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zepskies · 4 months

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Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor.

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you.

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car.

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters.

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed.

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down.

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety.

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it.

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side.

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can.

He disappears before you can spit at him.

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it.

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel.

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary.

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down.

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says.

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash.

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel.

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery.

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves.

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously.

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow.

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window.

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown.

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker.

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head.

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify.

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

“Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state.

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing.

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes.

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer.

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile.

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it.

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him.

“No. Why?”

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh.

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence.

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you.

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself.

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency.

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes.

“Cas,” you breathe in content.

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage.

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free.

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks.

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

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kissitbttr · 1 month

Note

Okay so like hear me out for Frat!Miguel ideas. Movie night at the frat house, very lowkey setting a few drinks maybe some people had an edible… But muñeca and Gloria being all cuddly, as best friends are. The two of the just in their own worlds watching the movie while cuddling and Miguel and Beck are in the corner just sad and jealous from lack of attention.

i am so happy at the fact that you are realizing that gloria and muñeca are basically each other’s soulmates, they do love each other more than their bfs🤍🤍🤍🤍

—

“I hear that strawberries are better fruits for your digestive systems”

“No shit, really?! I thought papayas were good!”

“That’s what i thought! But nopes, it’s all the berries babes!”

Miguel and Beck are sitting by the kitchen counter. wearing the same expression of disbelief as they stare at two of their girlfriends cuddled up in the sofa gossiping about —fruits? While others are busy with their own chatters and rolling blunts.

The girls aren’t even paying attention to the two boys who keep on staring at them. It’s like they’re just living in their own little world. Just simply talking about God knows what, fiddling with each other hands and laughing while they get high on edibles,

It’s like watching two women flirting with each other.

“no me gusta esto” Miguel grumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he slumps against the back cushion. Watching how his girl gets all lovey dovey and giggly with Gloria. “This is not how it’s supposed to go”

“Can’t believe that we are right here, yet they chose to get busy with each other!” Beck remarks in disbelief, shaking his head, “how many edibles did they take anyway?”

“Not counting but a lot” Miguel scoffs, eyes burning holes on Gloria’s side profile who’s staring at Muñeca with a hazy look on her eyes,

Beck notices, nudging him on the side. “Are you planning to kill my girl?”

“No. But i will continue to glare at her if she doesn’t take her eyes off my girl!”

“She’s basically doing the same thing! We’re victims here!”

“Holy fuck, you’re right” Miguel exhales a deep breath, leg bobbing up and down out of frustration. “Jesus—Are they eye fucking each other?!”

“Oh god please don’t make me imagine that. I can’t lose Gloria yet”

“So am i! I got fucking boys from class that i had to get off her back and i got to compete with girls too?!”

Never been so frustrated in his life before. Miguel throws a hard glare at the two of them, and it irks him just a little bit more when he sees muñeca running her fingers through Gloria’s hair. Pair of her eyes staring intently into hers,

“I had this huge crush on Kevin Levin on Ben 10, he’s like really hot—Had a shrine of him when i was twelve” she mentions, playing with the ends of Gloria’s dark hair

“Oh god, baby me too!” Gloria gasps excitedly, hands clutching onto muñeca’s as her eyes grow wide. “What about Danny Phantom?!” Muñeca simply squeals at the mention of his name, continuing to be bashful about her second childhood crush,

Beck and Miguel simply could not believe it! Are they actually ignoring their own boyfriends? To talk about weird cartoon crushes they had when they were young?!

Unacceptable!

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Miguel mutters harshly, hands going through his hair and groan. “Kingsley! You go in there and get your girl! I need my time alone with mine!”

“I did try! She didn’t want me to! Told me to piss off without even looking at me! How about you get your girl?!”

“And make her mad?! No thanks” Miguel refuses, his scowl only increases when he sees Gloria kisses muñeca’s cheek. Leaving a sheer mark of her lipgloss making both girls giggle. “Oh my god—you know what?!”

And before even Miguel finishes, he marches over the two of them with a pout and an upset frown. Trying his best to not look like a jealous man,

“Miggy! Hi, baby!” Muñeca’s eyes lighting up when she sees her boyfriend standing close, the delt of his muscles flexes a bit when he put his hands on hips. “Me and Gloria were just talking about making pot brownies! Well—she did. I, for one prefer strawberry blondies”

“Nooo, chocolates are better! Tell her, O’hara!” Gloria giggles, poking the dimple on Muñeca’s cheek,

Miguel rolls his eyes, not seeing any humor what’s sitting in front of him. “Not telling her shit—now quit hogging my girlfriend and go to your man”

“What? Jealous?” Gloria wiggles her eyebrows, laughing a little as muñeca snorts. “You have her everyday! I want to cuddle with my baby too”

“She’s not your baby. She’s my baby” Miguel corrects, staring down at Gloria who’s pouting. “You had her for an hour, it’s my turn!”

“Miggy, you can just cuddle with Beck!” His girlfriend suggests with a grin, as if its the most obvious thing. “That way, the girlfriends and boyfriends could be close with each other as well! Am i right?” Muñeca snuggles against Gloria’s neck,

“You’re crazy! I am not cuddling with Beck!” Miguel’s eyes hold a shocking expression, “Why are you suddenly not interested in your own boyfriend?!”

“Because you just want to cuddle with me so you can play with my boobies” Muñeca pouts, face looking like she’s actually heartbroken,

“Of course i do! i love your boobies! Obsessed even! Who doesn’t love your boobies?! Wait—don’t answer that” Miguel backtracks, “Beck doesn’t have boobies. They’re not as comfy as yours!”

“Jeez! Opposed to my chest that much, O’Hara?” Beck chimes in from behind with a smirk

“Cállate, Kingsley!”

#i ship muñeca and gloria!!#frat!miguel

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delirium1217 · 27 days

Text

Gold Rush, Red Flush

720 word count Regulus tells James what he thought about him during their school years. [Post war AU/established relationship]

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“Do you think,” James busies himself, worrying the blue fabric of Regulus’ sweater. They’re sprawled out on the living room couch, it’s late afternoon. They had nowhere else to be. “Do you think in another universe, we could’ve realized this earlier?” “What, like when we were kids?” Regulus frowns. He’s looking down at James’ fingers, like they’re something worth staring at. “Well, yeah, I suppose.” “I-uhm, well.” Regulus turns his head away towards the window. The light catches the crown of his hair - unruly waves grown too long. “What, is it that difficult to imagine?” “No. Quite the opposite.”

That makes James pause. “Reg, did you- is this something you thought about before?” He stays silent. James is subsequently intrigued. He laughs. “You have! You have! Don’t tell me - on the quidditch pitch?” James is entertained by that little scenario for a little bit more than what is appropriate. Regulus glances back at him. The intensity of his stare. This wasn’t- it was real. “Oh.” James simply says. “Yeah.” Regulus replies, soft. He’s close. So close. Did James know how fragile this was? “What, since…the beginning?” “No, I’m not that pathetic.” Regulus almost smirks, but no, his expression was still twisted. “When, then?” James swallows. His heart in his throat. “Probably when I was fifteen.” His face is resting on his right hand. His eyes search James’ face - what was he looking for? “God, I despised you for the longest time. I thought you were the driving force behind everything wrong in my life.” “Strong start,” He laughs lightly. James is afraid of this conversation. This is - it’s heavy. He could feel it settling on his chest. Drowning him. “Yeah, well, you weren’t. I wish it was that simple.” Regulus whispered. He was floating again. “All that hate fizzled into something that pestered me every day till I got myself to look at it.” “So, what did you find?” he finds himself whispering too. “You.” They both pause, startled brown meeting grey. James thinks could live in this moment. Burrow himself deeper and deeper till the stale air of a lazy Saturday is what sustains him. Fragile. “I-it’s- I think I-um,“ “Oh god, I’ve broken you.” “No, no. It’s just. I never thought about you like th- I mean, you were my best friend’s-“ “James, it’s fine. I know I was being delusional,” “Hey, I didn’t say that.” He paused, he needed to get this right. “Did I notice you? Of course I did, you were gorgeous- are, I mean. I just, you always looked like you were two seconds away from killing me,” He groaned. This was a disaster. “I was, for the longest time,” Regulus’ voice has dropped down to a whisper again. His hands touch James’ hair. Barely there. “Then I realized I just wanted to touch you,” He does, lowering his hand and eyes to his lips. His fingers just grazing them. James’ breath hitches. This was impossible. “So, where do we meet?” “What?” “In that universe. I bet you’ve given this some thought,” he can’t help doing this, he slips into this role so easily- as easy as breathing. “I am not entertaining this, James.” He’s smiling, a small little thing. “Okay, then I will. I think, we meet every Sunday after Quidditch practice.” He looks into Regulus’ face. He really could see it, disheveled and sweaty and frustrated after practice. Crashing into James in ways neither of them understood. “The locker rooms are usually abandoned. Everyone would assume we were each doing individual drills, or something. Maybe fifth year - Merlin, I was so frustrated at you. For so many things, the least of which had to with Gryffindor lagging behind.” He’s saying too much, this was too much. “I- that year, I thought so many times about walking up to you. I always wondered.” Regulus says. It rests between them, uneasy. The what if-s. The space between love and hate. The emotion that spills out of him catches him off guard. Regulus is still close. His eyes look more alive than ever. Alight with all that could’ve been. “And then what?” James whispers. “And then we wreck it all to pieces.” Regulus whispers back. James almost gasps. “Is that what we’re always meant to do?” “Maybe.” “How about this universe?” “I’m still deciding.”

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originally published on Ao3. Part of a larger work but I thought it worked quite well on its own!

#james potter #regulus black #jegulus #sunseeker #starchaser #james x regulus #regulus x james #jegulus microfic #marauders microfic #jegulus fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #delirium writes

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foxaftershocks · 2 months

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A Chance Encounter (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: A run in with an ex was not something you wanted.

Words: 2.5k

This is kind of an extension of my other fic Ghost Boy. It uses the same reader character with Lars.

“I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Lars grumbling wasn’t new, but it was making you need to hide your smile. Your fingers tightened around his, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting him lead you through the street.

“It’s just drinks with some of the others,” you said, “we can’t live in the lab.”

“We could go home,” he muttered.

You laughed then, muffled in the material of his jacket. You knew Lars wasn’t the most social person, but the offence he’d taken at the thought of grabbing a drink with some of the people from the lab was a step too far. You loved your nerd, even when he made it clear he didn’t see the need to talk to other people.

“One drink,” you said, “you can manage that, right?”

“I guess,” he replied.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He looked down at you, perking up enough for more giggles to tumble over your lips. His expression softened and he pulled his hand out of yours, sliding his arm around your shoulders. Whenever he showed you affection you melted, just a little bit, enough to fold yourself against him.

“I’ll get a reward?” he asked, bending towards you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Only if you behave, ghost boy” you shot back.

His lips pressed to your temple, a soft rumble in his chest reminding you how much you revelled in his joy. Your arm curled around his waist, finding its way under his coat, seeking out his warmth.

The bar was loud when you arrived and you knew Lars would be complaining about it. You took his hand again, tugging him through the crowd. His hand tightened in yours and you looked back over your shoulder at him. It wasn’t frustration on his face, but a level of anxiety you weren’t used to with him. You paused, ignoring the complaint from the person behind the two of you.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Lars.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “talk to me.”

“Not a big fan of crowds,” he said, eyes darting around the bar.

“You should have said something. We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” you said.

“It’s only one drink, right?” he asked, finally looking at you.

“We don’t have to,” you replied.

“One drink should be alright,” he said.

You reached up onto your tip toes to press your lips to his. His arm slid around your waist automatically, the way it always did when you were close enough.

“Why don’t you find the others and I’ll get us that drink,” you suggested, pushing back from him.

It was easy to track his movement through the crowd with his height as you moved in the opposite direction towards the bar. You shuffled through the crowd, squeezing through what gaps you could find. Pushing your way to the front, you caught the eye of the bartender. He held up a finger, finishing one transaction before sauntering over to you.

“Hey, could get a glass of the shiraz and a rum and coke?” you wrested, raising your voice to be heard over the noise.

He flashed you a charming grin and a nod. You lent against the bar, one elbow resting on the slightly sticky surface, eyes scanning over the crowd to find where Lars had ended up. Tucked away in one corner, you could see him, blond head bowed as an uproarious laugh went through the group from work.

“Well fancy seeing you here.”

Your head snapped around, a face swooping into view. A startlingly familiar face. You found yourself rearing back, not enjoying the surprise.

“Liam,” you breathed.

His stupid smiling face was blocking your view of Lars and the begins of panic fluttered in your stomach. The years you’d spent getting this man out of your life came flashing through your mind. He wasn’t awful, he could just be kind go a dick, and so wrapped up in a lot of your social circles. You’d even ended on amicable terms. But then you’d moved to New York to untangle yourself from him. And now he was here.

“I was going to tell you I was in town but then I thought surprising you would be so much more fun,” he said, leaning on the bar in front of you.

Yeah, he hadn’t quite gotten the memo that you guys weren’t friends anymore. Over a year without talking and now he thought he could surprise you.

“How’d you… how’d you know where to find me?” you asked, pressing a hand to your stomach, hoping something would begin to make sense again.

“I didn’t. This was a surprise. I was going to go find the Ghostbusters tomorrow and ask them to help,” he said, “I’ve been watching your videos. They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you replied faintly.

“Are you here with them now?” he asked, still smiling at you like you’d just made all his dreams come true by existing.

“No, not the Ghostbusters. Just some people from the lab,” you said.

“Cool, cool. Hey, come join me. We can catch up. How’ve you been? We all miss you back home. No one’s really heard from you in ages,” he said all in one breath, making your head spin.

“I wish I could but I’m here with people,” you said.

“Just tell them you want to catch up with an old friend.” His eyes swept over your body, “you look great.”

You did your best to suppress the disgust the feeling his appreciative gaze made you feel. Your whole body rejected it and you found it hard to believe you’d ever once enjoyed it. Biting back a scathing response, you looked away, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.

“So what have you been up to?” he asked, stealing back your attention.

“Oh, you know,” you said, “working. Enjoying the city. Going to bars.”

“So are you seeing anyone?” he asked, eyes sweeping over your body again.

Two glasses were placed down in front of you, your order finally arriving. You flashed a smile at the bartender, tapping your phone to pay for it.

“Well, it was nice running into you,” you said, picking up both glasses, “but I have to get back to my friends.”

“Stay for one drink,” he pleaded.

“I really can’t. I’m here with people,” you said.

“I’ve missed you.”

The guilt. He was always so good at wielding guilt to get what he wanted. You paused, the familiar feelings making you falter. His puppy dog eyes only made it worse.

“Everything okay?”

You blinked, reminded of where you were and what you were doing. A soft hand landed on your waist, pulling you back against a body that made you feel electric. You lent into Lars, glad for his steadying force.

“Hi,” Liam said, the surprise evident on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions. Not from you.

“Who’s this, love?” he asked.

