#eiffel's hair is a mess

[eva-birdman-art]

The gang let their hair down

[potter-imagines]

Brat (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Prompt: Satoru and his girlfriend Y/n are in an argument over his celebrity crush on Inoue Waka. Y/n is ignoring Satoru which absolutely drives him crazy.

Pairing: Satoru x reader

Warnings: some swearing, light light light smut (making out), gojo being gojo

Word Count: 7k

Notes: this is set broadly around season 2 episode 2 plot, with some clear changes from the original episode. riko and suguru are included.

“You changed your home screen?” Suguru commented nonchalantly. He took notice of the sudden alteration to his friend’s phone almost immediately. The difference wasn’t hard to spot seeing as the last two years all Satoru had used for his background images were various photos of his girlfriend, Y/n, whom he loved showing off.

Suguru was accustomed to the photos being circulated in a never ending pattern, Y/n and Satoru at the beach, Y/n in a scandalous position she beat him into removing, Y/n sleeping on his chest, Y/n and him sharing sweets, Y/n on her birthday grinning widely as she sat in front of her cake, the couple doing mud masks together, Y/n in front of the eiffel tower, and so on, however it was entirely new for him to see the famous, bikini clad Japanese model as his friend's home screen instead of his girlfriend. Suguru’s brow was raised as Satoru chuckled to himself.

“To Inoue Waka.” Gojo smiled in triumph, like he was in some war that he had finally found the upper hand in. “Y/n and I are in a fight- it’s certain to get a reaction out of her.” 

Despite his explanation, Suguru found himself lost in confusion. Only a night prior to leaving for their mission to protect and deliver the star plasma vessel, Geto had been sitting in attendance as he witnessed the couple's one of many bickering sessions. He really couldn’t blame Y/n much, seeing as he also found himself disagreeing with the white haired prodigy on the regular as well, yet this fight was one hundred percent, without a doubt in his mind, Satoru Gojo’s fault. Being as the argument was his wrong doing, Suguru couldn’t understand why his friend would sink himself deeper in the grave with his strong willed girlfriend rather than admit he messed up. And he certainly couldn’t see how an image of another woman- a model their argument steamed from, in a bikini too tight her boobs were practically over spilling from, would help his case.

The pair seemed to forget where they were until the young voice of the vessel of Tengen-sama herself reminded them of her presence. 

“Listen to me!” Riko shouted, irritation lacing her words. The young girl was set to explode off on the boys like a firecracker for their rude behavior in dismissing her heartfelt declaration on becoming one with Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama one with her, when suddenly the mention of the feminine name caught her attention. “Wait, Y/n?” She questioned. Riko didn’t see another female insight besides Kuroi but she sure hoped there was a sane female mind among the brainless men sitting among her. 

At her words, the man with hair white as snow leaned against the couch and ran a hand along his face. He narrowed his gaze, giving the girl a leer as if he found it ridiculous he had to explain who this Y/n was to her. 

“My strikingly beautiful, insanely stubborn, bratty, gorgeous girlfriend.” He moaned as his head fell back against the sofa, like the explanation was difficult enough. Through his dark rimmed glasses Gojo looked over to Riko, changing the topic all together. “I bet you don’t have many friends if you talk like that.”

“We won’t have to feel bad sending you off.” Suguru muttered. 

“I talk normally at school!” She expressed in an exacerbated tone, then quickly stepped forward pointing an accusing finger in the white haired man’s face. “And it’s you who shouldn’t have any friends! You certainly don’t deserve a girlfriend if you’re calling her a brat behind her back, you should be ashamed of yourself!” She reprimanded. 

Suguru lifted his gaze, intrigued by her final comment. Satoru didn’t actually think of his girlfriend as a brat, but of course Riko didn’t understand how the couple worked and there was no time to explain how Gojo called his girlfriend a brat in an endearing way- unlike his usage for it towards her. When Gojo used it towards Riko, he meant it. If they had the time, Geto might even explain how Y/n commonly refers to her boyfriend as a ‘trust fund baby’ or ‘a prick’, both of which are factual, yet it’s out of love between the two. 

Satoru ignored her quip, finding her opinion on his relationship totally useless. He knew his love for Y/n was larger than his will to live, yet he saw no point in expressing that to this girl. Riko didn’t know one thing about his relationship with Y/n so why did he care what the girl thought? Sure, he probably did sound like a complete jerk, however he couldn’t care less if the star plasma vessel before him found him to be a bad person for what she was hearing. 

Suguru glanced at Satoru, curious to see if the sorcerer was going to give a reaction however the six eye holder simply scrolled away on his phone, searching for the perfect image of his celebrity model crush to use as his lock screen. 

“School…” She mumbled out. “Kuroi, what time is it?!”

Satoru, Suguru, and Kuroi all sat scattered around the abandoned outdoor pool of Renchoku Girls' Junior High, all thinking of different things. Kuroi found herself reflecting on the time she spent practically raising the young girl who would soon be sacrificing herself as a vessel. Suguru’s mind wandered to how they were going to keep Riko safe until making it to Jujutsu High. All Satoru could think about was why his girlfriend wouldn’t answer his calls. Dangling his shoes above the water, Satoru kicked at the murky water in vex as yet another call went unanswered. 

“Huh?! She keeps sending me straight to voicemail- Suguru, let me borrow your phone!” Satoru failed to turn around as he extended his arm behind himself, impatiently awaiting Geto’s cellphone.

Begrudgingly Suguru dug his phone out from his side pocket and handed the cell phone over to his hysterical friend. He had already seen this play out a million times before and was positive the outcome would be no different; Gojo does something easily avoidable and pisses Y/n off, they get into an argument because it physically pains Gojo to admit his wrong doings, Y/n ignores him, he pretends he’s fine and acts as if he enjoys the distance created, that lasts for a few hours at most, then Gojo acts like a crazed person trying to get his girlfriend to respond while she is clearly still upset. 

Miles away in Tokyo, Y/n saw the face of her good friend Suguru pop up on her screen. Her brain screamed it was just her idiot boyfriend trying to convince her to speak to him. Maybe it really was Suguru calling to inform her of their mission. Hesitantly, Y/n accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, pretty girl- uh?! She hung up on me!” Gojo shrieked as the line went dead on the other end. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared the the screen in disbelief, almost as if the mobile device had zapped him like an electrical shock. His mouth hung wide, a look of absolute astonishment polarizing his features. A few moments of staring at the blank screen passed by, Gojo awaiting a returning call from his love to declare it was all some prank, yet nothing came. Suguru outstretched his hand towards his friend,

“Satoru, can I have my phone back?”

The blue eyed man gave an over exaggerated groan then carelessly tossed the cellular device back to its rightful owner. 

“Fine. Ugh! Can’t believe how dramatic she’s being! Just wait until I get back to Jujutsu High and don’t share any of my mochi with her. She’s going to have to wait at least a week until I give her that necklace I bought.” He huffed like a child. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Satoru gazed out at the pool. From behind he could hear a chuckle from his friend, causing him to turn his head. As expected, Suguru was chuckling to himself at his expense. Squinting his eyes, Satoru sent a scowl, unimpressed at Suguru’s amusement over his situation. 

“Well, you did go on an entire rant to her about how hot Inoue Waka is, how she’s your dream girl, then you told Y/n you’re only dating her because Inoue Waka hasn’t returned any of your fanmail-”

“That was a joke.” Satoru dismissed his argument, shaking his head, still playing a blind eye to his wrong doings.  

“And you said Y/n is lucky to be dating you… so, one might call her response reasonable.” Sure, Suguru was Satoru’s friend first, but he was also Y/n’s friend and he had no issue telling Satoru the truth when he was in the wrong, like he was now.  “Not to mention the new background which is sure to warm her heart.” Suguru pointed out. Gojo preferred to convince himself that his partner was wrong, although the nagging voice in the back of his head claimed otherwise. An abrupt quip from Geto on two of his cursed spirits no longer roaming around Riko sent all three sprinting to find her location, and still, even while the choir girls and sensei fawned over him, Gojo could not stop replaying his earlier fight with Y/n, wondering what he could do to get a response from her. 

Satoru and Riko were currently running from the chapel on her school grounds- well, Satoru was running while he had the young school girl hoisted by the back of her uniform. An unexpected attack had caused a bump in the road and now Gojo had to protect the girl on his own until he could find Suguru, not that the task would be difficult by any means, Satoru simply had his mind elsewhere. Speaking of elsewhere, his cell phone started ringing from his side pocket, and before he could reach for the mobile device, the young girl plucked it out in one motion. Satoru went to steal his phone back when she raised the phone to her ear and, as if it belonged to her, answered the call meant for Satoru. 

“Eh? Give that here-” Gojo reached his hand to snatch his phone back from Riko, yet instead she pulled the device right to her ear and began rambling. If she wasn't on the mission Satoru was certain he’d have dropped her off the building right then and there, but he had no time to make another effort to yank the phone as he needed to reach higher ground. It wasn’t until Gojo heard the sound of his girlfriend’s voice that his heart dropped straight to his ass. ‘Oh no’, he thought. 

“Is this Y/n?” The girl eagerly asked. A far off voice replied, making Gojo reach out once more to snatch his phone back, only for the vessel to jerk her head away from his grasp. He knew there was no time to stop, he had to get to higher ground and then he could steal his phone back and make things right with his girlfriend- he just hoped Riko and her big mouth wouldn’t taint that chance for him. 

Before he could try to reason with the girl and convince her not to say anything more, Riko began rambling and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Gojo could sense another curse user in their perimeter and knew it was essential for his focus to remain on keeping the vessel safe, even if she was a pain in his ass. 

“My name is Riko- yes, I am! Listen, your boyfriend is a total selfish, inconsiderate, self obsessed jerk! He barged into my choir class all high and mighty and bathed in the attention as the girls swarmed him- he even took his stupid little glasses off for them to all swoon over his eyes! He was totally leaning into their lust for him! My sensei even gave him her phone number-”

“Ah! Hey! Give me my phone back- are you trying to get me murdered?!” Nope, ah uh, not happening, Gojo thought as he tore his cellphone away from her hands. Riko turned to look at him, but the mix of fear and absolute terror on his face kept her words at bay. He sent the girl a cold glare, electric blue eyes narrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is-”

The abrupt sound of his beloved girlfriend screaming at him sent Satoru back to reality as he glanced at the phone screen, then resentfully lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hi, princess- why’re you yelling?! I don’t know what this crazy girl is talking about-”

Even Riko was experiencing a small twang of regret as the manic shouting on the opposite end of the line seemed to worsen with every passing second. As far as only knowing the cocky sorcerer for less than a full day, this change in posterior surprised her. Riko was taken aback to see him practically cowering at the words the girl seemed to be seething. All day he had been ranting and raving about how powerful he was- clearly the conceited type, yet here he was nearly shaking like a leaf as his girlfriend scolds him. Riko wonders for a brief moment if she should’ve minded her own business.

A minute more of screaming and cursing passed until Satoru seemed to find his voice, or rather thought of a viable excuse, and nervously cut the girl off. 

“I’ve got to go, a curse user attacked! See you later, my love!” He hurriedly smacked his finger against the red button on the bottom of the phone, desperate to end the call as quickly as humanly possible. Riko stared up at him as she dangled above the ground, and as their eyes met, Gojo rolled his, displaying his anger towards the girl as broad as daylight. 

Gojo scoffed down at the girl as he continued to hoist her above the earth by the back of her shirt, carrying her as if she was a briefcase, or bag of groceries, though certainly not as one should hold a human. Riko huffed, folding her arms across her chest, but Gojo paid no mind to her emotions, too upset with her actions and interjecting herself in his personal relationship. Jumping to the building to their right, a childlike huff heaved from his chest. 

“Jeez, you’re really a handful, brat. Now I’ve got more of a mess waiting at Jujutsu High for me.”

After the pair met up with Suguru and Kuroi, the four were beyond ready to be inside the safety barrier of Jujutsu High and left at once. After arriving at the school, the sun had long since fallen and the sky was teetering between a navy and black shade. Suguru gave his partner a curt nod, gesturing his head towards the dorm rooms, insisting he could handle escorting Riko into the tombs of the star corridor. Satoru sent his friend a grateful smile, bid the vessel and her guardian a farewell, then took off for the dorms. A small, minute, fraction of him was going to miss the kid, but she agreed to her destiny and up until now, seemed relatively pleased with her choice. Satoru jogged up the steps of the dormitory until he finally reached the fourth floor, the floor only occupied by female students. It wasn’t hard to locate Y/n’s room as he had snuck in past curfew more times than he could count, he reached her door with ease. 

His knuckles tapped against the wooden door, allowing less than a fair second to pass before he jimmied the handle. Usually a locked door would be a sign to walk away and try again in the morning, but Satoru only saw it as a slight hiccup. Pulling a credit card from his back pocket, Satoru slid the heavy black card through the slit between the frame and the door itself, shimming the card down to the lock while simultaneously twisting the knob back and forth. He gave the handle one quick turn to the left and abruptly the door swung open causing him to stumble less than graciously into the dimly lit room. 

Creeping in, Gojo carefully shut the door behind him and fully stepped into the dorm. The pink clock on her desk flashed half past midnight, but he knew his night owl of a girlfriend was sure to be awake, despite the eerie silence in the room. Tiptoeing his way towards the bed in the corner, Gojo let out a whisper, 

“Princess, I’m home! Are you awake?”

He sat himself on the edge of the mattress, placing the large shopping bag by his feet as he cautiously examined the heap hidden under a pile of blankets. Running his hand up and down the smooth fleece, Satoru could feel someone shifting around underneath. He leaned his head down, bending his body at an awkward angel, to rest it on top of what he assumed to be her side- that was until an elbow pulled back from under and collided sharply with his temple. 

A pained yelp sounded as he jumped back in surprise and fell to the floor causing a ‘thud’ to sound out. The figure on the bed threw the covers off her head as her fiery leer met Gojo’s stunned expression. 

“No.” She sneered. Though this did not deter the boy as he had previously prepared himself for an attitude filled reunion- especially due to how their last conversation had ended. Propping himself up to his feet once more, Satoru was determined to try again. 

“I brought you presents- look!” He rustled through the paper bag and yanked out four neatly wrapped parcels, and smiled while shoving his outstretched arms towards the glaring girl. However she refused to move, and instead continued murdering the sorcerer with her deathly scowl instead. Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, gesturing to the boxes in his arms once more. “C’mon, pretty girl, you gotta open the gifts-”

“Why don’t you go give it to those choir school girls- or what about their instructor-” A taunting laugh fell from her pink lips. “Better yet, send it to Inoue Waka and see if she finally responds to your love letters!” 

“Oh, c’mon, pumpkin! Are you really still upset about that?” Gojo whined. Here he was, bearing gifts in hand, and she was still angry about something that happened so, so long ago? Gojo ran his calloused hand across his face. 

“Still upset? It just happened today!” 

“If it’s any consolation, those school girls weren’t even in high school so they were way too young for me anyhow.” And none of them compared to you, he wanted to add. Y/n tossed from her position in the bed so her face was now peeking out between covers as her eyes flared. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Gojo would reach out to pinch at the cute chub of her cheek and comment on how adorable she appeared, yet he knew better than to try to weasel his way out of this one. 

“Ah, so you were flirting with a bunch of children and a cougar? Sounds a lot better that way, Satoru.” She shot back, sass soaking her words. Her rebuttal had Gojo rethinking his words. The issue with dating a woman like Y/n was she was far more intelligent then himself and simply didn’t fall for his handsome looks and boyish charm, which Gojo relied on when it came to the opposite sex. Not that this was a bad thing, so to say, it was actually one of the thousands of reasons why he loved her so much- she wasn’t shallow minded and saw him far beyond his outward appearance. Setting the presents on her freshly organized desk, Satoru ran a hand through his hair and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Technically, it wasn’t flirting in the sense you’re thinking of, I had to distract the class with my charm and good looks so I could sneak Master Tengen’s vessel out of class- I wasn’t lying about us being under attack by another curse user, that was true!”

“What about her number, huh?” Y/n scoffed. 

“She offered it, but I never accepted it.” Luckily he was telling the truth and Y/n believed him. Despite trusting his confession, she didn’t do anything more. 

A silence greeted the couple, neither certain of what to say next. Y/n lifted the blankets from her lap and stood from her bed in front of her boyfriend. Sure the gesture was small, but Satoru took her willingness to step closer to his frame as a good thing as his arms reached out to pull her body against his in a bone crushing hug. His forehead pressed against her shoulder while he kissed the spot. Y/n thought about pulling away for a second, she thought about making him work harder to gain her forgiveness, but his arms felt far too comforting around her body for her to shake him off. With his head buried in her shoulder, Gojo glanced up to Y/n, a softness in his eyes as he spoke,

“Do you forgive me, pretty girl? I’m sorry I made you upset… I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.” 

When she didn’t answer right away, Gojo lifted his head from her so he could properly look her in the eyes. He could visibly see the clouds of anger clearing as she quietly stared back at him. His hand then moved to wrap around the side of her face, his gentleness causing her to melt against his palm. She desperately wanted to smack his hand away, curse him then send him off to his room for the night, but she couldn’t. His touch sparked a series of shivers through her body which only made her long for him to pull her closer. 

A grin broke across his features as he accepted her lack of resistance as approval for his apology and began to move closer towards her face. If she slapped him away, then he’d know he misread the signs, but she didn’t. Their faces were so close in distance Y/n could smell the welcoming scent of peppermint swirling from his parted lips. These were the times she found herself grateful for his sweet tooth, it usually made for sweeter kisses. Wordlessly, Y/n pushed herself to close the distance and pressed her lips to connect to his. Gojo hums as he dips his head lower to gain advantage as he deepens the exchange. 

His mouth is warm against hers, inviting, as he kisses her. She can feel his tongue as it slips inside her mouth, almost like it was entering its second home, seeing as easily as it made itself comfortable and friendly against her own. Her fingers gripped at his white strands, pulling his face closer. All the frustration, all the emotions she had been experiencing towards him for the last day melted into the kiss. Satoru had one hand wrapped around her waist, holding her middle against his hips and his other swooped up around her lifted arm, leaving his hand to rest on the back of her neck, not letting her pull away even if she wanted to. 

Y/n could taste the strawberry chapstick on his lips, the same chapstick he had stolen from her only a week prior. He wasn’t lying, the taste was addictive. Gojo’s lips captured her bottom in a heated move, sucking on the skin with the slightest hint of friction as his teeth light delved into the plumpness. She had no time to muffle the moan passing through her, to which he smirked at the sound. 

A sense of shame washed over her once she realized he had won the silent battle. Instead, Y/n yanked at his hair from the root and pulled his lips back against hers, kissing him with such force he nearly stumbled back a footing. Gojo’s eyes widened in the middle of the kiss, surprised at her boldness and the way her tongue was invading his mouth. He could feel the material of his uniform growing tighter as his jeans constricted against his crotch. Y/n sucked on the silky smoothness of his tongue, small smacks sounding as she dominated the heated makeout. 

A shudder danced down his spine at the feeling of her hand pressed against his groin, his hips subconsciously grinding against her palm. Rubbing her hand along the zipper Y/n toyed with the cool metal, silently teasing her boyfriend as a means of revenge for his actions. Just as she began pulling the slider down, her lips pulled away from him at once, much to Satoru’s disappointment. His mouth hung low as a small whine sounded.

Y/n simply ignored his childish ways, and reached for the bottom of her shirt, causing him to smile once more. Peeling the shirt that belonged to him off her body, Y/n threw it to the floor then fell back against her mattress, motioning Gojo over with the flick of her wrist. Satoru stalked towards her on the bed, almost like a predator sneaking up on it’s prey. His eyes held a look of hunger she rarely saw but bathed in the heat searing from it.

Climbing over her body, Satoru placed himself so he was looming above her, his zipper hanging half undone. Y/n tilted her head, pretending not to understand the look on his face. Gojo shook his head then leaned his face so his lips could skim against her exposed neck. He let his mouth trail up the side of her skin, hot breath fanning over her coolness. His hands lifted to grope at the covering of her bra, giving the material a tug. He came to a stop once his mouth was pressed against the shell of her ear, his voice sending a wave of pleasure straight to her core, 

“I love it when my princess is being a little brat… think I need to put you back in your place.”

Without warning his lips attached to her neck and harshly began to suck at the skin, surely leaving a trail of blotchy red marks. Y/n’s whole body hitched at the overwhelming rush of excitement, her hips lifting only to be shoved back into the mattress by his own which hovered barely an inch above. 

She let her head fall to the side, allowing Satoru more access to her neck, her eyes hardly opened as she basked in the tingling his mouth brought. Hands traveled up and down his back, nails lightly scratching against him as her body wormed from his lips making love to her skin. Y/n nearly closed her eyes all together, she nearly allowed herself to get lost in his kiss, that was until a distant ‘ding’ caught her attention and the phone beside her head lit up. 

A text notification from Suguru popped up on Satoru’s phone, but that wasn’t what caught Y/n’s attention, no, her fixation settled in on the nearly naked photo of the famous model Inoue Waka. The same Inoue Waka that sparked the original fight between the couple, the same Inoue Waka Satoru called hot, the one he declared his dream girl, and same Inoue Waka Satoru said he’d be dating if she’d give him a chance- Y/n was fuming in rage. Pushing both hands on his chest, Y/n physically shoved Satoru off her body causing him to tumble off the side of the bed. His hands flailed out in an attempt to grab for stability, although failed as he rolled to the wood floor, his back smacking against the ground. Gojo laid still on the floor, his mind still trying to process the whole event as he rubbed at the ache on the back of his head. Sitting up straight she reached out for his phone and held it in his face as she screamed,

“Are you fucking kidding me, Satoru?! You put Inoue Waka as your background?!”

“Hehe… that was meant to be a joke…” The fear in his voice transcribed in shaky words as Y/n chucked the phone at him, barely missing his face as he lunged to the side. She snatched his shirt off the ground and threw it back on, covering her chest as Gojo scrambled to grab his cellphone. 

“Fine, I’ve got an even funnier joke for you,” A taunting smile full of hidden anger laced her lips as her finger jutted towards her door. “Get out!” 

His face fell all at once, a deep pout tattooed on his lips. Maybe he should’ve listened to Suguru earlier when he insisted this was a bad idea- if he’d had listened to Suguru, the two would probably be tangled in her bed sheets by now, but no, Gojo had to press her buttons even further. Opening his phone, Satoru clicked on the most recent image of Y/n and faster than the speed of light, set the photo to his new lock and home screen. 

“Aw, c’mon! I’ll change it right now- see! Look, pumpkin, it’s a picture of my favorite girl-” Gojo flipped his phone around, allowing the bright screen to illuminate Y/n’s face. She glanced up, and Satoru watched in utter confusion as her expression went from upset to lividly irate. His heartbeat multiplied in rate, obviously terrified of the disturbing reaction she held to seeing her face on his phone, or what he thought was her face. 

“You fucking asshole.” She growled. If this was his idea of a practical joke, Y/n was ready to make him single. Gojo’s eyes grew like a mass, quickly turning his phone back only to see what caused such a profuse reaction. The image hadn’t changed and was the same exact photo as previously of Inoue Waka propped up on her knees sitting in the sand as her breasts nearly poured out of her excuse of a bikini.

“Shit! I promise I thought I hit save- just give me a second, I’m panicking!” He screeched. His fingers moved at the speed of light as Satoru helplessly tried to set his girlfriend’s smiling face as his background, hoping to at least save some ground between the couple. What he failed to notice in his alarmed state was Y/n reaching out for her phone, scrolling through her photo album and setting a new image on hers. 

“No, no, it’s fine, Gojo, really. I’ll just change my background to a picture of my favorite guy.” The smile she wore was not one of love, no it held more malice, evilness like she had just completed a plot to end the world. Satoru’s head nudged to the side, his eyebrows pulled together in a line of skepticism. 

“I’m already your background, princess…” He mumbled. Clarity was granted as the girl tossed her cellphone, to which he caught with ease. Clicking the power button, Gojo gave a dramatized gasp.

“Is… is that Suguru?! How’d you get this picture? Did he send this to you? Oh my god I’m going to kill him-” 

“I think he looks cute.” Y/n smirked. Obviously it was all a ruse to get back at him for his immaturity, but she couldn’t help the sense of pride creeping up at the over the top reaction from Gojo. The photo itself came from a night out the couple shared, one with their usual third wheel, Geto. Four shots in and five mixed drinks, Suguru was having quite the time, which led to a gallery full of images that he insisted the three took together- and if Gojo would look a little closer, he’d notice the small wisps of pure white hair sticking out from the edge of the cropped image, but Y/n didn’t need to tell him that, it was far more amusing to see him frantic. 

Large blue eyes pleaded up at her as Gojo kneeled in front of the bed, his hands folded like prayer.

“Princess, please put my picture back! I changed mine back to you- please!”

Her finger tapped against the blush to her cheek, pretending to be lost in thought. This was pure torture as Gojo continued to beg at her feet. 

“Hm. I’m not sure- I do have a picture of that adorable first year Haibara in there somewhere…” No, absolutely not, that was Satoru’s last straw. No way in hell would his beautiful girlfriend have a photo of that first year sorcerer always obsessed with impressing Suguru as her background- never ever! Gojo was already annoyed their peer favored his best friend over himself, but having his own girlfriend joke about giving them attention, fuck no.  Holding her phone above his head and out of her teasing reach, Satoru screeched, 

“Ah! You’re going to replace me with a first year?! What?!”

