your pepper spray up in a second, and the robber's turning to look at your sudden movement when you squeeze down on the nozzle.

The spray hits him directly in the eyes, and his howl of pain is immediate. But you don't stop spraying, even when the cashier starts to splutter and your own eyes water.

The gun goes off, once in the robber's hands, and a second time when it hits the ground because he's dropped it in favor of clutching his burning face.

You stop the stream of pepper spray, because now the air is spicy when you breathe, but can't force yourself to lower your hand. The Red Hood quickly handcuffs the would-be robber, which is only difficult because he's clawing at his eyes in pain, and executes a tricky-looking martial arts move to get him on the ground.

Despite everything, you're impressed.

The Red Hood is bigger than maybe anyone you've ever seen before. He could have punched the robber in half like paper, probably, but you appreciate the finesse a little bit more.

"Hey." A gentle voice, and gentle hands, take the pepper spray out of your grip. "Quick thinking there," you're complimented. By the fucking Red Hood, one of Gotham's most infamous crime lords. The first time you read about him in the papers, he was chopping off people's heads, and every story since has been similarly alarming. But he's not supposed to be here; the Red Hood stays in Park Row, which locals call Crime Alley, apparently, and you've always steered very clear from that part of town.

"Can you look at me?"

You do. Maybe he won't chop off your head if you listen well enough.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. That... does not compute.

The Red Hood doesn't save people. And he doesn't leave Crime Alley. So what's he doing outside of Crime Alley, saving people?

The robber is still screaming, eyes screwed up in pain. He's handcuffed on the ground.

"You should probably let him wash out his eyes, at least," you tell the cashier. "Pepper spray is pretty painful." You'd sprayed yourself once out of curiosity, realized how much it burned, then sprinted to the shower to rinse it off. Which, pro tip: not a good move, especially with warm water. Water reactivates it by opening your pores, or something, and when you're in the shower it just spreads all over your body.

Your eyes are watering. The Red Hood sees that, because he tells you, "Let's get some air," and tugs you out of the gas station.

He's right. The cool night air does feel good. You blink away the stinging in your eyes and he repeats, "Are you okay?" His voice is robotic from the mask, but kind of pleasant at the same time. You'd never guess just from listening to him that he's a killer.

"Yes," you say automatically. "Thanks," you add. You're lightheaded for some reason; you sway on your feet.

"You sure?" he asks critically. "You look... pale." Judging by the pause, 'pale' wasn't the word he really wanted to say. The red helmet tilts. "You weren't shot, were you?"

"I don't think so," you shrug. Then you look down at yourself and realize that there's a large bloodstain on your hip. "Never mind. I think I was."

"Jesus!" he yelps at the sight. It's kind of funny, actually, this grown man built like a brick shithouse yelping at the sight of blood. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shrug and peel your sticky shirt away from the wound to inspect it. "I thought I just bumped something." Sure enough, it's just a graze. You weren't sure which shot had hit you, but you'd honestly been injured worse. Plus, supervising surgeries at the animal clinic you'd worked at for years has desensitized you to the sight of blood. Maybe it's also altered your perception on what 'serious injuries' count as; the amount of times you've been bitten by startled dogs...

"You need to go to the hospital."

"It's just a scratch," you argue. "I can't go to the hospital. I need to feed my cat."

"Your cat can wait. You're bleeding a lot."

"I'm already late, and if I miss dinner, he'll start pissing all over my apartment."

The Red Hood sighs. "Where do you live?"

Your mouth opens to answer on instinct. You snap it shut just in time and glare. "Why?"

"So I can feed your cat for you while you go to the hospital."

It's nice of him to offer, but... "No."

"No?"

Maybe it's not the best idea to refuse Gotham's most prominent crime lord, but it would also be pretty stupid to tell a strange man where you live. Especially when he happens to be said crime lord.

"Look," you sigh. "I'm a vet student. I have surgical tools at home to treat myself with, and I promise, under the blood, the bullet barely hit me. I've been hurt worse by Chihuahuas that hate the vet."

"There's no way I can convince you to change your mind?"

"It's been a long day," you sigh. "I really, really just want to go home." And he's blocking the path. Your apartment building is directly behind him, just calling your name.

"At least let me walk you to your building." He holds his hands up at your suspicious look and assures you, "I won't ask for the apartment number."

"I'm literally right there." You point.

He turns, sees how close you are to being home, and says, "Seriously?"

"Seriously. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were some kind of villain."

"I'm reformed," he grumbles.

"Well, good for you."

You make sure you have your keys and your wallet, then step around him and make it all the way to your building's door before he calls, "Wait!" The Red Hood's jogging to catch up to you, holding the box of Cheez-Its and energy drink you'd almost died for. "You forgot these," he says.

"Thanks," you say, taking them. It would have been a shame to waste four dollars.

"You're welcome," he says. There's something odd about his voice, but you attribute it to the mask, scan to be let into the building, and make sure it's fully closed before heading to the elevator.

Your cat is unhappy about dinner being an hour late. He weaves between your feet, making his protests loudly and viscerally known. You wince. He's worse than the dogs that bark in this building sometimes.

Your poor neighbors.

You give him his wet food, then hop in the shower to clean off your hip. It bled a lot, but once the blood washes away, it's actually not as bad as you thought. You've stitched up animals before, but never yourself, and decide against trying tonight. If it heals a little unevenly, who cares? No one will see it, anyway.