“Oh uh.” You never could have prepared for this moment, “Lars, this is Liam. Liam, this is my boyfriend, Lars.”

You turned, passing the glass of wine over to Lars, looking up into his face. He was staring at the other man, expression hardening. It wasn’t often he looked like that, that expression usually reserved for Gary when he was messing about in the lab.

Or you when you asked him to film a video with you.

“We’re just catching up,” Liam said, “we’re old friends. She’s probably told you all about me.”

“I can’t say that she has,” your boyfriend replied.

His hand slipped down until it was resting on your hip, almost possessive as he held you. Liam’s eyes slipped down to it, disappointment and hurt flashing over his face before he tried to school his features. And yet those damned puppy dog eyes remained.

“So she never told you we used to date?” he asked.

“I did tell you about him,” you said, snatching Lars’ attention, “he’s that ex from my college days. Remember? Caused a lot of fights?”

“Oh, he’s that one,” he said.

His fingers tightened on your hip and you had to wonder what was going through his mind. Glancing to the side, Liam had taken a step towards you, fingers clenched at his side. The look on his face was confusion and heartbreak mingled together and you weren’t sure you had the energy to deal with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Liam, we haven’t spoken in over a year. I didn’t think I had to tell you anything about my life. We don’t talk,” you said.

His shoulders slumped under your words and guilt was claiming its way up your throat and the need to apologise was growing and the pressure was building and-

Lars’ lips pressed to your temple, breaking you out of the spiral you were finding yourself in. You blinked, turning away from him, into the safety offered by your boyfriend’s arms.

“Can we talk?” Liam asked, his hand landing on your shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lars said, his voice hard.

“Please?” That soft voice always used to be your undoing.

You squeezed your eyes shut before you turned back to him.

“We have nothing to talk about, Liam. We’re not friends. We don’t have a place in each others lives. It’s better if you just leave it be,” you said to him, vocalising how you’d been feeling for so long.

“But I still care about you,” he said, sounding lost.

“And I’m sorry for that. But someone who cares for me wouldn’t hurt the people I care about the way you did. They wouldn’t lie to me the way you did. They wouldn’t treat me with the disrespect you did.” It all came out of you in a rush, “you liked the idea of me than the reality. You liked that I made you look so good. You liked using me as free therapy.”

The expression on his face was like you’d slapped him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said, “I thought… I thought there was still a chance for us.”

“And I think you have your answer,” Lars snapped.

Liam finally looked away from you, something ugly marring his face when he saw Lars. His arm slid around your body, holding you close, glaring at the other man. If you weren’t careful it would turn into a tug of war with you playing the part of the rope.

“I’ve moved on,” you said, before a proper fight broke out, “you should too. Find someone else to be your best friend because I quit.”

You turned, one hand on Lars chest pushing him back, feeling proud of yourself. You didn’t always stand up for yourself so when you did, it felt like a big deal.

“Yeah? Well everyone back home only ever says what a bitch you are,” he called to your retreating back, “I was the only one who ever stood up for you. Guess I can stop doing that now since you’ve proven you’re exactly what they all say. A stuck up back stabbing bitch.”

Lars shoved past you, pushing the glass of wine into your hand. You blinked and his fist was up, slamming into the side of Liam’s face. You gasped before dropping the glasses back onto the bar and forcing your way between the two men. Both hands on Lars’ chest, you shoved him back.

“Lars,” you said, not sure if you were angry or proud of him.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he snarled, pointing at the man over your shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Liam demanded.

“We should get out of here,” you said to Lars.

“Please do,” the bartender said.

“Come on, ghost boy, let’s just go home.”

You were so aware of the people watching, phones turned in your direction. He pulled his glare away from Liam, looking down at you. His jaw was clenched and you knew his anger was simmering, so close to popping.

“Alright.”

He slung his arm around your shoulders and you led him out of the bar, not even bothering to spare a glance back at your ex and his bruised ego.

You let him stew in his anger for a few blocks. The way he was muttering under his breath was familiar and yet usually he didn’t resort to punching people. Eventually, you had to break the silence.

“So much for one drink,” you said.

“I can’t believe you dated that guy,” he said.

“I know. I made some bad choices in my youth,” you replied.

“How dare he say those things about you?” he growled.

“I know, ghost boy, but you can’t go round punching people who say shit about me. Otherwise you’re going to have to track down a lot of commenters from our social media,” you said, “plus, you tried to get me fires so…”

“I think I’ve more than made up for that,” he said.

You stopped him in the street, forcing him to look at you. His jaw was working and you could feel how the anger was still coursing through him. You shoved him against the wall of the closest building, hands resting on his chest keeping him there.

“Thank you for sticking up for my honour. Honestly, ghost boy, no one’s ever done that for me before. But I can’t have you getting arrested for assault. Assholes like that aren’t worth it,” you said.

“He thought he still had a chance with you,” was all he said.

“And he was wrong,” you said.

“He better be,” he muttered.

You shoved him again. His hands settled on your hip, pulling you closer to keep you from doing it again.

“That was such a stupid thing to do, ghost boy,” you said, head falling forward until it rested against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips brushing your temple.

“But also kind of hot,” you admitted.

A surprised laugh fell from his lips and you looked up at him, squinting in the face of your own hypocrisy.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you said, “but also you are so getting your reward.”

“That sends a very confusing message,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

Pushing up onto tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his, sinking into his warmth. The hands on your hips tightened, hauling you against his body. Your tongue licked into his mouth and you kissed him deeper until the wolf whistling started.

“Home?” you murmured against his lips.

“I want my reward,” he replied.

“C’mon then, ghost boy.”

Threading your fingers through his, you tugged him in the direction of your home, ready to give him the reward he definitely deserved.

#lars pinfield x reader #lars pinfield imagine #lars pinfield

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cheolhub · 2 years

Text

FORGIVE ME? ⌇MIN YOONGI ࿐

— PROMPT: in which yoongi needs you to forgive him for neglecting your sexual needs and saying things he didn’t mean. good thing he knows a perfect way to prove he’s sorry.

— PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

— GENRE: hurt/comfort, established relationship, smut minors dni

— WORD COUNT: 2.87k

— WARNINGS: stress, overthinking, self-doubt, a bit angsty, yoongi being a bit careless w words— oral (f. receiving), pet names, praise, yoongi w long hair (🫣)(lmk if i missed anything)

— A. NOTE: long awaited… fun fact, this has been in my drafts since mid-july LOLOL anyways, hopefully you all enjoy <3

yoongi likes to think that he is a good boyfriend. at the very least, it’s what you deserve. he spoils you, pampers you, and loves you to the moon and back. you are the best thing life has had to offer him. he makes sure you know, too– endless praise, expensive gifts (that you’ve told him to stop buying), and mind-blowing sex. you name it and he’ll provide it.

but yoongi has been stressed as of late. you can see it in his one-worded responses. you can see it in his constant straight facial expression. you can see it in how he’s been shrugging off your touch. it’s not you, he’d promised, but it’s hard not to think otherwise when he avoids you like the plague.

you decide to take matters into your hands, his stress causing your unwarranted panic and your lack of attention has you worried beyond belief.

you crawl to the edge of your shared bed where he stands and you sit on your knees. “yoongi…” you mumble, hands pawing at his belt. “hi… i was just waiting for you to come home,”

and god, you look so fucking pretty to yoongi. your pretty hair, your pouty, plush lips, your gorgeous doe eyes– everything is just so perfect. even still, he can’t seem to find the drive to give you what you need. a good orgasm. especially not today. not on this no-good, very bad day where everything has managed to piss him off.

“It’s late, Y/N,” he sighs, hand pushing a strand of hair out of your face. “go to bed.” you frown, ignoring his words. you attempt to unbuckle his belt, but his hand catches your wrist. “baby, i don’t–”

you grow frustrated as he protests, “why?!” you huff out.

he’s losing his patience, the rest of the day catching up with him as he’s kept it cool and collected for the entirety of it. “lose the attitude, Y/N, i’m tired and i don’t have time for this.”

“this?” you scoff referring to yourself. your heart swells in your chest in the worst possible way, hoping he didn’t truly mean that. “yoongi, you have time for everything else but you don’t have time for ‘this?’ don’t have time for me?”

he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, “listen, i don’t want to fight, okay? i just want to sleep,”

“can you just–”

“Y/N! i don’t want to talk to you right now, alright?” he snaps and he can’t even think about the harsh words before they tumble out of his mouth. “stop being a fucking brat for once in your life, and just go to sleep.”

your eyes widen, never hearing such a tone from him. you feel your heart climbing up your throat and you can’t tell what you’re more upset about– the fact that you were brutally rejected or the way he thought you were some spoiled brat. does he really not want you? did he really think you were that much of a brat? is he completely revolted by you that he can’t even talk to you?

your mind was going a million miles per second, new profound insecurities appearing. you slowly retreat, muttering a soft ‘night’ under your breath as you go under the covers and turn off the lamp, leaving a now remorseful yoongi to stand in the dark.

maybe it wasn’t working, you think to yourself. maybe it was you, perhaps you were too needy for his liking? the endless maybe’s pour into your head. the maybe’s that defended yoongi’s odd behavior and the ones that pit him against you. you then begin to wonder why he was coming home so late every night, why he was in such a bad mood with you, and why he hasn’t touched you in over a week. was he avoiding you? cheating?

you tend not to overthink these things because yoongi reassure you how much he loves you without you even asking for it, but it’s been so long since you’ve even had a conversation with him. maybe… it is over?

and while the tears roll down your face, yoongi lies on the other side regretfully. the look on your face had his insides twinged. he feels sick knowing that you lay next to him, dejected and heavy-hearted, probably overthinking his behavior towards you. he wants to say something, anything… but he can’t find the coherent words to make sure you know he loves you more than anything.

so, he promises to make it up to you tomorrow.

you slept horribly, your mind overrode by last night's encounter with your boyfriend. you had decided to ignore your mind for the day and focus on comforting yourself in hopes that you’d forget about his harsh tone and snippy words and that frustrated face that you hope you’d never see again.

you don’t even realize the time you’ve spent curled up in front of the tv in your living room till you hear the front door open. you turn your head in shock noticing yoongi standing there looking at you.

you want so desperately to say something, but all you can think about is how he shot you down. so, you simply turn back to the tv, pretending to be focused on that instead. you are hyper-aware of yoongi’s every move, though.

“hi, baby…” he mumbles, closing and locking the door before he walks to the couch you’re on. “what are you watching?”

you barely react, muttering ‘a k-drama’ under your breath, and yoongi’s heart breaks realizing you’re still upset from yesterday.

“you’re home early,” you state, voice devoid of any emotion.

he nods, “wanted to see you,”

“well…” you chuckle bitterly. “here i am, your bratty girlfriend. i suppose you still don’t want to talk to me?”

maybe it was immature, but it’s the only thing keeping you from sadly cowering away from him.

“baby…” he pouts. “i didn’t mean that, okay? i’m sorry.” he sits next to you, before continuing. “i know i’ve been neglecting you, i’ve just been so stressed. you know if it weren’t for you i’d live in the studio,”

“is that what you prefer?… to live in the studio?” you ask meekly as if you’re scared of his answer.

he shakes his head incessantly, hands cupping your face, “no, never. i love you so much, too much. i really didn’t mean to snap at you last night, my love.” he whispers.

your heart rate quickens, looking at him with wide, doe eyes. your lips part to say something, but he speaks before you have the chance to.

“i wanna prove how sorry i am…” he trails off. “can i prove it to you, sweet girl?” his tone, now, is sultry and seductive and you can’t help but feel excited.

wordlessly, you nod in acknowledgment, your panties dampening by the second. when he flashes his teeth at you, you can’t help but shudder, enamored by all of his gorgeous features.

he leans in to kiss you, his soft lips molding with yours for the first time in what feels like years. you take your arms, wrapping them around his neck to pull him closer to you.

he pulls back, “left you all needy for me, didn’t i, baby?” he mutters against your pouty lips.

“mhm,” you nod again, mindless and in a daze with how his kiss made you feel.

“yeah? m’ sorry, sweetheart, gonna take good care of you, alright?” his hands slide down your face and neck, and chest before residing on your lower stomach. “gonna make sure you know truly how sorry i am,”

“yoongi,” you whine prettily. “please, need you so bad,”

he hums, urgently diving back into your lips, catching you by surprise. you gasp when his hand reaches your clothed core allowing his tongue to easily glide into your mouth.

the kiss grows desperate, your tongues dance, and your teeth clash with one another. both of you breathing harshly as it feels like you’re about to swallow each other.

yoongi’s hand vanishes into your lacy panties, dainty, long fingers easily finding your untouched clit. you whine when his index and middle fingers rub soft, feathery touches into the bundle of nerves.

“fuck,” you moan into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the light touch. “m-missed you,” you manage to say against his lips.

his lips move away from yours, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and down your neck till he finds you sensitive, little pulse point. your eyes screwed shut, moaning out his name as he nips and sucks on the soft skin. his fingers increase in speed and your body naturally arches at the action.

your hand makes its way to his head, fingers carding through his soft, long hair. you whine softly, grinding into his fingers. “more…”

he tuts, shaking his head in your neck. “uh-uh, pretty girl, stay still for me,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning against the pretty mark he’s made. he removes his head and hands and watches your face contort at the loss of contact and listens to your whimpers for his fingers. “shhh, baby,” he mumbles, taking the ends of your shirt and pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side. the deed leaves you near naked, all that’s left are your black lace panties.

he hums at the sight of your tits with perched nipples, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. you suddenly feel warm under his gaze closing your eyes and squirming as your cunt gushes again, further ruining the lacy material.

“my gorgeous girl,” he breathes, hands finding purchase on your hips. your eyes open, following yoongi’s movements to see him kneeling in front of the couch between your legs. he presses a gentle kiss to your abdomen. his pecks trail down further and further till he reaches your covered mound. “missed this pussy more than you know.”

you feel your breath getting caught in your throat feeling his face so close to your soaked pussy. with a slight buck of your hips, you softly let out another whine, “yoongi, please… please do something, a-anything,” you plead, tears of need forming on your lash line.

he smiles, beautifully much like he missed the way you beg for him, missed the way you got when you ached for his touch.

he suddenly drags his tongue across your already-drenched underwear, soaking it further with his saliva. you gasp at the feeling, the warm muscle making its way up and down needily. “can taste you through your panties, baby,” he chuckles against you, the vibration making you squeak.