Folding her arms in a crossed fashion against her chest, Y/n gave the hysterical teen a ‘told you so’ glare. 

“Now you know how I felt.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Satoru had to physically bite his tongue to keep the word ‘brat’ from tumbling past his lips. Yes, he used the term as one of endearment, but that was when the two were in their usual jovial mood- now was not the time and now. Gojo understood what she was hinting at, he got the message she was referring to their earlier argument and the various comments he had made towards the famous model, but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. In his mind, there was a clear difference between joking about having a crush on someone in the public eye and joking about having a crush on a fellow classmate. 

“Well at least my background was a celebrity that I have no real chance with. If you asked that first year out he’d probably say yes on the spot then pass out- and Suguru would say yes just to spite me!” His voice was teetering a cry as he threw his head against the bed. 

“I would never actually ask them out, Satoru. In case you haven’t noticed, I love you. Why do you think I was so upset about all those things you said before you and Suguru left? You basically admitted I’m not your dream girl but some famous, perfectly perfect model, who I look nothing like, is. Then you went on about how lucky I should feel being with you, as if I’m not already insecure about our relationship.” Gojo’s heart sunk at her words, regret filling his insides. “It hurt my feelings, Satoru.”

“I’m sorry, princess… I really am. I never meant to hurt you, I guess I thought I was being funny but… it’s really not true.” For the first time in maybe ever, Satoru’s tone sounded different. His voice no longer held that casual cockiness and confidence it usually oozed, no, he sounded timid… possibly the most serious he’s ever sounded in his life. The man who played life like it was the board game itself now stood before the woman he loved looking scared. Y/n’s face scrunched in question, slightly taken aback by the sincerity he expressed. 

“What’s not true?”

“What I said about Inoue Waka, she’s not my dream girl, you are.” Satoru stated. He needed Y/n to see the truth to his words, to believe she was the only girl for him, because she was. As fun as it was to tease his girlfriend, it was only amusing when she was in on the joke. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Satoru could see now how truly uncomfortable she was with his comments and it made him feel like a piece of shit knowing he planted a seed of insecurity in her mind. 

It was almost as if Gojo could see the shield Y/n placed around herself, around her heart. She was a hard one to crack, but getting to be the soul she finally let inside meant the entire word to Satoru and he had no intention of breaking that trust ever again. 

“And I’m the one who’s so fucking lucky to get to call you mine. You’re everything I could ever ask for in a girlfriend and more. You put up with me and you’re the only person who ever laughs at my jokes- and you know all my favorite snacks and treats… you even know all the things I’m scared of, which losing you is at the top of my list. I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt us, or made you feel insecure… I really am sorry, Y/n.”

The room turned quiet as Gojo’s confession hung in the air. Y/n didn’t speak, she wouldn’t even move. Instead, her eyes planted on the blanket in her lap, mindlessly losing herself in the pattern while her mind raced, replaying his words over and over again. Gojo examined her odd behavior, part of him perplexed at her lack of response. Y/n had a response for everything, for every situation. For the first time in their two year relationship Gojo was witnessing her in a speechless state, and for as much as he joked about her bratness and stubborn ways, he hated not hearing her voice. A minute passed until Satoru decided he had enough of missing her sound. As he opened his mouth, about to ask if she was okay, a shout sounded from her throat. 

“Ugh! I hate when you do that!” Y/n cried out. There was a thin row of salty tears teetering her waterline. Dread filled Gojo at the sight. He never meant to make her cry. Standing to his feet Satoru sat himself next to her on the bed, his hands reaching out to grasp her own in trepidation. His thumb drew anxious circles across her skin, a method he’d learned that usual calmed her down, yet her tears steadily fell. 

“W-What? Do what?” He asked in a wavering voice. With her free hand, Y/n harshly rubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears that continued to roll down her reddening cheeks. A few splashed against his hand that clutched hers, but he didn’t care. A scarlet ring formed around her e/c eyes as she glanced up to Satoru, a mix of agitation and sadness filling her. 

“When you’re all sweet and say things that make my insides feel like they’re all mushy and- ugh, I hate how much I love you. It’s so annoying!” She cried out. 

A wave of solace splash his bay at her words, along with the returning embrace as her hand squeezed his. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful his words had caused good tears this time. Bringing her hand up to his face, Gojo danced a trail of kisses along her knuckles and smiled. Still holding her hand, Satoru lightly urged the girl to lay back on the mattress and he climbed in next to her. Her head rested softly against the pillow, Gojo’s arm encircling her waist as he turned her body to face his. Once he could see her beautiful face, he let his hand wrap under her chin with a feather light grip. 

“I happen to love how much you love me, pretty girl.” 

His lips pressed a sweet kiss to her temple, then placed another to her forehead, then lastly a chaste and loving kiss to her lips. Y/n nuzzled her head against his touch, the shakiness to her breathing beginning to slow. Gojo removed his hand from her chin as he felt her wiggling closer until her head was laid up on his chest. The sound of his heart beat echoed in her ear and she cuddled into his warmth. A comfortable blanket of peace took control of the room as the couple enjoyed the feeling of holding one another. Satoru’s hand ran up and down her back in an act of comfort. His touch always made her feel more at ease. The moment of tranquility lasted a good portion until Y/n briefly pulled herself away from Gojo, an unfamiliar gleam to her gaze. Satoru tilted his head, unfamiliar to the unusual look, when Y/n lifted her hand to stroke the side of his cheek, as she spoke in a mask of sweetness,

“I swear Satoru, if you ever set Inoue Waka as your homescreen again, I’ll murder you then chop your body up and dump it in the ocean.” One might expect a rational response to such a threat would be fear, not Satoru Gojo. A cheesy grin broke out as his hold tightened around her body, pulling her closer to him.

“I know you will, princess, and that’s why I love you… even if you are a brat at times.”

Her hand smacked against her arm, faking a pout while snuggling further in. 

“Shut up, you love me because I’m a brat.” She remarked. They both knew it was true. Satoru could feign annoyance over her attitude, he could pretend she was too ‘difficult’ for him, but in all honesty, bratty was exactly the way Satoru loved her. 

“You know me too well.”

[dabisbratz]

forget me not — knight!satosugu x male reader

warning: mdni, porn w/ plot, royalty au, prince!reader, knight!satosugu, historical inaccuracies, two ( 2 ) smut scenes: brat!reader, spanking, dirty talk, light feminization, praise / degradation, backshots, possessiveness, jealousy, breeding, overstim, dp, oral, rimming, snowballing, eiffel tower position, mocking, unprotected sex, creampie, arranged marriage ( ment ), full nelson, sub!bottom!reader

w.c: 8.1k

.˚｡♡୨୧ ꒰ sonny says…: this took sooo long t’write but m’actually very happy with the result, hehe !! hope you guys like it too!!

There’s been a disturbance in the force. A rude, sudden awakening plastered on village bulletin boards and hammered into the story-seeking minds of money hungry journalists. The Baron’s son has gone missing.

They say it happened in the midst of the day, unexpected and all too sudden. He was left under the care of Kento Nanami— whom you’ve met a few times, and if you’re being honest. . . You wouldn’t mind taking up the man’s services while the Baron’s son is still missing.

It has nothing to do with you, frankly, seeing as you’ve never been kidnapped. You’re certainly not the Baron’s son— oh, you have much more authority than that— and you’re nowhere near as reckless as he is. Was? In fact, had you been as reckless as to take up the hobby of carriage riding, you’d have taken a butler or two with you. Not that you doubt your abilities in combat— sure, you’ve never thrown an actual punch in your life— but it shouldn’t be too hard. Whatever the status of his stolen life, it has nothing to do with you.

Until it does.

“Satoru Gojo, at your service!” The words are stolen from your mouth before they can even rise, and your hands are being enveloped in the warmth of long, pale palms. His grip is firm, albeit bouncy with vigor as he jolts your hand up and down, nearly snapping your arm clean off.

Satoru. . . Is very pretty. It’s apparent before you even take in his features. It shows in his voice, rich and sweet— you can hear the lopsided smile in it. It shows in his stature: playful yet confident, as if he’s done this a million times before. He doesn’t need good posture to tower over the masses, but he has it anyway. His blazing white hair…Now that’s an anomaly.

Taking note of your strain to wiggle free, he huffs dramatically, swatting your hand away as if it was him who wanted free. He taps a clean fingernail against his bottom lip once, then twice, and leans over to place his face directly in front of your own— increasingly taller by the second. With zero comprehension of personal space, he tilts his gaze up from your hand to your lips. His breath smells faintly of custard tarts, but it’s the smell of his expensive cologne that curves your judgment. For a moment, you consider what it’d be like— being wrapped up in his honey-smooth scent. His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“You look a mess.” The voice behind him is just as smooth, rich and deep and accompanied by inky, dark hair that you’re sure is against the knightley regime. But you don’t mind it— it’s hard to, especially when it’s attached to someone so. . . beautiful. His eyes match his hair, sleek and sharp dark pools that you’re sure have maidens swooning. His earlobes are stretched, something not as common amongst those of a lower royal status, but it suits him. He’s Suguru Geto, you’ve learned— as Gojo introduces him without a thought, like they’ve known each other for years.

It’s quite evident they do, with the way the white-haired male swings a playful arm over his shoulders and a smile spreads across the brunette’s handsome face. It makes something in your stomach twist, and you’ve decided— just upon feeling it— that you don’t like it.

“He meant to say the pleasure’s ours.”

The garden is peaceful. Full of peonies and orchids, arrays of pink hues and periwinkle petals that dance in the breeze. Leaving little to the imagination sits green leaves of shrubs and berry bushes, lined up along the perimeter of the outstandingly large green-room. Gravel trails of small rocks and shiny pebbles leave a great walkway through the center of every row, bleeding into the rich soil that holds blush roses. You’d spent many sleepless nights here, bare feet digging into the pellets as you’d danced to the celebratory music of the crickets, joining fireflies in their soirée. Kissed by the setting sun, its glowing, orange-yellow rays beam down into the crisp air. You breathe in, deep and full, lungs expanding with rose seeds and baby’s breath. Running your fingertips along the dainty petals, droplets of rainwater tickle your skin. You wish you were a flower, self reliant and free. Devastatingly beautiful under every eye.

Smacked dead center of the garden is a large fountain, sculpted cherubs with gold leaking through the crevices of their wings. Baby cupid follows just behind, a smaller stream of water flowing from his bow and arrow. An extravagant spectacle that was much too flashy for your liking, but gorgeous nonetheless.

There are remnants of your childhood here, large overgrown trees that reach for the skyline holding a wooden swing, sole and lonely, worn down from the years. An unmistakably human dent in the freshly watered roses that fit you perfectly— have fit you perfectly. . . It’s yours.

Or, at least, it is now. After your mother died, you’d taken after her horticulturist nature. It was the last thing you had of her— her trees, her flowers, her soil. She planted the seeds and you nurtured the roots— just as she’d done for you. You used to imagine your life without her when she was around, so much so your throat would tighten and your vision would blur. But it never could’ve amounted to how it’d feel when it actually happened. When she was gone forever, in the midst of the night. Like she’d dissipated into thin air. She left you.

Your knees dig into the soil, a freshly installed pound of mulch to regulate the heat of the roots bound to the ground, scraped up and burning the further you kneel on its surface. You’re sure the fresh smell of grass and dirt will cling to the baby blue silk of your pajamas— especially the shorts— but you have only half the mind to care, shifting your weight ever so often as you spill your family secrets to the peonies. They’re great listeners.

The ground crackles beneath your knees, pebbles leaving behind thick remnants of dust as they’re kicked to the side beneath heavy shoes. It’s not hard to guess who it is, not when you’ve been around the same two idiots for the past several months, or so. There’s a bounce in his step, much bouncier than the other— so you know it’s Gojo.

“You’re so hard to find,” Exasperated and faintly out of breath, the high ranking knight pretends to gasp behind you. “Seriously! Like some kind of.. slippery.. snake.”

“Ugh,” You hear yourself groan, nearly planting your face into the roses to save yourself from facing the knight. “That was the point.”

The white-haired man hums, mumbling something akin to ‘pretty!’ under his breath as he crouches down on one knee beside you. The gesture makes your blood boil as much as your heart flutters, fast and hard as your shoulders inch closer and closer to your ears. Getting on his knees to face you like this. . . You’re a grown man! . . . Albeit on your knees.

Gojo sits the luminescent lantern down, appreciating the quiet sound it makes as it sinks into the gravel path. So dramatic, the moon has barely begun to show, and yet, he’s carrying around a damned lantern!

“Well,” His voice is soft and quiet, as if he’s trying not to wake the tulips. Gojo’s hand, long and thin, pushes down the strain of your shoulders and smooths them out until they’re lax and rested. “It’s time for bed! And I have to make sure you get to bed safe. You know that.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” You stand your ground, planting your knees further into the soil despite the jolt of pain shooting straight through them. It’s childish, really. The garden isn’t going anywhere, it’ll be here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and after that, and so on and so forth. But it’s your safespace, if you could sleep here you would. “What’s my schedule like tomorrow?”

You’re buying time. Satoru knows he can’t object to answering your questions, he’s legally bound to you— legally bound to answer to you. And if that wasn’t enough, he was bound by an oath of blood.

“Between you and me,” Satoru leans forward, resting his hand atop his knee. His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and smells faintly of sugar cane. “Same thing as always. I don’t know how you do it! I mean, I went to school to be appointed knight. . .”

You’d meant to distract him, but really, you ended up distracting yourself. The knight’s voice is just so smooth, warm and buttery. So you listen as he explains your schedule— breakfast, fencing lessons, fitting for a new set of outerwear, more fencing lessons, lunch— it’s all the same. It’s the small peek into his life that leaves you interested, the implication that his family was wealthy enough to send him to school. That he chose the life of chivalry.

“. .I met Suguru . .We were the strongest in our division, y’know. . .”

“Satoru?” You don’t mean to cut him off, but his recurrent rambling slowly weighs down your eyelids. You turn to sit properly, gritting your teeth as you rest on your backside and dust off your scraped knees. Dirt clings anyway.

It’s clear the knight notices, but he doesn’t make an effort to say anything. Instead, he chirps in acknowledgment to your upcoming question, raising his pale hands to lightly dust away the remaining soil. He’ll have to inform someone of the infirmary division about it after you're safely asleep in bed.

“Can we— I want to sleep here tonight.” His face noticeably contorts, dimples creasing his pale, but still rosy, cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in thought.

“Knew you’d say that,” You nearly crash straight forward into the pale man’s chest, surprise etched across your features as Suguru’s voice rings behind you. How long had he been there? The trail crunches beneath his feet, slowly growing quiet as he stops adjacent to you and Gojo. He’s holding a quilt in his hands, sturdy and warm and large, accompanied by one of your expensive silk pillows in contrast to their strung together, straw cushions. “You took my lantern, Satoru.”

“Guilty!” The other responds, as if it were a question and not a proclamation of war— courtesy of Suguru.

If the three of you end up sleeping under the stars tonight, you only have half the heart to complain.

Tomorrow comes easy.

Though you suppose, that makes it today. You were left to your own devices, having clothed and groomed yourself accordingly. Your fencing uniform wasn’t entirely traditional, though it wasn’t as if you were doing traditional fencing in the first place. Satoru and Suguru preferred swordsmanship, the art of wielding and yielding a sword against their opponent. And, sure, fighting one against two wasn’t exactly fair, but it was realistic.

Or that’s what you tell yourself to get through it.

Satoru is relentless. The man looks like he’d fall apart after being struck with a particularly heavy gust of wind, but he’s sturdier than he looks. His lean nature only adds to his agility, and going against him is like learning to walk on your feet for the first time all over again.

“Don't think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re my favorite student.” You’re his only student, you want to add, but you’re too busy dodging his sparkling blade.

You haven’t been given the pleasure of using a real one, not like Geto and Gojo do, you’re stuck with a pathetic excuse of a wooden sword. It’s kiddie and cheap in your hand, almost as if you’re holding some sort of toy, but the two insist it’s for your safety. The two are masters at their craft, nothing but the best for the prince—you suppose—they have yet to knick you with their blades.

“Or because you’re the handsomest,” His smile is smug, watching your eyes widen by the centimeter. “Isn’t that right?” It’s accompanied by a grunt, whether it’s frustration or flustered, it certainly has you wound up enough to send a wooden jab straight to his abdomen.

“Atta boy!” He chirps, charging forward to knock you over with a strong, hearty embrace. He’s warm, much thicker and plush than his training garments let on. Suguru pushes him away with a blunt elbow to the ribs, a chuckle parting his pink lips when the man scrambles to shield his side.

“Speak to me like I’m some sort of pet again and my father will have your head.” You grunt, though it’d be idiotic to say you don’t miss the warmth of his body.

That gets an unrestrained laugh out of Suguru, but it dies down before you can truly appreciate it, “My turn.” The air thickens with intensity, and suddenly the wooden sword in your hand is a brick.

“Aw, c’mon! But I’m so hungry,” Gojo’s back just as fast as he leaves, jumping on the two of you with the entirety of his mass. “Don’t tell me you want to pass up soba!”

The weight of Satoru’s body has all three of you toppling over, limbs wrapped around each other as you tumble down the small hill. Blades of grass tickle your back, through your clothing, but your face is protected by the cushiony warmth of Suguru’s chest. He cradles your head the whole way down with one hand, the other wrapped around Satoru’s waist.

You’re sandwiched between them, one heart beat for each ear as your eyes slowly crack open. Their cheeks are dusted a rosy shade of pink, featherlight and sweet as it seeps into the apples of their cheeks and travels up their cheekbones, and back to their lips. Kissable, biteable, your lips can’t help but part as you gaze at them.

There are warm palms pressing into your wrists besides your lack of resistance, and you can’t argue until it’s too late. Warm, your face prickles as a pair of lips press into the fleshiness of your cheeks. Soft like pillows and smooth like silk, it’s a tender kiss to both cheeks that you can barely register. It must look silly, you’re certain, being pinned to another while both press a ginger, heat-of-the-moment kiss to your cheeks.

(It’s scandalous to be caught kissing before marriage, let alone with your knights. But you’re to be crowned soon, and you never liked listening to your father anyway.)

So you can’t help but smile, lips upturned as a hearty, genuine laugh floats into the air and bursts like a freshly blown bubble. Just as transparent— you’re truly happy. This is yours.

They are yours.

You feel cold just from hearing it. The cool breeze of spring beating against the glass door separating your bedroom from your balcony. Large, sculpted and plated in gold handles that glint under your bedside lampshade. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with balled up fists, you’re quick to scramble out of bed. You slip off your thick blankets in favor of your robe, slipping your arms through the thin material that, really, doesn’t do much to aid your skin from the bitter cold that comes hand in hand with the midnight sky. You venture onward nonetheless, dragging the sheer, lace material behind you as you open the double doors with a quiet grunt.

“C’mon, don’t listen to him!” It’s Gojo, you can tell, the nervous smile in his voice is apparent. It echoes against the tall walls, loud and clear in comparison to the singing crickets and cicadas.

The silky tremor of his voice makes your shoulders relax in an instant, and you can’t help but peek over the sculpted balcony. The flooring is cement but the railings are cold metal, bent into flowery shapes and spiraling coils. You press your palms into the metal, leaning forward until the cold railing is pressed against your stomach.

Satoru stuffs his hands into his pockets, visibly deflating as he shakes his head. It’s hard to see his face from the angle you’re at, but you can tell his glossy lips are pulled into a tight lipped frown.

“I’m the Prince’s personal knight, all have you know!” He raises an accusatory finger toward the balcony at which you stand, and you nearly fall over when he lifts his blue-eyed gaze to meet your own. “Look! Look!”

You feel yourself leaning forward, chasing after Gojo’s dimpled smile until you’re falling fast and hard, but there’s a firm hand gripping the nape of your neck to prevent you from doing so. You nearly jump out of your skin, balling your hands into tight fists in preparation to swing, but the large hand is familiar. Warm, inviting, stern.

Suguru.

His long hair flows with the wind, blending into the inky black sky as he looks down at you through the bridge of his nose. Suguru is the scariest of the two, albeit just as goofy and sugar packed as Satoru, with narrowed eyes and knowing smirk. He’s always first to set things straight, and it’s as simple as a disapproving hum or shake of his head.

“Warn me next time,” Your voice crackles with disuse, but you swat away his guiding hand to emphasize your seriousness. Geto raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound all that convinced.

“Not of you anyway. For you,” You clear your throat, watching Geto stalk over to the edge of the railing. “. . .Since I’ve been training. I could’ve…Y’know, really knocked you out.”

You neglect to acknowledge that you’ve been training with him and Satoru, that they’re the reason why you know what you do.

“Right.” The stifled laugh in his voice is evident, but Suguru doesn’t bother arguing with the statement. His eyes have traveled to the box in Satoru’s pretty hands, wrapped in silky paper and tied together with a bow. Small enough to fit in his pocket, he must have fished for it when you weren’t looking. You don’t get to inspect it for long, as he’s being ushered back in before your eyes can really make-out the shape of whatever’s packaged inside.

When you see Satoru again, inside the castle this time— in your very own bedroom, he looks just as good as the day he’d left you. Though his expression is twisted— confusion (toward you) and agitation (toward Geto)—he continues to get you into your actual pajamas, laughing away the embarrassment of stripping you of your garments.

While he discards your shirt, Geto undoes your shorts from behind, eyes dancing down your thighs, your legs, your ankles, to the floor. Where your robe sits, pooling around your feet. Your back is caged against Suguru’s front, his chest pressing up against you as he leans down to press his chin into your shoulder. Warm and big, his arms snake around your waist as Satoru’s long, skinny fingers trail down your bare shoulders, your chest, your navel. . . back up.

Squirming in his hold, Satoru’s fingers circle around your nipples, watching as they harden and stiffen. Cute, soft sounds leave your lips and your head falls forward, lashes fluttering as your back slightly arches.

“I’m to be married next month,” You blurt it out before you can catch yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat as the air chills with silence. It’s thick, frozen like ice and prickles at your skin. “There’s— We’ll be holding a ball for it, and you two will come with me for my suit-fitting.” Suguru’s grip around your waist tightens, and Satoru finds himself rolling and pinching your sensitive buds with more aggression.

“Why?” It falls flat on Gojo’s heavy tongue, and Geto seems too busy burying his face in your neck to ask further questions.

“Guaranteed protection,” Your shoulders stiffen, Suguru pressing his thickening cock against your ass with a grunt of disapproval. Satoru’s face darkens, in a way that’s reserved and scary, like you’ve insulted him and his entire bloodline. “You two are. . . unfit.”

“Unfit.” It’s spoken in unison, steely and hard in a way that has your knees wobbling. You’re lucky to be between them, leaning against them for support as Suguru’s teeth sink into your shoulder. His gaze flickers upward, straight to Satoru, and before you know it, they’re pushing you into your soft bed.

“Ow!” You hiss, hands shooting to cover the area Suguru’s palm crashes against. “The fuck are you doing?!” Heat blooms beneath your fingers, but you’re not able to cover your ass for long, because Satoru’s pulling at your wrists and properly positioning your backside upward. His grip is strong, nearly bruising, as he manhandles you over both their laps and pushes your underwear to the side, fully exposing your ass.

“What your father couldn’t,” Is all you get in return, squirming and thrashing in their strong grip as Geto’s big hand strikes your ass. Your hips twitch and jolt, grinding against a hard knee that has whimpers rising in your throat. You can’t help it, they sound so good when they’re angry, so deep and gravelly. It makes you want to present, to spread your legs and stick out your tongue for their use. “It’s about time you learned some actual manners, boy.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles into your cheek as he coos, pretty lips parted and wet— eyelids heavy and his gaze dark as he smiles, “Goin’ floaty on us already?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, a simple and sweet ‘shut up’ dying out on your tongue and cut short when Suguru spreads the globes of your ass with his fingertips, watching the plush skin spill and swell between his fingers. Your hole is so small, pretty and sweet as it twitches in contact with the cold air. He wants to run his tongue along it, feel it clench and pulse around his tongue until you’re crying on it, rocking your hips and pulling at his hair to feel it deeper.

“C’mere,” It’s not a request, not with the way you’re being dragged closer to the brunette. His nails dig into your soft skin, squeezing and groping until it starts to hurt, but in a way that has your voice squeaky and shaky. Satoru’s there the whole time, his hand wandering down to your throat. “ ‘Getting married’…’unfit’. . .Tch, that’s funny.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as Gojo’s hand tightens around your throat, emphasizing Geto’s words. Your moans are strangled and tight, vision hazy around the edges as the sides of your neck are squeezed. He keeps contact with you the entire time, cerulean eyes intense and deep. You can’t help but rut your hips, pressing your front against the surface of Suguru’s thigh again and again as he lets out a series of smacks against each cheek of your ass.

“You’re not—” You whine, rolling your hips as Suguru’s fingers tap at your hole in warning, watching the cute muscle twitch. Cute, winking back at him and slick with spit. It sticks to his fingers, wet and sloppy “You’re not the boss of me!”

“Waah, waah, ‘you’re not the boss of me!’,” Satoru laughs, tacking on a nasally, prissy voice that rings in your ears and has heat pooling in your stomach. It’s hard to hide the embarrassment in your face, the twitch of your brows as you grit your teeth and roll your eyes— but it’s not like you can keep up the facade. Suguru delivers a particularly harsh slap to your sitspots, enough to make your breath stutter as tears well in your eyes.

“Geto—”

“Suguru.”