You pad the wound with gauze, tape it over, and fall into bed. Staring at the ceiling, you're forced to admit to yourself that you may be looking up more in the future. Just to see if anyone in a red helmet is running on a rooftop nearby.

It was a long day. But, strangely, almost dying wasn't the worst part of it.

Actually... it may have been the best part.

~~

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[johnbrand]

Profile Picture

Anthony had been avoiding it for over a week and now the social media manager was getting antsy. All the new frat members were supposed to submit a picture to be introduced in profiles online. It made sense, but Anthony just did not have any good pictures of himself. Typically, people sent in their senior pictures, but Anthony had not had any taken. The last decent portrait he owned was from junior year when he had had braces.

“UGH!” Anthony sighed loudly, exasperated as he locked himself into a bathroom. Worst part of it all was that he could not escape the issue because he LIVED with these people. He had run into three of the other frat boys on the way here, one of whom insisted on shaking hands as he flew by. Typically, Anthony was short enough to literally hide; people would just overlook him so that he could scurry away unnoticed. But now he was trapped, making a deal out of something that probably should not have been in the first place. 

“If only I had been narcissistic enough to have taken a selfie once in my life,” Anthony groaned.

Suddenly, his phone lit up with a new notification. A text from a contact named “Michael.”

“Hey dude, it was great to meet you,” it read. Anthony wondered how the blond jock he had just met in the hallway already had his number. Let alone, why. Most people seemed to be put off by his personality, especially the hot, muscular ones. Anthony’s height was also a deterrent, as was his weight. Well actually, just about anything else one could think of. 

“How did you get my number?” Anthony adjusted his glasses almost subconsciously.

“Got it last night from you at the party,” came the reply. “Must’ve knocked you out pretty hard if you don’t remember.”

For a moment Anthony was not sure what Michael meant. He had only rushed this frat for the bullet point on his resume; he would have never gone to a college party. Or at least Anthony could not imagine having gone to one.

“Don’t you remember? That chick Nicole was all over you. I couldn’t help but get jealous.” Michael sent a laughing emoji before continuing. “She’s always been into the tall, ‘All-American’ kinda man.”

Anthony laughed as he checked himself out in the mirror. He did fit that bill pretty well. His body was practically built by the Midwest; corn-fed and stacked with beef. Anthony worked out all the time to maintain his thick-yet-polished frame. And at 6’3, all the muscle made Anthony appear even larger. He was almost always staring down at others, but that was just natural for men his size. 

“Yeah she was pretty crazy,” Anthony awkwardly replied. He had told her countless times that he simply did not swing that way. “I’m just glad someone else noticed. She had no chill, man.”

“She’s got a real hankering for the blond-hair, blue-eyes combo. It’s like something that really sets her off. You might get yourself a stalker if you’re not careful.”

Anthony’s smile broadened. Had Nicole really been that easy to read? Yeah, his sparkling sapphire eyes and luscious golden locks were usually enthralling, that was why he never covered them up. But that girl had really been on to him last night–more than Anthony was used to from others. “I could probably handle a girl like her.”

“I know. I’m just teasing,” Michael replied quickly. “I know you like when a girl is crazy for you anyway, all that attention goes right to the big boy downstairs.”

That text confused Anthony at first, but after a quick squeeze to his thickening python, he felt himself agreeing.

“What can I say,” Anthony smirked, continuing to paw himself. “I like to have a good girl who understands her place.

“Now stop fagging out on yourself in the mirror and get out here!" Michael responded. "This new pool is sick, and all the sorority chicks are here in their skimpiest bikinis.”

That final line made Anthony’s juicy dick spurt a bit into his tight, American-flag print swim shorts. Cockily, he posed in front of the mirror and took a picture of his studly body. Anthony then sent it to Michael before hurriedly exiting the bathroom. By the time Michael had forwarded the image onto the social media manager, Anthony had already acclimated into the pool, a swarm of hungry girls eagerly surrounding him.

[bunnysbrainrot]

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

[theemporium]

click 'here' to unlock the other boyfriends!

.

It was a well-known fact that Lando Norris was an affectionate guy. 

He couldn’t help himself, it was just something that came so naturally to him. From throwing himself onto his team after a podium finish to wrapping people in tight hugs, from tilting his head towards fans in photos to slumping against people in between long meetings when he needed a few moments to doze off. 

It was like his energy just thrived off of touch. He liked being around people, he liked being able to show them his appreciation and love because he was never really good with words. He liked being able to show the important people in his life what they meant to him—actions showing more than words and all that jazz. 

And he was pretty affectionate with his friends too, that was nothing new. 

But with you? Yeah, nobody was believing for a damn second that anything between you and Lando was just platonic.

You didn’t get it at first. You didn’t think he treated you any differently to how he did with his other friends. He hugged you the same way, threw his arm over you the same way, tugged you close the same way. He would lean his body against yours when he laughed a little too hard and his head would drop on your lap during movie nights, humming when you would scratch his scalp. 

But he did that with other people too. You weren’t anything special.

Except you were—it just took both you and Lando a stupidly long time to see what everyone else saw for months. And even once you spotted it, it wasn’t something you were rushing to tell the world. You wanted something to just be yours for a little bit—your little secret. 