“please…”

his cat-like eyes peek up at yours full of mischief before his hands trail down and pull your underwear off. he leans back so you have room to take them off, “lift up and get these off for me, sweetheart,” he says and you oblige quickly, slipping them off and throwing them near your shirt.

he inhales sharply when he’s met with your glistening core and your cute hole practically leaking arousal. he notices your squirming and he smiles again, “m’ sorry again, pretty baby, i’ll take care of you, yeah?” he hooks his arms under your knees and gives you a loving kiss on the inside of your thighs. “and make you feel good… can i do that?”

you nod heartily, chest filling with anticipation, “yes… yeah, please,” you sigh out. “make me feel good, need you to make me feel good, yoongi.”

with that, yoongi groans, nodding his head in compassion. scooting closer to you, he blows a cold breath to your swollen clit, basking in the way your entire body shivers at the feeling. his tongue then presses flat against your folds, the taste of your essence fuzzing his brain and causing blood to rush to his half-hard dick.

you moan at the first contact, your hands slipping back into his now-messy locks. his tongue drags up and down your folds at an agonizing pace. you think he’s teasing till you hear his soft moan, “fuck, sweetheart… forgot how fuckin’ good you taste,” he murmurs against your sloppy core. “m’ gonna take my time with you, make you cum all over my mouth till you can’t take it anymore.”

at his words, you find yourself panting, your stomach filling with butterflies, and your head emptying of any rational thoughts. your eyes meet his again and you can’t help but whine at how pretty he looks in between your legs as he tongues at your cunt.

“so pretty, baby, you’re so pretty– fuck!” you throw your head back with a tiny cry when his mouth wraps around your clit.

he hums, sending shockwaves through your body. his teeth graze against the sensitive bud before his tongue takes over, flicking over it at a pace that has you losing your goddamn mind. the arms he has hooked under your knees pull you towards him till there’s no gap between his face and your sweet sex.

you grip his hair tighter, letting a dry sob escape your throat. “y-yoongi! s-so good, so fucking good!” you manage to tell him, and yoongi beams. he squeezes the flesh of your thighs, fingertips gently dragging against your skin and you can’t help but feel warmer at the gesture.

when he pulls off, his face dives deeper. his tongue now prodding at your sticky entrance and his nose bumping at your clit. the slight contact your clit gets from his bulb-like nose makes you arch your back again and push his head further into your cunt. you're almost sure he can’t breathe with the way he lets out a muffled, breathless moan into you, yet you can’t find the heart to stop when it feels fucking amazing.

you ease up a tiny bit before he laps up the everlasting cum that drips from your untouched hole. the lewd sound of his slurps and your wetness meeting his tongue almost make you feel embarrassed, but his pure desire in devouring you whole makes the feeling pass.

it’s when he shoves his tongue in your hole as deep as he can when you scream. your thighs automatically move to cage his head in, nearly suffocating him in the process. he eats you out ravenously like he hadn’t eaten in days, and fuck, your pussy is the best thing on earth to him.

“pussy was fuckin’ heaven-sent,” he moans against you again, his mouth moving aggressively once more.

you, feeling an undeniable knot form in the fiery pit of your stomach, buck your hips into his face again. your cries and screams grow louder, mixing with the obscene sounds of his slurping as your grip on his hair is strong enough to rip from his scalp. he groans, but you pay him no mind, reveling in the sensations it sends through your on-edge body. you grind and grind, an obnoxious mantra of his name and curses belt from your mouth.

“yo-yoongiii! m’ so close, oh– fuck!” you mewl, eyes no longer on his gorgeous face as you’ve screwed them shut. “fuck, fuck, fuck! baby, d-don’t stop, please don’t stop!” your words drip with deprivation making him moan understandingly against you.

you let out a squeak when it happens. your body convulses as the knot quickly unravels with yoongi still licking at your clenching hole, licking up all the viscid cum that you emit. your back arches as far as it can as you cry for him, and tears of overstimulation leak down your face.

yoongi can’t help but ache himself at the sight of your gorgeous orgasm. your cute, contorted face with furrowed brows, your mouth ajar as the endless moans escape you, your twitching body making your perfect tits jiggle– it makes yoongi realize he’s taken you for granted.

you finally come down a few minutes after your mind-blowing orgasm. with tears still looming at your lash line, you look at yoongi who’s untangling himself from your legs and rising to tower over your shaky, naked body. your eyes trail down from his body up to his face covered with a sheen layer of your arousal, ogling him hungrily.

your hand tugs at his shirt pulling him down to kiss you. you instantly shove your tongue into his mouth, offering the chance to taste yourself with a hint of his own taste.

he parts a few seconds later, “you like the way you taste, pretty girl?” he whispers, hand cupping your warmed cheek. “i love it, you taste fuckin’ gorgeous,” he admits causing a soft and breathy moan to get caught in your throat. he smirks, arrogantly, “forgive me?”

“i forgive you…” you breathe, a cheeky smile on your face. “but you have to fuck me good, first.”

he gives you a toothy grin, ready to dive back into your lips before saying, “take me then, baby.”

#bts smut #bts x reader #yoongi oneshot #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut

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dfortrafalgar · 1 month

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 22

[Prev] [Next]

[RING RING]

[Hi! Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!]

[BEEP]

Law took a deep breath before speaking. “Hi, baby, I just wanted to check in. I know it’s really early there and you’re probably still sleeping, but good luck on your procedure today. I… really wish I could be there. I miss you a lot, I’m excited to come home in a few days. Call me back when you get the chance, just so that I know you’re okay. I love you.”

The solemn man tapped on the red disconnect button on his phone’s screen, hanging up on your voicemail box. Beside him, Dr. Tony took a long sip of his beer, anxiously eyeing the expression of his superior. Across the table from Law sat another older doctor from an institution a few cities away, one who had been a big fan of Law’s dissertation from medical school and insisted he treat the cardiac surgeon and his colleagues to a drink. As soon as they began actually drinking, though, it became clear to Law that the large, scruffy looking doctor treating him to booze was a bit harder to deal with than he initially thought. The more he drank, the more he ran his mouth.

“Aw, come on, man! You’ve been so uptight this whole week, I thought someone like you would be more than excited to attend this event and go drinking with some colleagues,” the man chided, his cheeks slightly flushed from his alcohol intake.

Law tossed a frustrated look at the man across from him, but it clearly didn’t land in the way he intended. “Just a bit tired, I suppose.”

“Tired of calling your wife?” the man sneered. “A man deserves to get away from the ole’ ball and chain every once in a while. You might as well enjoy your freedom while you’re out of the country.”

Law’s jaw involuntarily clenched. A million words of retaliation swirled through his head, but he didn’t have the gall to speak. The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene, surrounded by esteemed colleagues who were all looking forward to a night out drinking after a successful conference day. The black-haired man simply crossed his arms and uncomfortably eyed the barely-touched beer in front of him.

“That woman of your’s is probably sick of you calling her all the time, anyway. Is she making you do that?” he asked.

Chopper reached a hand out, nervously trying to stop the man across from them from talking. “Dr. Teach, let’s be civil, now.”

Another swig of beer slipped past the larger man’s chapped lips. He slammed down his glass with another snide remark. “Can’t be civil when you’ve got a man being held back by some woman at home. You can’t let her control you like that, you’ve got to be a man.”

Law’s fists clenched the fabric of his shirt as he felt his face heating up with humiliation. “I’m going to ask you one time to be quiet.”

The man, Dr. Marshall Teach, curled his lips in a sneer. “Aw, you getting defensive?”

“If you wanted to treat myself and my colleague to a round of drinks, I would appreciate it if you could keep your unnecessary comments to a minimum,” Law affirmed. He was inwardly impressed with how he managed to keep his voice so steady despite the rapid pounding of his heart. He felt his hands grow clammy with discomfort.

Teach shrugged. “Sorry that you’ve found yourself prey to a bitc–”

Law stood up with such ferocity that the sound of his chair scooting across the hard wooden floor alerted the tables around him, surprised and curious eyes darting in his direction. With a scowl, he grabbed his bag, stepping around the table to make a quick exit. Before he passed by Teach, however, he stopped dead in his tracks and leered down at the man. “Don’t expect any more cordial behavior from me this week. I never want to hear from you again.”

Before the rude older man was able to retort and get the last word, Law finally stepped away from the table and left the restaurant. His legs were shaking as he rounded the corner of the building and stepped into a dimly lit alleyway, the setting sun casting a large shadow over the structure and making the corridor appear darker than the rest of the world. A perfect shroud for Law to sink into a crouching position against the brick wall, his bag at his feet as he wrapped his hands around his knees.

Pathetic.

Law felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, his hands growing even more clammy as he fought with his heart rate to get it to settle. His mind was reeling with thoughts, insecurities. He felt like he was going to be sick. How was a man as esteemed as him having a panic attack in a back alley behind a bar?

“Law?” a soft voice called from around the corner.

The black-haired man picked his head up in surprise, facing the voice. A head of thick, bushy brown hair and gentle, black, doe-like eyes greeted him.

“Chopper… need something?” he asked, keeping his voice low to prevent it from trembling.

The younger doctor stepped closer, copying Law’s posture by crouching down himself so he could be at the same level as his superior. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay… do you want to head back to the hotel?”

“Is anyone else going?” Law asked, mild skepticism in his eyes.

“Nope, just me,” the brunette man responded. “I barely had anything to drink, anyway. Bars aren’t really my scene.”

Law slowly stood up along with his younger colleague, grabbing his bag from the cold ground and following Chopper out of the alley, rounding the corner and proceeding down the street. The two walked in silence for around 20 minutes before they finally reached their hotel, a very fine establishment that was selected by their employers for their week-long stay in the Flower Capital. The place was far more lavish than anything Law had stayed in before, but frankly, the expensive decor and fancy lights were nothing if not unsettling for him in his upset state. He followed Chopper into the elevator, the two ascending in silence to the 10th floor, watching as the numbers on the control panel slowly ticked upward. Their walk through the hall was so silent you could hear their footsteps slightly echoing off of the plaster walls around them. Chopper inserted his keycard into their room’s door, pushing the heavy entrance open and stepping inside, Law on his heels.

Once they were safely in their room, Law released the frustrated groan he had been holding in. He quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, ripping it off of him and falling backwards onto the bed that he designated as his. Chopper watched with concern on his soft features, sitting on his own mattress.

“I’m sorry about what Teach said to you,” the younger man said.

“Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault,” Law mumbled back, staring at the ceiling. The air of their hotel room was quite chilly and made goosebumps appear on his inked skin, but it was far better than his anxious perspiration that was going on under the stifling fabric of his dress shirt.

“I know it wasn’t, but I’m still sorry,” Chopper responded, awkwardly hugging his knees. “I think it’s sweet that you’re calling your wife so often. I’m sure she really appreciates it.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek. He had kept your infertility struggles a secret from the rest of his colleagues at the hospital, choosing instead to say that he was taking care of you through an acute illness whenever he used his personal time off. No one had ever questioned it, perhaps being too afraid to provoke the steely, constantly-focused doctor, but whatever the reason, Law was relieved that he never had to explain himself. His current behavior was far beyond the realm of what Chopper had ever seen of him, drastically out of character from the hard-working doctor the younger man was surely used to.

“Chopper, can I tell you something?” Law asked, feeling immensely awkward for divulging his problems to a colleague who seemed so much younger than him.

“Of course,” Chopper replied.

Law sat up on his elbows, gazing at his feet at the end of the bed. “My wife has been struggling with infertility. We’ve been trying for well over a year now to have a baby, with no success yet. She’s had two miscarriages, the second one at 12 weeks.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, clearly upset with reliving the memory of seeing you tied to the hospital bed in the emergency room, the way your face was scrunched up with agony, humiliation, and shame.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” the younger man sympathized.

Law took a deep breath. “She’s been undergoing treatment to prepare for IVF, and today, back home anyway, is the day she gets her eggs harvested. I’ve been so, so fucking nervous for her. Excuse my language.”

“So that’s why you’ve been calling and texting her a bunch?” Chopper asked, slightly tilting his head as he listened to his older colleague.

“Yeah. And unlike that prick Teach, I like to think I have a much healthier relationship with her.” Law scoffed, relaying the words the older man had spoken to him over their drinks. “Ball and chain, my ass. The day I refer to my wife like that is the day I die by my own hand.”

Chopper sighed, wanting to apologize yet again for the older doctor’s behavior, but deciding against it. Law’s words sparked a hint of curiosity in the younger man, however, as he gazed at the ink covering his coworker’s hands, arms, chest, and back. “Law, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all,” the black-haired surgeon responded.

“It always struck me as interesting that you have the word ‘DEATH’ tattooed on your fingers. Have you ever been… told off for that?”

Chopper’s words prompted Law to gaze at the ink on his skin. He huffed through his nose at the memory, his friends as an 18-year-old undergraduate adamantly insisting that he shouldn’t get morbid tattoos if he was going to pursue a career in life-saving medical care, but clearly their words didn’t stick.

“All the time,” he replied. “I got my tattoos done over the course of a few years while I was an undergrad. I was going through a lot at that time, and funneled my frustrations into getting ink.”

“Is there a reason you chose ‘DEATH’?” Chopper had absolutely zero idea if he was crossing the line or not, but based on Law’s somewhat relaxed body language, he safely assumed that he was still in the clear with his questions.

Law pursed his lips. “I lost my family in a house fire when I was around 10, and the man who took me in and raised me was killed by his older brother when I was 13, so for the duration of my teenage years, death was all I thought about.”

Chopper’s eyebrows creased with melancholy. “I’m so sorry…”

Law relaxed his arms and fell back onto his mattress once more. “I kept going for my parents, they were both doctors and I grew up wanting to follow in their footsteps. And for most of my time in high school and then in college, I was convinced I was too hardened to be loved.”

The younger brunette felt a small smile tug on his lips. “But then you met your wife.”

The words made the black-haired man grin. “Yup… then I met my wife. But I already had the tattoos when I met her, so it was a bit too late for that.”

“I’m sorry you can’t be home with her… but I’m sure she really does appreciate the fact that you’re constantly checking in on her. If my husband was halfway across the world, I’d want to hear from him as often as I could, too,” Chopper stated, his voice light and airy.

Law stared at the ceiling. Chopper was the kind of kid whose presence made you relax. His openness and understanding of complex topics and issues was a quality that made Law gravitate towards taking him under his wing, endlessly impressed with the ease in which the boy sympathized and offered boundless support for patients, colleagues, and family who visited the hospital. Even the most upset patients were treated with the utmost respect from the young doctor, his very existence making any tension or unease flow from the body in waves.

“Thanks, Chopper, I appreciate it,” Law stated. “Sorry to spill all that on you.”

“It’s never a problem, Law, I’m always happy to talk about stuff that might be troubling you. As a friend, rather than strictly a coworker.” Chopper swung his legs off the side of his bed. “I’m going to take a shower, try to get some shut-eye, alright?” The younger colleague tossed a friendly smile to Law, who nodded graciously.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click, leaving Law alone on his bed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. He reached toward his phone intent on checking his text messages, but as soon as he picked it up in his hand, the screen lit up with an incoming call.

Wifey

A grin tugged on Law’s lips. “Hello?”

[Hi, baby! I’m sorry I missed your call…] Your voice was groggy with sleep, and some shuffling could be heard in the background. You must have still been in bed.

“It’s alright, you were sleeping,” Law replied, his voice soft. “I wouldn’t want you to wake up for me, especially not on such an important day. You need all the rest you can get.”