“Suguru, stop…!” You kick your legs, scrambling under their strong grip until they share a growl, rumbly and deep and demanding. It’s Gojo’s turn to paw at your ass now, squeezing the flesh as it spills between each finger and circling a slick (when did he grab lube?) digit over the sensitive, winking muscle of your rim.

His fingers slip into the mushy, warm heat with little resistance, and your face lights ablaze when the two groan at the sight, “Don’t tell me you’ve been givin’ our greedy hole attention without us?”

Theirs. Yes— you suppose— in a way it’s theirs. Strictly theirs, with the sleepless nights they’ve spent burying the thickness of their cocks deep inside, pumping one load after another deep inside so it’d really stick. Enough to feel them for days, leaking down your thighs when your needy fingers don’t stuff you a full.

You don’t have time to answer, gurgling over the moans caught in your throat as Gojo’s long fingers twist and stretch you out. You're wrapped up between them, the thickness of their bodies pressing against you as you buck your hips into nothing in particular. Satoru's long fingers feel slick with spit, only moistening as he drools down your crack. Spit falls from his tongue, slow and thick, pooling around your rim before he rubs it deeper in with his knuckles. It’s too much, tears spilling from your eyes as you whine, “S’deep, ‘Toru, go slow—”

“Oh, my prince, are you alright?” Suguru sounds almost smug, muscles in his forearm rippling as he readjusts himself in bed. His thick legs spread wide, clearly comfortable and relaxed. He has an obvious dickprint through his pants, almost shameless as your eyes pan up and down his body. “Do you need saving?”

You sniffle, wet and pathetic as you shake your head, wriggling so rest your face against your pillows, silky smooth as you soothe the burning in your cheeks. There’s a shared tutt behind you, not at all frustrated, but it has you blinking away the tears nonetheless. It goes in vain, peeking back from your shoulder you can see the two knights inching closer, their breaths fanning over your throbbing, aching hole until they share a fat lick, pink tongue lapping up at the lube and spit keeping you slick.

“I think he does, Suguru.”

Your cock leaps.

“It’s too bad we’re deemed unfit, Satoru.”

You’re greedy— and you know it. But once you’ve had both you can’t go back, not when their tongues fight to inch deeper and deeper inside your slutty hole, slick and wet and warm, impossibly deep in a way that has your toes curling and back arching. They eat you out like they’re starving, moaning vibratos through your skin until you're sobbing into your pillow. Even from here, you can feel drool and spit dripping from your sopping hole, past their chins and onto the silk sheets.

Your hands find themselves in their hair, curling into fists around soft bundles of locks as you push their faces in deeper, mewling. You can feel hot, open-mouthed kisses between each swirl and lick of their tongues, and it’s enough to make you squeal.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, wait—”

“No. This dick doesn’t get t’fuckin’ come unless it’s on our cocks, you hear me, Princey?” You can’t tell who’s talking— your brain is full of cotton and fog. Just like you can’t tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, too busy focusing on the emptiness of your hole and tightening of your balls.

“No!” You hiss, trying your best to kick your feet despite the strong grip holding your thighs still. And, fuck, if you’re not a whitney mess. It’s just so good, the lewd sounds of them slurping at your hole and moaning into it, the messy sounds of their mouths on “It’s— M’so. . . achy, wanna cum! Please, Sugu? ‘Toru?”

“Alright.” It’s Gojo speaking, you can tell, because he’s got this saccharine lilt to his voice that makes your lashes flutter and heart skip. He’s moving— or moved, rather— seeing as he’s back to cupping your face with his big, pale hands. You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping as you shimmy to palm at your cock, slick and weeping with pre. You’re sure your sheets are ruined.

“Aht, aht, aht!” Satoru chirps, and your heart plummets as your hand flinches away from your needy, dripping cock. He doesn’t look much better, pink fanning his cheeks as he looks down at you with heavy lids, lips shiny with spit that dribbles down his chin. From his angle his cock presses against your cheek, thick and throbbing as a patch of wetness grows through the fabric of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“We said you can cum,” It’s Suguru now, with a throaty voice that’s muffled as he keeps his tongue nestled in your warmth. He could sit there for hours. “Not when or how.”

Fuck. Them. Your whines are open-mouthed and pathetic, the perfect opportunity for Gojo to slip his pretty cock into your mouth and down the tight heat of your throat. Yeah, it’s tight, bulging around his cock as drool and spit spills from the seams of your lips and bubbles and froths around his balls and shaft. It’s tighter when he buries his cock to the hilt, pressing your nose into his crystal white pubes until you’re gagging for it.

There’s a particular vein by the underside of his shaft, pulsing and throbbing on your sloppy, wet tongue the more he uses your mouth, fast and rough like you’re nothing but a toy, just with extra steps and a few snarky remarks. He’s really shut you up now, his long cock leaving a bulge behind in your throat as he fills it with salty, bitter precum. His cock is heavy.

“Fuck,” Behind you shifts Geto, who frees his cock with the zip of his fly and the pop! of a bottle. They must’ve swapped before moving, you can hear the slick squelch of warm lube sliding along the length of his pretty dick, wet and loud as he eagerly thumbs his slit. You wish you could really see it, the veins in his hands pulsing as he squeezes his shaft, obscenely pulsing and weeping in his palm. “You’re so soft and warm. Gonna fuck this cute little hole full, till your sweet boycunt’s fucked stupid.”

You and your knights share a groan, loud and obscene as Suguru’s cock stretches your hole open. He’s so big, fucking you full until you feel it in your tummy. Your toes curl deliciously, vision hazy and white as you blink back tears. His fingers, his tongue, his spit, his cock. . . It’s all too good, too skilled and perfect as it angles just right into that special, sensitive bundle of nerves. He’s so deep, sliding in with ease as your puffy hole swallows him in full.

“Look at that,” He’s rambling now, slamming his balls against your thighs as he watches his cock disappear inside. Your hole clamps down around him, convulsing and spasming along his shaft just enough to make wet, sticky sounds. “Took me in so easy, so messy. . . Sure you’re not better suited to be free-use stress relief for the people than their prince? Take what we give you and say thank you, Princey.”

“Thmmph. . .” You can’t speak with a mouthful of cock, and your eyes roll back, stuffed to the brim from both sides. Suguru’s thrusts bounce you forward, whereas Satoru’s pulls you back. You can’t think like this, full and fucked stupid as you hollow out your cheeks with hot pants and wiggle your hips. You really are easy.

“S’a good boy, sugar. Don’t think, just keep fuckin’ yourself full of cock. Muuuuch sweeter this way.” It’s the vibrations that send Gojo over the edge, his head falling forward as he whines high in his throat. His balls clench and pulse against your chin, smearing more pre and spit along your face until he’s cumming, hard and without warning. It’s thick and hot, bitter and salty, as his dick throbs in your throat and slides along your tongue, like he’s milking himself with your mouth. The white-haired man uses you like a toy, keeping you still with a hand at the back of your head as he ruts and grinds his hips, moaning with each sloppy, sticky sound of your mixed fluids getting bullied by his dick.

Your nod is mindless, completely thought free as Satoru pops the pretty head of his cock in and out your wet mouth, “M’a good boy, ‘Toru.”

You can feel Suguru’s cock twitch inside you.

“That’s right! Now say ahh!” He makes an effort to stick out his tongue, slipping free from your mouth as his cum leaks around his cock and leaves behind a trail of white. It’s mostly decorating your tongue, though, thick and creamy ropes resting on the muscle and slowly cooling.

“Ah! Ahhh!” You can’t imagine how stupid you must look, staring up at Satoru with your mouth full of his cum and threatening to dribble down your chin. With the way you bounce with each deep, heavy thrust of Geto’s fat, girthy cock. But he kisses you anyway, slow and sensual as his tongue swirls the cum around in your mouth, keeping it warm and wet.

“That’s it, good boy, princeling,” Suguru moans, hips stuttering and pupils blown wide as he watches cum froth between your lips. He can’t wait anymore, snaking his arm around your waist to grip your cock and run his slick fist along it with feverish strokes, fast enough to have you wailing. His other hand grabs Satoru by the hair, white tufts in his fist as he pulls him forward and swaps his saliva for cum, still warm. “Cum on my cock, fuck it into that pretty hole while I taste ‘Toru’. Fuckin’ earn it.”

For once in your life, you don’t have to be told twice.

You take initiative, bouncing back on the long length of Suguru’s dick with tiny gasps and moans, eyes fluttering shut as he works your cock with the twist of his fist. You’re drooling, dribbling down your neck and chin and mixing with the tears rolling down your handsome face, “Pleaseplease, give it t’me!”

“Right there? Yeah? Rolling your hips, you’re a natural.” It doesn’t take much, not when Geto’s angling his hips just right and slamming into your prostate. Not when you’re watching the two kiss, swapping your spit and Satoru’s cum around like a sweet treat. Not when you’re being fucked deep, deeper than your fingers or any other toy could reach. Not when they pause for air and take the opportunity to ramble filth into your ears.

When Geto pulls out you can’t help but wail, pushing your ass back against his shaft. Though you can’t tell if it’s because you’re close or because you’re empty, but you do know thick, sticky ropes are starting to paint the expanse of your back and ass.

You’re marked territory.

The ballroom. . . Is packed, to say the least. It’s hard to see under your mask, the eye cutouts just barely cutting off into your porcelain mask before your pupils. There’s a distinct flash of gowns, all in many different shades— periwinkle, mauve, violet, ice—glittering and gleaming beneath the candle lit chandeliers. You suppose you look no different, the material of your intricately sewn and handcrafted suit looks jaw dropping in the limelight. Golden stitches and embroidery along the pattern of your suit, draped in lace ruffles to keep you warm. Though you’re already burning from the inside out, blazing with nervousness as your trembling legs carry you into the hall.

There’s a long, intricate table that holds just as intricate gifts and snacks— custards, cookies, cakes— chocolate covered strawberries. They remind you of your knights in a way, they’ve always tasted similar. Though you suppose it’s because they’ve shared more than a couple kisses in their lifetime. Whatever the matter, you expect them to have been gone by now, with Satoru’s sweet tooth and Suguru’s unpredictable appetite.

Everyone knows who you are, but it’s hard for you to pinpoint the others in the room. Your father sits on his throne, ridiculously large and cushiony as he oversees the ballroom. It’s gorgeous, admittedly, flashy and beaming with wealth and pride. Your nervous eyes wander, scouring over the smiling, lipstick stained faces until your eyes settle on your knights, who remain glued to the exits with only half a mask covering their faces. Their suits almost match yours, less intricate and not nearly as vibrant or high quality, but the implication that you’re sharing something is enough.

Suguru stands with his arms crossed, looking intimidatingly sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a flat line. His hair is in a bun, and when he turns you can see the diamonds adorning the clip holding it all in place. Handsome as always, you’re turning on your heels to face him before you know it.

Satoru is all legs, standing absurdly tall in his fitted suit. His tie is a striking shade of blue, just like his eyes, and you remember having picked it out specially for him. You can’t help but smile, floating in his general direction as soon as your eyes land on him, but. . .

“His Highness,” Your vision is obstructed for the millionth time tonight, and you can’t help the growl threatening to rip through your throat. “Could I introduce you to my daughter? Really, she’s a sweetheart, and—”

“Sorry to cut this short,” The agitation leaves your body, and glancing back up to where your knights once resided, you find the spots empty. They’re behind you, stealthy as ever, and you can’t help the smile etching away at your features. “We have very. . . important matters to discuss with our prince.”

Subtle as ever, Suguru.

You’re sure he’s glaring daggers into the women in front of you, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he pulls them apart with his eyes— dissects them to their bare essentials, leaves them feeling uncomfortable in their own skin.

There’s a hand atop yours that doesn’t belong to your knights, instead it’s much smaller and not nearly as warm. Your fingers twitch, and your smile falters just slightly as the woman’s daughter presses onward. Nearly tripping over his glass heels, her face swims through your vision until you’re backing up into the solid chest of— Satoru? It must be, it’s still soft despite the solidity, and you can see Suguru’s inky black hair in your peripherals.

“My Majesty—”

“That’s enough,” It’s straight venom, and the choice of tone reminds you of that fateful night your knights spent making sure you knew just who owned you. “Hands off.”

Their arms loop around your own, strong and firm as they pull you away. You’re thankful for the loud music, symphonies and harps dancing in the air that cover the sound of slamming doors and frantic, high pitched apologies. Your damned knights, so possessive and jealous. They know what this ball was meant for, and yet. . .

And yet they’re stripping you naked, ripping the mask free from their faces as they corners you against a wall. The party is almost as loud as it’d be had you stood in the center of the ballroom, just muffled by the locked doors Suguru kept secured with the sheath of his sword. You don’t have much time, and for once the two are happy you’d spent the previous night fucking yourself silly on your fingers, because they’ve got one goal in mind.

Marking their territory.

You’re not sure what this position is— but it makes you feel full and properly owned. Gojo's strong arms looped around the back of your knees as he holds you open on display. Suguru looks ravenous. eyes dark and steely as he watches Gojo’s cock pulse and twitch against your hole.

“S’is our fuckhole,” Satoru smiles down at you, feral and manic as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. He doesn’t seem eager to stop, lifting you off his cock and chasing that feeling of you clamping down on him— even when you’re almost too sensitive to take it. Even when you’ve barely adjusted to the stretch of his fat dick, fluttering and wailing around his pretty, veiny shaft. “Our job. . . our job, takin’ care of our boy’s pussy.”

“Think about this, boy,” Suguru groans, deep and rumbly in his throat as you’re made to watch him fist his slippery, squelching cock. “Whenever someone tries to court you. You’re owned. Your holes are owned.” He grips his cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head as your own bounces along your tummy. Precum dribbles along the lace embroidery of your unbuttoned undershirt, ruining the bunched up fabric. He can’t help but jerk off watching the two of you, heavy pants leaving his lips as he fucks up into his fist, twisting his fist the closer it gets to the gland of his cock, slipping and sliding as he uses his own hand. Yours are much softer, less calloused, but you’re preoccupied. You’d have to use both hands anyway, struggling to wrap them around his cock.

“Whose are you?” And, oh, that’s an easy question. Gojo’s voice is so loud in your ear, even as you eagerly bounce on and off his cock like a sex doll.

“Yours, m’yours, belong t’you!” He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, groans and pants joining your moans when he speeds up, his slow and deep strokes becoming fast and hollow, pounding that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over and over. You’re fucked-out and borderline crosseyed as he pounds his dick into you, keeps you steady with his fingers locked behind your head. A string of precum connects you together, pooling at your ass and Satoru’s balls, and his hips crash down, yours convulsing upward to meet him halfway.

“Again.”

“M’yours, m’yours! ‘Toru, Sugu, m’yours! My mouth, my cock, my holes. S’yours.”

“That’s it, let me in,” He blows air out through his mouth, hot and warm as he sinks into your heat. Still tight, as if you haven’t been thoroughly fucked full of Satoru’s cock. His head falls forward, long hair falling from its bun and framing his handsome face. Your gummy walls are unmatched, and he swears he’ll blow his load if you keep squeezing down on him like this. “I know, it’s so big, just keep moaning for me, and I’ll keep pounding this hole, s’all your pretty little head can tell you to do, huh princeling?”

“Uh. . . Uh huh!”

Your crying sounds so cute, and for a moment they forget you’re a prince— not a slut. It’s pitchy in your throat and dragged out as your pretty hole eagerly takes in cock, clamping around it and sucking him deeper into your velvety walls. So good, you can’t help but rock back against it, shameless and devoid of any other thoughts as Satoru keeps his arms looped around your knees. There’s a chant of cockcockcock blaring in your head, Gojo’s cock pressed against your ass and dripping. He’d left behind thick ropes of cum, and as Suguru’s dick reaches deep inside you can hear it froth between the tiny rim of your hole and his shaft.

Your crown tips off your head, threatening to fall as you watch Satoru’s cock join alongside Suguru’s. You’ve never felt more full in your life, stretched and achy— when one pulls out the other pushes in, and you’ve got nowhere to go. The white-haired male behind you manages to grab it before it can fall, lifting your knees higher up for just a moment, and places it atop his head. You can’t protest, all you can do is drool and whine, eyes fluttering shut and hole spasming as the two take turns wearing your crown.

In a way, it’s theirs too.

“S’your favorite part, pretty!” Gojo purrs, shifting to lift your ass to and fro with each respective thrust, groaning as his shaft slides along Suguru’s veins pulsing and head weeping. He keens, high in his throat as his balls tighten for the second time tonight. You’re just too good, who’s gonna sue him for breeding you? “You get to feel our cum shoot deeeep inside! You want that, honey? To be full n’ claimed? Maybe we should walk out and show everyone how slutty you are. Those poor princesses, they have no idea the man they want likes his wet holes fucked too.”

Fuck.

“Jesus. . . Fuck, ‘Toru,” Geto groans, his balls tightening against your own as your cock spurts out rope after rope of cum, sticky and thick as it sprays along your face and unbuttoned shirt. “Never know when to shut up. Look— nngh—look at what you did.”

Satoru pulls out sloooow, and their cum gushes right out your creamy hole. They moan in unison, shaky and unstable, and the tight fit of your small hole has them both following soon after with choked up groans and whines, “Good boy, gooood boy. You take it so well.”

Your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired as you squeal. You can feel each rope shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy pooling around their cocks and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Your knights huff, panting into your damp skin with sick, satisfied smiles. You’ve made a real mess of yourself— they’ve made a real mess out of you, and when you walk back into the ballroom they’re sure the smell of sex will cling to your skin. You’re claimed, thoroughly. Inside and out, and they’ll fuck you as many times as they need for others to realize it.

Satoru lets you down slowly, Suguru’s hands on your waist keeping you stable on your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Blinking away unshed tears, the two free you of your soiled garments in favor of something else, conveniently placed clothing that just happens to fit you perfectly. Had you the energy, you’d roll your eyes— they’ve planned this, in one way or another. But you don’t have the energy, not when your eyelids are heavy and drooping as you cling to their strong biceps and allow them to wipe you clean with their own sleeves.

Chivalrous as ever.

“I notified the King, my liege,” Satoru says, satirically proper as Suguru chokes on a laugh beside you. “Before leaving. Of your. . .”

“Predicament,” Suguru chimes in, the smile in his voice audible. You make an extra effort to shimmy free of their hold, face souring as they pretend they didn’t just ruin you from the inside-out. Your chest floods with warmth when they jolt forward, palms hovering over your sweaty body to catch you— just in case, “Looks like you’ll be stuck with us for the rest of the night.”

“But there’s one more thing!” Satoru scrambles to correctly zip up his pants, buttoning them back up with nimble fingers. Then, he fishes into his pockets, pulling out a small box— the one you’d seen quite some time ago— the one you’d forgotten about. Still as pristine as ever, like he’d kept it somewhere safe, he gingerly drops it into your hand.

“We got something for you,” Your eyebrows furrow. They don’t technically make money— sure, enough to keep their pockets open, but they have no need to spend it. They live with you, after all, and will continue to do so once you’re appointed king. Satoru urges you with a “shush!” before you can even speak, but you take the hint. You’re not dumb. “We couldn’t— it's not exactly a ring, but. . .”

Opening the gift— it flips open, you don’t need to unravel the bow at all— it’s a necklace. A thin, gold plated necklace with a small charm dangling from its center. The charm. . . Their coat of arms, shiny and intricate despite its small size. It glimmers in the light, sparkly like a diamond, and there are letters engraved on the flat underside of the pendant, curvy and cursive with hearts for periods. Your thumb traces the initials, the loops and curls of the letters until its shape is indented into the pad of your finger. It’s more than initials to you, it’s officiality, they are yours and you are theirs. You have the necklace to prove it, now.

‘S.G.’

If your mother were here to see this now, you’re sure she’d be jumping for joy. Happy her only child has finally found his match, has finally found something of his own. Happy her only child is marrying for love. Your father will just have to deal with it, you’ve never felt safer in your life. You don’t need a princess, you don’t need a stronger monarchy. You need your knights.

“We thought it’d suit you.” Geto finishes for his white-haired counterpart, a rosy hue painting the height of his cheeks.

It does.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[moonchildstyles]

flâner

élan part four: wandering around Paris was just what y/n needed. and harry, of course.

wordcount: 11.2k+

—————

Foolishly, (Y/N) thought addressing Harry would make her less anxious to exist around him. She was proven wrong the next morning when she saw him emerging from the restroom and for her skin to feel a bit too warm. From his response, that furrowed brow and the fact that he didn't even seem to realize what she was trying to tell him flashed before her. That blank look in his gaze like he thought she was just as crazy as her father taunted her. 

After that moment, before he spotted her, she slunk back into her room. The door shutting behind her sealed her away, the air settling around her. 

That was a week ago, that first spot of him after that confrontation. Since then, with her door sealed closed, she had burrowed herself into the folds of her duvet and cushy mattress. Her pillows had been thrown askew, ruffled from her shifting in bed and tossing and turning during the hours she was able to sleep. The only times she trudged out of bed was to take a shower, or slink to the kitchen in the middle of the night for snacks. Her phone had been glued to her hand through her time, corresponding with Francesca while she refreshed her socials and news outlets as often as she could manage. 

Luckily, the 132 Gala was set around the same time as a major music festival, pushing her mess to the back burner of the media rotation after a week. Unfortunately, the event wasn't close enough to have wiped everything about the Gala from people's memories or mouths. 

The red carpet interview she gave had gone viral. Analyses of her body language, the way she looked at Harry, every tiny word she let out followed after. The most popular theory she'd seen was those assuming she was high on something while she was there, that would explain the jitters and the fact she couldn't calm down, apparently. Think pieces were posted, the vast majority citing her as the poster child for the "dark side" of the glamorous social scene. Edits were posted to video platforms, set to dramatic music as if this was supposed to be her third act low point in a film. The most traumatizing photo taken of her—her hair a mess, hand clinging to Harry's, her feet stumbling over one another with tears glittering over her face as she tried to get away—had been turned into a meme. She was nothing more than a caricature and a joke to anyone who had any idea who she was. At least the gossip from the festival was enough to push her out of the main publications, other appearances and performances garnering the public's attention for the time being. 

In anonymous blogs, it appeared outsiders had caught on to the fact she was no longer in New York. It started when she wasn't pictured at any of the afterparties, more merit given when she was noticeably missing from group outings with Francesca and the rest of the girls, articles speculating that she was in "treatment" or hiding out from the consequences of her flip out. 

Her least favorite thing was the articles popping up centering around Harry. Many dug into his background, looking into his job history, family, and small amount of social media presence he had. There was nothing to be found, nothing that could add any fuel, but that didn't stop the outlets from crafting something sensational enough to grab attention. The amount of headlines she'd seen, suggesting he was a jealous boyfriend after catching her with Barron, using a photo of him cradling her with his brow furrowed and jaw set was astounding. 

In the week since she left the country and shut herself away, her father hadn't contacted her a single time. The last thing he said to her was that she was a crazy whore, just like her mother. 

Tonight, she was doing much of the same as she had for the last week, eyes straining against her screen. If she were to peer over the top of her phone she would be able to spot the sparkling Eiffel Tower through her balcony. 

Despite doing nothing all day everyday, her body was exhausted. There was more anxiety in her system than she ever thought she could handle. Her only hopeful thought was the reminder that there would undoubtedly be something that would happen to throw her sensationalized story through the window. Someone would do something that would be more interesting, fresher, more exciting. Then, she would be off the hook. 

Until then, she would just be hiding under her covers and dodging Harry's presence. 

—————

(Y/N) blinked her tired eyes as she lay bundled up in her bed, the morning light a little too bright for her. She'd stayed up most of the night, scrolling through her phone mindlessly until she managed to flop asleep for a couple of hours. The sunshine woke her, the look of the stars in the night too enticing for (Y/N) to ever remember to close her drapes before the sun rose. 

It didn't make her regret it any less in this moment, though. 

Turning between her sheets, she gave her back to the open balcony doors, her eyes fluttering closed. She'll wake up a little later to eat something—hopefully, Harry would be busy elsewhere. 

A moment later, with (Y/N) on the edge of sleep, a knock rattled her French doors. On instinct, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She did her best to pretend to sleep when she heard the same door open, pacing her breathing and relaxing her features as much as she could. If only she had kept her back to the door, she would have endured another few moments of the sunshine if it would have made this moment easier. 

Harry entered her room after a beat, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. (Y/N) didn't waver in her act, keeping her eyes shut and breathing easy. 

"I know you're awake." 

She could feel her heart racing in her chest at his words. Just keep breathing, she reminded herself, keep breathing and keep her face relaxed. 

The static in the room shifted, (Y/N) assuming he stepped towards her. "(Y/N)," he said, his voice firm, "I know you're awake." 

(Y/N) stayed quiet. She could only imagine the way his lips thinned and that unimpressed gaze of his stayed stitched to her face.

"I just wanted to let you know that I found a pilates studio nearby and I booked you a spot for the morning class. It starts in a couple of hours. Shower and eat if you want, but we will be going either way." 

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) broke her act in shock. Looking up at Harry from where she was bundled in bed, her bloodshot eyes met his intense gaze.

"What?" 

Raising his brow, Harry looked a little too smug.

"I found a studio nearby for you," he started simply, the moss of his eyes stuck on hers, "They had a spot available in their morning class. I signed you up for it. 'M not going to let you miss this." 

Shifting between the sheets, she curled her fingers around the hem of her sheet. "I don't feel good, Harry," she croaked, "I don't really want to—"

"Y'can't stay in your room the whole time we're here, (Y/N). You know that. Hiding isn't going to fix anything." 