You genuinely didn’t think people would even notice a shift in your relationship. You didn’t even think you acted all that differently from the months you and Lando were just friends, other than the bonus of making out with him at movie nights. 

“It’s been a while, chat. I’ve missed this.” 

Lando watched as the comments rolled in, filling up his screen so fast that he barely had time to catch more than a few words from each comment. And it was the truth. Streaming had become such a stress relief and easy pass-time in between race weekends. It was something simple and fun for him to do, to feel connected to the people who support him. In a weird way, it made him feel useful during his time off when there were no meetings to attend or data to review. 

It was something to do between training sessions.

“Hm, my plans? Mate, I just got off a triple header. My plans include moving as little as possible,” Lando said with an easy smile on his face, making no move to pick a game to play. There was no rush. “Although, I did invite—”

“Where’s my favourite P2 dickhead?!” 

His grin widened. “There she is.”

Lando turned in his chair, waiting a few moments as he listened to you drop your stuff by the door before you made your way into the room he was currently sitting in. You barrelled in, your smile almost as wide as his before you noticed the set up he had.

“You really invited me over while you were streaming?” You snorted, shaking your head but you didn’t have any complaints as you moved to sit on a couch near his desk. 

“No,” Lando whined as he reached out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugged you towards him. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks, it’s cruel to sit on the other side of the room.”

“Well, where else am I meant to sit?” You teased. “I keep telling you to get another chair in—-oh.”

You tried to hide your own surprise when Lando pulled you down onto his lap. It wasn’t the first time he had ever done it, and you highly doubted it would be the last, but he had never done it with so many people watching. 

He didn’t settle until his arms were wrapped around you, your body pressed against his before he practically nuzzled his face against your shoulder. “Better.”

Your face felt warm. “Someone’s clingy.” 

“I haven’t seen my best friend in three weeks,” Lando huffed, his brows furrowed together as though he was reliving the last three weeks. Between the races, training and media chaos, he barely had any time to himself—let alone time to talk to you. “Sue me.”

“Oh, he’s sassy and clingy,” you teased but didn’t say much else as you shifted until you were sideways on his lap, giving him a clear view of his screen. Your arm wound around his shoulder, your fingers twirling the curls at the nape of his neck. 

user: friends my ass, look at them!!

user: they are so cute!!

user: are they dating??

user: MY OTP!!!! 

user: clingy lando is the best lando

user: they are literal couple goals 

user: they are my fav ship 

Lando’s eyes scanned over the comments before he snorted, though there was something quite smug in his expression. “Ship? Like friendship? Aw, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a fucking menace, Norris.”

“Language,” he teasingly scolded, lightly pinching your hip just out of view of the camera but the squeal you let out in response told the viewers enough. “Gotta keep it kid-friendly in here. Max is probably watching from home. We can’t scar the poor kid.”

max fewtrell: too late for that, mate

You shook your head, lips pressed together to hold back your laughs. You shifted in the seat, like you were ready to stand up but his arms tightened around you.

Lando’s face softened. “Where are you going? Stay here.”

“I was gonna go make something,” you said with a soft laugh. “God knows you’ve probably not eaten a proper meal since you got back.”

“Eh,” he grumbled but he didn’t relent his grip on you. “It’s fine, we can order something. Just stay here.”

“I’ll only be in the other room,” you attempted but the boy wasn’t having it.

“No, I prefer you here,” Lando said, squeezing your body to punctuate his point. “And the chat missed you too. It would be rude if you left.”

“This can’t be comfy for you,” you murmured, your voice a little softer in hopes the microphone wouldn’t pick it up.

But Lando just grinned at you—that wide, huge grin that took over his face and made his eyes crinkle and sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. 

“You’re exactly where I want you, baby.” 

And you couldn’t help but smile back. 

user: BABY??????

user: OH MY GOD IT’S CONFIRMED 

user: THIS IS SO KEWBFJWEKFBWE

max fewtrell: you’re such a fucking idiot 

max fewtrell: but happy for you guys<3

.

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

a brief look at their daily life & random family’ moments (not the same timeline)

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, cyno, kaveh x fem! reader

cw: original characters, maternity, pregnant reader in wriothesley's part, parenthood, use of endearment names, arabic terms & fluff stuff. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

x

Wriothesley

Busy with your daily tasks, you and Wriothesley enjoyed each other's company in his office allowing only the rustling of papers and the noises of the pen signing documents to cause any sound in the slightly silent environment. 

The weight and movements in your womb didn't bother you as much as the discomfort caused by the swelling in your feet, and so you took advantage of those moments to work while allowing your body to relax on the sofa that your husband had recently bought.

A stack of papers was supported by your belly as you placed all the revised documents to be filed on top of it, but Wriothesley could see that all that paperwork didn't interest you as much as the crossword puzzle from The Steambird newspaper that you currently entertaine yourself.

“Honey, quickly. Known as Liyue’ enlightened beasts or gods. Seven letters.” 

Wriothesley looked up from a form and pondered for a few seconds before smirking, “Easy. Adeptus.”

You smiled excitedly, gratefully and scribbled down the answer right away.

Moving on to the next riddle, you had barely noticed someone knocking on the door until your husband allowed their entry and the presence of your teenage son was present. The boy peeked shyly through the crack in the door before entering.