A soft hum echoed through the speakers. [You’re right… but I love hearing your voice.] Your words were silky smooth, making your husband smile even wider as he imagined the sleepy look on your face, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion as a beautiful, fatigued smile pulled on your lips. He imagined curling closer to you, pulling your body into his own and inhaling the soft scent of your soap and moisturizer, wishing he could carry around your aroma in a bottle for whenever he wanted to think of you.

“How are you feeling about today?” he asked.

[Really, really nervous. But we all have a plan.] Your shaky response made Law’s heart clench, but he waited patiently for you to continue talking. [I go in at 9 AM for the procedure. Penguin is driving me, because I don’t trust Shachi’s car, but Shachi and Ikkaku are going to stay at the apartment with Bepo. The procedure is going to take only, like, ten or so minutes, so I requested to have local anesthesia so I don’t have to be all groggy for the day. So it’ll probably hurt a bit, but I’m tough. I can deal.]

Law chuckled. “You are tough.” He wanted to say something else, perhaps sing your praises even more, but his insecurities from earlier flooded back into his head. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

[Of course, baby. Anything.]

“Are you…” he searched the crevices of his mind for the proper words. “Are you annoyed with me when I call too often?”

The line was silent for a few moments too many. [Why would I be annoyed?]

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I don’t know… I had a weird conversation over drinks tonight and I’m overthinking it.”

He could hear you audibly sigh. [I absolutely, one hundred percent, do NOT think you’re annoying. I get so excited whenever you call. When you called me yesterday when I was at Nami’s, she poked fun at me for lighting up when you called. She said it looked like I was glowing.]

Law smiled at the thought. Before he could continue speaking, though, you took a breath.

[I would never be annoyed with you, ever. If anything, I wish you could call more, but I know you have your big important responsibilities while you’re over there.] Your voice was uplifting, encouraging. Law’s chest felt lighter simply by listening to you talk. Oh, the power you held. [When you come home, I’m going to smother you in so many kisses to make up for whatever asshole made you feel shitty.]

“I’d love that, baby,” Law sighed into the receiver. “I miss you… I don’t think I’m cut out for long business trips.”

[You only have three more days, you can do it!]

Law had an image in his head of you excitedly pumping the air with your fist, your eyes bright and shining as you encouraged him to keep his head up and continue pushing forward with the incredible reward of returning home to your arms.

[And hey, when you come home, we’ll have a bunch of microscopic eggs in a petri dish at the fertility clinic hopefully being fertilized.]

Law’s heart swelled at the mere thought of tiny embryos growing to hopefully be successfully implanted into you. The process of preparing for the procedure had been so long to him and he couldn’t even begin to comprehend how you must have felt in the weeks leading up, but the way you had managed to stay strong through the entire duration was profoundly inspirational to him. You were truly one special woman.

[I’m going to get up and take Bepo out, but I’ll text you throughout the day to tell you how things went! Oh, and Law?]

“Yes, baby?”

[Don’t lose sleep over me. I can somehow see those eyebags through the phone. I promise I’m going to be okay, so get some rest, alright?]

Law smirked. You knew him far too well. “No promises.”

[Law…]

He sighed, a chuckle escaping his lungs. “Okay, I promise I’ll get some sleep. My hotel roommate’s in the shower right now, but when he’s done I’m going to clean myself up and get some rest. I’ll talk to you later, baby.”

He could hear the smile on your voice as you responded. [I love you, Law.]

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

—

“Shachi and Penguin are pussies,” Ikkaku groaned, crossing her arms over her chest in the chair that sat across from your small pre-op bed. “Afraid of some women’s health matters…”

You giggled at her frustration. “Well, I’m really happy that you were able to take today off and help me out, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course!” Ikkaku flashed you a charming, toothy grin. “Anything for my bestie. Besides, from what I read online, you’re gonna need some support to help deal with the pain.”

“It shouldn’t hurt that bad… they’re giving me local anesthesia, so I’ll only feel a little bit. At least, I hope that’s the case,” you replied with a nervous shudder. “You won’t have to deal with a loopy post-op me. Last time I had a procedure done, Law told me I didn’t stop gushing over him for almost six hours.” Your head fell into your hands, embarrassment painting your face.

Ikkaku laughed at your shameful state. “You can still tell me how much you love me while completely sober, though, right?”

You flashed her a cheeky grin. “Don’t test your luck.”

You struggled to admit it, but you were wildly anxious. The last time you talked to Law was when you returned his call a few hours prior, and thinking about him halfway across the world, probably (hopefully) fast asleep in preparation for another day of conferences was reassuring, but you had a residual ache in your heart that yearned for him to be with you. The weeks of synchronizing your cycle and taking hormone injections to mature your eggs was a long, boring, and tedious process, but it was all leading up to this very moment.

Now you just had to hope that some of your eggs were mature enough to fertilize… if they would fertilize at all.

“Mrs. Trafalgar?” A nurse stepped into your room with a clipboard, a few sheets of paper attached to the metal clamp. “I just need to have you sign a few forms and then we’ll take you in!”

You took the board and the pen from her grasp, wiping your hands on your hospital gown to rid your palms of your nervous sweat. You signed the release forms with a few quick strokes of your pen before handing the papers back to the nurse who happily took them from you.

“Alright, you’re all set! The doctor will be in shortly to take you back,” she explained before cordially nodding towards you and exiting the room.

Your foot was bouncing off the mattress. “Ahh… Ika… I’m so nervous.”

Ikkaku stood from her chair, crossing the room to be at your side. She rubbed her hand over your shoulder, her expression sympathetic yet encouraging. “You’re gonna do great, you’ll be in and out! 10 minutes, just like you said!”

“But what if my eggs aren’t mature? I’ll hear if they are before we leave…” You could feel your heart rate increase at the prospect of all your hard work in the past few weeks being for nothing.

“Hey, look at me,” Ikkaku demanded, her voice soft. She took your cheeks in her hands, turning your head to face her. “No negative thinking. Your eggs are probably more mature than an elderly person!”

You snorted, making her pull her hands away quickly and wipe them on her shirt. “That’s the comparison you make?”

“Geriatric eggs,” she confirmed, smirking at you. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. I have a good feeling. And after you’re back here and the anesthesia is wearing off and we find out that your eggs are nice and mature, we’ll go and celebrate with some ice cream.”

Your mouth began watering at the prospect. “That does sound pretty good…”

“Exactly! So keep your chin up!” Ikkaku excitedly pumped her fists in the air, a sight that made your lips crack into a smile as you absorbed the excited, optimistic energy from your best friend.

“Knock, knock, Mrs. Trafalgar, are you ready?” The doctor overseeing your egg extraction peeked his head in.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed, holding the back of your gown closed with one of your hands. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good luck!” Ikkaku called as you followed the doctor into the small outpatient operating room.

You were starting to really dislike the feeling of paper and polyester clinic gowns, they way they were completely shapeless and stiff on your skin made you feel particularly vulnerable. You would much rather be naked to the open air than don a hospital gown, but you also quite liked not being locked up in jail. You bit down your discomfort and entered the small outpatient procedure room where you were instructed to lay back on the table and put your feet in the stirrups. You stared emotionless at the tiled ceiling, the bright white LED lights making your pupils constrict. You simply nodded through the nurses’ instructions and comments, quietly letting them insert an IV needle into your arm for fluids.

“We’re going to be using a local anesthetic that will be injected near the top of your vagina, and an ultrasound will be running to assist with locating your ovarian follicles,” the doctor explained, displaying the capped needle in his hand. “This procedure will only be around 10 to 15 minutes, but throughout the duration we will be injecting additional small doses of a low-level narcotic pain reliever so make sure you don’t experience any discomfort. Does that sound good?”

You gave a curt nod. “Yes it does.”

“Perfect. Please inform us if you feel any large amounts of pain, or any discomfort outside of your pelvic region.” The doctor turned his back on you, and your eyes resumed staring at the ceiling, your hands over your chest resting directly above your heart.

You felt a small pinch near your core that made you wince, but you kept your body still and tried to focus on your breathing. It didn’t take long for sensation in your hips and pelvis to dull, a strange, numb tingling sensation replacing any contact from the hospital gown pushed up around your waist. It certainly felt… strange. An additional small pinch was felt in the junction of your inner thigh, and a technician spread a generous amount of the familiar, cold ultrasound gel over your lower abdomen before placing the wand firmly against your belly and locating your ovaries through your layers of skin and muscle.

“We’re inserting the speculum now,” the doctor explained, making sure to keep you in the know of what exactly they were doing to you.

You kept quiet. A tugging sensation was felt in your lower body as the cold, metal speculum spread you open, but the anesthesia and pain relievers made it much more tolerable than any pap smear you had ever received. You kept your hands placed over your chest, linking your fingers together as if to secure yourself to the table.

“You might feel a sharper pain, we’re inserting the suction cannula and needle into your vagina.”

“Alright,” you replied, feeling too awkward to stay silent.

Sure enough, a much sharper yet still manageable cramping pain was felt as the suction tube and needle were inserted. You cringed as you felt them press sharply against the wall of your vagina, a sudden, stinging sensation radiating through your body as the needle punctured your inner walls and located your ovarian follicles with the help of the ultrasound machine. You sucked in a sharp breath, alerting one of the nurses.

“Doing alright, hun?” she asked, approaching your side. She was a much older woman, clearly a seasoned nurse, with a few small decorative enamel pins around the collar of her cotton uniform scrubs. She had a soft, motherly face as she gazed at you, her eyes assessing your condition.

“Y-Yeah… just a bit painful,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll give you another small dose of pain medication,” she confirmed, tossing you a sweet smile that melted any insecurity in your heart. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. Something about her seemed to fill the room with a sense of comfort despite having only known her for a mere few seconds. You barely felt the second injection of painkillers in your other thigh, your body slowly growing numb to the sensation of the cannula pressing harshly against your vaginal walls. The nurse came around the table again and rubbed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Still hanging in there, dear?”

“Yes, I am,” you nodded, speaking in a tired tone. “Thank you.”

Her response to your gratuity was another pat on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing to distract from the dull cramping that radiated throughout your lower body. It felt eerily similar to your miscarriages, with the only comfort in the thought being that you were in a supervised medical environment. Your thoughts shifted to your husband across the world from you. It was an understatement to say that you couldn’t wait for him to get home. You two had barely been without each other since you started dating, and while some have said that your shared lifestyle is only a recipe for relationship burnout, the two of you would adamantly disagree with that sentiment. Law was a rock, a stable sanctuary for your deepest and darkest fears, whereas you were a shining light in his life, bringing him hope when his days seemed to be at their bleakest. What some would call extreme codependency, you would simply call a healthy and mutually respectful relationship with your beloved husband.

God, you missed him.

“And we’re all done!” the doctor announced, ripping you from your thoughts.

“Already?” you asked, picking your head up as the nurse helped your partially numb feet down from your stirrups.

“Yup! We’re sending your samples to the lab to count how many eggs we were able to harvest, so while you wait for a bit in recovery we’ll get to counting,” he explained, taking off his gloves and washing his hands in the sink placed across the room.

The friendly nurse from earlier gave you a gentle pat on your shoulder once more. “You did so well, dear!” She assisted with helping you stand from the table. A pair of disposable panties were handed to you, lined with a thick pad. “You’re probably going to have some light spotting for a few days, you can take these off and replace them with your normal underwear and pads when you get home. Don’t use tampons for about two weeks while your vagina recovers, alright?”

You graciously accepted her help with stepping into the uncomfortable clothing. “Understood.”

You were more than wobbly on your feet, the localized anesthesia making you somewhat dizzy, so you were helped into a foldable wheelchair to push you back to the small outpatient recovery room where Ikkaku was still waiting for you. She stood enthusiastically from her seat when you and the nurse approached, a look of sheer anticipation in her eyes.

“How did it go?” she asked, helping you stand to lay down on the small, stiff mattress.

“I think it went pretty well,” you replied, finally getting to rest your head on a pillow with a content sigh.

The nurse turned toward your friend. “I take it, you're her ride?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the curly-haired brunette nodded. “Is there anything I should be aware of for home?”

“Make sure she’s drinking plenty of water and getting as much rest as she can. It might take a few hours for the feeling to come back in her legs.” She turned to you. “You’ll probably experience a few days of cramping, ibuprofen is more than enough to get you through it! If you experience any significant complications or issues, though, please call us back right away.”

You gave her a polite smile. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course, sweetheart, it's my pleasure. The doctor will come back when your eggs are counted, and you should be good to leave then, but he’ll give you the discharge paperwork himself when he feels you’re ready.” With a friendly nod, she exited the room and closed the door slightly behind her, leaving it cracked open enough to give you and Ikkaku privacy until the doctor came back.

“So…” she asked. “Did it hurt?”

You laughed at her willingness to know the details. “A little, they stuck this suction tube up inside of me and a needle was pushed through that tube into my vaginal wall.”

Ikkaku held her hand out, a grimace on her face making her eyebrows crease in discomfort. “Alright, that’s enough talking from you.”

You shared a giggle at her weary expression. Once your conversation had simmered, you asked her for your phone so you could send a text to Law and let him know that you were in the recovery room waiting for your eggs to be counted. You tapped the send button and put your phone to sleep mode, knowing that he most likely wouldn’t respond to you for another few hours while he was sleeping. But the thought of him waking up to a positive text from you made your heart flutter. You knew he probably needed it, his voice sounded so tired when you called him back earlier that morning. An entire week of medical conferences and meetings with high-ranking colleagues from across the world would be enough to send anyone into an exhaustion coma, and the first thing you wanted to do when he arrived home was run him a nice bath, maybe light a nice candle, and cuddle him until he suffocated. With love, of course.

Almost 30 minutes of you and Ikkaku sitting in silence on your phones passed by before the doctor came back into your room with your discharge papers and a smile on his face. “Mrs. Trafalgar, we successfully extracted 12 eggs. 7 of them are mature enough for fertilization, which will begin as soon as we get your samples to the lab.”

Ikkaku beamed at you. “That’s amazing!”

You stood from your bed, your legs still fairly wobbly from the anesthesia, and signed the discharge papers that the doctor held. You gave him a fond smile. “Thank you so much.”

“Never a problem, I wish you all the best. Remember to call your usual clinic or us if you have any issues in recovery. Have an amazing day, ladies!” He held the clipboard with your papers firmly under his arm before nodding his head and leaving, keeping the door held open so you could leave whenever.

You took one step forward and almost immediately stumbled to the ground, Ikkaku scrambling for your arms to hold you upright. She looked panicked.

“Are you alright?” she asked, helping you lean against the end of the table.

You laughed under your breath. “I think my legs are still weak from the numbing stuff they gave me… might need to bring me to your car in a wheelchair.”

She gave you a mock salute and ran to a nurse’s station, returning with a small foldable wheelchair similar to the one you were put in immediately after your procedure. She wheeled you out to her car to take you home, cracking ‘grandma’ jokes along the way as if you were a nursing home patient being wheeled to the park.

For the first time in what felt like a millennia, your chest felt light.