Behind her ribs, (Y/N) felt something begin to boil. "I'm not trying to fix anything. I just want to be left alone, Harry." 

"That's not going to be possible while 'm here." He matched her intensity head on, unwavering where he stood. "Now, please get up, and I will see if I can put together some breakfast for you." 

With that, Harry gave her his back as he stepped out of her room. He left the door wide open behind him, a tactic that made (Y/N)'s jaw clench and skin heat. He knew she wouldn't be able to stand having the door open, forcing her to get out of bed to close it. 

Looking at him through her wide open doors, she spotted him puttering about the kitchen without a care in the world. It pissed her off even more. 

Can't he see she's in a state of mourning? Her reputation and chunks of her self worth died that night at the Gala. She didn't need some sunshine-y pilates class, full of breathing techniques and affirmations. What she needed was her father to respect her, and everyone to leave her alone, and her head to be fucking quiet for once. 

The rage bubbling in her chest propelled her out of bed, stomping over the floor with her sheets flung behind her. She was seething as she made it to the threshold, grasping the doorknobs with her hands rolled into fists. She didn't know what she was going to say, but she just wanted him to leave her alone, understand that she was pissed off and he wasn't helping even a little. All while he was prancing around their kitchen without care in the world. 

She stopped in her tracks when she took in the fact that he really was prancing around the kitchen. As much as she wanted to be angry and seethe at him, he wasn't there without a care in the world. He was in the process of making breakfast for her. Using their limited supply of food seeing as she hadn't done any grocery shopping other than a single delivery and he didn't know his way around the city at all. He was sacrificing the little rounds of bread they had left for her. 

The bar of her shoulders loosened to a slope, her jaw unclenching. 

None of this was Harry's fault—she knew that. She was in therapy for two years for these kinds of anxiety issues, these gut feelings that made her so frustrated she was almost paralyzed. The real problem was the fact that she was scared. She didn't want to see the world, and she didn't want the world to see her. She didn't want someone to see her face and be reminded of the mascara that was pictured running down her cheeks, her cry-swollen lips, and the messy pile of hair that had been on her head. 

That was none of Harry's fault, though. He was only trying to help her. She wasn't helping anyone—especially herself—by staying cooped up in her room and running on anxiety and three sips of water. While leaving her room and doing something as annoyingly centering as pilates sounded terrible in the moment, in the long run it would help her in ways she couldn't anticipate with her brain scrambled like this.

Carefully closing the doors behind her, (Y/N) turned back to her room and set for her bathroom to get ready for the day. 

—————

Two hours away from her phone, the time filled with breathing, pushing the stretch of her muscles, and kind French women asking about her cute leggings, left (Y/N) feeling... nice. 

Sweat stuck to her skin, baby hairs clung to the outskirts of her features, and her thighs ached, but she didn't mind. She couldn't find it in herself to have a complaint. 

She stepped out of the studio, waving goodbye to the instructor with diffused red lipstick, (Y/N) faced the street to look for Harry with a soft smile on her features. She found the sedan on the curb just a handful of spots away from the entrance to the studio. Her steps were leisurely as she made her way over the concrete. 

Climbing into the passenger seat, she patiently clicked her seatbelt and waited for Harry to pull away from the curb. Maybe he would be willing to let her grab a purple smoothie from one of the cafes by the penthouse. 

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, his tone careful as he slipped into the flow of Parisian traffic. 

"Really good actually. Thank you." She didn't hesitate to flash him a soft-lipped smile. "You didn't have to do any of this for me, so it really means a lot." 

Something prideful entered his features as he listened to her. The green in his eyes sparkled as he canted his head. "Y'haven't even seen the best part, yet." 

"What do you mean?" A pinch in her brows marred her features.

"While y'were busy," he started, his hands sliding over the steering wheel as he smoothly turned at an intersection, "I was able to find one of your purple drinks at a café." 

Directing her eyes to the center console between them, (Y/N) finally spotted the clear cup with her favorite purple smoothie inside. She took in a bubbly gasp, her features blooming in excitement. 

"Harry! Thank you!" she squealed, grabbing the cup from the holder with her cardigan covered hands. 

Harry didn't say anything in response, instead allowing the closest thing she'd ever seen to a full smile on his face come to fruition. She swore she saw the ghost of a dimple on one of his cheeks. 

All it took was a single sip, the clear acid of pomegranate seeds and bright raspberry bursting over her tongue, that practically changed her entire outlook on life. 

"This is, like, the best day of my life," (Y/N) joked with a fluffy laugh, greedily fitting the straw between her lips once more. 

Harry let out just the faintest huff of air through his nose, his concentration on the road before them, as she gazed at him. The scape of Paris passed behind him, sunlight shaping his silhouette. 

She wasn't so sure she was joking about this being the best day, anymore.

—————

"You've never been to Paris before this? Not even with Camila and Monroe?" 

Swallowing down a bite of his breakfast sandwich, Harry cleared his throat as he shook his head. "No. They preferred going through the states." 

"Wow," (Y/N) sounded, slowly dragging her piece of buttery toast through the remaining hollandaise sauce on her plate. "This is your first time ever." 

"Mhm," he hummed, peeking at her through the fan of his lashes, "That's what I said." 

While (Y/N) didn't like to think of herself as spoiled or out of touch, she guessed maybe she forgot that international travel wasn't the norm for most people. Paris was like a second home to her, it was crazy to think that Harry hadn't had the joy of visiting, even if for a day.

"I have to show you around then," she mused, making the decision on her own. Seeing the Eiffel Tower from his balcony wasn't enough, she had to show him the real deal. 

Harry raised his brows, his shoulders hunching over his plate as he took another bite of his sandwich. He waited until he had swallowed before speaking. "Show me around?" 

"Yes! You need to be a tourist, a little," (Y/N) bleated, "It would be fun, don't you think? I'll show you all of the famous spots, and I can show you my favorites, too." 

Sipping his coffee, Harry lingered for a moment, his eyes on her. He seemed to have brought his observing gaze along from home. "That would be really nice, actually. Thank you, (Y/N)." 

Practically bouncing in her seat, she leant across as if sharing a secret. "Can we do it today, then? Or did you have other plans?" 

"Seeing as how 'm here with you, I think you are my only plans." 

(Y/N) didn't expect the flutter that happened in her chest. Warmth bubbled behind her cheeks when he didn't seem to be teasing her at all, instead that intensity still followed as he spoke. 

He flustered her a bit. 

"Good," she sounded, swallowing around her tongue as she disconnected their eye contact, "Finish eating, and then we'll go be tourists." 

—————

Peering down at her phone, (Y/N) did her best to be aware of her surroundings while poking at the map of Paris on her screen. 

"I think we'll start easy and see the Eiffel Tower first," (Y/N) mused, leading them in the direction of the train station that would take them to the attraction. 

"Yeah?" Harry asked, looking down at her with a small kink to his brow. 

"Mhm," she hummed happily, "It's way better up close and in person, honestly. We could go later to see it at night with all the twinkle lights, but I think I might be too excited to wait." 

That phantom smile settled on his lips for the second time. "I think we could do that, come back and see the twinkle lights. I think it would be a lot of fun." 

Eagerly nodding her head, (Y/N) couldn't wait to add the plans to the set mental itinerary she was lacing together. "If you're not too tired after the Tower, there are a few other places I wanted to visit today." 

"And, what are those?" 

(Y/N)'s babbling filled the air between them, her hands gesturing as she spoke. She had a list forming in her head, landmarks popping up as she went that she swore she needed to show him at least once before their time in Paris was over.

He didn't stop her as she bubbled on, dominating the conversation while only vaguely guiding her down the pedestrian path and keeping her out of danger. She was the one that knew the city, but it seemed she still didn't pay a whole lot of attention to her surroundings. His hand was a curling breeze over her back, palm grazing between her shoulder blades. 

Hitting the train station, Harry didn't slack on the way he herded her around, acting as a wall between herself and the public. Even with the fact that Paris was decidedly less crazy for her, less recognition and less people bold enough to approach her (she'd only seen a handful of people take photos of her even), he didn't waver on his job.

"Careful," he told her when they stepped onto the train, him just a foot behind. 

Staying quiet, (Y/N) blinked looking around the train car. It was full this morning, tourists and the like taking up each seat with others standing by the bars. She hesitated in her steps, unsure of where to go as a handful of others boarded with them. Taking over, Harry guided her inside, pushing her to an unoccupied corner by a rail. 

"Hang on," he told her, huddling her into the small space.

Instantly, she had her hand wrapped around the bar, Harry grabbing the one above their heads. He stood facing her, his back to the rest of the car while she looked up at him with her phone in her free hand. 

"Thank you," she murmured.

Harry gave her a small nod, his gaze looking out the window. 

The intercom dinged once the doors closed, a calm female voice running over the map of the next stop in French. Pulling out her phone, she reloaded the page of all the stops and the schedules. "I think we're the last stop," she told Harry, tapping at her phone distractedly. 

Suddenly, she was thrown off balance once the train shot off, the slow startup being left behind. (Y/N) stumbled, her grip on the handrail clearly not tight enough. Quick as ever, Harry stopped her with a hand on her waist, keeping her upright as her eyes widened and a gasp fell from her lips. 

Harry's voice was low as he righted her, the train steadying in speed, "I told you to be careful." 

Her hand with her phone continued to cling to his arm even when she was flat on her feet once more. 

"I guess I forgot how these are. Sorry," she mumbled, pulling her gaze from where she centered on the dip of his throat up to his face. 

Amusement laced through his features in a slight softening of the edges light in his irises. "Maybe." 

Harry didn't move his hand from her waist until he ushered her to take a vacated seat. 

—————

Walking down the uneven pathways, (Y/N) took the familiar route in stride. The train dropped them off near the Eiffel Tower, but there was still a short walk to be had. Harry was at her side as they mixed in with the flow of tourists and locals set around the area. 

Everything was much cooler here. New York was new and eccentric, full of people setting trends with others following. It was loud and brash, full to the brim with everything and anything. Paris was different. It still moved fast—it was still a major city after all—, but cooler. There was an ease about the people, the palettes, the decorum. Everything worked on the same flow as the Seine, leisurely and winding with a cigarette in hand. She tended to travel here in the summer with lavender fields blooming, but she wondered what a Parisian winter would be like. 

She imagined lots of soup and wine.

"We're almost there," she told him, casting her gaze outwards to catch the tower in the distance, "But, if we went down that way"—she pointed down another walkway—"we'd be able to see the second Statue of Liberty they have here." 

"There's another one?" Harry asked, following the direction of her pointed finger.

"Mhm," she hummed, keeping them moving forward, "I can't remember his name, but a French architect designed the statue and made two—one for us and one to keep." 

Harry took in the information in his silently observant ways, cataloguing it all to be filed away. "What else is around here?" 

(Y/N) bounced in her steps at the question, all too excited to tell him more about the city she loved. With how widespread and different Paris was depending on the section of the city you ended up in, it was easy to forget how some of the most beautiful pieces of human culture were only planted miles apart. She could be Harry's tour guide for weeks just to get through every spot in Paris. 

She took her time pointing him in every which direction, telling him more and more while glimpsing other spots she told him she wanted to stop at if they had the time. Soon enough, the Tower was before them, the lawn around the fixture lush and dotted with tourists. 

In the mid-morning light, it glimmered like the lights were blinking on, shimmering and dancing under the sun. 

"Wow," Harry murmured, almost breaking his neck as he looked up at it, his steps absently moving him closer. 

A wink of pride touched (Y/N)'s chest. She couldn't believe with how well travelled he seemed that he never had seen a place like this, but she would take the honor of being the one to show him. Maybe it wasn't so bad that she got him exiled here if she was able to share something like this.

"It's crazy, right?" she asked, her voice a breath as if to not disturb the towering structure, "I know back home has all the skyscrapers and everything, but this just feels like it's more. Don't you think?" 

"Yeah," he said, his voice floated on impressed awe. "Better than the photos, like you said." 

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, (Y/N) saw the way Harry looked up with wonder in his eyes at the Tower. She was sure he was catching every detail, ever rung, every bolt. 

"So you wouldn't want a picture with it, then?" (Y/N) teased, watching the way a pinch appeared in Harry's brow. 

"No, of course I want a picture." The slight pout to his lips had (Y/N)'s grin widening into a bubbling laugh. She wondered if he even knew he made a face like that. 

Taking his eyes off the Tower for the first time since approaching the green, he looked to her with his own lips plucking into something amused. It wasn't a full smile, not yet, but something lopsided and reserved. She spotted that phantom dimple. 

Blinking back into the moment, (Y/N) took a step back, intending to photograph Harry in front of the monument. He took his phone out from his back pocket, not even glancing at her before he was casting his gaze around elsewhere. The moment she was about to offer, reaching for his phone, he honed in on a family of tourists, the father with his own camera trained above his head as he took shot after shot of the scene. 

"Excuse me," Harry started, stepping towards them, "Would y'mind taking our photo, please?" 

The tourist agreed with a bright Sure!, taking Harry's phone from him once being instructed on how to use it. Guiding them back to where (Y/N) stood in wait, she saw as the rest of the family seemed to notice what was going on. The mother and the daughter of the group took in (Y/N)'s presence, eyes widening while the father went along oblivious. They recognized her, that much she could tell.

She didn't know what to process first, honestly. Harry wanting her to be in his picture, or the whispers that were currently being shared by the family in front of her, eyes glancing in her direction more often than not. 

"Here, alright?" Harry asked, looking down at where she stood at his side, "Or do y'want to move?" 

"Here is fine," she said, a slight smile on her features. 

"Ready?" the father asked, poising Harry's phone for the best angles.

Wordlessly, Harry offered her his arm. She hesitated for only a second, turning into him with one hand fitting into the crook of her elbow with the other on the broad of his shoulder. She couldn't help the bright grin on her features, no longer a part of the pose she was giving for the camera. The whole of his side was pressed against her, reminding her of the only bright spots she experienced during the Gala: when Harry held her. 

She happily posed beside him as the tourist tapped away at Harry's phone, changing the angles once or twice. "Are these alright?" he asked once he was finished, holding the phone out for Harry to take.

Breaking away from his side, (Y/N) lingered closer than she figured was probably normal as he flicked through the additions to his camera roll. She tried not to read too far into the slight smile on his lips as he did so. 

"These are perfect, thank you," he responded, fitting his phone back into his pocket. 

"Thank you," (Y/N) parroted, feeling the eyes of the daughter and mother on her during her brief speech. 

Pleasantries were exchanged, Harry offering to take a photo of the family that was waved off before parting ways. The daughter only glanced back at her once after. 

That bubbly feeling in (Y/N)'s stomach remained when she turned her gaze towards Harry. "Did you want one of just you, or anything?" 

Harry shook his head, curls of brown hair fluffing over his head. "'M okay," he told her, "I like these." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, instead allowing a small smile to settle on her lips. Redirecting her gaze to the Tower, she did her best to pretend like she wasn't hanging off of every word he was giving. 

"Can we come back?" 

Blinking, (Y/N) fell back into the moment, her eyes sweeping across the land on him. "Hm?" 

"I want to come back at night when the lights are on, if that's alright." 

This time she couldn't suppress the toothy smile that fit onto her lips.

"I think we could do that." 

Maybe they could grab another photo together, the tower shimmering behind.

—————

"Are you okay with one more stop?" 

Harry, now familiar with the route from the train station to the apartment, guided them back down the pedestrian streets. He looked down at her from where the sun was gliding over her skin, the late afternoon hours catching up with the sinking sun. 

"I think I can handle it," he mused, maneuvering her out of the way of a large group. "What did you have in mind?" 

(Y/N) perked up at his agreement. She walked with a bounce in her steps as if her muscles weren't beginning to ache from the full day of sightseeing. Despite the grumble in her stomach and her throat feeling a little too dry to be normal, she felt light. Showing Harry around and introducing him to the country's greatest landmarks was more than worth it. 

His camera roll was full of photos of the day, a good handful of them including (Y/N) after he beckoned her to join him. Even the places they didn't have time to properly visit (the Lourve being the most notable one), Harry didn't seem annoyed that she wanted to spend a moment outside, instead indulging her with taking photos and asking about her own experiences. There were separate days entirely that they planned on using to visit the vast amount of libraries and museums in the area. 

"There's a place by the apartment called the Les Duex Magots," she said, peering around the neighbourhood in hopes of catching sight of the awning. 

"And what's special about it?" 

Catching sight of it down the walkway, there was the same line down the walk that there always was at this time of day. The patio was warm and glimmering in the sunlight, tiny cups of coffee and pastries out on the tables beside people who brought their journals and laptops. Conversations in French fluttered in the wind, carrying inspiration.

"This is where a bunch of artists, and authors, and philosophers would come and sit and make some of the stuff that's now in the museums. Amazing stuff has come from here," she said, wonder in her tone. What would it have been like to be those people, scribbling away in journals or sketching on napkins unknowing of what would come later.

Looking down at her, Harry crooked an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he asked, the golden sun ferreting out the bright flecks in the moss of his eyes. 

"Mhm," she hummed, a beaming smile on her face, "It's a little bit of a tourist trap now, but I still think it's special." 

A beat passed, Harry's observant eyes grazing over the planes of her face. "Let's go then, yeah?" 

(Y/N) felt the creases beside her eyes deepen with the width of her smile. "Yeah," she repeated, her voice sounding softer than she'd ever heard without cameras present. 

Approaching the end of the line, (Y/N) could hear murmurings of the wait time. The estimates were closer to that of an hour before they would be offered a table—and that's assuming that the patio patrons don't linger. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) began inching around the line in hopes of catching a glimpse of those on shift. She played with the edges of her acrylics as she weighed her options. 

Turning back to face Harry, she started towards the front of the line. "I'll be right back." 

"Where are you going?" Harry pressed, stepping to follow her on instinct. 

"I'm just going to check on something, but wait right here. I'll be back in a second," she promised, shooting him a small smile. 

After a beat, Harry stood down. "Jus' stay where I can see you, please," he conditioned, his hands coming to clasp together at his front. 

With that, (Y/N) continued towards the front in hopes of seeing a familiar face. While there was a bit of guilt over the privilege of being recognized in places like these, special treatment coming around from certain people, there were days like these where she intended to bury it away. If being recognized and taking up favors allowed for Harry to have a special day, that's what she would do. 

That's why she didn't feel so bad when she saw the familiar face of one of the higher ups of the cafe, his brown eyes widening when he took her in through the glass entryway. 

"(Y/N), mon chéri! Bonjour, bonjour!" he bubbled off as he stepped around the awaiting patrons.  He greeted her with open arms, happily wrapping her in a hug before pressing a duo of kisses to her cheeks. 

(Y/N) fawned under the attention, "Bonjour, Benoit! Je suis si heureux de te voir! J'avais peur que tu me manques ce soir." 

Onlookers watched their interaction, none seemingly paying much attention to who (Y/N) was other than the fact she was cozying up with someone of the establishment. 

"Je ne savais même pas que tu étais à Paris, ma chérie," Benoit mused, his words tumbling over each other the way they always did with the amount of energy that seemed to always be coursing through him. He began inching her towards the entrance, soft hand on her elbow, "Je suis content que tu ne m'aies pas manqué non plus, allez allez."

"C'était un voyage de dernière minute, donc je n'ai pas eu l'occasion de le dire à beaucoup de gens," she responded, sinking her feet in before she could wander out of Harry's line of sight, "Mais, j'ai amené un ami avec moi cette fois, ça te dérange si je l'attrape d'abord?" 

Benoit dropped his hand from her, "Non, non ça ne me dérange pas!" 

He shooed her off with a flick of his wrist, expectantly waiting for her to return with her friend. 

Stepping around the line, she beckoned Harry to her with a short smile. 

"What's going on?" Harry murmured once he was close enough, head low to match his tone. 

"I know someone here, and I think he's going to get us a table early," (Y/N) mumbled, molding her features into a pleasant smile as they approached Benoit. 

(Y/N) just hoped Harry wouldn't think less of her for using this small advantage. She wanted to keep this special day going for him, even if that meant pulling a few strings so he would have a chance to eat sooner rather than later. 

Rejoining her friend, she gestured to Harry with a flourish. "Benny, c'est Harry. C'est sa première fois à Paris, alors je lui ai montré tous les meilleurs spots aujourd'hui." 

Benoit fawned under the compliments, guiding them towards the entrance as he fanned himself over his shoulder. "Oh, alors bien sûr vous l'avez amené me rencontrer. Merci ma chérie, le sentiment est réciproque." 

Letting out a peal of laughter, (Y/N) took Harry's arm in her grasp and towed him behind. Following Benoit, she indulged in his idle chatter while they meandered through the full tables. Finding their way to the back, she saw as he muttered something to one of the servers, her eyes flitting over her manager's shoulder to spot her and Harry. Benoit dropped them off at a table farther in the back, as secluded as they could get in the crowded restaurant. 

He looked at her with an arched brow as he pulled out a chair for her. "C'est parfait, mon amour!" she answered his unsaid question. 

"Magnifique!" he cheered, pushing in her chair once she was situated against the cushioned bottom, Harry across the table. "Colette s'occupera de toi, mais dis-moi si tu as besoin de quoi que ce soit, ma chérie!"

Benoit left their table in a flourish, dramatically French as always. Directing her attention back to her companion, (Y/N) found Harry looking at her with his forearms on the table and raised brows. 

She felt a bit silly now, knowing he saw the whole interaction and the specific strings she pulled to get this table. "I've known him since I started coming to Paris by myself after I turned eighteen," she started, dropping her eyes to the menu in front of her, "He would check up on me a lot and make sure I was alright. He's like my older brother." 

"That's very nice of him," Harry murmured, that arch to his brow lowering, "What was his name, again?" 

"Benoit," she answered, reading over the French script on her menu, "I kinda feel bad about letting him have us skip the line, but at the same time, I'm really hungry." 

"I don't blame you," Harry muttered, amusement tinting his tone as he looked at his own menu. 

A beat of silence passed before she heard a quiet oh from across the table. 

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, taking her eyes off the laminate to land on Harry. 

He had his menu flat on the table, the glimmering script taking her eyes while he read it over. He startled at her question, his gaze flicking up towards her. 

"This place is jus'... different than what I thought," he shared. 

"What do you mean?" 

Rolling his neck, his head cushioned by his shoulders, she watched as he tried to find his words. "I thought this was a café, so I don't think I was expecting everything else." 

Glancing down at her menu, trying to find what would have taken him by surprise, she found the context. She couldn't imagine he knew much French, especially with the way she took the lead today when speaking to locals and understanding directions. The only thing she could see him clearly understanding were the gilded numbers beside the items. 

Ducking her head low, she craned her neck towards him as if they could really share a secret in this crowded restaurant. 

"It's definitely overpriced," she murmured to him, flicking her eyes to the menu in his hand, "There's better stuff for cheaper around the corner, but I think it's all about the experience. We're where some of the greatest people in history have sat." 

That phantom smile reached his lips once more as he looked at her over the table, buttery golden light reaching through the windows panelling the front. "I can see that," he mused, the impression of a dimple showing for just a moment to the right of his raspberry lips. 

She matched his smile, though hers was decidedly less hidden. She lingered in that space for another moment before pulling back. "I'll take care of everything today, anyway. Don't worry about it." 

No way was she going to let him pay for himself when this entire day was her idea, she decided. She doubted Harry would want to hear that, though, considering she was beginning to see just how seriously he took his job of her wellbeing. 

When she could still feel his eyes on her, something sharper behind his usual observant gaze, she decided to ignore the protests he would give. 

"Do you know what you want?" she asked instead, not taking her eyes off of the menu. 

When he didn't immediately answer, she peeked over the edge of her menu through the fan of her lashes. He had his eyes trained on the script once more, a pinch between his brows. Harry canted his head as he read. "Everything's in French." 

"Yeah," she responded simply.

A huff of laughter left him at her answer. "Yeah." 

"Do you want me to translate anything for you?" she asked, scooting her chair in that much more as if it would make a difference. 

"That might help," he accepted, "As 'm sure y'noticed today, I don't know really any French." 

Reaching across the table, she pointed through the categories on the menu, listing them off for Harry in English. "And, there's croissants and pastries and stuff, here," she finished, circling out the final section on the page. 

Harry squinted at the page, his head canted to the side as he examined for himself. "What's that?" he asked, pointing out one of the main courses, "That's a sandwich, right?" 

"Mhm," (Y/N) chirped, tipping her head to get a chance to run over the script, "It's a smoked salmon sandwich with avocado and fries, and a bunch of other yummy stuff." 

"Oh. How do you say it?"

"Club sandwich au saumon fumé 'petrossian',"(Y/N) responded simply in the French pronunciation of the meal, swirling the syllables into something fluid. Flicking her gaze up, she found his eyes trained on her.

When he was caught, he blinked down and pointed at another item on the menu. "What's that?" 

Following his direction, she told him, "Snails, but they're these really big kind, an—" 

"No, no—in French." 

"Oh," she started, a pinch appearing in her brow. Nonetheless, she repeated her words in her alternate language, "Escargots géants et sauvages de Bourgogne."

Harry's eyes lingered on her before he pointed at the menu once more, another sandwich at the end of his finger. "This?" 

Though it was clear Harry wasn't necessarily paying much attention to what she was saying, but still she humored him. "Crottin chaud sur pain Poilâne poivré—it's just goat cheese on bread." 

This time, Harry didn't even look at where his finger landed randomly on the page, his eyes fixed on her. "This?" 

She couldn't keep her laughter in this time. "Harry," she smiled, "That's a croissant." 