“Mom. Dad. Are you busy?”

“Never for you, sweetheart,” you replied, setting the newspaper aside and placing the other papers on the tea table in front of you, gesturing for him to come closer. Cameron smiles sweetly and walks over to you, sitting next to you and soon being covered by your attention and affection. 

“Is there a problem, buddy? I thought you were in the city with Quentin,” Wriothesley asks. 

“No no. Everything's okay, don't worry. Quentin forgot that today was his parents' performance day and Corinne picked him up while we were at the beach. Éveline is also busy so I decided to come home,” the boy explains. 

You and Wriothesley nod in acknowledgement and your husband stands up from his own table announcing that he was going to prepare a pot of tea for the entire family. 

Cameron leans into the warmth of your embrace as you return to entertain yourself with your puzzle, but never pushing your son away from you. Meanwhile, seeming to sense her older brother's presence, your daughter starts kicking your stomach as if she too wants attention. Both you and Cameron laughed. 

“Does it hurt?,” he asks.

“No. I mean... Sometimes it feels like your sister thinks my belly is a playground and not even my ribs escape unscathed, but that's nothing I can't handle with,” you respond as you feel the boy's smaller hands caressing the area where Marie's little feet stretched. Gradually the heavy kicks became light nudges and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Cameron coos. 

Smiling, you kiss the top of your child's head and respond, “She's looking forward to meeting you too.”

A few minutes later, as Wriothesley returned with tea and some treats, the sight of his wife and son welcoming him warmly brought a small smile to his face. Even after so many years together and living this life, Wriothesley felt that there was nothing as beautiful and full of love as his little family. He was truly grateful for you three. 

Cyno

The General Mahamatra was accompanying the Less Lord Kusanali back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana after a long meeting with all the sages and the scribe of the Akademiya when he saw you leaving the Grand Bazaar with the twins by your side. 

The sparkle that briefly crossed his eyes when he saw his family could have gone unnoticed by most people who, themselves, would avoid entering the matra's vision at all costs. However, as smart and aware of her surroundings as she could be, the little dendro archon giggled softly and suggested that Cyno end his day's work to enjoy that comfortable afternoon with his wife and children. 

“Don’t worry about me. I'm just going to take a look around here and I'll be back home before dark,” she assured. 

Hesitant and perhaps a little worried about the little girl's well-being, Cyno took a while to accept the offer, arguing that he’d see you at the end of the day. However, after much persuasion from Nahida, and perhaps even inappropriate use of her hierarchy, the electro user soon found himself thanking the goddess for her kindness and bidding her farewell as he made his way to you and your children next. 

As if his senses were warning him of a new presence, Isaar was the first to notice his father approaching — welcoming him with a genuine smile and an excited wave that drew his twin's attention and yours back to him. You greet your husband with a quick peck on his cheek that didn't fail to leave him embarrassed and you amused, and the twins approach to receive a pat on the head simultaneously. 

“Hey baba, guess what,” Isaar announces excitedly “We’re having Shawarma Wrap for dinner tonight!”

Cyno blinks contemplatively and stares at you with a raised eyebrow, “That’s unusual. Any special occasion?”

“I won three rounds against Yan in the Invokation TCG, and we had bet that whoever won would be able to order mama for a special dinner.”

Cyno nods in understanding and Aryan sighs in defeat but already resigned. 

“I really wanted to eat mama’s Panipuri. Grandpa even helped me pick the best potatoes for them,” the quieter twin murmurs, but you hear him and let out a giggle, stroking the boy's face. 

“I’ll make them next time, Ary. Promise. I’ll even make double the quantity just for you,” you respond quietly so only he can hear and your son nods.

The general, unable to avoid listening to your conversation, also smiled a little. Here you were once again resolving a situation that might seem insignificant to others, but to you, it’d never cease to be important — and just with a few simple words you managed to express exactly what your son wanted to hear. 

In the end, Cyno removed the shopping bags from your reach and held them tightly with one hand while the other reached for yours before intertwining your fingers, guiding you back home. The twins walked in front of you two engaged in a conversation in their own language, never leaving their father's or mother's sight. 

Even though moments like these were rare given his and your duties, Cyno enjoyed every second he could get in the presence of the people he loved most. Because as simple as they were, they were just as special. 

Maybe he should ask Nahida for a holiday. But just maybe. 

Kaveh

“Daddy, daddy, daddy! Guess what! I will marry Hakim!” 

Those were the words your sweet girl announced as she entered the kitchen, making you pause your lunch preparation to look at her and Kaveh choke on the wine he was currently enjoying. 

The architect needed your help to relieve the coughs that filled his throat and inhale deeply to recover from the situation that almost dug his grave before his time — the words of his little princess, not the wine. 

“Princess, I thought you were going to marry daddy,” the man reminded her with a shaky smile and voice. You snorted.

“No! Daddy is already married to mommy. Also, look how beautiful this drawing Hakim made for me!” Zahra responds excitedly and hands her father a colorful and childish, but almost identical, replica of the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Although he didn't want to acknowledge it, Kaveh had to admit: the mini copy of his best friend had talent. 

“Oh my. How beautiful Zaza,” you praise the drawing as you lean over your husband, “Did you thank him properly, right?”

“Yes! I gave him a rose,” she says proudly. 