A dozen eggs in a basket… or in your case, a petri dish.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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seeingivy · 9 months

Note

Hi!! Can you do an angsty song fic for “hits different” with Gojo? Love the ts series !!❤️

hits different

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: older brothers best friend!satoru, teenagers being dumb teenagers, drinking, satoru calls reader belle, reader spends a fuck ton of money on toji's credit card

an: HELLO SWEETIE PIE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DA LOVE IM GLAD YOU'VE BEEN ENJOYING IT SO FAR. this ended up at a 9k so I hope you enjoy pookie

present day

“Are you even listening to anything I’m saying?” he asks, his hands folded across his menu.

You close your own menu, setting it neatly on top of the plates, as you look over at him - the look in his eyes downright murderous. Granted, sticking your nose in the menu while he was trying to talk to you for the past twenty minutes couldn’t have helped, but he should cut you some slack. You’re really hungry.

It’s then and there that you see the look, that twitch in his right eye, and know exactly what’s going to happen. Toji Fushiguro, the accountant you’ve been dating for the last six months, is about to break up with you.

“It’s like you aren’t even paying attention when I talk to you, when I’m trying to sit here and tell you how I’m feeling.”

“Okay. So tell me how you’re feeling, Toji.”

He flares his nostrils, exasperated by your response. You thought it was polite. But you’ve been told your tone is downright argumentative, like grating nails on a chalkboard.

And then Toji lays out his final card, waiting for your broken expression.

“I’m breaking up with you. You-you and me. We’re done.”

No broken expression comes. Because you don’t let idiots like Toji think they have power over you, your feelings for even a second.

“Okay. Well, I still came here to eat dinner so could you pass me the main menu?”

You give him your best smile, sickly sweet, and it pushes him over the edge.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re not going to say anything to that? Anything at all? I just broke up with your pathetic ass and you don’t even feel a bit sad about it?”

You set the menu down again, crossing your wrists against your chest.

“Do you want me to, Toji? Because I can if you want me to.”

He gets even more frustrated, standing up at the table to yell his final words before he storms out.

“Do you know what your problem is, Y/N?”

“Please enlighten me. I’m dying to know.”

“You-you’re shit to be around. Literally the most frustrating, agitating, irritating person I’ve ever met. You can’t ever take anything at face value - you just argue and argue because it’s the only thing you know how to do. True love could knock on your door and you’d send it running away with that cold, dark heart in your chest. Because you’re hard to love.”

You clench your fists under the table, drawing blood against your palms.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t as agreeable as you wanted me to be. Surely the secretary you’ve been fucking for the last three months we were dating is a sweeter taste in your mouth than I am.”

“Wait, what-”

“If you’re going to fuck another girl while you’re dating me, make sure you don’t butt dial me while you’re doing it, sweetheart.”

He furrows his brow, ears pink from what you’re sure is embarrassment as he storms off. You turn your head over your neck, lifting your hand to signal Nobara, Megumi, and Itadori to join you at the table.

They all awkwardly take the empty seats at the table, Itadori immediately reaching for the free bread on the table and Megumi reaching for the bottle of wine.

“You okay?” Megumi asks, a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Toji has this really, really shit habit of leaving his stuff everywhere. His sunglasses, his keys, his wallet.”

You hold the wallet in the air, Nobara immediately snatching it from your hands and pulling out his credit card.

“No way.” she says, immediately running through the menu to find the most expensive thing to eat.

“He’ll cancel it tomorrow. So, we should make the most of it tonight.” you say, the three of them smiling back at you.

“You know, I’d feel half bad about this but he cheated on you for three months, so I really, really don’t.” Megumi says, ordering another bottle of wine.

Itadori puts his hand on yours, squeezing once as he asks.

“Are you sad about it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on. She’s heartless. Ever since that idiot she dated from her hometown took her heart and went running with it, she’s been cold ever since.” Kugisaki says, spreading the leftover butter on the bread she just stole from Itadori.

“Exactly.” you say, smiling at the three of them.

You tilt the rest of your wine into the back of your throat, the sensation burning as you push it down.

You hate that after all these years, even the mention of him makes your head spin.

Satoru.

two years ago

“Go fuck yourself, Y/N.”

“Real clever, Getou. You really got me there.”

Getou immediately knocks you off your chair and starts wrestling with you on the ground - the two of you yanking each other’s arms and pulling each other's legs.

“Cut your hair, Getou. You look like a hillbilly with that uglyass manbun.”

“Check your attitude, Y/N. You’re getting bitchier as time goes on.”

You immediately reach up and grab a fistful of his hair, yanking hard as he elbows you in the eye. And you’re about to punch him straight in the stomach before you feel two arms around your waist, the hold firm, as you fight off the hold.

“That’s enough from you two, alright?” Satoru says, his voice in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“It’s not enough, Satoru. I need to give him a piece of my mind.”

“You’re going to give him a piece of your mind with your fist, princess?”

He finally lets you go, Shoko mimicking his actions as she lets Getou go on the other side of the kitchen. You’re both glaring bloody murder at each other, the stupid look on his ugly face only enraging you more.

“Quit calling me princess, it’s stupid.” you murmur, lifting your hands up to fix the mess Getou made of your hair.

“Cmon, Belle. Don’t be like that.”

You cringe at the nickname, even worse than princess, as the memory comes straight to your mind. Third grade. Halloween Eve.

You were going to be Cinderella for Halloween - all set with fake glass slippers and a sparkly blue dress and butterfly hair clips. But Getou and Satoru had come home straight from their soccer practice, all muddy and disgusting, and accidentally sat on your costume.

The pretty blue dress you had saved all your allowance on was ruined and along with it, your hopes of impressing Haibara - the guy that you had a crush on at the time.

Except Satoru, in his infinite kindness that he’s always shared with you, dragged you to the costume store the day after, his hands wrapped around your waist as he biked the two of you there in the scorching midday October heat.

“Do you guys have any Cinderella dresses left?”

“They’re all sold out. We’re so sorry, sir.”

As the clerk walks away, Satoru turns over to you, a giddy smile on his face.

“Did you hear that? That lady just called me sir.”

“Really funny, Satoru.”

You push him into the stand by the cashier, as you stomp to the other side of the store. You look up at the little catalogs, the sparkly blue dress in the picture with a red “sold out” sign stamped on top of it. He catches up, his hand soft on your shoulder, as he talks.

“Sorry we messed up your dress, Y/N.”

You can feel the tears building in your eyes as you start aggressively swiping them away, trying to hide the fact that you were crying in front of Satoru. Knowing him, he was just going to run home and tell Getou so the two of them could laugh at you.

“No, you’re not. You probably did it on purpose.”

“We didn’t, I-I swear.”

“Getou literally told me yesterday that he thought it was stupid I wanted to be a princess for Halloween. That girls like me aren’t princesses, because they have a rotten attitude. He said I should dress up as the Scream instead.”

You look over at the ghost mask - all elongated and scary - and it only sends more tears running down your face.

“Hey. You can still be a princess if you want to be.” he says.

“No, I can’t. Because you guys ruined the costume I already did buy. And I don’t have the money for another one because I-I spent my entire allowance on that costume.”

Satoru pulls out his wallet and brings his hand down to yours, placing the crisp dollar bills in your hand. You look over at him and he’s smiling - the tips of his ears pink.

“Now you have money for the costume.”

“There’s still no costume, dumbass.”

Satoru drags you down the aisle and points at the sparkly yellow dress, his hand now slung around your shoulder again.

“They still have this one.”

“Belle? You want me to be Belle?”

“You’re more of a Belle than Cinderella. Getou’s right in the sense that you’re a little bit too harsh to be a Cinderella type.”

“Geez. Thanks Satoru.”

“But you’re smart, ambitious, headstrong enough to be a Belle. Cinderella’s the type of bitch to always back down from a fight. Belle on the other hand fights for what she wants, like you.”

You look over at him and smile, your heart pounding in your chest as the two of you biking back to the house with the sparkly yellow dress in the bag in between you guys.

“Just don’t fight to date a literal animal like Belle, okay? That’s bestiality.”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

You feel a hand on your head, shaking hard, and grounding you back in the moment. And at your irritation at Getou, who's still hurling insults at you from the other side of the room.

“She started it, Shoko.” he says.

“No, I didn’t. You’re the dumbass who-” you start.

“I’m so fucking sick of you, Y/N. You’re always fucking nagging me in some way or another. You know, I heard you crying the other day about how you’re the only girl in your class who's never had a guy like you. Maybe if you took a look in the fucking mirror you’d realize why. You’re insufferable to be around.”

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes - hot and angry - as you bolt straight out the door and down the street. You can faintly hear the three of them calling for you, but you reach straight for the bike on the curb and go as far as you can.

You make your way five blocks down from your house to eventually stop at the lake, resting the bike against the dock before you walk down. You take your shoes off and dip your feet in, watching the sun fall behind the water and the sky turn brilliant, beautiful shades of pink, orange, and yellow.

And when dark blue starts creeping in, you lay back against the dock and watch the stars trickle into the night sky, hundreds of tiny sparkling lights. Except your view of the sky is then obscured by Satoru’s face, upside down from your vantage point.

“Hi Belle.”

“Screw off.”

He sits down, taking his own shoes off and dipping his feet into the water to lie down next to you.

“Did you have to take my bike when you ran off? Yours was two feet away from it.”

“Closest one. Cry about it, Satoru.”

You both sit in silence, save for the sound of your feet splashing in the water as Satoru breaches the topic.

“Never had a guy like you, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? First, you watch Getou literally rip me a new one for no reason and now you’re here to rub it in my face?”

“You know that wasn’t what I was doing. Have I ever made fun of you like that?”

You sit up, running your hands through your hair, as you look down at the water, your leg sending ripples far beyond. You swallow hard, the tears rising to your eyes again.

“No, Satoru. I haven’t had a guy like me like that. I’m the only girl going into senior year who hasn’t been kissed by a guy.” you whisper, the confession making you turn red with embarrassment.

Satoru sits up, scooting closer to you so your knees are knocking each other, as you both look down at the water.

“So why’s that a big deal, Y/N? You’ve never cared about what people think, let alone men. I mean, you’re basically a misandrist at this point.”

You smile, looking over at his blue eyes, almost indiscernible in the dark of the night.

“It’s a big deal because I want someone to like me. I-I know that you all think I’m mean and I argue all the time and-and whatever, maybe it’s true. But, I want someone to like me. You know, butterflies, first kisses, someone who saves all their secret jokes for you.”

He puts his hand flat against your forehead, like he’s checking your temperature.

“You feeling okay? Who are you and what have you done with, Y/N?”

You shake his hand off, rolling your eyes at him, as you both laugh into the night.

“You’re so mean, Satoru. I hate you.”

He lifts one of his legs out of the water and turns to his side, so that he’s facing you. You mimic his motions, the look on your face bored as you look over at him.

“I’m going to tell you something, and it’s going to wound my ego a little bit, so don’t tell anyone okay?”

“You with a wounded ego? I would live for the day.”

He lightly nudges you before turning back down to the water, swishing the water with his legs.

“What you said isn’t true, Belle.”

“What part?”

“About going into highschool and not having a guy like you.”

“That guy who chased me around in first grade doesn’t count because he literally thought I was-”

He brings his hands down on your face, squishing your cheeks so hard that you can’t get another word out. His eyes are closed, his face only a few feet from yours.

“Princess, I really, really love it when you argue with me like that but can you please just let me finish?” he whispers, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You nod as he lets go, giving you a satisfied smile. He turns his head back to the water, leaning over the dock.

“That guy in first grade did like you. And I like you too.”

He looks over and smiles and it makes your blood burn. You lift your hands to cover your pink face, the implication of the entire thing making your stomach burn with anxiety, embarrassment, and the gross, mushy gushy feelings you’ve had for Satoru for years. For the boy who always came to your defense when you’re fighting Getou, always came to your aid when you were crying, and the only, only person you’ve never argued with.

“So quit crying about it, okay? My type has always been girls like you.”

“Girls like me?”

“Argumentative.”

You nod as Satoru stands up, holding his hand out. And ignore the pounding in your chest when his skin touches yours. You both walk your bikes - you pushing his bike and him pushing yours back down the blocks as you cheese at each other in the dark, sharing a secret smile before Satoru ducks back into Getou’s room.

three months later

You push up on the counter, swirling the cup of lemonade in your hand as you watch everyone mill around the party.

Your parents went out of town on a business trip. Getou throws the biggest party of the summer. And specifically tells you to stay in your room, because no one likes freshmen at a party.

Yet here you are, drinking lemonade and watching everyone mill around the party. Getou’s trying too hard to hit on a girl way older than him and Shoko and Utahime are so blatantly flirting that its giving you physical pain to watch them pine the way they are any longer.

But there’s one person you haven’t seen. Satoru.

He should have been back from his family trip to Tokyo for the summer since school was starting next week and there’s no way that he would miss anything that Getou and Shoko planned.

Even the thought of him makes your heart race, his swift admission of his feelings for you that were all but unrequited right before he left. You feel a tap on your shoulder, throwing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey. Can you hand me a cup?”

You halfheartedly smile as you reach over, handing her a cup from behind you. She gives you a smile as she swirls through the random potion Getou was serving - a dark purple color. You’re sure there’s an unfathomable amount of liquor mixed in and that it tastes disgusting.

“You want some?”

“I’m good. Getou poisoned that for all I know.” you mutter, which elicits a laugh from her.

“Interesting guy. He’s cute, right?”

You gag, the thought making the lemonade you just drank roll over in your stomach.

“Disgusting. He’s my older brother.”

She laughs, pushing up on the counter to sit with you and smiles.

“My bad. He’s ugly, downright horrendous.”

“Thank you.”

You smile as you look over at her, her eyes scanning the mess of people in front of you two.

“Oh shit. Wait, you’re Y/N, right? Satoru was talking about you.”

And any good feeling you have is now replaced with a green, jealous monster. And that part of you - the one that argues, the one that feels bitter, anger so powerfully is fighting its way out.

“Y-yeah. How do you know Satoru?”

“I don’t. I just met him upstairs. I almost puked in your room but he stopped me, helped me to the bathroom, and held my hair for a while while I threw up.”

“He’s a real nice guy, isn’t he?” you say, the sarcasm dripping from you voice.

Of course the asshole shows up to your house and flirts with another girl in your bedroom. Typical.

“Yeah. Cute too.”

Just then, Satoru and Getou walked up to you - with complete opposite expressions on their faces. Satoru is shining like the sun, his cheeks tinted pink which you’re sure is from drinking. And Getou’s glaring at you like there’s no tomorrow, his forehead scrunched up in irritation.

“Y/N.”

“Getou.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade.”

Getou snatches the cup from your hand and sets it down and by the look on his face, you know he’s about to start a fight with you.

“Are you fucking dense? That’s not lemonade, dumbass.”

“Do you think I was born yesterday, idiot? I took it from the unopened bottle in the fridge.”

“You shouldn’t be here right now. You’re too young to be here.”

“You’re one year older than me, Getou. And don’t throw a party in my house if you don’t want me here.”