Blinking with a flutter of his lashes, he finally looked at where his hand was pointing. "Oh, yeah," he agreed, a huff of soft laughter falling from his lips.

Giving up on the game, (Y/N) cradled her chin in her palm, elbow on the table. "I can teach you some French if you want?" 

Looking up at her, the length of his lashes highlighted in the draping sunlight. "Yeah?" 

"Of course," she agreed with a curling smile. Tracing her eyes over the menu, she randomly picked a wine from the list. Tilting the page towards him, with her finger pointing at the name. "Do you want to try saying this?" 

"Maybe," Harry mused, squinting his eyelids to take in the diacritics over the letters. 

"Just repeat after me: Hautes-Côtes de Beaune." She could feel Harry's eyes on her lips, her mouth wrapping around the syllables and twirling through the accent. 

A beat passed before Harry seemed to snap into the moment. He clumsily attempted to pronounce the wine, struggling with the first word as if he hadn't just heard how to say it. 

"No, no, like this," she said, with a soft breath of laughter, "Hautes-Côtes de Beaune." She emphasized the particle he stumbled over, dipping her chin and slowing her words. 

Once again, he murmured the incorrect pronunciation though he did a hair better than before. 

"Better," she praised, a caveat coming just from the tone of voice, "But try this: Hautes-Côtes de Beaune."

When he copied her once more, he somehow butchered the words that much more. (Y/N) couldn't help the peal of laughter that filled the space between them, rising over the dull roar of the restaurant. She could feel eyes flittering to her, taking in her disruptive presence with some recognizing her and others just annoyed in the most French of fashion. Though, (Y/N) didn't care. 

There was a part of her that had to know that he was playing up his inability, she liked thinking his guard might have fallen some. She remembered thinking that she couldn't imagine anything Harry couldn't handle or wasn't the best at. It wasn't much, but this was the most vulnerable she'd seen him, and all it took was a shaky accent and butchered French wine. 

"You'll get it soon," she breathed out a laugh, cradling her chin in her palm. 

"Yeah? You'll keep helping me, then?" he pressed, that ghost dimple pressing into his cheek. 

(Y/N) allowed her eyes to travel over his features. She took in the dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the blonde stubble over his cheeks, the gentle lines on the corners of his eyes. If she wasn't careful, her bodyguard was going to be recruited for a runway show. 

"Of course," she confirmed, "You'll be like a local by the time we leave." 

And for a moment, she didn't find herself itching to know when that time would be.

—————

"How do y'say that?" 

"Tomate." 

"That?" 

"Carotte." 

"That?"

"Poireau." 

"That?" 

Looking up from the stall of the farmer's market (Y/N) was browsing, she looked at him with raised brows and a quiet smile. "Are you even trying to learn anymore, or are you just trying to see if I actually know French?" 

Quickly flicking his gaze up to match her own, Harry responded, "I mean, I think 'm learning." 

"Yeah?" she pressed, examining a stalk of celery from one of the stalls, "What are we making for dinner, then?" 

(Y/N) couldn't deny the tiny bit of pleasure she got over hearing him gum around the accented words she told him before they started out for the farmer's market. 

"Close!" she chirped, offering a smile to the attendant of the vegetable stall.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, his features brightening from the corner of her eye. 

 "Mhm," she hummed, placing the onion, celery, and tomatoes she wanted on the checkout station at the end of the stall, "With an accent it would be gougeres and bisqué. But, we'll work on that." 

Harry left her be as she conversed with the stall worker, working out the pricing for her ingredients before moving on with the vegetables now stowed in her tote bag. 

Meandering through the stalls, Harry followed behind, diligently scanning the crowd. Even if (Y/N) had stepped out of the public eye for the time being, he didn't slack on his job. Without removing his eyes from the crowded market, he spoke to her in his smooth tone. 

"And a bisque is a soup right?" he murmured. 

(Y/N) hummed in confirmation, having led them to a further back stall with panels of ice spread out under an extensive tent. Spread across the ice was fresh seafood in the form of chilled crabs and bags of large prawns. Lobsters and whole fix were kept in the back, clams and mussels nestled in-between cubes of replenished ice. 

"Isn’t it a little... hot for soup?" Harry prodded from behind her. 

Shrugging, (Y/N) absently answered, "That's what you'd think. Then you have some soup and realize it doesn't really matter what the weather is, soup is always good." Taking a step towards the table, she looked at him, "This is the last thing we need, then we can go." 

He didn't have a chance to respond before (Y/N) was selecting seafoods to be added to their bisque, the last thing on the list before they would need to head back to the apartment. He stood back as she plucked up her ingredients and spoke to the attendant, feeling his eyes on her as she went.

With her tote now filled with her finds, the shells of the crabs pinging against the bottle of white wine beside it, she gave the worker a smile before turning to Harry. Just in time with her own departure, another patron made their move through the tent, blindly crashing into her. His head of dark hair was a flash from the corner of her eye, mumbled apologies being offered in broken French. Before (Y/N) could give much of a response, Harry was at her side. 

Positioning himself in between (Y/N) and the other man, Harry slipped into his bodyguard role, protecting her from even the smallest of accidents. He steadied her on her feet, ensuring she was balanced with a hand on her elbow and another slipping around her waist. The man who had bumped into her was blocked off, rushing away after another muttered apology with his eyes on the ground. 

"Are y'okay?" Harry murmured, towing her to one of the further corners of the tent, away from the other shoppers. 

She nodded her head, allowing him to keep his lingering hold on her before he pulled away. "I'm okay. Sorry," she told him, peering around him in hopes of finding the man to assure him it was alright. Unfortunately, he had slipped away already. Maybe it was from how quickly everything moved, the way the man appeared then seamlessly entered in with the crowd once more, but (Y/N) she recognized the flash of his features she saw. She shook her head from the though, placing her attention back on Harry. "I wasn't looking where I was going." 

His observant gaze flitted over her form, his hands drifting from her. "'S alright, as long as you're okay," he assured her, "M'job has been a lot easier here, so I don't mind stepping in if y'need." 

"Paris is always a little bit easier for me," she told him, following after him as he inched out of the seafood stall into the stream of patrons outside. "I don't think I'm that recognizable here, so that always helps after something like what happened at the Gala." 

Harry visibly tensed as he fell into step beside her. "Have y'heard from your dad at all?" he asked, his gaze cast out ahead of them. 

A beat passed. 

"No. Have you?" 

Harry's jaw ticked at her question. "He's talked to me some, yes." 

(Y/N) left the conversation there, unwilling and uninterested in what that conversation looked like. She doubted it was positive when it came to her.

"You're ready to head back?" Harry prodded after a moment, decidedly less tense after the silence. 

"Yes, please," she answered simply. 

—————

Spreading her mail across the tiled counter, (Y/N) froze when she felt an envelope that was a little too heavy to belong amongst the thin slips. 

While she knew it was slowly beginning to leak that she had escaped to Paris, blurry photos resurfacing with people questioning if it could really be her, she figured it would be too up in the air for a letter like this to show up. 

Slipping her finger under the flap of the creamy envelope, (Y/N) couldn't help her curiosity. What kind of photos could have been obtained when she swore she didn't see a single person following her, a single professional camera aimed in her direction. Harry would have no doubt seen anything out of the ordinary. She couldn't imagine anything slipping under his watch, let alone an envelope's full. 

Taking advantage of the time she had alone, Harry using the restroom before he would be used as an extra pair of hands, she pulled out the glossy photos. 

Photos of her stepping into her apartment building greeted her first, her pilates uniform adorning her body. Harry had been cropped from the shot, but the edge of his arm could be seen from where he followed behind her. Others of her going to the studio, climbing into Harry's car, sightseeing around the city were in the bundle. There were shots of them at the Eiffel Tower, cruising the pedestrian walkways, catching dinner at the café. There were even pictures of them on the train together, close enough to capture her shock when she almost stumbled after the jolting take off. 

It was odd to say the least. Not once in any of those places—especially on the train—had she spotted a camera that could produce the kind of quality these photos possessed. 

Underneath them all was a letter. The paper was soft against the pads of her fingers, the edges of her nails catching the folded seam. She swallowed at the sight of the worn paper. 

This was the first time in at least a year that she even opened one of these envelopes, she wasn't sure she could stomach reading a letter at the same time. 

Just then, the sound of the sink running filtered into her brain. Harry would be out here soon, and he couldn't see this. 

In a split second, she collected the photos in a jumbled mess and slipped them back inside the envelope. She practically sprinted across the apartment to her room. The letter found a new home in the bottom drawer of her vanity, under a stack of eyeshadow palettes she rarely used anymore. 

She emerged from her room at the same time Harry stepped into the common room. His eyes were cast towards the kitchen where she was sure he expected to find her. 

"When do y'think dinner will be ready?" he asked, flicking his eyes towards her once he caught her leaving her room. 

Forgetting the letter in her room, the small fire she doused in the vanity drawer, she gave him a look with raised brows. "You don't think you're helping?"

—————

"Harry, just keep stirring. I promise it's almost done." 

(Y/N) didn't have to turn to see the impatient slump of his shoulders at her words. She had tasked him with watching the bisqué while she prepped the seafood that would be plopped in at the end, and infusing the butter that was to be dropped in during serving. It wasn't a hard job he was in charge of, but it was one that she would rather be delegated to him. 

"I've been stirring for thirty minutes now," he complained again, his voice closer to that of a petulant child than the calm security detail she knew him to be. 

"It's been, like, five, but okay," she bubbled back, a smile audible in her tone. 

It was almost endearing to see him like this, she thought. He'd never played with her before like this, given her this kind of leeway and release under his walls. 

"(Y/N)," he tried again, as if saying her name was enough to convince her. 

Carrying her cutting board of prepped seafood—rich crab and tiny shrimp—she came up behind him on careful steps. "Okay, okay," she relented, "We just need to put the crab and everything in, let it simmer for another five minutes since we already cooked it, and then it's done. Can you handle that?" 

"Finally," Harry sighed, acting as if pounds of weight were being lifted off of his shoulders. All because he couldn't handle stirring a soup for longer than a handful of minutes. 

Letting out a huff of laughter, she shook her head. From the corner of her eye, she definitely caught those dimples in his cheeks once more, this time a little less than those of a phantom. 

"Go deal with the gougeres, then. I'll finish the bisqué." 

"Okay," he mumbled, a little too eager to let go of the wooden spoon he had been equipped with. As he approached the cooling pan of the small savory pastries, (Y/N) could hear him attempting to pronounce the name in a proper accent. 

A grin stretched across her features at the sound. 

Soon enough, the bisqué was doled out between wide bowls, a dollop of butter dropped on top with Harry's arranged platter of gougeres in the middle. The balcony drapes were wide open, allowing a view over the city, buttery and warm under the waning light. The ladder of the Eiffel Tower glimmered like gold in the light, the green around it that much more vivid in the distance. 

(Y/N) waited to take her first bite, resisting the lumps of crab meat and spiced broth in front of her, until Harry took his spot across. She was surely a little too eager to see him take his first bite, to catch his reaction. 

"I want you to try it first," she told him once he was settled in, a toothy smile on her features. 

"Yeah?" he asked, already picking up the wide spoon she had selected for him. He flicked his gaze up to match hers with raised brows. 

(Y/N) only answered with a small nod, a little too distracted from the view of his eyes. 

He maintained that eye contact with her as he scooped up a fruitful bite, taking to heart that she wanted him to try it first in hopes of learning his reaction. She wanted to feel unnerved by it, awkward knowing that he wasn't wavering in the contact, but she couldn't find that in her when she was glancing at the bits of sunlight amongst the green. 

Taking that first bite, it took half a second before Harry was humming with his full mouth. He was impressed, that much she could tell from the reverence he gave as he looked down at his bowl. "This is good—really good." 

Practically bouncing in her seat, (Y/N) bubbled, "I told you so! All the stirring was worth it, huh?" 

Canting his head, Harry playfully contemplated her words. "I guess so," he relented with a heavy sigh. 

A lopsided smile touched at the very corner of his mouth. 

Blinking her eyes with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) tried not to be too fixated on the half smile he was offering her. "Try it with one of the gougeres!"

Feeling vindicated, (Y/N) began her own meal, scooping up a hearty bite of the bisqué, steam rolling off the bite. She couldn't wait for it to cool, chancing that heated bite in favor of trying it sooner rather than later. 

"I don't know what you're getting at, but I have a feeling you know 'm going to say this is good, huh?" Harry teased, reaching for one of the cheese pastries from the platter. 

"Sure," she said, swallowing down the rich soup, "But, I like to hear it anyway." 

Shaking his head a little, he scooped up the bisqué with the help of the gougere. "Do you always cook like this?" he asked, allowing the tomato broth to soak the treat, "I didn't notice anything like this back in the States." 

"Sometimes," she said in-between her own bites, savoring the spice she added to the broth, "when I have the time. But I tru to make the time whenever I can. It's one of my favorite things to do." 

"Cooking?" Harry pressed, sinking into the conversation between indulgent bites of dinner. 

She nodded her head with a hum, stealing her own gougere. "It's really fun to me," she explained, "When I was little, my parents were gone a lot so I spent a lot of time with the chefs we had, so I learned a lot then. When I started at my private school, though, that's when I started making my own stuff for me and my friends. It's just been one of those things that's stuck with me." 

Harry watched her intently, soaking her in with those observant eyes. She could see him making connections in his head, fitting puzzle pieces of her in his head. The thought made (Y/N) want to squirm. At the same time she was itching to know what kind of picture he was threading of her, she dreaded to know any kind of detail. 

"What did I tell you, though?" she started, changing the subject with her gaze falling from him, "Soup is good all the time—even in the summer." 

Nodding his head, Harry pursed his lips. "Today, I will allow you to be right. Jus' today, though." 

Sinking into the moment, she allowed a peal of laughter to fall from her lips. Harry looked at her with a hidden smile. his teeth keeping him from fully grinning even if (Y/N) swore she could see that kind of amusement in his eyes. 

—————

Fran🫧

    guess what !!! 

Sipping on her purple juice, (Y/N) read her text messages before she would commit to her post-pilates shower for the morning. 

   what !!!???

A beat passed while (Y/N) swiped to another app, a video of a decadent dessert recipe on her screen. Francesca didn't wait very long to respond, the notification getting (Y/N)'s eyes to widen and her immediate rerouting to her message thread. 

Fran🫧

    im on a flight to Paris rn :) 

Sitting up straight from where she was lounging on her bed, (Y/N) typed back an immediate response. 

      are you serious right now???? 

      ur joking right 

In response, a selfie of Francesca came through, her smiling face backed by the pristine leather of her private jet with her favorite pajama set adoring her torso. 

      Francesca stop 

      youre kidding right :( 

Fran🫧

       im not joking!!!! 

       I wanted to visit you !!! its been almost a month (Y/N):( I missed you!!!! 

(Y/N) was practically thrumming with excitement. She hadn't realized how much she missed her best friend until she was presented with the opportunity to be reunited with her.

       when are you landing!!!!!! 

       if you can we need to do dinner or something! 

Fran🫧

        ofc we do ! I'll text u when I land and when I get to my place and then I'll see what im doing and if im not too jet lagged

         Emma was also thinking about coming this weekend too but last I checked she was seeing what stavros is doing 

         bc shes obsessed rn 

(Y/N) huffed out laughter at her message. She missed Emma too, more than she expected to considering Emma hadn't even known she was on her way out before she had booked her flight. 

       at least she's happy I guess sufhsufhsu 

      im so excited to see you ive miss u so much!!!!!! 

When Francesca's response bubble didn't immediately pop up, (Y/N) locked her phone, flouncing out of her room with a bubbling grin. Pulling open her bedroom door, she saw Harry cleaning up the kitchen from the morning's breakfast before her pilates class, his head whipping up to catch her emergence. 

"Harry, guess what!" 

"What?" he asked, swiping a cloth across the counter. 

"Fran is coming to visit," (Y/N) rushed out, "She's on a flight right now!" 

"Francesca?" he asked, his movements slowing as he looked at her with raised brows. 

"Yes! She just texted me," she explained, her grin sticking to her cheeks, "And, Emma might be able to come out this weekend." 

It was practically visible the way the gears in his head began turning. Apprehension appeared as he leant against the lip of the counter. "That's exciting," he granted her, "What plans do y'have with her?" 

That was her security speaking then. He was the one with thinned lips and narrow eyes. 

"I'm not sure yet," she said, gesturing with her smoothie and phone in hand, "I'm just thinking about dinner with Fran when she lands, but I'm sure if Emma's able to make it out, we'll want to go out together." 

He gave her a slow nod, things working behind the scenes as he blinked at her. "Okay." 

The longer that beat of silence rang on, (Y/N) felt unease creep in. Maybe Harry didn't trust her as much as she thought. 

She'd been doing so well since he helped her out of that rut those first few days, but maybe he worried bringing her friends back into the equation would elicit something he hoped they left back in New York. She wondered if he had those pictures of her in mind, the runny mascara and panic she had in the bathroom of the gallery. 

Leveling her energy, she made a point to meet his contemplative gaze. "I promise I'll behave. I won't cause any trouble or anything." 

Shaking his head, Harry dismissed her in a moment. "'M not worried about that, (Y/N)." 

Unable to school her features, she felt her eyes widen and posture straighten. She couldn't think of a time when she wasn't anticipated as the trouble maker. 

"You're not?" 

Blinking out of his head, Harry shook his head again, meeting her eyes with intention. "Don't worry about me, okay?" he told her, voice gentle in the space between, "Its m'job to think of all the scenarios and everything, but 's not something y'need to concern yourself with. Let me do that, you jus' have fun." 

Though she was a bit dumbstruck, unable to really understand how to move forward without that kind of expectation following her, she still nodded her head. Nonetheless, even if Harry wasn't looking for that kind of promise, she would give it to herself. She wasn't going to stir any kind of drama or trouble. 

She'd make Harry proud.

—————

Francesca, leaning over the dinner table with a makeup free face and her travel clothes on her form, gave (Y/N) a sly smile. 

"So," she started, her voice low as if Harry wasn't already two rooms away from their conversation, privacy being the only other person joining their table, "your bodyguard." 

Nodding her head, (Y/N) plucked a piece of brie from the cheese board they were sharing, "Yeah?" 

"Did something happen?" Francesca pressed, something glimmering in her eyes. 

A pinch appeared between (Y/N)'s brows. "What do you mean?" 

Rolling her brown eyes, Francesca gave her an incredulous look. "Even I've seen those pics of you two at the Eiffel Tower"—honestly, (Y/N) didn't even know there were photos of them together then, having deleted her socials the day after the letter was posted to the penthouse—"and walking in here feels less like your penthouse and more like a... nest for you too. You even line your shoes up next to one another." 

Taken aback, (Y/N) could feel the way her features screwed up at Fran's remarks. "You're silly, Fran," she said, focusing on the cracker she was loading with cheese. 

Francesca shook her head and stood her ground, light amusement curling her lips. "You're lying, and you know it." 

"I'm not, though," (Y/N) countered, covering her mouth as she took a bite of the crumbly cracker. 

Shrugging, Francesca focused on her own overloaded cracker. "Maybe it's him then," she offered, looking at (Y/N) with that sly curve to her lips, "I don't know, all I'm saying is that the vibes are very different from the last time I saw you—and him. Every time he walks out here, it's like he doesn't even see me. He's only looking at you." 

"He's my bodyguard," (Y/N) stated, as if Fran could forget the fact. "He checks on me." 

"Checking you out," Francesca emphasized, hiding her teasing smile behind a sip of red wine. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn to roll her eyes, trying her best to bite back her laughter. "You're so annoying," she teased, "I should've known you were going to say something stupid like that." 

"Whatever," Francesca dismissed, reaching for her phone, "I want to make a post on my Story with you, though. So, pose cute with your wine or something. People are going to go crazy, knowing you're alive outside of blurry pics." 

"People think I'm dead?" (Y/N) laughed, sipping from her wine before fluffing her hair.

Fran shook her head, swiping through her camera to find the right preset. "You'd be surprised how man people actually believe grocery store magazines. Even Damien Moore reached out to Toriana to see if she knew where you were, it's so weird."

"Damien?" she blanched, features screwing up at the mention of his name.

"That was my reaction too," Fran shared, waving her phone in her hand, "I was hoping we'd never have to hear from him again after what happened, but obviously he loves drama."

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) couldn't agree more. Definitely the worst of the boys her father tried to set her up with.

When Francesca held her phone up, the camera facing them, (Y/N) didn't hesitate to pose. She cradled her glass of wine and got in close to Fran, curling her lips into a warm smile. The buttery lighting of the apartment with the shimmering Paris night leaking in through the windows, (Y/N) felt pretty when she glanced at the reflection. 

Over the edge of Fran's phone, she could see Harry stepping out of the hallway, his steps silent. Though she tried not to pay attention, she couldn't help but to notice the way he really didn't allow his eyes to trace anywhere but her, even when they were doing something as innocent as posing for photos. 

Even when Francesca lowered her phone and went about prepping the photo for posting, Harry didn't step away too quickly. He lingered, the warmth of his gaze on her. 

Surely, he could just be checking on her, noticing how quiet the room became when they started whispering about him and going silent for the photos, but (Y/N) found herself not resenting the other option Francesca presented.

She didn't hate the idea of Harry looking at her just for the sake of looking at her. 

Whatever that was supposed to mean for her.

—————

flâner means to wander aimlessly around a city.

a little change of scenery and time together before we get into some more fun stuff! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any thoughts or ideas let me know!

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

Finally Giving In (Dean x Reader x Sam)

summary: you're close friends with the winchester brothers, and have been sleeping with dean for awhile, what happens when sam wants you too?

warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, gn!reader *except that a belly bulge is mentioned*, eiffel towering LOL, pet names (baby, sweetheart), let me know if i missed any!

word count: roughly 1k

A/N: GUYS ITS MY TUMBLRVERSARY!!! i can't believe i've been here for 3 years (feels like it's been forever though). i've NEVER EVER posted my writing on here, i've been too nervous...but today i'm changing that :))

here's a litte nsfw fic with the winchester brothers (that i literally started writing in a sudoku book while i was at work...?) ok ily guys please feel free to leave feedback <3

you're face down, ass up, dean pounding you into the bed. completely cockdrunk, you don't even notice his younger brother walk into the room until dean chuckles.

"i see you're finally giving in," he says with a smirk.

you understand him through your haze, confused why he'd be saying that to you.

dean leans down to whisper next to your ear, "you gonna let sammy have a turn?"

you moan, finally realizing what's going on, clenching around dean while turning your head to face sam. he looks nervous, but once he meets your eyes, his demeanor changes. sam's eyes rake down your body as dean continues to fuck you.

"let me have her," sam rasps.

dean groans but relents, knowing how much his brother wants this. with one final (hard) thrust, he pulls out, leaving you a whimpering mess. sam walks over to you, and turns you on your back with gentle hands. still fully clothed, the man towers over you. you start sobering up and realize what's actually about to happen.

you've always wanted both of the winchester brothers in unholy ways, but would gladly take just dean. now you were about to take your sweet sammy too. you feel a wave of heat rush through you, flushing your skin. sam has a warm smile on his face, all his love and desire for you evident.

you smile back, "hi," you whisper.

sam laughs softly, "hi."

you reach out and grab the hem of his shirt, "can i take this off?"

he nods immediately. you had seen both the men shirtless before, but never had the oppotunity to really look at sam. you trace your fingers over his abdomen, sliding your hands over his v-line. he feels his cock twitch, and as much as he wants to take things slow, he can't wait any longer. he slides his pants off, then pulls you even closer to him, letting you feel just how hard he is in his boxers. you gasp at the slight friction, still on edge from dean.

sam wraps your legs around himself, grinding into you without breaking eye contact...you feel like you could melt. you whine, eager to see him-to feel him.

"i know baby, i know."

his voice is like honey, and you just want a taste. as if he can read your mind, he leans down to kiss you softly as he slides his boxers down, and when you separate, you glance down to see the most beautiful cock you have ever seen (sorry dean). sam is long and thick, and you silently worry if he will even fit. he slides his cock against you with a groan, becoming more impatient by the second.

"is this ok?" he says, his cock sitting at your entrance.

"yes, please sammy."

he curses as he slowly slides into you, taking it as slow as possible, as you're already hissing at the stretch. once he's buried to the hilt, he gives you a second to adjust, before carefully pulling out.

both of you, completely lost in pleasure, seem to forget that dean is in the room, until he speaks up.

"fuck, this is even hotter than i thought it would be," he drawls, walking to your side. "does sammy feel good sweetheart?" he says as he brushes your hair back from your face.

all you can do is groan and nod, a smirk forming on both the boys' faces. as sam picks up the pace, your mouth is permanently open in pleasure, and dean sees an opportunity. he comes to kneel beside you on the bed, and you turn your head to watch him stroke his cock. when your eyes meet, his grin grows.

"you want me baby?"

you nod, scrambling to pull him closer. the second you get his cock in your mouth, you moan around it, the salty taste hitting your tongue.

sam, just a little jealous that he no longer has your full attention, lifts your legs over his shoulders and presses forward, the deeper angle making tears start to form in your eyes. you can feel him deeper than you ever thought possible, as he reaches a hand around to press down on your belly.

"you feel that?"

you pop off of dean with a, "yes!"

sam chuckles, feeling a little cocky, "you ever been this deep, dean?"

dean grumbles, "course i have."

he guides your mouth back to his cock in annoyance at his little brother. between sam's ministrations and the pure filth that is you sucking dean's cock, you can feel yourself getting close. sam feels you clench around him, and knows what's coming (literally LOL).