Kaveh's heart suddenly softens. Zahra truly was a thoughtful, sweet, and kind child, and he was proud of the beautiful girl he watched grow up every day — taking only the best traits from both her parents. That's why Kaveh protected her so fiercely because his little princess was too precious and he’d never forgive himself if something took that bright smile away. 

“Daddy is still against this marriage, though,” he says suddenly after snapping out of his reverie, “You are too young, I doubt Hakim would have the ideal resources and qualities to provide you with a good home and above all, men, in general, are horrible. But daddy isn’t. So daddy is the best option!” Kaveh ends his speech by crossing his arms and pretending to make a displeased face. You roll your eyes and pinch his cheek. He pouts at that. 

“Let kids be kids, love.”

Zahra, in turn, didn't seem sad or shaken by her father's words at all, but rather contemplative. The little girl's brow furrowed for a moment before she answered him.

“But daddy, Hakim promised that we’d get married when we were big like you and mommy and his mama and papa. He said that when he grows up he’ll become a great house artist like you and then he will make a house for the two of us to live in and you can visit us all the time!”

Kaveh was internally horrified. They were already making plans for the future and Zahra hadn't even had her seventh birthday yet. 

That was unacceptable, intolerable — the architect didn't even want to think about other possibilities. 

But looking at his daughter's sparkling golden irises and genuine smile because of all that fairy tale, the man couldn't retort but sigh in resignation. Besides, Hakim's word about he being a great artist were appreciated. But just a little bit.

“Fine. But you won't get married until you're thirty-seven. And Hakim has to build a palace with many rooms and a beautiful garden. And I will visit you every day!” he snorts and Zahra nods excitedly, giggling hugging him afterwards.

Meanwhile, you kept watching them with mild amusement and a warmth comforting your heart. 

If only your husband knew that childhood friends to lovers was a very common thing he’d go back on his words.”

.

a/n: i planned to write a part for kazuha and alhaitham but i'm a little bit tired so maybe in the next update? we'll see...

please let me know if there’s any mistakes ;)

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: anon request - "sam and colby making a sex tape with reader?!?!"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, double penetration, fingering, oral (all rec), hair pulling, rough actions, dirty talk, pet names, creampies, filth

Word count: 3.9k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"What are you doing lately, miss y/n?" Michelle asks as she crosses her leg over her other, leaning back to sip her drink.

You glance up at Sam and Colby, who are smiling and laughing while talking with their friends.

You look back to your friend, "Oh you know, just the usual adventuring and YouTubing."

She smiles and nods, "Yeah I just seen you surpassed three million." She holds her glass out and you clink yours with hers. She takes a sip, pointing to you, "I'm proud of you."

You smile, "Thank you. It hasn't been easy, but we're getting somewhere."

"And another round of tequila shots for this table." The waitress says setting down the tray and everyone cheers, already slightly drunk.

"Thank you!" You say taking your shot glass, "What are we cheersing to?"

"To y/n. For making to three million." Colby winks at you and you can feel the heat in your cheeks rising and it doesn't help when Sam looks at you with his smirk, "To y/n."

"No.. no.. there's no-"

"To y/n." They all cut you off, clinking their small glasses before taking them. A few people let out a groan and you laugh as you suck on your lime wedge.

"Oh my god. I love this song." Michelle gets up, "Come dance with me!" You look down at your empty glass, "Let me get a refill and I'll meet you out there."

She nods and runs over with a few of the other girls, dancing and singing as they do.

You look up and Sam and Colby are staring at you, "Yes?"

They shake their heads and Colby scoots down in the booth to sit in front of you, "Just admiring how good our girl looks." He winks and nods down, "I'll get you a drink."

You smile, "Thank you."

Sam moves down, "He's right. You look fantastic, babe."

"Sam." You whisper leaning in, "Careful."

He rolls his eyes, "Please. They're all drunk, they don't care." You smirk, glancing over at the rest of the group laughing and taking more shots, "You're right."

You, Sam and Colby all talked and agreed to keep your relationship as secret as possible, mainly because you weren't sure how everyone would react to you guys being a thruple.

You didn't think your friends would care, they'd be asking questions for sure, but Sam and Colby's fan base, along with yours, you just weren't sure yet.

You didn't really care what they thought, normal was so fucking overrated anyway. It was more or less you didn't want Sam and Colby to lose viewers for it, that was important to them.

You look over and lean over slightly as Colby extends his arm out, drink in hand, "Here you go, my love."

You smile, "Thank you." You take a sip, "Mm. This is delicious."

He sits down next to Sam, "Thought you'd like it." He slides Sam drink over to him and sighs, "Thought you were going to dance?"

You glance over at Michelle and the others and sigh, "Yeah, I probably should." You stand up, resting your hands flat on the table, "I know I'm reaching my limit soon."

"How come?" Colby smirks leaning in. You look over at him, leaning in closer to both him and Colby, "Because I'm starting to wonder why we aren't having sex yet."

You bite your lip, slowly pushing yourself up off the table.

"Yeah I'm starting to wonder that myself." Sam brings his glass to his lips and Colby nods, "Mhm." You smirk, laughing as you grab your drink, "Later."

You walk over, dancing as you walk up to your friends. Soon enough, you find yourself being drug up to the bar, your friends egging you to take more shots, and you do.

You slam the fifth one down, waving your hands as you laugh, "No, no. No more." You shake your head, "I'm good."