Satoru puts a hand on Getou’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear until he gives you one last glare and walks away. Satoru gives you a big smile but before he can talk, the girl from before cuts him off.

“Do you want to dance now? I promise I got all my vomit out earlier so I won’t throw up this time.”

She gives him a big smile, and you swear Satoru’s considering it by the way he pauses and looks at her, which is enough said for you. You push up off the counter, telling them you’ll be right back and run off to the lake again, this time stealing Getou’s bike from the curb.

You’re pushing your legs so hard that they’re hurting, the tears biting cold against your skin from how fast you’re going in the middle of the night. And when you make it to the dock, you throw his bike against the grass and angrily kick your shoes off as you start taking your clothes off.

Is it a good idea to go skinny dipping in the middle of the night, alone? No. But is every human person that would come to this park at the party? Yes.

Which is the only reason you take the plunge and stare up at the moon, a tiny silver crescent in the sky. You hear a splash behind you after a few minutes and are met with Satoru, wet hair matted on his forehead.

“Find your own lake, weirdo.”

“You know. You shouldn’t skinny dip in public. People could see you.”

You look over to his pile of clothes and shoes, neatly folded in the pile next to yours.

“Same goes for you, pervert.”

You roll your eyes at him as you cross your hands across your chest, turning to your back so you don’t have to look at him. He’s faster than you are, because suddenly he’s floating right in front of you, inches from your face.

“Did I hurt your feelings, princess?”

“Quit calling me that. It’s disgusting.”

He brings his hands to your face, pushing away the tangled wet mess of hair on your shoulders.

“You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, Belle.”

“Satoru.”

“I’m not saying my piece till you say yours. And you want to hear mine, so talk.”

You take a deep breath as you look at his face - all calm and blank faced like he didn’t just do the biggest asshole move he could have.

“You’re a dick, you know that? First of all, you tell me all this shit about how you like me right before you leave. And then when you come back, the first thing I see is you talking to another girl? You were holding her hair in the bathroom, fondling god knows what in my bedroom and now you want to come here and skinny dip with me? I am not some consolation prize you get to have because she was bored of those ugly pool noodle dance moves you have and don’t ever think for a second that I will be.”

You finish, your chest heaving and a shiver running across your body from the cold water. And instead of a sincere, kind-hearted apology, an acknowledgement of what he did - Satoru Gojo is laughing in your face.

You reach forward to smack his face and he stops your hand in the air, tangling his fingers with yours.

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that?”

“You’re so fucking r-”

“Fondling? Pool noodle? Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

He brings his hands up to your cheeks and leans your head forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. You can feel your head short circuiting at the sensation, your arms tingling from how close he is.

“You’re so, so ridiculous you know that? I’m never going to get tired of you.” he whispers, the words making your hair stand on their ends.

“What-you can’t just say that and-”

“Why do you think I was in your room?”

“What?”

“I was in your room, because I was looking for you. And I thought I was being nice by stopping that girl from puking all over your sheets - because I know you hate laundry and Getou isn’t going to do it for you - so I took her to the bathroom.”

You can feel the embarrassment rushing to your face for misreading the situation entirely, taking the palms of your hands and rubbing them into your eye sockets. He laughs as he tangles his hands around your wrists, placing them around his own neck.

“Still the only senior who hasn’t been kissed yet?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. When I saw you last. Are you still the only senior who hasn’t been kissed yet?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. But I-”

“Good.”

He leans forward, tangling his hands around your waist as he presses his warm lips to yours, his hands squeezing you as he laughs into your mouth. You don’t have much to compare it to, but by the way he’s hanging off your lips, you can tell he’s eager. Way too eager - to be kissing you of all things.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I like you too.”

His face breaks out into a smile, so big that it makes you smile too. And when he cups his hand around your face again to kiss the tip of your nose, you can feel your insides screaming. For him.

“No telling Getou. He’s going to kill me, okay?”

“As if. He literally hates me, he’d be glad if-”

“No. He can’t know. You-you’re his little sister. If he finds out I even looked at you this way, he-he’d end me where I stand. Trust me, Belle. If I break my promise, he'll never talk to me again.”

“What promise?”

“When we were little. He made me promise I wouldn’t like you.”

“And yet here you are. Naked in a lake with me.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. We all have our vices, princess.”

You lean into his touch again, pressing your lips against his, as the moon shines a bright light on the two of you in the dark.

four months later

You and Getou awkwardly stand in the kitchen, by the open bottles of champagne, as you both secretly circle the glasses behind your back. Getou has his moments - and this is one of them. When your parents put you on display like shiny trophies for their coworkers, bragging about how smart the two of you are.

“You decided where you’re going yet?”

“Tokyo or Kyoto, Toto.”

“Toto. Ew. You haven’t called me that since we were little, idiot.”

He brings his hand around your shoulder, tucking you into his arm as you lean against his shoulder, smiling. After Getou really realized you’d be leaving at the end of the year, he’s been nicer. Granted, he still fights like hell but he has his odd moments. Like this one.

“You’ll always be Get-toto to me.”

“I’ll get you a little Totoro plushie before you go, okay? So when those bastards you date fight with you, you’ll always be reminded you have a little bitch in you ready to fight.”

“Why are you praying for my downfall? You’re not gonna manifest a sweet, warm love for me?”

“Please. The guy you end up with will be all fireworks. Soft fireplace love has never been your thing.”

He ruffles your hair as Satoru walks up, his tie loosened already. He gives you a smile and then shakes hands with Getou, the three of you leaning against the granite countertops, watching your parents mingle through the crowd.

“D’you pick yet? Because Tokyo’s the right choice, Belle.”

“I’m still thinking, Satoru.”

“C’mon. Imagine it - you joining me and Getou in Tokyo. It would be really fun.”

Satoru’s just trying to piss you off. He knows that you’ve already picked Tokyo, because it means you don’t have to long distance date anymore. No more driving up to see each other in between, getting pulled away from each other by the constraints of time or distance or really anything else.

One of the smaller girls at the party tugs the end of your dress, whispering in her ear that she wants warm milk, which you happily oblige with. Satoru and Getou stay in their spots as you start rummaging through the kitchen, picking out a little glass and warming up the milk for her.

“Honey?”

“Yes, love?” Satoru responds, turning his gaze over to you.

You feel your eyes widen and Satoru’s face turn red as he looks over at you, realizing you were asking the girl if she wanted honey in her milk and not calling him. You both look over to Getou, who has a very strange look on his face that you can’t really discern.

Fuck.

You hand the girl her milk and stand farthest away from Satoru, giving Getou a weak smile as you all stare at the party again.

“Look. It’s Shayla.”

You and Satoru crane your necks over the other side of the room, one of your neighbors daughters saying hello to all the guests. Which you’re sure you’re getting to get a lecture about now, since you didn’t want to spend the time saying hi to all of them.

“Remember when you had a really big crush on her, Satoru? Since we were kids?”

“Uh, yeah. But I was just really little, y’know.”

You can feel your throat drying as Getou pushes on, each word making your heart burn in your chest.

“Yeah, but. She was basically your first love. Who forgets that? Who compares to that?”

“I don’t know if I would say she was my first l-”

“Then who is, Satoru? Because it’s not my sister, right?” he asks, his voice firm.

Satoru said that he would tell Getou when you officially announced you were going to Tokyo. Because once you lived in the same city, nothing would stop you from being with him - not even his best friend.

“No, no, why would it be her? She’s been annoying us since we were little, arguing with us and all that. You-you’re right. It is her. Shayla’s always been my type.” he says, his gaze lowering to the floor.

You feel your heart sink, twist into a jumbled mess as Getou smiles and gestures for her to come over. There’s a fair amount of protests from Satoru as she walks over, which you know is him trying to save face. He deals his final blow the second she walks up, definitively and wholly breaking your heart into pieces.

When Getou starts setting the two of them up. When Satoru actually takes her number down. When she presses a kiss to his cheek and winks before she walks away.

“I have to pee, Toto. Cover for me?”

“Yeah, got it.”

And the second you walk away and Getou watches you wipe the tears from your face as you walk past, Getou knows he’s right.

“Getou. You have to-”

“No, Satoru. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wait, what- you can’t just-”

“She’s my little sister. She’s not some toy you get to play around with till you figure out how you feel. And you don’t get to embarrass her by hiding her away either.”

“We were going to tell you when she told you she’s going to Tokyo. You-you’re the reason I hid her away. I’ve liked her for years and I put that away because you didn’t want me with her. And now I-”

“Don’t blame your shortcomings on me. Even if you did have to hide it in front of me, I would never call the girl I loved annoying to her face and throw everything she’s hated about herself in her face to make a point.”

“I didn’t- Getou you’re the one who made her hate that about herself and-”

“You love her?”

“Obviously. Why would I go to the trouble of hiding something when-”

“Talk to her again and I will literally break your face. In what world do you treat someone you love like that?”

As Satoru watches Getou walk away and thinks about how hard you’re crying upstairs, he realizes he’s in his worst nightmare. Losing his best friend and the girl he loved on the same day.

You and Satoru make promises that day.

He promises that he’ll wear his heart on his sleeve from this day forward. You promise that you’ll tuck your heart away where no one can ever touch it again.

present day

“You’re no fun, Y/N.” Itadori says, pushing the paper into your space.

“And you suck at tic-tac-toe.” you respond, sliding it back.

Nobara and Megumi laugh as the three of you sink back into your chairs in the back of the conference room, your marketing manager droning on about stocks, the future of the company, and god knows what as you try to drone him out and focus on winning your seventh round of tic-tac-toe with Itadori. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t take much.

“And lastly, we’ve employed a new marketing manager to work with the sales team. The four of you back there can decide who he’s going to be working with for onboarding.” says Ijichi.

You nod as the four of you turn to each other, matching smirks on your face.

“Rock paper scissors?” Nobara asks.

“Deal.”

It’s not that you’d hate to work with the new marketing manager. But the past three marketing managers were driven out by the end of the month because of you guys.

Megumi was too harsh with the first girl, who left crying when he asked her if she got her marketing degree from a trash can. Nobara drove the second guy away when she found out he chewed too loudly while eating lunch, claiming that he wasn’t a good fit for the company. And Itadori drove the last girl away, because she fell in love with him and he didn’t return her feelings, which made her resign the next day.

“You know, logically. It’s your turn.” Megumi says, holding his fist up to Itadori.

“Nope. We honor the rock paper scissors tournament in this friendship.

You mince your words four rounds later because you’re the pouty loser getting stuck with the stupid marketing manager. You slide back into your chair as you massage your temples, preparing yourself for the upcoming headache for the next month.

Either a lover, an incompetent idiot, or a loud chewer.

Nobara and Itadori sling their hands around your shoulders, pinching your cheeks, as Ijichi swings the door open and the marketing manager walks in. He readjusts his tie - loosely hanging from his neck - and when you lift your head to actually make eye contact with him, you immediately sit up in your chair, your skin burning.

Because Satoru Gojo is no longer six thousand miles away in Tokyo - out of sight and out of mind. He’s three feet away from you - taller, older, and more attractive than the time you saw him last.

Everyone files out of the conference room, leaving the two of you standing miles away from each other, with you refusing to meet his eye. He walks up and holds his hand out, a shy smile on his face.

“Satoru Gojo.”

You put your hand in his - the touch warm, soft, all the way you remembered it.

“Y/N L/N.” you respond, mimicking his voice.

“Y/N, huh? You look more like a Belle to me.” he responds, smirking as he walks out to your cubicle labeled right across.

You stomp right out, following him into your cubicle, as he takes the seat across from yours and starts eating the candy in your jar. You roll your eyes as you smack his hand, the smile on his face so big it's pissing you off.

“Just so you know, there’s a very notorious reputation for running out the idiot who takes your position. And trust me, I’ll have you out by the end of the week.”

“Is that a challenge, princess?”

“You can’t flirt with me. I’m technically your boss, Satoru.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. We all have our vices, princess.” he says, sticking one of your caramel candies in your mouth before pushing off your desk and making his way down the other side of the office.

Six hours later, you’re face planting into the table at dinner, the words echoing through your mind. Along with all the memories you buried deep, deep down and tried to forget. Of running off to the lake all summer, Satoru washing your hair softly in the showers after, of nestling up in his arms to call it a day.

Of Satoru rubbing circles into your back every time you fought with someone, of you kissing him after every fight he had with his dad, of whispering I love you against each other's lips like it was a sacred oath.

“You look horrible.” Megumi says, sharing a judgemental look with Itadori.

“Shut up.”

“It’s just one of those lame interns. Just do what Nobara did - say he smells bad.” Itadori responds, the three of them laughing.

You dig your forehead into your forearms, only lifting your head to drink more of Itadori’s beer, as the thoughts race through your head.

In all honesty, the problem has always been easy to avoid. Two years ago, Satoru smashed your heart into tiny pieces. You decided that you wouldn’t go to Tokyo or Kyoto like you planned and picked up everything and moved to New York instead.

You didn’t say goodbye. To him or to anyone. Your parents drove you to the airport and Getou gave one of those weird, repressed older brother hugs and then you turned on your heel and never went back.

You have a nice job. Friends who love you. Your dating life is abysmal at most - a long stream of guys you’ve ghosted, fought, and broken up with. Unfazed, unperturbed - calm, cool, and collected.

It doesn’t bother you. Because you stuck by your promise. That you’ll tuck your heart away where no one can touch it. But it only takes five minutes of interaction with him and you can feel the concrete walls around your heart turning into clay, softened by the sweetness he’s always possessed, the softness he’s always shared with you.

You have to drive him out of here as fast as you can.

Seven weeks later and Satoru remains at the company, steadfast and true.

It drives you crazy, having him around. So up in your space, his smell lingering in your cubicle even after he walks away. He makes stupid jokes that make you smile so hard that you’re fighting the tears in your eyes and flirts with no shame like it’s breathing air.

All in all, he’s everything you loved about Satoru, in your head again. In an even more attractive body, because of course time is nice to the asshole and he’s fit in all the right places.

You ignore him the best you can, until you can’t anymore.

You make it down to the parking lot, your high heels in your hand as you unlock your car and start loading your stuff into the trunk.

That’s when you see him, slumped against his car with the hood popped open, with a very, very confused look on his face. You clear your throat loudly, which catches his attention.

“Oh. Heading out late, Y/N?”

“Looks like it. You?”

“Ah. I actually meant to leave early today but my car hasn’t been starting so.”

You take one look at his pouty face and give in. You slam the trunk of your car shut and whisper the words out, so fast that you can’t even think to regret them.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, Satoru. Unless you want to stay here for the rest of the weekend, then be my guest.”

He gives you the brightest smile you’ve seen as he all but jogs over and settles into the front seat of your car, slumping down in the seat that’s pushed all the way up. You back up out of the parking garage as he plugs in the address for his apartment, a modest thirty minutes away from the office.

“You know, you can move the chair back. I’m not going to bite your head off if you do.”

He laughs and you see his shoulders deflate as he adjusts the seat, his long legs now spread in the open compartment underneath him.

“What a shame. I’m into that type of thing, Y/N.”