"mmm, i'm close too baby. where do you want it?"

"inside!" you say around dean, the added vibration making him moan.

"fuck...me too sweetheart? want me down your throat?"

you nod eagerly, feeling that a few more thrusts might get you there. and that feeling is correct, because soon you're reaching your high, squeezing sam like a vice and moaning around dean. the boys both take a few more thrusts, and finish at nearly the same time, filling you up from both ends. you feel warm and fuzzy inside, whether that's from their cum, or from your love for them, who knows.

dean pulls out first, and sam follows, leaving you gasping in an attempt to calm down. dean leaves to go get you a glass of water and a washcloth, as sam softly kisses your face and neck.

"i've been wanting you like that for so long sweetheart," he mumbles into your skin.

"me too sammy, thank you," you say with a soft smile.

he smiles back and leans in to kiss you, the urgency gone, but the passion still there. you tangle your hands into his hair and pull back, giggling. you can't believe you finally get to have both your boys like this...

A/N: AHHH OK i hope you liked this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i just recently started watching supernatural, so i hope this isn't too ooc, but i just love these two so much! feel free to leave feedback!

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Just friends? | Matt Rempe x Reader

Warnings: language, that’s it? NOT PROOF READ

Summary: we head to the Ny Rangers game, matt had gotten three penalties and the rangers lost. We head to our little friend days, i accidentally split the way i feel about Matt, he tells me his feelings.

A:N- FIRST REMPE BLURB‼️🚨I’m scared, this is so gonna flop bc he’s like the most hated rookie…

══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══

I’ve known Matt since we were in seventh grade. It’s been nine years of friendship. I’m excited to watch him play as a rookie in THE nhl.

“Are you ready?” Matt asks me, as if I’m the one who’s nervous. This whole time he’s been pacing back and forth, we play the Hurricanes tonight in the playoffs. I’m excited!

“No. I think I’ll just stay here in the hotel and watch you play from here.” I joke with him, he obviously isn’t in the mood to mess around.

I tie his tie and flatten his suit out, I mess with his hair a bit. “Matty?” Ally walks in.

“Hey y/n! Cars running, we’ll have to leave early, we need to grab gas. Unless you are going in early with matt?” Ally, one of Matt’s older sister.

“Oh hey? I didn’t know you were here.” Steph says as she walks in, checking in on my work. “Nice tie. Who tied it?” Steph asks Matt.

“Cool, cool.” Steph says as she looks at Matt’s eyes that trail into mine.

I’ve never seen Matt the way I’ve seen other boys, maybe it’s because I’ve grown up with him, I’ve seen him go through puberty, get girlfriends, and I’ve seen his room. Ally and Steph on the other hand… well they think Matt and I are literally meant to be.

“Cute.” Ally says as she grabs Steph and walk out.

“So we’ll see you y/n, at the seats?” Ally says as she walks down the hallway of Matt’s home. Matt pulls me to his mirror that is hung in his closet door.

“You look comfy.” He said and he rubs my shoulder, he looks down at me. For preference, I am 5”3, and he’s 6”7’. He’s significantly taller than me.

“You’ll do great.” I say and I grab my bag, my phone and apply lipgloss. He stares at me while I tie up my shoes. I’m wearing a blue tank top, and on top I have a leather jacket, I have a Rangers jersey imprinted on the back of the coat. I walk around with white air forces on my feet.

We walk to the car and we pull out of the driveway. We watch Matt’s older sister’s car get smaller as we turn a corner to head towards the rink.

“Radio on?” Matt asks me, I’m sure he’ll want to play our song.

“Sure.”

He throws his phone at me and gives me aux. “no. Play something fun.”

I play Martin & Gina by Polo G.

“No, play our song.”

So I do, I type into his Spotify search Shower by Becky G. “I love this song!” Matt says as he looks over to me. He keeps his eyes on mine.

“Matt!” I yell as he steps on his breaks. He almost ran a kid over. He let the kid cross the street and Matt wanted some coffee so we head to a Caribou.

“You wnat anything?” Matt asks me, and again he stares me down, I see him looking at me like I’m the great Mona Lisa. Or as if I’m the Eiffel Tower.

“No I’m good I’ll just pick up a Dr Pepper at the food court.” I reply. I look into Matt’s eyes, he has a light bruise that stained his under eye from previous fights. I’m sure he’s fired up for playoffs, I’m excited!

~

We get to the rink and he walks in the player enterance and I head for the other side of the building, making it to the front of the building. I enter in just as normal and get my pass out to enter in as family. I understand that I should’ve gone in with Matt, but it felt better to get in early instead of late like the other family do.

I head for our seats and make it to my spot that I always sit in. I can see all the fans walking to the glass, signs are up and pressed against the window. Rempe jerseys everywhere, and family’s sitting at seats waiting for the game to start.

Hype songs start, warmups are coming. I watch Matt walk on the ice. For some reason I felt this wierd park in my stomach. I got wayyy to excited to see him. I actually smiled so big that my cheeks hurt from staring at him.

~

After game

~

The rangers lost. Matt hasn’t walked out of the locker room, and I patiently wait. He was the last one out, the coaches even left before him. The janitors started to come in and clean up. I have to wait for Matt, he’s the one driving me home.

“Matt?” I said when he finally walked out. “What.” Matt says in the grumpiest tone. He didn’t walk out for post game interviews, so I assume that he would do it later.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, I thought I was being kind for asking. He left me on heard. He just took my hand and walked me to his car. He opened my door for me, and threw his hockey gear into the back of his car.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Matt finally answered.

Okay.

“Okay, let’s just go home alright?” I say canceling our plans that we were waiting for, for the last week.

“What!? No!” Matt whines before he backs out of his parking spot. “I wnat to go.” He said as he looks at me.

“Let’s spend time together. Come on. Please? I just had the worst game of my life and you’re just gonna make me feel worse?” He guilt trips me.

“Maybe.” I sarcastically answered as I throw his hands off my thigh. See, moments like this I believe his sister that maybe we could be something. NO! Matt is just a friend, he’s practically been in my life forever. Freinds for 9years and going on, and known eachother since we were 8 years old.

“I’m gonna shower, and you need to change.” Matt says when he pulls into his driveway. His sisters pull in behind us. “Matty!” Steph tells out for him.

“What.” He replied, he sounds the way he did before we left the rink.

“Um. Okay well me and Ally are going to the mall, and we’re going back to school. See you soon okay?” Steph says and she steps back into her car. That’s the last time I’ll see them, well ofcire we still have summer but they’re all the way at college and I’m just here in New York.

~

“Okay should I wear red, or green?” I ask Matt, I men’s his opinion matters, like a lot.

“Im wearing Blue, so you should wear that blue and white outfit you got a while ago.”

“That wasn’t an option.” I reply. I just do as he says and slide in my corset top dress and a value decal lace, the white silk sits on my curves.

“You’re so beautiful.” Matt says as he watches me walk out of the bathroom. My hair is curled, my makeup done and my legs are shaved, I also have the perfect amount of heel that raises my height.

Matt looks me up and down and grabs my hand. We drive down to a cove. We eat some pasta and we grab some dessert at this small shop downtown. “Don’t get anything in that dress!” Matt warns me, I’m eating like a pig.

He’s so sweet. I could talk to him for hours.

After our foodie phase we head to the coast. We drive about an hour just to get to a beach. It was so nice, we sat and stared at the stars, but it felt wrong. I know that we would be good as a couple but, what his sister say all the time teasing him makes me think he likes me. No.

He can’t.

We’re friends.

“How’s life been? Got a hot boyfriend I don’t know about? You just moved up here in New York so how you like?” Matt asks me, he turn his head and leans back onto his forearms. He’s watching me stare into the void. I’m scared to tell him.

No, we’re just friends.

“Nope. Men are stupid. Not you of course, your perfect- your like the only guy I would date!-or well yeah it’s nice up in New York, city is beautiful and the weather is my type.” I answer, I stuttered about all of my try feelings. Shit.

“Well l feeel the same way.” Matt says, I’m sure he heard my little cry of what the hell did I say.

“What.”

“I like you as well y/n. You didn’t notice?”

[milkywaydrabbles]

21. threesome with soft!dom!Rindou and soft!dom!Kakucho (Bonten), please and thanks.

They are my favs. 😊

A/N: SOFT DOM BONTEN SOFT DOM BONTEN SOFT DOM BONTEN I could kiss you I love the Bonten boys sm. This was so nice to write, ty for requesting and I hope you like it mwuah

CW: Pet names, use of term daddy, threesome, oral (f! And m!receiving) Eiffel tower this bitch

Threesome x Kakucho, Rindou

"Come on, beautiful, you can give us one more can't you?" You nodded furiously, although tears had been running down your face for the last hour. Kakucho wiped away your tears and kissed your forehead, Rindou in between your legs. It was thrilling, having two of the most dangerous men in Japan at your neck and call. Or at least that's how it felt in the beginning of your arrangement. Until you realized they'd peel away your layers bit by bit. With affection, adoration, prais. You were a crying mess for them every time they paid for your services. "Daddy, it's too much" you hiccuped, wiggling away from rindou who grasped at your thighs and gave you a small warning bite. "Nu uh, baby girl. You promised kakucho one more. Daddy just wants to make you feel good." He mumbled from underneath you, licking up your juices from your tight cunt. 

You let out a broken moan as another orgasm was ripped from you. "R-rin!" You gasped, pushing at his head trying to get him away from your swollen pussy. Kakucho kissed around your face as you rode out your orgasm, juices spilling onto Rindou's face. "There you go baby, there you go. You're so good." Kakucho's praises we're making you dizzy, preening at the sweet words he'd use. 

Rin slapped your pussy to snap you out of your stupor, and you yelped, closing your legs. "You can't think we're done can you?" He teased, helping you flip over on your stomach. "Please, daddy it's too much." You pleaded with Kakucho this time, eyes shining with more tears. He pet your head, cooing. "Do you want to use your safe word?" Rin and he both stopped, giving you a moment to stop the whole production if you wanted to. But you shook your head no. They were both on you immediately after that, petting you, touching your body, giving you kisses. Rin bent down to give your ass a few kisses and experiment bites. You wiggled your hips at him, begging for more. No matter how many times you'd say it's too much or you can't do it, you'd always continue for them. 

"Go ahead and take care of Kakucho pretty baby. He's been treating you so nicely." Rin spoke as he lined his cock up with your wet cunt. He teased and prodded, slipping just the tip and giving a few shallow thrusts before slipping out again. You whimpered, taking Kakucho's thick cock in your hand and giving him a quick pump before licking the pre cum oozing from his tip. He groaned above you, hand digging into your hair but letting you go at your own pace. "So good for us pretty. Make me feel good, beautiful. Suck me off." The low timber of his voice sent electricity through your veins, and you pushed yourself down onto his dick, swallowing as much as you could before gagging. It always took some time to take all of them in your mouth, but you were so eager to please you rarely gave yourself that patience. Rindou slipped into your cunt with ease, squelching with each thrust. He moaned behind you, and in turn you moaned around Kakucho. "Fuck this pussy is so good, always so fucking tight and wet for us." You clenched around Rindou's cock preening at the praises. 

In front, Kakucho gave shallow thrusts into your mouth. He couldn't help it, your mouth was so warm and your throat felt so good around his length. You choked for a moment, the man shooting you an apologetic glance. "Sorry baby, mouth feels so good" he cooed, letting you go at your own pace. You couldn't help but try harder for him, submersed in subspace you didn't want to let them down. Tears slipped from your eyes once more, breathing from your nose and letting your throat relax, you pushed Kakucho's dick deep into your throat, not stopping until you felt the tickle of his pubic hair at your nose. You swallowed around him, tongue sticking out of your mouth as you covered as much as you could. "Ah fuck!" He yelled out of pure pleasure, keeping your head in place for as long as you could hold it. "fuckfuckfuck baby, not gonna last long" he continued to whisper sweet words to you, talking about how good your mouth is, how you're always such a good girl, their sweet baby. His words spurred you on, tightening your cunt around Rindou and bobbing your head faster around him.

Rindou's nails dug into the fat of your ass, balls slapping against your clit as he quickened his pace. You met his thrusts as best you could, eyes rolling to the back of your head. "this is the best pussy, I swear baby. You're so good, aah fuck." Their sweet words pushed you over the edge, crying and clenching around their dicks as you sprayed clear liquid onto Rin's thighs. Seeing you lose control had them spiraling, crying out praises as Kakucho came into your mouth, and rindou into your spent cunt. Their cum filled your holes so deliciously you couldn't get enough. Slowly they pulled out and Kakucho was the first to scoop you into his arms and kiss away the tears that flowed. "You did so good baby, so good for us." He whispered, Rindou following suite with a damp rag to clean you up and his own words of encouragement. "You're such a good girl, so obedient. Can't get enough of you."

Yeah, the Bonten boys might be the most ruthless of the country, but you had them wrapped around your pretty finger.

[gogh-with-the-flow]

You know what? Fuck it uhhh

Slutty 141 headcanons

Feat @asterionex xoxo I love you bestie

Cw: absolute filth. Masochism. Cockwarming. Blood kink. Anal. When I say I'm a freak I mean it.

Price loves to use your mouth to keep his cock warm. He'll keep you kneeling under his desk for however long his paperwork takes. And don't you dare move or else he'll shove himself deeper down your throat and keep you there.

When the boys come home you know you're in for a long night. They fuck you like a starving animal, all open mouthed panting and barbaric groaning while they run themselves into you over and over again. You're absolutely plastered in cum by the time the sun is up. And when their fat balls are finally drained, they take you into the shower to clean you off. But running their hands over your wet, soapy body gets them hard all over again. And before you know it they're pushing themselves into your poor abused little hole again. And God help you, you let them. You let them use your body because you know they need it and they know you love it.

Soap is a switch. Argue with the wall. That man loves to make you cry just as much as he likes being made to cry by you.

Price is a switch in the way that when he's stressed and pent up, he loves it when you take control and let him lie back and watch you ride him. Deep down, he just wants to be taken care of.

SOAPS STUPID FUCKING SLUTTY COLLAR RAAAHHHHHH

Choke him with the collar and he'll be a wheezing, moaning mess

Soap pays for your nails so they look pretty wrapped around his neck (and cock)

Idk why but I just get the feeling that Price is mad flexible. Like he can do the splits. He's gotta keep his old man joints limber.

Hook Soap's collar up to a leach and shove your strap down his throat. He looks so pretty choking on it ugh.

Gaz loves taking your strap up his ass. He has such a pretty ass and he arches his back so nicely to throw it back on you. And when he's done, he'll bend you over and give it to you the same way.

Price likes to smoke his cigars when you go down on him. One hand holding the cigar he's puffing on, the other winding his fingers in your hair.

In the same vein, he likes to make you sit on his dick and keep it warm while he smokes. He won't let you move until he's done with his cigar. He'll hold you, back arched against him, thighs shaking begging to move because he's just so big and the size of him is making you so full, and he'll just ash his cigar on your shoulder and tell you to keep quiet and be patient.

Ghost smokes cigarettes and likes to put them out on your pretty thighs.

Ghost likes to stuff himself into you without any prep because he knows you love that sharp painful stretch of his cock. Fucking your ass without any lube, if you bleed a little that's even better. You cry at the feeling of him stirring up your guts. The size of him is almost too much to bear.

He likes the pain too. Raking your nails down his back while he pounds into you, breaking the skin and feeling the dampness of his sweat mix with his hot blood.

Gaz would make fun of you the whole time, degrading you while you're bent over speared on his cock and drooling on the pillow. "Aww poor baby, can't even talk. Tell me how good it feels, love. Use your words'' but all you can do is scream because your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you can't feel your face anymore

Price is best at aftercare, followed by Gaz and Soap. Ghost depends on the day, sometimes he just likes to use your body, and you love it.

I hope you like Paris because Soap and Ghost are taking you to the eiffel tower all the damn time.

Sex with Soap and Gaz is always a little more lighthearted, both of them cracking jokes while balls deep inside you.

Gaz and Price together is all sensual. They know how to take their time with you, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you in every combination of the two of them.

Price and Ghost together are brutal. Between Ghost's roughness and Price's restraint, you're not walking properly for a while.

Gaz likes to fuck you in the shower. He likes the way the water runs down your naked body, making you all wet and shiny.

Did I mention Price loves cockwarming? Because he does. Price loves cockwarming. He'd wait until you're dripping down and around his thighs before he lets you move

You and Soap take turns being dominant. He's a brat. Sometimes you have to chain him up and sit on his face just to get him to behave. But when it's his turn, oh lord, does he give it back to you. His mouth is FILTHY, saying the nastiest shit you've ever heard while he pounds into you.

You love it when the boys hurt you. You'll take whatever they give you and you take it well.

Gaz looooooooooooves the taste of your pussy. He'll tie you down just to spend hours between your thighs and won't stop no matter how much you beg him to. He won't stop until he's eaten his fill and had dessert.

[multifandomfanfic]

Hi! Okay so hear me out 😂 Reader is Iceman’s daughter and she’s dating Hangman but she comes clean to him about wanting to sleep with Bradly too. One night Jake comes home from work and has Bradly in tow and together they both take care of her.

Great Balls of Fire

Pairing: Hangman x fem! reader x Rooster

Warnings: Smut, threesome, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, Eiffel Tower, face fucking, brief male masturbation, voyeurism, language, hair pulling

Word Count: 6.4k

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain.

Too much love drives a man insane.

You broke my will.

But what a thrill.

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!

“Come on, baby, let’s get out of here.”

Hangman yanked on my bicep, attempting to drag me to the Hard Deck's main entrance. He begged me to leave as soon as he'd finished messing with Bradshaw. I, on the other hand, refused to leave, wanting to stay just a little longer. He was enraged that everyone's focus had shifted to Rooster, escalating his frustration and increasing his desire to flee.

"Jake, I don’t want to go yet!”

I tried not to sound angry. I didn't want to enrage Hangman even more.

I yanked back, my gaze fixed on Rooster, who was banging soulfully on the piano while others laughed and danced joyfully around him. I wanted to be a part of the action instead of being dragged around constantly by Hangman.

“Why?! There’s no reason for us to stay!”

"Yeah, well, there’s no reason for us to leave either!”

The veins began to bulge along Rooster’s neck as he belted his song, swinging his head around happily. He was perspiring but didn't seem to mind or even notice. All he cared about was making other people happy with his fantastic piano playing.

“Hey!”

Over the din of happy customers, Hangman yelled. He drew me back and spun me around until our chests collided, his grip on my biceps tightening.

“Stop gawking at Bradshaw and let’s get the hell out of here.”

I stared blankly into his eyes, trying desperately to think of a compelling reason to stay. Hangman’s dull nails sank into my biceps as he furrowed his brows in angry confusion.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Y/N?”

His grip on my arms was becoming increasingly painful. I yanked on my arms, attempting to free myself from his powerful grip.

“Fuck, Hangman, you're hurting me!"

Jake broke free from his enraged stare, releasing my arms and providing me with much-needed relief. The pressure from his firm grip dissipated almost instantly, leaving crescent-shaped nail marks that burned as my skin tried to piece itself back together.

He raised his hands and showed me his open palms, indicating that he was done being handsy.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t know what came over me. Are you okay?”

He swung his head around to catch a glimpse of my arms to assess the damage, dropping his hands to his sides. I suddenly felt very exposed. I shielded myself by crossing my arms over my chest, hoping to keep him from seeing any of me.

“I'm fine, Jake. Don’t worry about it.”

He brought our gazes back together, and I could detect genuine sympathy in his eyes.

“Do you wanna stay?”

I swiveled my head around until I could lock my gaze on Rooster. He was giggling and singing, belting out a tune between guffaws. He pushed the heat to the back of his mind, the fun clouding his senses as a layer of sweat appeared on his tanned skin, dripping down his face and into the collar of his Hawaiian shirt.

The piano was slightly out of tune from the thousands of people who had fondled the keys over the many years. If anyone else had been playing, people would stare at the individual like they had three eyes. Nobody, however, could match Rooster's incredible charisma, which made anything he did appealing, including playing an out-of-tune piano while belting a song despite never having taken singing lessons.

“Yeah. I think I’d like to stay.”

I stated. However, Hangman was unable to hear me due to the din of the joyful bar patrons.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Bradley concluded his song with a final slam of the piano, then stood to receive praise and pats on the back from his pilot friends. After he had finished speaking with his close friends, several strangers who had thoroughly enjoyed the performance expressed their undying admiration for his abilities. Rooster smiled broadly as he greeted them, his pearly white teeth starkly contrasting against his dark mustache and tanned skin in the low light ambiance of the bar. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes drifted through the crowds and met my gaze. Despite his black aviator sunglasses, I could tell his eyes were on mine.

I froze, my eyes widening as I stared blankly through his sunglasses' black lenses. He gave me a small wave and a wide smile before returning his gaze to the people who were desperately trying to catch his attention in order to compliment his impeccable piano skills.

“Hey Y/N, you alive?”

I suddenly felt compelled to leave. I’d hate for Rooster to later confront me about gawking at him, as Bradley was most likely getting a kick out of capturing one of his adversaries' eyes. I didn't want him to tease me about my ravenous gaze in front of Hangman, who was naturally possessive.

I swiveled my head back to Hangman, who was staring at me with a furrowed brow, slightly concerned about my enigmatic behavior.

“No! I think I’d rather leave. But, thanks for offering Jake.”

Jake's brows were raised in surprise.

“Really? But a second ago-“

“I know! But, I just realized how tired I am and I think going home would be the better option.”

It was a terrible lie, and my tone was anything but convincing. Jake, on the other hand, was unaware of my secret and had no reason to believe anything was going on inside my head other than a dramatic shift in my viewpoint.

“Okay. If that’s what you wanna do.”

“That is what I wanna do.”

Jake flashed me one of his famous sly grins and extended his hand to me, his open palm standing upright. I slapped my palm against his, returning his smile before allowing him to pull me out of the bar. Hangman didn't say goodbye to any of his friends as most of his comrades were rolling their eyes at the attention Rooster was receiving and hitting pool balls aggressively into holes with long wooden sticks far away from the front entrance.

We rode in his white Mustang all the way home. Hangman, as is customary, sparked a discussion.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you tonight.”

He said apologetically as he kept his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead of him, illuminated only by his headlights.

“It’s okay, Jake.”

Hangman preferred to return home via the back roads. He had a strange soft spot for long sensual drives with his lover, as rough and intimidating as his demeanor could be to those who encountered him.

Hangman reached his arm over the center console, laying his hand on my leg as his thumb rubbed circles into the soft skin of my inner thigh. Typically a situation similar to this one would build tension in my lower abdomen, but this night had been far too mentally draining for me to feel any form of arousal.

Hangman didn’t appear to care, as if his intention from the start wasn’t to make me wet with desire. He simply allowed his calloused palm to rest on my thigh as I stared blankly out the window, mindlessly watching the dark houses quickly go by.

“Y’know the way you were staring at Bradshaw almost made me think you wanted him to fuck you.”

Hangman laughed loudly, hoping I would stroke his comically large ego and laugh with him while proclaiming my unconditional love for him. But my mind was far too preoccupied with not panicking to worry about Hangman’s inflated ego.

“Y/N?”

He asked softly, my head turned away from him, my heart nearly exploding with nervousness.

“Y/N?!”

He asked, his tone encompassing a hard edge in order to capture my attention.

“What!?”

I exclaimed, turning my head to meet his gaze. The look he gave me sent shivers up my spine. He was angry, truly enraged by my lack of words.

Hangman was forced to pull his gaze away from me and back onto the road in order to avoid a crash.

He recoiled his hand angrily from my thigh and placed it on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

“I fucking knew it.”

Hangman's jaw was clenched, muscles protruding from the sides of his cheeks.

“You’ve been thinking about Bradshaw while I’m balls deep inside of you.”

I gulped, unwilling to admit what I knew Hangman was implying.

“Haven’t you?”

He asked, not wanting to look me in the eyes. Instead, he glared angrily at the road ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing in frustration as he gulped.

“God dammit answer me!”

He let out a spontaneous yell, and I recoiled. Jake slammed his hand into the steering wheel, his loosened grip cursing the car to drift. Hangman held the car steady, his face flushed with rage.

“Jake…”

“Yes or no. I don’t want any fucking excuses just answer me with yes or no.”

He hissed through his teeth, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

I could give a logical explanation as to why I had thought about Bradley during sex. But Hangman didn’t want me to explain.

“Let me explain-“

“I don’t want you to fucking explain I want you to answer me!”

“Well if you don’t let me-“

“Yes or no!”

He screamed, the veins in his neck bulging as he slowly pressed his foot onto the gas, the speed crescendoing rapidly.

“YES!”

I snapped back as I watched Hangman's face contort from rage to pain. As his lips pursed into a fine line, his brows returned to a neutral position. He took his foot off the gas, and the car quickly returned to a safe speed.

“No but… not just him.”

Hangman scoffed in frustration.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Like…”

God, I was about to confess a secret I had spent the previous three months trying to keep hidden. As the embarrassment finally reached my body, my face flushed hot and blood rushed to my cheeks.

“Both of you.”

Hangman cocked his brow in confusion.

“Both of…”

His voice trailed off, the realization finally setting in.

“Oh.”

My stomach flipped. This was extremely humiliating. Hangman was naturally possessive of those he loved. I knew this would not go down well with him and his view of what a relationship should be.