"Oh come on, y/n! It's a special night." Michelle shakes your arm slightly and you smirk, sighing, "Fine. One." You hold up one finger, "I mean one more."

"Yes! Okay!" She waves to the bartender and he walks over, "I need.." she looks around to make sure everyone is still there, "Five more tequila shots please."

He nods and walks away to get them and Michelle turns to you, "So how does it feel?"

You look up at her from your bar stool, "How does what feel?"

"You know.. getting to hang out with Sam and Colby all the time?" She sips her drink and raises her eyebrows, "You know lots of girls would kill to be in your position."

You laugh slightly, "I mean, I've known them for a while." You shrug, "It's always something new."

"Now.." she laughs slightly and sighs, "I have to ask.."

You close your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip because you know where this is going.

"Are you.. you know.." she leans in, glancing back at them before looking back at you, "Seeing either one of them?"

"Oh my god, Michelle." You roll your eyes and the bartender sets the glasses down, "Here you go."

"Thank you." You grab yours, taking it before sucking on the lime wedge.

"You didn't answer me." She nudges you, "Come on. I'm your best friend."

"And you're also very.. very drunk. So on that note." You finish the drink in your tall glass and set it down, "I'm heading home."

You go to stand up and she grabs you, "We're not done talking about this, missy."

You laugh and nod your head, "okay."

You walk over to the booth Sam and Colby are at, leaning down between them, "Take me home."

They both turn to look at you and they both nod, "Gladly."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

The ride home was kinda quiet, all but Sam and Colby talking to the Uber driver.

"Yeah, I've followed you guys since the beginning. I recently just subscribed to y/n. I think her content is pretty good too."

"I basically do the same stuff they do, just without the man power." You giggle and they all laugh. Kellin, the driver, shakes his head, "I think that's pretty badass."

Colby's hand brushes against your leg at the subtle flirting that's happening on Kellin's end and you lay your hand on his, "Yeah, when I'm not doing my own stuff, I'm with these two on their channel."

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, "Can't get enough of us."

"What was that?" Kellin asks leaning back more and Colby laughs, "This is our stop."

"Oh, alright. Pleasure to meet you guys." He looks back, "Congrats on three mill, y/n." He smiles and you nod, "Thank you for driving us home."

"Anytime." He winks and you see Colby clench his jaw before he gets out, helping you out behind him. He shuts the door with a slam and Sam walks around the back to meet you guys before heading up to the house.

"That guy was so fucking thirsty for your attention, babe." Colby laughs and sighs, "times like that are when I wish I could just.." he grabs your throat, holding you still so he can crash his lips onto yours.

You grip his biceps, kissing him back until Sam cuts it short, "Can we maybe move this party inside?"

You laugh against Colby's lips, "Of course, honey." You squeeze him arm as you walk by him, setting your bag down on the couch.

You turn around, and watch as Colby shrugs his jacket off. Sam pulls his hoodie up over his head. They both lay them over the back of the couch as you sit down on it, "So."

"So." They both say as they move in to kiss each side of your neck. You tilt your head back and shrug your cropped jacket that's draped over your shoulders, off.

"I had an idea." You whimper as you drag your hands up their chests, "A good idea actually."

"What's your good idea, baby?" Colby slides his hands down and across your waist, "we'd love to know."

Sam rests his forehead against your temple and you smirk, "Go get the camera." Sam lifts his head and looks at Colby, "Fuck yeah."

Sam races upstairs into the office to grab it. Colby moves to stand between your knees, holding onto your waist, "dirty girl."

"Just want something to look back on when you guys are away." You bite your lip as you look up at him and he groans lowly, "Well give you something."

Sam comes back down, "Alright. Where do you wanna start?" You slide down off the back of the couch, "follow me." You walk over to the steps and you hear the camera click on.

You smirk as you turn around, looking down at the camera. Sam moves it up and down, showing you off, "Can't wait to get you out of that tiny little skirt."

"Been teasing us all fucking night." Colby adds as he walks up, pulling you with him up the steps. Sam follows behind, and you make your way to the bedroom.

You pull Colby to you, pushing him back onto the bed so you can straddle him. You reach out for Sam, grabbing his hand once he lays it in yours and pull him to you as well.

He hands the camera to Colby and Colby films you on top of him. Your skirt riding up to reveal those slutty little panties sitting between your legs that are soaked.

Moving over to capture the slow, heated make out that has you pulling at Sam's shirt. He leans back, lifting the shirt over his head and tossing it before moving back in for more.

"Fuck. That's so hot." Colby groans, raising his hips slightly. You moan against Sam's lips as you grind against Colby's cock in his jeans.

"That feel good?" Colby asks and you nod as you pull away from Sam, "Yes."

"You know what would feel better, baby?" Sam whispers as he slides his hand down your body, pulling your skirt up more, "If you sat on his cock for him."

Colby hands the camera to Sam and you move off of him onto your knees slowly taking what little clothes you had on, off while Sam recorded you, hyping you up as Colby stood next to him.

"Fuck, yeah baby. Take it off for us." Sam whispers, "You're so fucking sexy."

You giggle as you toss the black bandeau top at them and Sam zooms in your jiggling boobs, "You have such nice tits, babe."

You smile, covering your face as you laugh slightly, "Sam."