“Always the perverted one, weren’t you?” you respond, smiling over at him.

Stop it, Y/N. Stop it.

“Who the hell sits up here anyway? A toddler?”

“Oh. It was just this guy I was talking to. He was really short but he always felt the need to monitor my driving so he pulled the seat all the way up to watch the lines.” you respond, turning left onto the street.

“Ah. One of your many romantic escapades, so I’m told. I’ve heard you’ve become quite the player, Y/N.” he says, leaning against the glass.

“Learned from the best, Satoru. Except this time, I don’t get overinvolved.” you respond.

He laughs, leaning back in the chair as you both fall into a comfortable silence, the tension hanging in the air eating at your skin. It hangs in the air, like an embarrassing elephant in the room.

Satoru’s the one who pokes it.

“Then, you should get involved with me. Again.”

You keep your promises to yourself. But Satoru keeps his too. An oath to wear his heart on his sleeve is translated into him fighting to get you back.

You slam the breaks so hard that his forehead goes straight into the sun visor, a groan leaving his mouth. You apologize and immediately reach forward, cupping the side of his face and eyeing the angry red mark on his forehead.

“Yikes. I’m sorry, Cyclops. That caught me off guard.”

“Be careful, there. Almost thought you cared for a second.” he says, smirking.

You park the car in front of his apartment and look out the window, the words making your head spin.

“You know, I can tell you want to.” he says.

You turn around and frown, reaching forward to flick into the soft skin of his cheek.

“Please. You’re not even all that-”

“You brushed your hand against mine when we walked to the conference room. I caught you staring at me during the company lunch on Thursday. And I know you just stopped talking to the short guy because Itadori told me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst has happened. Because for the second time, you are irrevocably and deeply in love with Satoru Gojo.

Maybe you never stopped.

Just like you were when you were seven, you’re incredibly drawn to him, like two magnets being pulled together. What was supposed to be one date, one lousy hookup like every other guy you’ve talked to in the past year turned into a complicated, mushy gushy feelings mess.

You stayed over at his house that night. But then he was shirtless, singing in the kitchen as he made you breakfast in bed the next morning. And little by little, he’s crawled into every little part of your life.

He insists on driving you to work, buying you a sugary overpriced latte you would never splurge on for yourself and a pastry to go with it on the way. He claims he doesn’t want any but reaches over the seat to take a bite and then press a chocolatey kiss to your lips.

He hangs out with you and your friends after work. And like always, he always backs you up in the thousands of petty arguments he has with each of them and then tells you that it turns him on when he drives you home.

He draws little shapes into your skin every night, asking you to guess the little drawings he’s making while his soft, smooth voice lulls you to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t help but watch him, the little freckles he had when he was seventeen still the same.

It makes your heart warm. The soft feelings you’ve always had for him, they make you warm.

Which is why you curse yourself for ever thinking things could be different, when he drops the ball three months later.

“Can you drive me to the airport on Friday, princess?” he asks, his breaths tickling your nose.

“Where are you going, Toru?” you murmur, burrowing yourself deeper into his skin.

“Home. The job posting was temporary, remember?” he responds, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“Oh. Are- you’re not going to look for a job here?’

“Nah. Time’s up right?” he says, the question hanging in the air.

And when you wake up the next morning, to find him in your kitchen with a bowl of cereal all poured out for you and a bouquet of flowers, you can’t help but yell at him. After the shit he pulled last night.

“You should probably go to your apartment and pack your stuff up. Since you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“We can do it tomorrow, Belle. Most of my stuff is here anyway.” he says, holding the bowl close to his mouth as he leans over the counter.

“I can’t take you tomorrow. Megs said he will so you can ask him for help. He-he’s actually on his way now to get you.” you murmur, crossing your hands against your chest.

He frowns, coming up close to you to wrap his arms around you which you quickly side shuffle out of. You push past him and walk into the kitchen, clutching the countertop hard. Satoru smiles to himself before he turns around, knowing he’s won the war.

“Do you want me to stay, Belle?”

You roll your eyes, the audacity of him even suggesting that just pissing you off more. Irritated, because of course he said that. Agitated, because he can read you like a book.

“No, Satoru. Go home.”

“You sure? Because it seemed like-”

“Do you really think it would bother me if you left, Satoru? Do you really think you’re different from any other guy I talked to?”

Satoru frowns, the angry look on your face the opposite of the love-struck, warm confession he was expecting. But then again, this was you. Argumentative to your core - so he just needs to wrangle it out of you.

“I know I’ve been here longer than the rest of them, that’s for sure.”

“And do you think that makes you special, Satoru? Do you sincerely, genuinely think any of that means I would want you to stay right now?”

“Well, wait- I’m not just any other guy now, you and I, we-”

“We what? Have history? A long term fling doesn’t make us soulmates, Satoru.”

“That wasn’t a fling. You and I were-”

“You and I were no different than what we are now, Satoru. You should have known to not get over involved. I told you from the start that this is how it would be. You leaving didn’t faze me the first time and it won’t faze me the second time either, sweetheart.”

Satoru moves past you, yanking his hoodie on and grabbing his key off the hook as he swings the door open. And when he shuts the door behind you, his tear-stained face being the last thing you see, you sink onto the floor and can’t help but sob.

For the first boy you ever loved. Who burned you so bad, that you burned him too. Who soothed over every angry, irritating, argumentative part of you, until it was something you unleashed on him too.

You wonder why you let yourself into these sinkholes in the first place.

“Hey, man. Have a safe flight home, okay? It was nice getting to know you.” Itadori says, lugging the last of Satoru’s luggage out of the back.

Satoru gives Itadori one last hug before Megumi starts lugging his bags into the terminal with him, the intense feelings from the day prior still hanging on his chest.

“You-you’ll take care of her right? After I’m gone?” Satoru asks, as he pulls into the line.

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

“Oh. Yeah, I will. This time around though, I’m not letting Itadori and Nobara invite her to the bar.”

Satoru smiles, the thought of you drunk, making his heart ache. One of his many favorite sights is you on your fourth glass of wine - when your lips are all pink and when you climb all over him, whispering the corniest, cheesiest things that come to mind.

“Princess. You’re kind of cutting off my circulation here.”

“Sss-sorry, Satoru. Wanted to get closer.” you whisper, tangling your arms around his neck and readjusting in his lap.

“What’s closer than this princess? You’re literally on top of me right now.” he responds, cupping your face to push the hair away from your face.

“Not close enough.”

“The only thing closer than this is if you crawled into my skin and became a part of my bloodstream.”

“Is there a way to do that? Because I would.”

“You wanna be that close to me, huh princess?”

“Even when I’m sitting right next to you, right on top of you, literally skin to skin - I still can’t get enough of you. I want to be this close, all the time.”

Satoru shakes the memory from his mind as the people behind him gesture him to move forward in line, his heart hanging heavier in his chest.

“She always drinks too much, doesn’t she?” he says.

“Well, yeah. It’s usually funny. But now she’s going to go back into her moping, angsty teenager phase for the next seven months. I’ll probably be dragging her out of that bar on her legs, for all I know.”

“Y/N? Angsty? That’s real funny.”

“No, I’m telling you. When we first met her, all this girl did was cry in the bar. Her sadness was like…contagious or whatever it was making me depressed. One time she sang All Too Well, on the countertop while sobbing until the bartender literally had to kick her ass out.”

“The first guy she dated when she moved here was that bad, huh?”

“No. Itadori and Nobara have this running theory, they’ve been trying to figure out who he is for a while. The one thing we know for sure is that he’s definitely from her hometown and that she broke up with him right before she moved here.”

And that’s when Satoru gets it. That you’re a goddamn liar. And that you definitely did want him to stay.

Satoru does the only thing he can. Drops everything and runs straight out the airport to make his way back to your apartment. He’ll be damned if he makes the same mistake twice.

You look up from your spot, sprawled on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, when you hear a key turn in the lock. You immediately sit up to find Satoru, an almost angry look on his face, when he storms in and bends down in front of you.

“Forget your diapers, grandpa?”

“Shut up, Y/N.”

“It’s a long flight. You don’t want to have an accident do you?”

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, squishing hard so you can’t get another word. And what he says next, the same words he uttered to you in that stupid lake, sober you u pearl fast.

“Princess, I really, really love it when you argue with me like that but can you please just let me finish?”

You swallow hard as he gives you a satisfied smile, giving him a soft nod.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“God, Satoru. Just quit it with this shit, I already told you no and I mean-”

“You also told me that it didn’t faze you when we broke up the first time. But then I find out, you were slurring my name in bars and crying about it for months.”

“So? Do you want a cookie or something?”

“So you’re a liar. And now I want to know the truth. Do you want me to stay?”

His eyes are burning, bigger than you’ve ever seen them. The gaze itself is piercing, making the ends of your hair stand up on your arms and legs. You shake his hand off your face as you stand up, scrambling to the other side of the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to stay.”

“Yes, you do. You’re lying, Y/N.”

“No, I’m not. One measly piece of information my friends mention in passing doesn’t mean it’s about you, Satoru.”

He brings his hands around your wrist, curling his fingers around the skin and squeezing twice.

“I made the dumbest mistake of my life. I had an opportunity, a real one to be honest about how I felt and I fucked it up, okay? I’ve regretted it every day since you walked away. You were going to go to school - with me. We were going to be together. But then you picked up everything and move to the other side of the fucking planet to halfheartedly date all these guys without a care in the world.”

“What does stating facts do for you, Satoru? What is it you want me to say?”

“You know what I want to hear. Say it, Belle.”

“What? That I left because of you? That I loved you so much that it made my heart hurt? That every second I’m around you it only feels like my love gets bigger for you? That the only person I can’t bring myself to get over is you? Because what does me saying that do for me because you’re just going to-”

Satoru smiles before he closes the space between you, pushing you into the counter and cradling your cheeks in his hand. He’s leaning into the kiss, so hard that you can feel almost his entire body weight on you as his lips press against yours.

He’s shaking hard and smiling into the kiss, pulling you back in every time you try to stop, his hands running in your hair as he laughs into your mouth.

“Was it so hard to tell me that you wanted me to stay?” he whispers, giggling into your ear as he presses kisses into your neck.

“Was it so hard to tell me you wanted to? You just had to come have this big moment with me here when-”

“Yes, I did. You deserved a big, lengthy love confession when you were seventeen, at that stupid party. I’m trying to do right by you through this dramatic shit now.”

“Because this is doing right by me? Making me cry and then running back?”

“It’s romantic, princess. I ran out of an airport for you.”

“After we argued. That kind of puts a damper on it.”

“Oh, shut up. You know argumentative girls have always been my thing.”

You place your hands around his face, yanking his head out of the crook of your neck as you hold his face in your hands, the skin soft. He still has all the little freckles, the same eyes and nose that you loved when you were seventeen.

That you love. You love him.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get a key to my house?”

He rolls his eyes as he breaks out of your hold, sticking his tongue out at you.

“That would have been a really sweet moment for a confession. You ruined it, princess.”

You smile as you make your way into his arms again, looking up at him from his hold.

“I made a copy of your key, Y/N.”

“That’s illegal, Toru. Breaking and entering.”

“You like to argue. I like to break rules. Everyone has their vices.”

You bring your hands back up to his cheeks again, the smile on your face hurting your cheeks as you press a kiss to the side of his cheek.

“Isn’t love the greatest vice, Toru?” you whisper.

“Maybe for me. Every normal thing hits different when it comes to you.” he says, closing the space between you two again.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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echo-bleu · 4 months

Text

shine still brighter (2/?)

Chapter 1 | On AO3. Deaf!Artanis bullet-point fic.

And I'm back with some linguistics! I barely have an idea where I'm going, but writing this AU is a lot of fun.

Three weeks later, Arafinwë brings little Artanis to Fëanáro’s office. She’s immediately entranced by all the shiny gems and strange little contraptions that are everywhere and she tries to touch them, and Arafinwë is terrified that she’ll break something and Fëanáro will explode.

“Let her,” Fëanáro shrugs. “There’s nothing in there that I can’t afford to replace. It’s mostly old prototypes, anyway.”

Right. His twins are a year younger than Artanis. He’s used to little children running around and being curious.

He brandishes a sheet of paper. “This is just a very rough sketch, and sign language is terribly frustrating because you can’t really write it down, but I’ve thought of ways to go beyond the basic mimic gestures and into the symbolic, which is really what you need for a language to express complex thoughts. We can use spatial variation to express basic grammar, such as tenses. A flexible word order can also take us a long way. Using the entire body opens up an incredible number of fascinating options, think of facial expressions alone! A smile or a frown could be used to modulate any statement into a question or an affirmation, or even something else entirely! We could have a specific mood for reporting speech whose origin is doubtful, for example. And the potential for spatial morphology! I really need to talk to some dancers about this, they might have new ideas. Or theatre comedians, maybe. Oh, and I’ve also devised a signed alphabet based on my Tengwar, for direct translation. It won’t be immediately useful, of course, but you’ll be able to teach her to read and write more easily, and it can be used for names and maybe homonym disambiguation.”

Arafinwë has not understood any of that, except that Fëanáro is very excited.

Fëanáro has never been excited at him before.

It’s a very intense experience.

“…can you teach us?” he asks, a little winded.

Fëanáro once spent a decade learning the languages of various wild animals, one after the other, so he could in turn teach them to Tyelkormo. Of course he can teach them.

“It’s not a complete language yet,” he warns. “I can’t make a language for her. She’ll have to make it her own.”

“…okay.”

“I’m calling it Mátengwië.”

‘Language of the hands’. Fair enough.

He goes to sit cross-legged in front of Artanis.

She puts down the shiny brass model of a windmill she was playing with and looks at him.

She doesn’t instantly scream in his ear, which is a good thing, because Arafinwë has clear memories of Fëanáro excusing himself from meals because of the noise he and his siblings were making.

“Hello,” Fëanáro says, deliberately moving his hands into signs. “I’m your uncle and I’m going to teach you some signs.”

Arafinwë’s heart jumps at “uncle” (Fëanáro has never forgotten the “half” before, when he even bothers to acknowledge them as family).

Most likely he hasn’t invented a sign for “half” yet, but that seems like a strange oversight on his part, given his insistence.

Artanis is fascinated.

“We’ll start with simple words.”

Fëanáro is speaking slowly, because he’s not fluent with the signs yet, but he doesn’t baby-talk. Arafinwë isn’t sure what Artanis actually understands of this – she can recognize some words from their lip-shape, but not consistently, and definitely not whole sentences.

The signs don’t seem to look like anything, not like the ones Findaráto made up. Those were all easily understandable in context.

But within a few hours, Artanis and Arafinwë both have a handful of new signs for everyday items and tasks.

Fëanáro uses clever ways of mimicking and pointing to explain them to Artanis, and she seems to catch on immediately.

Then she spends the rest of the lesson pointing at various things around the office for Fëanáro to name.

Artanis’s signs are a bit sloppy and simplified, because she doesn’t have much dexterity yet, and Arafinwë’s are self-conscious (because doing literally anything in front of Fëanáro makes him self-conscious), but they’ve communicated more in one afternoon than they have in the last two years.