The rest of the car ride was spent in awkward silence, with the air heavy and the atmosphere thick. My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe, but I tried not to show Hangman that every nerve ending in my body was burning with humiliation.

Hangman pulled up to the Kazansky household. I'd been visiting my father because his health was deteriorating rapidly, and I knew I needed to spend some much needed quality time with him before he passed away.

“Thank you for driving me, Jake.”

“You're welcome.”

Hangman had transformed into a lonely facade, his body devoid of any emotion. He was staring straight ahead with lifeless eyes, his hands on the steering wheel, his breath even.

“Goodbye.”

As I stepped out of Hangman's car and shut the door behind me, he didn't say goodbye. My hands quickly moved back and forth at my sides, propelling my feet to move faster as I hurried to my front door. I didn't give a damn if Hangman mocked me for trying to get out of the awkward situation. He now hates me. My wonderful relationship with Hangman had come to an end.

I tried not to slam the door, as my father was probably getting some much-needed beauty rest. I rushed up the stairs, furious at myself, tears forming at the corners of my eyes, clouding my vision.

I should've just denied it, God. I should've joined Hangman in his laughter and professed my love for him. My relationship has now been ruined as a result of my inability to lie. My conscience would not be burdened by a small white lie. I could continue to have a happy relationship while admiring Bradley from afar.

I was happy with Hangman, super happy. He was most definitely the one for me and I’d never consider leaving Hangman for Bradley.

But I’ve heard stories about Rooster that make me fantasize about what he’s like when you catch him alone. Hangman’s cockiness plus Rooster’s slyness?

Now that was a match made in heaven.

-

“Bye dad, have fun at the beach!”

I waved goodbye to my father as he and my mother left to enjoy a day to themselves. After watching them safely climb into the car, I shut the door, ensuring they were safe before heading out to the sand.

Now it's time for me to wallow in self-pity as I try to figure out how to mend my shattered relationship.

I picked up my phone ten times in the span of an hour, my finger hovering over Hangman's number before I inevitably chickened out.

“Fuck. Why is this so hard?”

I eventually gave up, deciding that it was preferable to wait out the awkwardness. If I called him right now, what would I say?

Hey Jake. Sorry I confessed that I want to have a threesome with you and your enemy.

Yes, I'm sure that would be well received.

I flopped back onto the bed, my head in my hands, staring at the empty ceiling above me. I was left alone with my thoughts, my mind racing through hundreds of possibilities for how to correct the damage.

I’ll just… apologize?

Should I be sorry?

I suppose I should apologize for sharing my fantasies.

On the other hand, I'm powerless over my thoughts.

Hangman, I'm sure, has had some strange thoughts of his own.

The door unlocked with an audible click.

Shit!

I perked up, supporting my torso with my hands behind my back. My gaze was fixed on my bedroom door, as if expecting a man wearing a black ski mask to burst through and whisk me away.

I didn’t lock the door.

Shit, I didn’t lock the door.

“Y/N?!”

Hangman? What the hell was he doing here?

A thief is more likely to enter my house than Hangman. Especially after last night's humiliating confession.

“Y/N?!”

His deep voice echoed around the walls of my house and traveled to my room, where my ears heard him call my name once more.

“I’m up here, Jake!”

Hangman climbed the stairwell. God, his footsteps were awfully loud. Was he stomping his boots on the ground? The deafening sounds of his footfalls became much more coherent as he progressed up the stairwell.

Wait.

I'm sure I'm hallucinating. Hangman didn’t have four feet. How could he possibly be making four stomping noises at once?

I watched the knob twist. My bedroom door swung open to reveal Hangman.

And…

No.

No way in hell.

“Rooster?”

I inquired. I felt as if I had been thrown into the deep end of a freezing pool. My body became cold, and blood from my brain rushed to my heart as my pulse accelerated. I was thrown into a spontaneous state of shock.

Their combined gazes pounded down on me, making me feel helpless and vulnerable.

“Wow Hangman.”

Rooster began, the right corner of his mouth gradually moving into a smirk. He kept his deep brown eyes on mine, and I worried he could sense how nervous I was growing under his all knowing stare.

“I thought you were joking. But she’s so flustered and we haven’t even done anything yet.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, drawing my attention to his large pecs under his tight white shirt.

Hangman had vanished from my view. He was out of sight and out of mind as I locked my gaze on Rooster, my mind failing to register that this was real.

“Hey baby.”

Hangman appeared in my peripheral vision, his tone overly pleasant. I averted my gaze from Rooster, hoping to find solace in Hangman's eyes. But his gaze was as sly and mysterious as Roosters', implying that I was the only one who wasn't in on their secret plan.

Hangman took two long, slow strides towards me, his hands smugly shoved into his pockets, until he was only a foot away.

“Will you come here?”

Hangman inquired, bringing a hand from his pockets and making a "come hither" motion with his pointer finger. I rose to my feet slowly to avoid falling on my shaky knees. I didn't take my gaze away from Hangman, afraid that if I did, they'd both pounce like hungry lions.

I took a small step forward, bringing his chest to within six inches of mine.

“Come closer.”

I didn't want to come any closer. I wanted to put as much distance as possible between us. But I knew Hangman would make me do whatever he wanted, even if it meant asking me ten times.

I shuffled forward, cocking my head back to look him in the eyes.

Even when I had to tilt my head back to look Hangman in the eyes, I always felt even with him. But today, under his crushing gaze, I felt small, minuscule, and completely helpless.

Hangman slowly raised his hands, grasping the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head at a turtle's pace.

“Jake. What’s going on?”

I asked, my tone breathy and my cheeks flushed hot as he dropped my t-shirt to the side. Jake cocked a brow, scoffing loudly.

“I don’t know what there is to be confused about.”

He was perplexed by my bewilderment. My gaze was fixed on Hangman, whose face was so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath fan across my face. Rooster had vanished from my mind.

Hangman’s eyes trailed down to my chest, his calloused fingertips dragging against my skin to push the straps of my bra down my arms until they hung limply at my sides.

“We’re both gonna fuck you.”

Hangman's gaze wandered freely across my front, stepping lightly as he circled my body with the look of a hungry tiger until he reached my backside.

Jake unclipped my bra, the lack of straps allowing it to fall freely to the ground. A cool draft from the ajar window blew through my room, my nipples quickly hardening into stiff peaks.

My mind wanted to run, but my body was completely at the mercy of the two pilots as my feet were stuck to the ground in fear. Besides, it was impossible for me to deny the pinching sensation gradually building in my lower abdomen.

Hangman wrapped his powerful arms around my bare waist, pressing my back flush against his muscular chest. My neck became limp and my head fell back onto Hangman's shoulder as he connected his warm mouth to the sensitive skin on my throat.

“Can I eat her pussy Hangman?”

Shit, I forgot about Rooster.

I kept my eyes focused on the ceiling above me despite growing wet and antsy with arousal at the thought of Rooster joining the scene.

I expected his tone to be shaky, breathy, or at the very least indicate that he was slightly uncomfortable. But he was assured, cool, and collected, and his tone was even.

“I don’t know Bradshaw.”

Jake's tone encompassed a sarcastic edge. He tried to appear difficult, but I knew he had been planning this moment since the moment he proposed the idea to Rooster.

Hangman’s kisses were soft against my neck, warming me up for what was to come.

“Oh come on Hangman.”

Rooster's voice was becoming more audible, and his soft footfalls made my chest heave with excitement.

“If this is gonna work you have to share.”

He spoke as if he was talking to a kindergartner, lecturing them on the importance of sharing.

I was thoroughly surprised with the casualness of their voices. If I wasn’t about to be fucked by two gorgeous men I would assume they were speaking of the weather.

“Alright Bradshaw. I’ll hold her down for you.”

The way they spoke as if this was purely between them ignited a fire within me. The desire to be manhandled caused a pool of arousal to form inside my panties.

Hangman held my waist tight as he backed himself up to the bed, the edge slamming against the back of his knees and forcing him into a sitting position.

I fell atop his lap, my backside slamming into his semi hard cock which was beginning to strain against the confines of his jeans.

Rooster approached me slowly, his head gradually lowering as he strode over to where I was perched on Hangman's lap. I clenched my thighs together as Rooster's crushing gaze became inquisitive as he mentally planned his next moves.

Hangman's mouth became urgent. He was now biting my neck and sucking bright purple marks into the side of my throat. Jake sighed against my skin, the hot air blowing onto the tender bruises.

Rooster lowered to his knees, now tilting his head backwards to lock out gazes as he hooked a finger into the waistband of my pajama shorts. I relaxed my thighs, allowing Rooster to drag the soft fabric of my pajama shorts down my legs.

Rooster maintained intense eye contact with me as he raised his hand, pressing his calloused thumb against my clothed clit. I rolled my hips forward, urging Rooster to touch me more.

The friction I applied to Hangman’s cock ignited a low growl from the back of his throat, the vibrations reverberating around the inners of my neck.

“Stop moving. Be a good girl and sit still while Bradshaw eats your pretty little pussy.”

I gulped, the aching in my cunt already becoming unbearably painful. I had to move, I had to relieve myself from this discomfort. But grinding against Hangman's beautiful cock would only delay the thing I really wanted, a mind boggling orgasm.

Rooster hooked a finger into the waistband of my panties, peeling them off my body and exposing my soaking wet cunt.

Hangman bit a particularly tender area of my neck. I hissed through my teeth as I gripped Hangman's forearms and dug my nails into his well-defined arm muscles.

Rooster's powerful hands grabbed the undersides of my knees and threw them over his shoulders. Bradley arched his back, leaning forward until his face was just inches away from where I craved him the most.

Bradley’s scruffy mustache brushed against my sensitive inner thighs as he placed gentle kisses onto my skin. He stared at me through his lashes, catching every contortion of my facial muscles as I experienced the pleasure he gave me.

“You have such a pretty pussy.”

Rooster mumbled seductively against my thigh.

Hangman paused his brutal attack on my neck, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch as Bradley kissed my inner thighs tenderly.

Bradley buried his face in between my legs, licking a long stripe from the base of my folds to my clit. I gasped, tangling one of my hands in Roosters sandy locks.

“Fuck Hangman, she’s so wet.”

Bradley murmured directly before wrapping his warm mouth around my clit, hallowing his cheeks to harshly suck on my swollen nub.

“I would imagine, pretty girl probably touched herself to the thought of having both of us at once.”

Hangman's voice dropped to a sensual rasp.

“Have you?”

Rooster asked, pulling his glorious mouth away from my aching pussy, his mustache and lips shining with my arousal. His eyes were now soft, a stark contrast from the fiery passion his gaze encompassed only moments before. Bradley was hoping I would admit to touching myself to the thought of his cock throbbing inside of me.

I moaned at the loss of contact, hurriedly confessing the truth so Rooster would make me cum.

“Yes. Yes I have.”

I wheezed, thrusting the Roosters head back in between my legs. Bradley was now more determined to bring me to an orgasm. He tore his eyes away from mine so he could focus on making me feel good.

Hangman’s pants were growing tighter, his now fully erect cock pushing into my backside as his breath became ragged with desire. His grip on my waist became tighter as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Rooster was flicking my clit expertly with the tip of his tongue. The wet, sloppy sound coming from my wet cunt was pornographic.

I was a moaning mess, my entire naked body covered in sweat as my chest heaved with want. I bucked my hips forward into Bradley’s face, my grasp on his hair pulling multiple strands directly from the root.

My backside brushed against Hangman's rock hard cock, and I felt him throb inside his pants as he grumbled in annoyance.

“I told you not to move.”

He growled, his strong arms forcing the breath from my lungs as Rooster continued his brutal assault on my cunt.

“You’ll be wishing you never bucked your hips into Bradley’s face later when I finally get inside of you.”

Rooster’s rough mustache brushed against the skin on my pussy, adding to the growing pinch that was building inside my lower abdomen.

“Rooster, I’m gonna cum.”

He blinked, his gaze shifting to me, watching my brows knit in delight and my face contorted in arousal. The pleasure Rooster was giving to my pussy along with the fact the men were both still fully dressed had me clenching my lower abdomen in want.

“Cum on my face baby. I wanna taste you.”

Rooster's resonance emanated from his chest, his raspy tone reverberating throughout his entire body. The vibrations from his rasp sent me over the edge, my stomach loosening as I convulsed, my back arching away from Hangman's strong chest.

There were only two people in my life who were able to make me orgasm with their mouth solely, Hangman, and Rooster.

As my eyes rolled to the back of my head, I let go of Bradley's hair until my hand was simply resting atop his head. Every muscle in my body relaxed, the intense orgasm sent me spiraling into a senseless state of ecstasy.

Rooster lapped up my juices, ensuring that he didn’t waste a single drop of my arousal.

“Fuck. You taste like candy.”

He continued to lick and suck even after my cunt had run dry. I threw my head back against Hangman's stiff shoulder, taking a deep breath as Bradley tenderly sucked on my cunt, successfully bringing my mind back to earth. When Rooster realized he had tasted all there was, he lifted my limp legs from his shoulders and set them gently on the floor.

His mustache and beautifully plush lips glimmered in the soft sunlight as they were completely coated with my arousal. Rooster looked at me, his eyes soft and tender for a split second before hardening again, the fiery passion returning.

My back hit the mattress as Hangman threw me off his lap, my eyes returning to the blank ceiling above as I took a moment to mentally and physically prepare myself for what was to come.

“Alright Bradshaw, let’s take care of her.”

I shifted my gaze to the side, watching Hangman and Bradley strip. Hangman caught my attention as he grabbed his shirt collar and threw it over his head. He smirked at me, flexing his muscles subtly as he unbuckled the metal buckle on his thick leather belt.

Hangman was done stripping much faster than Bradley. He casually approached my side of the bed. His thick cock was fully erect, his tip pink and swollen, leaking beads of precum.

The aching in my cunt returned as Hangman climbed over me, my gaze directed to his fiery eyes.

Jake gently cupped my face with his calloused palm, dragging his rough thumb pad over my bottom lip.

“You look so pretty under me.”

Hangman jerked his head to the side, locking eyes with Bradley.

“Watch for now Bradshaw, maybe you’ll learn a little something.”

Jake pressed his mouth to my breastbone, kissing between my sensitive breasts as down my soft stomach.

I wanted to catch a glance of Bradley before Hangman buried himself inside my aching cunt. I twisted my neck to the side, locking eyes with Rooster.

God, he was gorgeous. Rooster was standing confidentially, watching Hangman kiss my hip bones with his muscular arms crossed over his glistening pectorals. Bradley’s perfectly sculpted abdomen glimmered in the soft San Diego sunshine.

What was most impressive was his cock. His cock was fantastic, thick in all the right places with a large vein running along the underside. Rooster was also painfully hard, the pink, swollen tip of his dick brushing against his lower abdomen with every minor shift of his body.

“Hey Hangman, your little girl is eye fucking me again.”

I tore my eyes away from Bradley’s naked body, bringing my gaze back to the empty ceiling as my face flushed red with humiliation.

“Oh, is she now?”

Hangman leaned back on his knees, gripped the soft flesh of my hips, and flipped me onto my stomach in a single motion.

Hangman pressed his erect cock to my cunt, not entering me just yet. Instead, he leaned over me, his torso pressing against my bare sweaty back, his mouth grazing over my ear.

“You shouldn’t have done that sweetheart.”

He whispered sensually, gripping his cock and dragging the swollen tip through my soaking wet folds. His dick brushed against my clit, lighting a match in my lower stomach.

I shuddered in pleasure, a chill running down my spine.

Hangman snapped his hips forward, burying himself balls deep within me.

I gasped, gripping the sheets in desperation as Hangman drew his hips back before slamming into me once more.

“Ah!”

I exclaimed, squeezing my eyes shut as the image of Rooster faded from my mind. The only thought running through my brain was Hangman's gloriously thick length pulsing inside of my walls.

“She’s nice and tight, Bradshaw.”

Hangman was rubbing it in Rooster's face, his tone mocking as he yanked my hips back to meet his rigorous thrusts.

My jaw dropped and my knees shook as I struggled to support my body. Jake snaked a hand down my back, burying his thick fingers in my roots and yanking my head back. My neck strained as Hangman tugged on my hair, revealing the bruises he'd left on my throat moments prior.

“Jake.”

I moaned and swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in my mouth.

“Bradshaw!”

Hangman's grip on my hair loosened just enough for me to turn to the side and catch a glimpse of Rooster.

His large hand was wrapped around the base of his thick cock, pumping his length. Bradley groaned everytime he thrusted his hips forward to fuck his hand, his dick pulsing as the blood rushed through his erect cock.

His eyes were rapidly traveling around the scene, unsure of where to look. Rooster dragged the pad of his thumb around the swollen tip of his cock, knitting his brows and sighing deeply.

A pulse of heat traveled to my cunt as I intently watched Rooster pleasuring himself to the scene of Hangman and I fucking.

“Bradshaw!”

Hangman yelled even louder to jolt Rooster out of his stupor. Bradley came to his senses, his hand halting its movements.

“Stop jacking off! Get over here and put you fucking cock down her throat!”

Jake tightened his grip on my hair yet again, jerking my head back to its original position, my head frozen in space once more.

“Jake!”

I screamed, the absence of Rooster causing me to focus on only one thing, the rapidly increasing pressure in my lower abdomen as Hangman buried himself balls deep inside of me with every intense thrust.

“I’m gonna cum.”

Hangman stopped, his cock resting halfway inside of my soaking cunt. I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut and almost sobbing at the loss of movement.

“Now, we can’t have you cumming so soon, can we?”

Jake's voice was sultry and sensual, his tone mocking me. Hangman released my hair, my neck sagged forward, and my eyes fixed on the wrinkled sheets beneath me.

“Alright pretty girl,”

Rooster began. He climbed onto the bed, standing tall on his knees. I regained control of my neck, cocking my head back and gazing at him through my lashes.

My pussy clenched around Hangman's thick cock as I took in the sight in front of me. Rooster’s toned chest was glistening with moisture, his lips moist with saliva.

My gaze trailed down his torso until I was eye level with his thick cock.

“You like what you see?”

I did.

I very much did like what I saw.

Rooster's cock stood fully erect, the bulging veins along its underside throbbing along with his quick heartbeat.

“Yes.”

I said weakly.

Bradley tangled his thick fingers in my hair.

“Open your mouth for me, good girl. I wanna ruin that pretty face of yours.”

I dropped my jaw, allowing Bradley to push the swollen tip of his cock past my plush lips. Hangman resumed his intense pace when Bradley thrusted into my mouth a second time, my nose brushing against the thick collection of pubic hair at the base of his cock.

Rooster threw his head backwards in unconcealed pleasure, showcasing his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“You have the perfect mouth, it’s taking my cock so well.”

The praise rushed to my cunt, where Hangman was brutally thrusting into my g spot. His dull nails dug into the soft flesh of my hips, a loud smacking sound erupting with every wet thrust.

Tears of pleasure began to fall down my cheeks as the tip of Rooster's cock slammed into the back of my throat. I tried hard to surpass a gag, wanting nothing more than to please the two navy pilots.

Rooster threw his head forward, his eyes now staring down at me.

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.”

Rooster swiped away a pleasurable tear from my cheek with his calloused thumb pad.

“She’s a pretty girl, Bradshaw, enjoy it while it lasts.”

Hangman's tone was overcome with sensual gasps. Jake had given up struggling to maintain composure. I hummed against Rooster’s cock, the desire to fall into an orgasm was overwhelming.

The vibrations travelled to Roosters length, his cock twitching on my tongue.

“Oh fuck… I’m gonna cum in your mouth, right down your pretty little throat.”

The sounds of sex bounced off the thin walls. Hangman’s cock was rapidly throbbing inside of my soaking heat as he grit his teeth and enjoyed the feeling of my walls hugging his length.

Bradley was absolutely losing his cool. The jerking of his hips had become sloppy and his moans were strangled. He ripped strands of my hair straight from the scalp as he aggressively bobbed my mouth along his thick cock.

My vision was foggy, tears clouding my eyes as I relaxed my body and allowed the men to use me for their own personal pleasure.

“Tell me how good I make you feel, baby.”

Hangman exclaimed, then scoffed loudly.

“Oh, I forgot. You’re too busy choking on Bradley.”

Bradley’s knees shook, his entire body vibrating in suit as he came in my mouth with one final twitch of his throbbing length. Roosters hot cum coated the inside of my throat, his cock stilling inside of my mouth as his dick became soft atop my tongue.

“I wanna fuck her Hangman.”

Rooster pleaded.

“Absolutely not, you're lucky I let you taste her.”

“Please…”

Rooster's voice trailed off as he gave a few slow, final thrusts of his cock to help him ride out his orgasm.

“Not a chance Bradshaw.”

Hangman said, his tone indicating that the argument was over.

Now that Bradley was done with my mouth, I focused on Hangman's cock pulsing in and out of me. His strong grip on my hips was beginning to hurt, the pain adding to the heightening pleasure.

Rooster pulled out, a long strand of white cum connecting my plush lips to the tip of his cock. Bradley hopped off the bed, quickly exiting the situation to allow us time to ourselves.

“Jake!”

I screamed, throwing my head back in pleasure as the coil in my stomach snapped and released all over his thick length.

“That’s it baby girl, cum all over my cock.”

Hangman wheezed, his sticky cum coating my walls and filling me to the brim. Jake lazily rolled his hips once he had finished fucking me silly in order to assist me in riding out my orgasm.

“God. That was so good. I’m gonna pass out.”

I spoke as my mind drifted in and out of my post orgasmic haze, my eyes fluttering shut before jolting open.

“Lay on your back. I wanna clean you up.”

Hangman pulled out of me, my pussy suddenly feeling empty without him buried inside of me. I flipped myself over onto my back, spreading my legs so Hangman could bury his face between my thighs.

Jake lapped at our combined juices, sucking and cleaning my dripping pussy as to avoid having to grab a towel.

“Where are you going Rooster?”

I asked. Rooster was already clothed and staring in the mirror directly above my dresser, attempting to fix his unruly hair.

“It’s one thing if Ice comes back and catches you and Hangman naked. But if he sees me,”

Rooster turned to face the bed.

“Well, I don’t think you’d want that.”

I pursed my lips into a straight line.

“True.”

I said flatly.

“Bye Y/N. Let’s agree to never speak of this again.”

Hangman finished cleaning me and raised his head above my thighs to lock his gaze on Rooster.

“Why don’t I get a goodbye?”

He asked, his tone overly sarcastic.

“Because fuck you Hangman.”

“That’s fair.”

They both said with a loud chuckle.

Rooster left through my bedroom door without uttering another word. What has been done is done, and there is nothing more to be said about the current circumstance.

“So…”

Hangman began, climbing over me until our chests were flush together, his body heat radiating off of him.

“Was it everything you’d hoped?”

I cocked my head to the side, as if pondering his question.

“Well, it was good until you didn’t let Rooster fuck me.”

Hangman lightly smacked my shoulder, his eyes rolling in mock annoyance.

“Oh fuck you.”

We both laughed quietly to ourselves, smiling warmly at each other.

“Are we good now?”

Hangman inquired. It made me happy to know he was still interested in pleasing me even after my weird confession.

“Yes. I think we’re good.”

-

I hope you guys like this one! Constructive criticism is always appreciated! :)

[jaehyunsprincesspeach]

I.N as a Boyfriend

Our not so baby bread omg i love him!!

He just makes me smile so much omggg

Hope yall enjoy :)

All the love ~ lunar

I fear that at the start of the relationship he wont really know what to do

But with the help and advice of his hyungs, he will learn quickly

Honestly, would be very nervous to make the first move with anything

So you may have to initiate things until he gets comfortable

Once he does though, he treats you like a queen

Similar to Minnie, he would tease you relentlessly, though he would always make sure you know that he is just joking

Once he gets comfortable, he opens up to you about anything and everything

Asks Channie for a lot of advice, though he won't tell you about it right away lol

Poor baby just doesn't want to mess anything up

Beats himself up a lot if he thinks he made a mistake (please reassure him omg)

Acts of service and quality time are his love languages

When he is away on tour he sends you the most random messages

“So hypothetically if I saw a mini Eiffel Tower trinket in Paris is that something you would want?”

Disclaimer, he already got it for you

Honestly yall would have a very playful relationship

Takes you on some of the best dates that are super low key

Dancing in empty parking lots, looking at the stars and city lights, shopping dates, movie dates

Does not need things to be extravagant, just wants to be with you

Enjoys quiet nights with you, just enjoying each others presence

When he is upset, he clings to you

Loves it when you play with his hair

If you are upset, he is buying all of your favorite things to cheer you up, and is holding you as close to him as humanly possible

Nothing hurts him more than seeing you upset, hell do anything to bring a smile back to your beautiful face

You are the only person he shares his food with

Shares his clothes too, unless its a planned outfit for his OOTD

Styles you all the time, and he loves it

I could see him being the type to bring you flowers, though he wont directly give them to you

Hell just show up and put them in a vase and wait for you to notice

Loves taking care of you honestly, he just loves loving you

Another one to make it known that he only has eyes for you

Is ready to fight anyone for you, no matter what the situation is, he’s got your back

The kind of boyfriend to wipe your tears away and hold your face in his hands while he kisses your nose

Just the cutest most relentless boyfriend ever hehehe

[smutinlove]

hiii could you do a fic(carl grimes x fem!reader) where its based on the song called eyes dont lie? it could be a small suggestive/fluffy thing? and could it be set in a world where zombies dont exist?

could it be preferably short? less than 700 words??? thank you, smutinlove!!!!