"What?" He laughs, "I'm just being honest, now move those arms, we wanna see."

You move your arms, hooking your thumbs into the band of your skirt but Colby stops you, "Mm. Leave that on. Just take off your panties."

You nod, confused, but you reach up under, hooking your fingers into the band of your underwear before pulling them down to above your knees.

You sit back watch as Colby takes the camera. Sam moves onto the bed, sliding his up your legs and grabbing a hold of your panties to pull them down.

He tosses them aside and grabs your ankles, spreading your legs apart. You move your skirt up to around your hips before you lean back, resting on your elbows.

"Look at the way he's looking at you, baby." Colby moves up by your head, "He wants to devour you."

You look from Colby to Sam and bite your lip, staring into Sam's eyes, "please..baby."

A smirk grows onto Sam's face and he nods towards Colby, "Give him something to." He winks and slides his hands up the outside of your thighs to your hips, gripping them as he shifts around to lay on his stomach.

You work at undoing Colby's jeans, pushing them down so you can free his cock from his boxers. Colby groans as your hand wraps around him, pumping slowly.

"Fuck.." he breathes out and holds the camera on the scene, "Use your mouth baby. I love it when you use that pretty little mouth."

Sam presses little kisses along the inside of your thigh until he reaches your pussy. He licks a strip up to your clit, closing his lips around it.

You moan out as you lean in to take the head of Colby's cock into your mouth. Colby holds the camera as steady as he possibly can on you sucking his cock, moving it to Sam eating your pussy every so often.

You work your way down, moaning around Colby as Sam's tongue plunges deep into you.

"F-fuck, baby. Yeah, shit. That's it." Colby groans, laying a hand on the back of your head, "Just.. like that just like that."

You pull off, tilting your head back as you clench around Sam's tongue, "Fuck, fuck fuck." You stroke Colby's cock, moaning out as you cum on Sam's face.

"Good girl, baby. Good fucking girl." Colby groans and points to the camera to Sam as he sits up, "How's she taste, Sam?" 

Sam smirks and nods, "scrumptious as always." He takes the camera from Colby and Colby pulls you up, "Come here, baby girl."

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him as he pulls you closer by pressing his hands to your back. He bends you back, laying you down as he hovers his body over yours, lips still connected with yours.

"Same thing but with Sam, yeah?" He says lifting his head up. You nod, panting as he kisses down your body.

Your eyes roll back as Colby sucks on your clit, nipping gently. Sam moves up next to you, recording Colby as he throws your legs over his shoulders.

"Tell us how it feels, baby." Sam brushes his hand over your boob, pinching and twisting your nipple, "does it feel good?"

"So.. so fucking good." You open your eyes, moaning out as you lean up to undo Sam's jeans, doing the same thing you did to Colby.

You tilt your head back, gasping as you feel Colby slip two fingers into you, "Shit." You clench around them as you pull Sam's boxers down his thighs, "Fuck, fuck, Colby."

You wrap your hand around Sam's cock and he pushes his hips forward. You part your lips, wrapping them around the head of his cock.

He groans lowly, "F-fuck, baby." He lays a hand on the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as he slowly moves your head up and down.

Your eyes roll shut as the overwhelming pleasure feeling of having a back to back orgasm takes over.

"You're so fucking good at this." Sam lets go of your hair and you bob your head, moaning around him as you cum around Colby's fingers.

"Fuck, fuck." Sam groans and moves his hips back, pulling his cock from your mouth, "You only get better at that."

Sam moves the camera down to film Colby finger fuck you through your high. You're whimpering, moaning, and arching your back off the bed while your heels dig into his back.

Your back meets the mattress as Colby pulls his fingers out and leans up. He brings his fingers to your lips and Sam records your wrapping your lips around them. You swirl your tongue, moaning as you suck yourself from his fingers.

"So fucking pretty." Sam brushes his fingers over your jaw and hands the camera to Colby when he takes his fingers from your mouth.

Sam stands up to discard his clothes fully, then lays his body on yours. You feel his cock rub against you, “Sam.”

“What baby?” Sam kisses your jaw line down your neck as you whimper, “Please.”

Sam looks over at Colby, smirking at the camera as he leans up to his knees, “Please what baby?”

“I want you..” you move your hips, staring up at him, “I need you.”

“She needs you, Sam.” Colby says moving the camera up and down your body slowly, “Give her some.”

Sam bites his lip as he slowly pushes his cock into you. Colby records your face as it scrunches up with pleasure and you moan, “Yes, yes.”

“That what you wanted, babe? Hmm?” Colby runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you wrap your lips around it, moaning quietly as Sam starts to slowly thrust in and out of you.

Colby pulls his thumb out and you moan, “y-yes.”

Sam grips the shirt that’s around your waist, groaning as he tilts his head back, “Shit.”

Colby moves the camera down, focusing on Sam’s cock going in and out of you, “So fucking hot.” Colby moves down to plant his lips on yours, swallowing every moan that comes from your lips.

Sam slides a hand up, gripping one of your boobs as he slows his thrusts down, “I need to stop or my night will be cut short.” He chuckles as he pulls his cock from you and you whimper at the loss.

Sam takes the camera from Colby and Colby moves to lay next to you, “C’mere, baby girl.” He guides you to straddle him and you sink down onto his cock with a gasp, nails leaving crescent marks on his abdomen.