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You hated going to parties with your parents, but the one thing you always enjoyed was the view. But not the view off of the Eiffel Tower, but that one-eyed, brown-haired, blue-eyed, suit-wearing man named Carl Grimes. 

Carl Grimes' parents were your parent's business partners. So, you often saw him around. But whenever you looked at him or stared back at him, his piercing and intimidating blue eyes would greet you.

But to you, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. He didn't even have to try, as he already looked divine. You wished he had told you that he was yours. But you two never said anything more than the casual "hi" or "hello." It killed you to wait every week to see him, but it was always worth the wait. 

There he was, standing across the room in a corner while he secretly took a sip of wine. He hid his wine from everyone else, but you knew. 

Speaking of secrets, you've always wanted to feel his body against yours, your hands in his hair, as he rapidly and passionately kissed you hard. But that was one of many secrets that you chose to not tell a single soul. 

You felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned around and saw him. "Hey," he said with a smirk. You crossed your arms and said, "Sorry? Do I know you?" You laughed a little too hard at that. He tilted his head to the left, "You're going to regret that. So, so, fucking much, you cunt." He spat. Then he smiled and whispered something in your ears that made you blush.

"I saw the way you were looking at me. Eyes don't fucking lie, Y/N."

"Oh, our kids are finally getting along!" A voice echoed. She was truly a beautiful woman. Carl Grimes' mother was extraordinarily pretty. "Yeah!" You put an arm around him and pulled him close. "We're the greatest of friends, right, Carl?" You nudged him slightly, and he took the hint.

"The greatest," he said through gritted teeth. Lori Grimes was about to speak when someone whisked her off into God knows where with God knows who.

"Doll," he muttered. You pinched him, "I ain't your fucking doll, and you ain't my fucking friend." He gasped dramatically and inched closer towards you, "Ouch, sweets, that hurt." He whispered in your ear. He grabbed your hand, but before you could protest, he said, "Come on doll. I have something to show you." 

And curious to see what he wanted to show you, you let him take you with him.

He led you outside of the grand venue and into the big and luscious garden. The smell of roses and peonies excited you; going into big and luscious gardens wasn't new to you, but with Carl, here it was even better. 

"Doll," he said with pure lust in his eyes. "Like I said before, I'm not your fucking—" He flashed his award-winning smile and leaned in, kissing you gently. His hands tugged at your hair as he kissed you with so much passion that you were able to differentiate the words 'who' and 'whom.'

"Carl, stop, we can't—"

"I saw the way you looked at me, pretty girl. You had so much lust in your eyes. Now, I kinda wanna pin you against a wall and fuck you until you're a panting mess."

───── ❝ authors note ❞ ─────

AU2EINWSMSKEJDEIJKLMWIDEJIOA. OHHHH FOR CARL TO CALL ME A PRETTY GIRL. OHHHHHHHHHH IT WOULD MAKE ME SO HAPPYYYYYYYY OH LOVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR MY LOVER WHERE HAVE YOU GONE????? I WOULD SAVE A SEAT FOR YOU AT EVERY TABLE DARLING I WOULD OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LOVER

[boa-h]

【Geto Suguru】 I Used to Love Him

I haven’t had a dream about my past for a long time.

In my dream, the sky was as blue as always, and everyone was happy. I dreamed about my high school years with my best friends and lover. We were walking back to our dormitories after school while joking around, I think it was an afternoon during our first year. I remember walking past the track field, and Satoru challenged Suguru to a race, Shoko and I watched from afar. I forgot who won, but summer was hot, Gojo Satoru was sticky when he came to hug us, Shoko and I shoved him away.

In my dream, I saw the day Geto Suguru asked me out. It was winter where days were shorter. I walked out of the dessert shop I used to go to, and I bumped into him. He said he wanted to take me somewhere, so I went with him. We ended up on the seashore, the wind was blowing extra hard, both of our noses and cheeks were red due to the cold. I could barely hear him.

“I like you! Please go out with me!” He says.

It was a very simple sentence, there was no mention of the past nor promises of the future, but I’m sure I still said yes. Because when his chapped lips touched mine, I felt happiness.

The summer of 2006 was a mess, and so was the summer of 2007. Curses crawled on earth like maggots and the only reason I didn’t kill myself was because I was still too in love with Geto Suguru. He said he would take me to Paris after graduation, we would go to the Eiffel Tower, we would go café hopping, and then we would kiss on the streets of Montmartre. But he couldn’t make it to graduation. He didn’t take me with him.

Geto Suguru met every one of his past friends and acquaintances after his defection, including Shoko and Satoru and even Nanami.

But he never once came to see me.

In my dream, everyone was happy. We went on picnics during sakura season, we went to the beach during summer, we went pumpkin carving on Halloween and we had sleepovers during Christmas.

In my dream, Geto Suguru quit being a Jujutsu Sorcerer along with me after we graduated from Jujutsu Tech, and he took me to Paris like he promised, and we went boating in Bois de Boulogne and we kissed under the sunset.

I opened my eyes. I haven’t had a dream about my past for a long time.

I checked my phone, it was 04:28 AM, December 24th, 2017. It was a little chilly in my room, I must’ve forgotten to turn on the heater. I sat up from my bed and yawned, then I found my window opened. The sun has yet started to rise, my eyes met the purple gaze I haven’t seen in years, and I stared at him.

I imagined a lot of ways of our reunion, I thought I might see him on the streets, or at the beach, or inside a village that he just finished rampaging in. I thought that I might cry, or go hug him, or shout at him and demand an explanation. But I didn’t.

Geto Suguru sat on my windowsill, he didn’t have any cursed spirits with him, nor did he plan on summoning any. He just stared at me like how I stared at him.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t go hug him.

I didn’t shout and demand an explanation.

I just looked at him. His hair got longer than the last time I saw him, his eye bags became more noticeable, his eyes contained some emotions that I couldn’t read anymore.

I tried to figure out what he might be feeling right now. Is he sad? Or happy? Did he regret killing all those people? Or maybe did he regret not bringing me along with him on his journey?

“Yo! Long time no see.” My thoughts were cut off by his energetic greeting.

Ah. Right. It’s all alright.

Everything is fine.

Because I still love him.

And that was the last time I ever saw Geto Suguru.

[harlowtales]

Reader x Jack have tension as she tells him on short notice she’s going to intern in Paris. Jack makes a big decision in a big way.

STORY WITHIN A STORY: Gender reveal party

****light smut, drama, romance**** 18+ ZONE

“So you came back why” you said flatly.

“No attitude this time.” Jack said “Can I come in?” Assuming you would say yes he moved past you into your apartment.

“Ummm sure come on in” You said half-heartedly

“Ok what you saw was just her leaving my house because I told her to leave.” He explained

“Yeah we’ve been over this and I don’t care.” You said digging your heels in.

“Dammit!” Jack said pounding his fist on your kitchen table

“Do you need to leave again Jackman because I really like that table. You gave it to me.” You said moving closer to him.

As you went closer Jack pulled you close. He was sitting down and buried his face in your stomach. You ran your fingers through his freshly washed curls. You knew you would forgive him of anything, but you didn’t have to like it.

“Baby I…” he started

“Shhhh. Please. I’m ok.” You said assuring him “I have something to tell you anyway.

Jack thought you were taking the situation unusually well. He tensed up and looked up at you with his big blue eyes and long lashes.

“I’m going to France.” You said

“Ok, so when will you be back?” Jack asked cautiously. Lots of people go to France. What was the big deal?

“For a year. I leave in a few weeks, you’ll be doing movie promo so that really boils it down to maybe a week. I’m so sorry. I came over to tell you and saw that bitch at your house and then thought I would never tell you and just disappear, but I could never live with myself.” You hurriedly explained

Jack stood up and started walking around the room. He was playing with the hairs under his lip and pacing which meant he was deep in thought. He did not say a word for a good few minutes.

“Jack?” You asked trying to make him stop moving around.

“I’m in love with you.” He said looking directly at you now with pain in his eyes as they started to look glassy.

You gasped in shock. You knew it was more than a casual relationship, but you didn’t expect this. When your job said there was an opportunity to go to France you jumped at it. Now you stood speechless as it looked like he was about to cry.

You walked over to him and enveloped him in a warm embrace. Had you known his feelings you would have said no to the opportunity. You started to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” You said as you tried to contain your sadness to be able to speak.

“I don’t typically tell girls that because of my life.” He said tired and winded. It was taking more of a toll on him than he imagined. “I gotta go. I’m sorry, maybe I’ll call you later. I need air.” He said heading for the door.

All you could do was let him go. “For what it’s worth, had I known I would’ve said no.” You said. Your words trailing behind him as he walked away.

“Then I would be very disappointed in you.” He said stopping and turning to face you and taking your hand. “You’re too fucking amazing. I would want nothing less than for you to go.” He said “Can I come hold you in Paris?”

You started uncontrollably bawling with your face in your hands. “Hold me now…Please Jack.” You said, now a crumbling mess.

“I gotta go bubby.” He said kissing you on the top of your head. He got into his Jeep and drove off. You watched him round the corner and fade away.

PART 2

“Bonjour Mademoiselle.” The man at the desk said as you entered your apartment lobby

“Bonjour Claude” you said yawning. You hadn’t really seen much of France. Work hours were quite long and then you were too tired to take in much.

Your apartment had a beautiful view where you could see the Eiffel Tower far in the distance but seeing it all lit up even far away kept you hopeful that one day he would come visit.

You spoke to Jack on FaceTime almost every day at first. After a few months it died down to about a couple times a month. You knew he was still struggling with the fact that you left. You had a great dinner planned. Just a baguette, some creamy pasta with white wine. The French knew how to eat and you had put on a few lbs! Jack commented on one FaceTime that you looked good and “healthy” as he put it.

You put on his music and began to cook. Soon a lovely aroma was filling your small kitchen, the doors to the balcony were flung open and “Little Secret” filled the Paris air. You chuckled to yourself remembering something silly he used to do. Then the joy of the memory turned to tears trickling down your cheeks without you noticing. You snapped out of it and opened your laptop to watch some Netflix while you ate. No matter what you did he kept invading your thoughts.

Suddenly you heard a familiar voice from down below call out to you. You froze. “No way…it couldn’t be. He hasn’t called in weeks. You slowly peeked over the balcony railing to see Jack climbing up the fire escape ladder with a rose in his teeth. A crowd had gathered around to watch this display of affection to screams and cheers. The French loved romance that’s for sure!

When he got to your floor he took the rose from his teeth and handed it to you. He flashed a big smile and pulled you in kissing you passionately. Loud cheers erupted from down below. Jack loved the attention. You held onto him but hadn’t said a word yet. You were happy, embarrassed, and crying all at the same time. “You ain’t happy to see me bubby?” He said kicking off his favourite 550’s and relaxing on your couch. “Nice crib” he said approvingly looking around.

You were still staring at him in disbelief. You still had the rose in your hand standing in one spot not moving.

“You look thick and real good.” He said with a smile in his low sexy drawl.

“You…um look really good too.” You said screaming inside. His hair was longer, he was wearing glasses, a navy Moncler polo shirt, and jeans. Fucking jeans. He looked good enough to jump on but you kept your cool.

“Why you just standing there?” He asked with a grin. He knew the effect he had on you especially surprising you like this. “Come to daddy.” He said patting the spot next to him on the couch.

You of course obeyed. You couldn’t help it and he knew it. “So…. You just be climbing up fire escapes in your free time after weeks of not calling?” You questioned furrowing your brow.

Jack thought it was so cute when you were annoyed which made you more irritated. He placed a hand on your thigh and looked you deep in your eyes. The intense eye contact made you drop your eyes. He lifted up you chin and saw how much you had started to cry and were shaking. “Put the rose down and let’s talk.” He said warmly.

“Where have you been?” You fired angrily

“Kentucky.” He replied “Dad got sick so I went off the grid for a while. I’m sorry.”

“Jack I’m so sorry. I feel so stupid and selfish.” You apologized

“Well with my track record how were you supposed to know?” He reasoned “Probably thought I moved on, but I don’t think that’s possible for me.” He said stroking your hair lovingly. The sun started to go down. He got up and walked over to the balcony, stepping out into the twinkling night. You followed and held him around his waist resting your head on his back. “You don’t understand, I’m always in control” he said gazing into the distance at the Tower. “I was miserable after you left. Couldn’t even focus in the studio. I called less and less because I was in too much pain.”

You just held onto him harder not ever wanting to let go. “Can we just stay like this?” You said wistfully

“My thoughts exactly.” He said breaking the embrace and turning you around

Just then there was a knock at your door. Jack smiled and said “Answer the door baby”

A man dressed as a restaurant server holding a bottle of wine and looking at a delivery sheet said in broken English “ummm Jack…ummm Harlow?”

“He’s not here.” You said protectively. What the hell was going on? Ain’t no way some weird shit was going down on Jack on your watch.

“Baby its ok.” Jack laughed coming to the door. “Her bark is worse than her bite. He joked as he kissed you. “Come on in.” He said waving the man in.

You were completely confused as you saw a few men dressed as servers come into your apartment. One with a wine bottle, one started setting a table with a candle, roses, and place settings for 2. He held a chair out for you and motioned over for you to sit. Jack sat as well with a huge grin on his face as he saw how completely surprised you were.

“What’s all this?” You said gleefully with your hands on your mouth in awe

“Just a lil sumn I thought would cheer you up.” He said winking.

You both enjoyed a full course French meal in front of your open balcony doors. As the server played a violin. Jack had thought of everything. The lights of Paris like fireflies outside. You and Jack giggled and laughed so hard for hours. You drank more than half the bottle of wine yourself as Jack got refills of water from the waiter. “Not even one glass with me?” You said pouting and giggling

Jack amazed at your beauty in the candlelight and seeing you so happy knew it was time. He drew a deep breath reached into his pocket pulling out a small box. He put it on the table and nudged it towards you. You stopped breathing, looking at the box and then back at him. You didn’t say a word, but swallowed hard and started to sweat.

“Now I know you’re very independent baby.” He said “So I’m not here to pressure you”

“Oh my god yes!” You blurted

“Yes!!? But how do know what’s in the box? Could be a wad of chewed gum.” He laughed opening it and getting on one knee. You giggled uncontrollably and started to cry.

“Y/n…. Will you make me the happiest man in Kentucky and marry me?” Jack asked his blue eyes shining in the candlelight

“Yes! Oh my god yes yes yes!!” You exclaimed holding out your hand for him to place the ring on it.

The ring easily slipped onto your finger. Of course Jack knew your exact size. “I had it custom made in Paris.” He said

“Jack it’s gorgeous!” You said breathlessly as you admired how blinding and delicately beautiful it shone.

“Well it has competition with my beautiful wife.” He said sweetly.

You stood up to hold him and you both swayed to the violin as the Paris air cane in and sounds of the street floated up to your balcony. You locked in to a deep kiss. His full cherry lips caressing yours and your tongues intertwining.

“Now about those 8 daughters…” Jack said smiling

STORY 2: GENDER REVEAL

“Thank you just put the balloons over there” Maggie fussed. You were so grateful to have her there. Her mom and your mom were looking after everything, after all, you were about ready to burst. You knew what it was but you and Jack had kept the baby’s gender a secret the entire time. Not even Urban knew.

“Bruh’s like Fort Knox.” Urban said while dipping a chip at the elaborate snack table. “I don’t even know.” He told another guest who assumed being Jack’s best friend that he knew if it was a boy or a girl.

Jack entered the backyard of his parent’s house with flats of beer and water. “Where do you want these mom.” He said wiping his brow. It was summer in Kentucky and a very hot day. Jack had a white tank top on with sweat shorts, and 990’s of course.

Amazed at how hot your husband to be was and how horny you were seeing as you were pregnant you sat there eating a popsicle staring at him. Across the yard he made eye contact with you and you put the whole popsicle in your mouth to mess with him. “Over there hunny.” Maggie said snapping him out of his trance staring back at you. “Hunny get out of those sweaty clothes and get ready. Everyone will be here soon.” Maggie ordered. He put down the flats of drinks and headed inside to freshen up as his mom said.

After awhile nobody was looking and you snuck inside the house and up the stairs. You tipi toed to your husband’s childhood bedroom and slowly cracked open the door. You heard him happily rapping an Andre 3000 verse as he dried off from his quick shower. You caught him at the perfect time. “Jesus baby!” Jack said jumping “Fucking little creeper.” He smiled “Da fuk you up to sneaking around my parent’s house?”

“Well, I saw how hot and sweaty you were and I thought I would come help you peel off those clothes but I see your doing fine so I’ll just dip” You went to head out knowing he would stop you.

“No you don’t.” He said pulling you back “Come here you little horn dog.” He said smiling as he pulled you in for a kiss. As he held you and kissed you his towel fell off his waist to the floor. You reached down and took his manhood in your hands gently starting to stroke it.

Jack moaned “Everyone is outside.”

“I’ll be quick.” You said sitting on the bed now facing his erect “on brick”situation as Jack would say. You pumped it a few times and spit on it before taking all of him into your warm mouth that was waiting to receive him.

Jack bent his head back letting out a deep moan. He looked down at you his damp curls hanging and ocean eyes focused on you taking his cock in and out of your mouth. You clenched his ass and paused with the whole shaft deep in your throat. Jack winced in painful pleasure “uughhh!” He let out. Pumping it some more as you took his sack of “kids” into your mouth he came in a huge climax and got you in the face. You squealed and laughed.

Jack stood there naked as he came down off the high. His lean abdomen rising and falling and his hands on his hips as he tried to regain his composure to face his family and act like he hadn’t just got an amazing blow job in his childhood bedroom. “You missed a spot baby.” He said between breaths “I think a bit got in your hair” he said making an attempt with his towel to clean you up.

“Thanks Jackman.” You laughed. Then you stood and kissed him. “Now get dressed because they are kicking they want to be known!”

“Thank you baby.” He said kissing you. “I love my little freak!” He said slapping you on the ass.

You left the room in a giggle and rejoined the party. Eventually Jack followed in a button up plaid shirt and cargo pants for the occasion. Everyone was eating drinking and dancing in the sun. Jack’s little cousins were running around squealing and popping balloons as Drama spun Jack’s hits. “Sup bruh’” Jack greeted Drama.

Drama smiled and caught Jack’s direction to cut the music. It was time. Everyone gathered around the balloon arch and the happy couple to find out if it was a boy or a girl. Jack looked around at all the people he loved. His parents, Clay, his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, Urban, all the Homies, Lake, Cannon, Drama and his kids, KY Engineering, Neemo and his kids, Gee and his kids, Druski and his girlfriend, Sunni, Twiggy, Copeland, and other KY friends, and everyone from your side. His eyes started to water as he put a hand on your stomach and spoke.

“Miss, I know you thought your daughter shouldn’t get mixed up with a rapper, but I hope I proved you wrong.” Jack said smiling looking over at your mom. She lovingly smiled back in approval. “Mom, I know you never thought I would settle down.” Jack said now turning to his mom “but I got my act together in a big way and I have you to thank you for keeping me on track. Plus dad would kill me if I got this beautiful girl pregnant and didn’t do right by her.” Jack shot a look over at his dad who nodded in agreement. “So right after I asked y/n to marry me we found out we were pregnant. I blame Paris!” Jack laughed sentimentally. “But I gotta say finding out I was going to be a dad was the best day of my life. So without further ado, me and the future Mrs. Harlow are about to reveal the gender of our little thing cooking in the oven.” He said.

Jack’s mom brought over a couple of white balloons filled with confetti in the colour of the baby’s sex. Jack looked at you and you looked at him. “Ready Bubs?” He asked you with a pin waiting to pop them. You nodded. “1….2…..3” he yelled. A pink number 3 with pink confetti burst into the air as they popped the balloons as Drama played “What’s Poppin”.

At first everyone was still and quiet. Your mother squealed and broke the silence. “3 BABIES???” She said jumping up and down running over to hug you and Jack. Everyone erupted in cheers and surprise. “3 girls?” You and Jack nodded and took the onslaught of hugs and pats on the back.

“Holy fuck bro!” Urban said in shock “I’m a fucking uncle of 3 like instantly.”

Jack had his arm around Urban. “My boys can fucking swim in a big way bro.” Jack said with fake humility.

“I thought your belly was super big but I didn’t want to make you feel bad” Maggie said lovingly rubbing your tummy. “Well I’ll be busy!” She said with joy.

After all the guests started trickling out, it was just down to a few of Jack’s buddies having drinks and talking on the lawn chairs as the sun started to go down. Drake and other celebrities FaceTimed Jack to congratulate him.

“3 that’s a lot bro. No more bitches for you.” Copelan said choking in a cloud of smoke as he took a pull off a joint. Jack really hadn’t stepped out on Y/N since the engagement so the comment made Jack defensive.

“I got incredible head this afternoon in my childhood room where I used to dream about girls like Y/N liking me, and the only thing you were dipping into was your chips in some dip out here bro.” Jack said in satisfaction looking over at you helping your mom and Maggie clean up. “I’m the luckiest fucking man in Kentucky.”

@itsyagirljaz @killatravtramp @jackmans-poison @jackharloww @jackharlowunseen @jacksmoviestar-deactivated20230 @jacks-daycare @a-moment-captured @angelbae05

[slyandthefamilybook]

okay here are my... face canons ? is that a thing? for the Wolf 359 main cast

Eiffel: Kinda goofy looking. Not conventionally attractive, but he grows on you. I imagine that the only care he puts towards his physical appearance is for sensory reasons (he shaves daily because he hates the feeling of stubble). Medium skin tone, soft eyes, long hair. Pretty much the generally accepted fanon appearance

Minkowski: I think Minkowski is actually fairly attractive, but in a subtle way. When she's on the Hephaestus she doesn't wear makeup and has her hair in a severe bun. But one day Eiffel finds one of her wedding photos and damn, she cleans up nice. She has a tattoo on her left forearm, but it's always covered by her jumpsuit. I think she's also the shortest of the cast

Hilbert: Obviously, Hilbert is canonically bald, so I'm not gonna mess with that. I think he has a short goatee which he grew for Hephaestus 2.0. I also like to imagine that Eiffel finds an old picture of Hilbert posing with his team in a lab in Russia, and while he's not conventionally attractive, he does have a certain magnatism. His eyes are cold and sharp as flint and his face is carved out of flat planes. He's also the tallest of the cast. Real beanpole of a man

Hera: I know everyone draws Hera with a face on a screen or as a hologram, but I don't think she has an appearance (beyond the hull of the Hephaestus). When we go into her mind, I think she's just a glowing featureless mannequin, or a ball of light

Lovelace: Lovelace looks like Cecelia Lynn-Jacobs. She just does. Look at her and tell me she doesn't

Kepler: Kepler is short. Well-muscled, but in a slim, athletic way. He's also the most conventionally attractive. I know there isn't a lot of competition for that title, but Kepler... he's a head-turner. He's always wearing a big smile, and he emotes primarily with his eyebrows.

Jacobi: Okay, hot take incoming. Jacobi... [🥁] is a fat, middle-aged man with a pate you could land a helicopter on. He has a dark, scraggly beard, and small but intelligent eyes. He's a bear. He's a bear. Bear Jacobi rights. He's always got a big smile, though, and seems warm and inviting (until you hear his lame sense of dad humor). Big man. Jacobi. Yeah..

Maxwell: Okay here's another hot take: Maxwell is alt. She has partially dyed hair in a side-shave, tons of piercings, permanent raccoon-eye eyeshadow. Her SI-5 uniform is black with red piping. She looks like a gamer girl. Kepler thinks she looks childish, but she's rocking it

Cutter: Cutter's face is entirely forgettable. Completely indistinct features. The second he leaves you forget what he looked like. He's just a guy

Pryce: With Pryce's obsession with "improving" herself, I think she's had so many botox injections she barely has a square inch of motile skin on her face left. Looks like a stretched balloon. It's really unsettling.

[badgallly]

Can I request, Kylian and the reader kissing in the rain in front of the Eifflel Tower? ❤️

hello dear! sorry for the delay in your order, you sent me since january :c, i've been busy but i'm back! I hope you and everyone like it, it's short but it's very cute <3

ps: at the end a small reference to The Vampire Diaries (Delena) <3

The wind blows in my hair, the moonlight shines in my eyes, tonight is dazzling. I have never felt so alive and happy. I look to the side and see him: kylian mbappé. The biggest reason for my happiness in the last 3 years, the one who was able to heal a heart full of wounds and scars from my last abusive relationship I was in, and who filled and healed my heart with a single medicine: your love. As we walk in the Parisian streets at dawn with our hands intertwined in each other, we soon stop in front of the Eiffel Tower and enjoy that beautiful view that the tower was providing us, along with a beautiful shining moon, I turn and look into the eyes of kylian and I feel those same butterflies in my stomach the first time we met. When he notices, he returns the looks, smiles and then says: _what happened ma belle that looks at me so much? He smiled

_Isn't all this beautiful? I look towards the magnificent landscape that falls on my eyes…

_ yes ma belle, just like you. He takes both my hands and continues _The universe could not make me share this magnificent night if it weren't for you, my love. I start to feel the raindrops fall on my body. I look over at Kylian who is a total mess, we instantly smile at each other. soon, I feel your lips on mine in a sweet and calm kiss that overflows with lots of love.

_ I love you Kylian! I say smiling looking into your eyes

_ I love you too y/n, you are the best thing that happened in my life!

_ Promise me this is forever?

_I promise! says kylian kissing me intensely again while the raindrops continue to fall under our bodies, while the moonlight and the beautiful Eiffel Tower are witnesses of our happiness.