Sam sets the camera on the stand next to the bed, angled perfect to capture all three of you. He moves up next to you, kiss your neck as you move up and down on Colby’s cock, “You look so hot riding his cock.”

“So fucking good at this.” Colby moans as his fingers dig into your thighs, “Such a beautiful fucking sight.”

Sam grabs your skirt, assisting with lifting you up and down, “You’re such a little slut for us.” He nips your ear, groaning as you reach down to grab his cock, stroking him as you lay your head back on his shoulder, “you know exactly how to treat us.”

You clench around Colby’s cock and Colby shakes his head, “Hold it baby. You’re gunna cum with us when we’re ready.”

You nod once, squeezing your eyes shut as Sam sucks on your neck, pinching your nipple with his fingers, “You can do it, baby. I know you can.”

“Sam.. give me the camera..” Colby extends an arm out towards it and Sam moves to grab it, handing it to him before moving to his place behind you.

Colby records you bouncing on his cock while Sam slides a hand down to rub your clit, “I know we make it hard, but don’t cum yet.”

“Fucking beautiful.” Colby moans and zooms in on his cock going in and out of your pussy, “Sh-shit.” Colby sits up slightly, “How do you wanna finish.”

He reaches up and tilts your chin down so you can look at him, “How do you wanna finish, baby?” He repeats and you smile slightly, “I want you both.”

Colby’s eyes move to Sam’s and Sam smirks, “You heard her.” Colby nods, “I sure did.”

Sam moves to sit with his back against the headboard, “you can either set the camera down somewhere or whatever..”

Colby nods, moving to set it up somewhere while Sam directs you on how to sit, basically reverse cowgirl, but Sam move down a little bit and you’re laying with your back on his chest.

You bring your legs up and Colby moves in front of you, standing over you looking over your body, “Hold on.” He reaches over, grabbing the camera.

Sam reaches down grabbing his cock and slaps it against your ass a few times, “Colbs, some spit please.”

Colby chuckles and nods before leaning forward to spit. You bite your lip as you feel it run down over your ass and Sam rubs his cock in it.

Colby records the process of Sam slowly pushing into you, moving up to your face as you pant, moaning out with a little bit of pain and pleasure combined.

“You okay, baby?” Sam asks in whisper as he moves to hold your legs up by the back of your knees.

You nod, “y-yes. Yes.”

“Taking him so good baby.” Colby presses his thumb to your clit, gently rubbing circles as Sam slowly pulls his cock out and thrusts back in.

Your moans fill the room, and they’re loud.

“That’s it baby, let em out.” Colby groans as he watches the scene in front of him, “Fuck, let me in there.” Sam slows his thrusts down, leaving you whimpering as Colby slowly slips his cock into your pussy, “Fucking hell.”

He angles the camera down by his side, capturing the moment.

You lay your hands on Sam’s, digging your nails into the top of his hands, “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

“Taking us so fucking well baby.” Sam kisses your head, “Almost done, okay?”

You nod and arch your back slightly, becoming a complete mess as they start to thrust into you.

You can fight it anymore. You clench around both of them, screaming out as you cum. Colby pushes your thighs back a little more with his one hand, moaning out as you cum around him.

“Shit.” He groans lowly, “I-I’m gonna fucking cum.” He digs his fingers into your thigh and tries to hold the camera steady as he fills you.

Sam is quick to follow.

You moan out as you feel them both twitching inside of you, whimpering as you relax from your own high,

Colby leans up, breathing heavy as he watches you, “Y/n, baby. You alright?”

You slowly lift your head, giving him a smile, “Never better.”

Colby bites his lip, nodding as he moves the camera to where you guys are still commenced, “Ready?” You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

He nods and slowly pulls out. He groans lowly as he watches his cum spill out and roll down towards Sam cock that’s still inside of you, “Fuck. Sam you’ll have to watch this.”

“Oh trust me. I want to.” Sam slowly lifts you as he pulls out himself, and Colby sucks in air as you push out Sam’s cum for him, “Fuck, baby.”

You giggle quietly, sighing as you roll off of Sam. He leans over, “I’ll go get the shower started, hang tight.” He places a kiss to your lips and you nod, “Okay.”

Colby sets the camera down and lays next to you, “You okay?” He brushes hair from your face and you lay a hand on his cheek, “I’m sure I’ll feel it tomorrow.”

He chuckles and nods, “Yeah, that’s why I’m not going to let us watch it for a few days. Because I’m sure when we do..” he raises his brows and you laugh, “Oh I know.”

Sam comes back in, laying behind you, “You okay?” You nod, turning your head towards him, “Yes, baby.” He kisses your cheek, “Okay. Shower is ready.”

You slowly sit up and swing your legs off the bed, “Better hope that doesn’t get mixed in with your usual footage.” You laugh and look at them.

Colby’s eyes go wide, “Oh god, we’d have to fucking tweet something along the lines of um, hey guys, so that wasn’t your normal footage.. sorry for the.. the.. I don’t even know what we’d say.. I’d delete my accounts.. go rogue.” He laughs, “Colby Brock who?”

You laugh and look at Sam, “not if we uploaded it to the right website.” You wink and get up to walk to the bathroom.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

I feel like this was short, but also really good so that makes up for it. I hope you enjoyed!

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!