And it’s thanks to Fëanáro.

Ñolofinwë is never going to believe it.

And Fëanáro was bearable the whole time.

Scratch that, he was nice. He teased a little, but it was never mean, and never directed at Artanis. And he laughed at his own mistakes just as much.

Arafinwë actually had a good time.

They go back the next afternoon.

And the next.

They get to basic grammar and full sentences.

Artanis is opening up again.

She still gets frustrated a lot, and she’ll slam the door and lock herself in her bedroom whenever that happens, but she retains and uses each sign that Fëanáro shows her.

Arafinwë does his best to keep up.

Findaráto is still not doing too well, but he notices the changes, and after a couple of weeks, he begs for permission to come with them.

Fëanáro seems a little doubtful at adding a teenager to the mix, but Findaráto, if he has sufficient motivation, is an excellent student.

He takes to signing like a fish to water, faster than Arafinwë, and faster even than Artanis, who doesn’t have the benefit of translation.

Within a few more weeks, Fëanáro and Findaráto, and Arafinwë to a lesser degree, are capable of basic conversation in the sign language, allowing Artanis, by imitation, to start moving beyond naming objects and easily demonstrable actions, and into the abstract.

It’s beautiful to witness.

It’s still not a complete language by any means. Fëanáro repeats that warning several times per session, though Arafinwë doesn’t completely understand why it’s important.

It’s important because as they make up more and more sentences, they’re starting to hit at the limits of what Fëanáro has built.

It is not long before Artanis and Findaráto are inventing their own words, at first by combining signs or miming things, but soon enough they’re using their instincts and coming up with brand-new signs. And sentence structures. And grammatical elements.

It’s fascinating to Fëanáro.

(Contrary to popular opinion, he’s not a prescriptivist. The thorn issue is specifically sensible to him because it relates to his mother and he’s entirely irrational about it, but he’s otherwise endlessly happy to watch language evolve and he’s tracked all of his sons’ linguistic progression from when they were born, with charts and all, well into their adulthood, recording all the teenage innovation that other elves tend to scorn.)

Findaráto’s innovations in sign language are mostly based on Quenya, making up signs to translate words from his mother tongue.

Artanis’s innovations are astonishing. Entirely new ways of expressing concepts, of stacking signs on top of each other, of using space and her body to explain abstract ideas.

She takes Fëanáro’s basic concept and elevates it in a way he would never have thought about.

He hasn’t felt the rush of shared creation since he was Mahtan’s apprentice.

He can feel it with Nerdanel when they try something entirely new that isn’t either of their fields (like, say, making children) but in his chosen fields, everyone else is too far below his level to follow him.

And now this tiny child, who is far from being able to keep up with his linguistics knowledge, is making leaps and bounds that he would have never imagined.

He is obsessed.

Arafinwë is getting a little concerned.

He’s also getting frustrated, because he was never good at the word invention games that many of the Noldor are so fond of, and now he’s getting left behind in his children’s learning.

Angaráto and Aikanáro are learning signs bit by bit, enthusiastically, uncaring about having atrocious grammar and form in the way only children can. Artanis frowns and corrects them with a serious face that’s absolutely adorable.

Eärwen is struggling because of her fatigue, but she’s better than Arafinwë at getting to the essentials, at mastering the phrases and signs that she needs first without getting into complex, abstract things. It means that she misses some of Artanis’s rapid development, but at least she can tell her daughter that she loves her

And to stop screaming in their ears to get their attention.

Generally, things are getting better. Findaráto is coming out of his shell, Artanis gets frustrated far less often, and astonishingly, Fëanáro is being nice to Arafinwë even outside of the lessons.

The lessons are really more of an excuse for Fëanáro to document Artanis’s progress, she doesn’t actually need his help any more, though she’s surprisingly open to his suggestions to make a turn of phrase more elegant, or a sign more economical.

Surprisingly, because she’s not taking anyone else’s advice.

On anything.

Being able to communicate hasn’t made her any less stubborn.

She insists on doing everything herself, and now that she has a language of her own, she’s started to resent people who don’t sign.

Findaráto’s translations, even though he tries hard, aren’t good enough for her.

She refuses to play with anyone who can’t sign to her satisfaction.

Understandable reaction—but unfortunately impractical, because she has little patience for anyone who don’t sign as well as she does, which means the only people she’ll voluntarily spend time with are Fëanáro, Findaráto and maybe Arafinwë, on a good day.

Fëanáro has shown an incredible amount of good will so far, but he’s very busy. Mátengwië may have become one of his special projects, it’s still only one of them.

Specifically, aside from his princely and fatherly duties, he’s working on ways to capture light inside gems.

He can’t spend all of his days with a child that isn’t even his.

Findaráto is about to start university and needs to focus on his studies, however much he loves his sister. And socializing exclusively with a child isn’t very good for him, coming out of several years of depression.

“Eärwen and I have been talking about tutors,” Arafinwë tells Fëanáro one day. “Artanis is more than old enough to need one now, but none of them can sign with her. And she doesn’t read or write yet.”

“Reading will be a challenge,” Fëanáro confirms. “She doesn’t know Quenya, she will need to learn an entirely new language and medium at the same time. But she’s very bright, she’ll pick it up.”

“But who can teach her? I tried to start, but didn’t make any progress, she lacks any patience for what she doesn’t understand.”

“That’s not strictly true,” Fëanáro chuckles, remembering hours-long conversations with little Artanis about subjects as varied as which of her brothers is the most intelligent and what should be the right hand-shape for the word “turtle”. “But this particular challenge is understandably frustrating. I will teach her.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. As for tutors, I suggest Tulcasar, once she’s proficient with writing.”

“The loremaster? They’ve always refused to tutor any of us, I know Father asked them.”

Fëanáro laughs. “They tutored me before you were born. They will only accept the brightest students, they dislike children who cannot keep up with them. They lasted two weeks with Findis.”

Arafinwë tries very hard not to feel offended. Fëanáro isn’t even saying it as an insult, he’s so confident in his own superiority that it doesn’t register to him that it might be belittling.

“They’re tutoring Morifinwë and Curufinwë part-time right now,” Fëanáro continues. “My eldest two were never as interested in academic pursuits. Tulcasar will enjoy the challenge of learning Mátengwië, and Artanis is bright enough to keep them on their toes.”

“Alright,” Arafinwë says carefully.

“In the meantime, for the other subjects, you might ask Nelyafinwë or Morifinwë. You know Nelyafinwë adores her. And Morifinwë could use the challenge. I think he’s been feeling a little inadequate since Turkafinwë was accepted into the Hunt and Curufinwë got me to promise him an apprenticeship. He hasn’t found his craft yet.”

“Does he even need a craft?” Arafinwë asks. “I don’t have one. Findaráto is showing no sign of choosing a single field, and neither has Findekáno. Or Father, for that matter.”

“He thinks he does, at least,” Fëanáro says. “Perhaps Nerdanel and I have encouraged that a little too much. He persists in learning to paint, thinking it will please his mother, but I doubt it will ever be more than a hobby. If tutoring Artanis could help him realize that his strengths are more in academia, I would be grateful.”

“Fine, I will ask him. On one condition.”

Fëanáro raises an eyebrow—they both know that Arafinwë isn’t the one doing him a favour, here. But Arafinwë persists nonetheless, because he’s been meaning to bring up the topic.

“Let Maitimo finish his apprenticeship with Ñolofinwë. You know Father is not a good teacher, and he dislikes statecraft, for all that he is the King. Your hang-ups with our brother are hindering your son.”

He fully expects Fëanáro to get angry, only hoping that he’s accumulated sufficient goodwill that it won’t be the end of what friendship they have managed of late.

But Fëanáro laughs.

“You have been away from court for too long, Ara. Nelyafinwë has been shadowing Ñolofinwë for years.”

Arafinwë frowns. “The change hasn’t been acknowledged.”

“Does it need to be?”

Maybe it doesn’t. Let Fëanáro keep his pride and his misplaced grudge intact. He’s been fairly quiet about Ñolofinwë lately, no need to push him into another bout of paranoia.

And so Artanis starts taking reading and writing lessons from Fëanáro in the morning and spends many afternoons with Maitimo or Carnistir. Arafinwë and Findaráto come along the first few times, but it quickly becomes clear that she’s in good hands, and that their presence is hindering her more than helping. Arafinwë starts spending more time at court, since the family are now in Tirion a lot more.

Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë are actually being polite to each other. It’s quite a sight to see.

Things are going quite well, really.

#shine still brighter #galadriel #feanor #finarfin #finrod #silmarillion #silm #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkien fanfiction #silm fic #echo's fanfiction #disabled tolkien characters

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youn9racha · 2 years

Text

URMUSE.COM

pairing: sex worker!chan x afab client!reader

genre: smut

synopsis: your friends pity you for your lack of sex life and constant sexual frustration, so one of them offered a program where one could possibly make your fantasy a reality.

warning/disclaimer: chan is referred to as chris/christopher, mentions of sex work, "anonymous"/masked sex, piv, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), whiny and shy sub!chan, insecure dom!reader, slight auralism/voice kink, oral sex, restraints, slight cum play, mentions of dacryphilia and cnc, edging, discussions of safe words (but not used), mentions of poly!minho and open relationships, labels (mistress/pup/good boy/etc.), praise, some cock slapping, felix being a flirt, reader goes by she/her, straight up porn with a little bit of a plot (but not really).

words: 5.5k

a/n: heavily inspired by that one thought i had and also @h0neydewmoon encouraged me with this filth so that’s that. i haven’t written straight up pwp in a bit, i didn’t really intend to make another chan smut (especially since most my work is chan related) but here we are once again. also, i'm sorry if there are some inaccuracies to anything when it comes to subjects of sex work. i tried my best to research, but if there's any inaccuracy, please respectfully call me out on it and i'll fix it up, but otherwise this is fictional so hope thats okay🙏🙏

taglist: @ethereallino, @h0neydewmoon, @lix-ables, @nightlychans

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

The nightlife was soaring outside your apartment complex, you could almost hear the techno music blaring outside as the active night parties illuminates the futuristic city you live in. Skyscrapers project exciting ads and trailers mixing with the sounds of laughs and singing livened the city. It wasn’t like there was a holiday or anything of that sort, it was a regular weekend for everyone—it’s commonly known as the nights of the youngs as proclaimed by the party locals.

but you couldn’t be bothered to participate the night, unfortunately, as you sigh away your misery on Hyunjin’s thighs as you vent about your sex life, while your other friend, Minho, and Hyunjin just nod at your frustration as they listen attentively to you. You weren’t necessarily a prude or a virgin; you just happened to have bad luck when it comes to hooking up. It is ironic how you live in the city of parties yet have no game in the hooking up scene.

It wasn’t that you were against it, or afraid of people; you were merely scared of your fantasies and the judgments you would get. You never really had the safest concept in terms of what happens in the bedrooms, and you almost always happen to stay behind the rails to not scare away whoever your sex partner is. While you acknowledge that you don’t live in an era where expressing yourself was a sin, you still must be cautious about certain triggers one could have.

Minho and Hyunjin were very understanding and often try to let you know that there’s nothing with expressing yourself, but you were still very shy and maintained a shell tough to crack.

“How about we do it for you? I’m sure Hyunjin’s down for a threesome,” Minho once commented making you cringe at his statement and Hyunjin just widened his eyes at him shocked at the abrupt comment. You could never see yourself in that situation. Yes, the two men are good-looking and are—in your humble opinion—fuckable men for a lack of a better word, but you still can’t put yourself in friends with benefits situation with either.

And even if you didn’t care for that situation and the offer was up, it wasn’t like it’s going to do you any solid because Minho was in a committed relationship, and you weren’t about to be a homewrecker of a friend, meanwhile, Hyunjin was sort of “holding himself back” or whatever that meant. Either way, you wouldn’t take either in a heartbeat, no matter how desperate you may be; like how you are right now.

“(y/n), there is many fish in the sea who are willing to go through whatever kinks you’re into,” Minho said, speaking as if he was stating a common fact, while Hyunjin agrees as he twirls your hair, “yeah, you’re also really attractive, I feel like anyone would give you a pass,” Hyunjin adds.

You shook your head, “no, I can’t, I’m scared to make one freak out from my elaborate fantasies.”

“C’mon, I bet they’re not bad,” Hyunjin said, you got up and looked up at Hyunjin, “would you fuck someone to the point they’d start tearing up and telling you to stop but you still carry on either way because their helpless cries turn you on?”

Hyunjin just widened his eyes, attempting to process your questions as he stumbles and huffs out an answer.

“I would,” Minho affirms.

“You have a partner, Lino.” You grumbled, throwing your head back.

“So?” Minho crosses his arms, “we don’t mind having a plus one if you get my drift.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll find someone.” Hyunjin side-eyed Minho, before proceeding to comfort you. Minho could only knit his eyebrows at the two of you as he sits there uncertain before rolling his eyes, “alright fine, I actually have something that could help you two, but since you two—”

“Minho, no one’s interested in joining your open relationship,” Hyunjin argued back, while you face palmed yourself, knowing the headache that may come with the upcoming altercation that will ensue. Minho retorted back at Hyunjin and insisted that it wasn’t about his relationship, and this time he sounded more serious than previously.

“It’s this place called URMUSE. It’s where you basically fill out a form and you tell them what you like and then they book a room for you there to live out your fantasy with your desired ‘muse’. It’s like Disney world but for grown-ups.”

Hyunjin’s cringed-out expression deepened, thinking you’d react the same, but unbeknownst to him, you were slightly intrigued, hoping he’d carry further on with information. You never would have thought you’d resort to that level, but desperate calls call for desperate measures as one would say.

“Really, Minho? First off, never call a place like that ‘Disney world’ again. And second, you really think (y/n) would actually—”

“How do I get the reservation?” You interrupted Hyunjin, making the man astonished by your choice of interest.

Hyunjin knew you longer than Minho did, but to say you’d be down to go to a sex worker was a surprise to him, even Minho was slightly taken aback by your excitement—although he didn’t mind it. Hyunjin however was rather baffled by your abruption. It wasn’t that you were against the whole sex work thing, it was just not something you don’t about often, and you three knew this. But you were really desperate to let your demons, and what better way to take out your sexual frustration is on someone who’s an expert with these things?

“(y/n), are you serious?” Hyunjin asked, and you nodded at him, “yes, Hyunjin, I’m grown, I can make my decision.” With that, Hyunjin closed his open mouth, as if he wanted to say something but went against it before turning to his other friend.

“Now can you tell me more about the site?”

It had been a week since that encounter with Minho and Hyunjin and your mind is still at war on whether going to the site and getting a ‘muse’ was a good idea or not. While you were excited and up for it at first, you still drew yourself back as your self-doubts began acting up again. What if this place didn’t provide what you asked? What if it was a time and money waster and didn’t live up to your expectation? What if Minho is actually dragging you into a sex cult and you didn’t know?

The last question was farfetched, sure, but you wouldn’t know. You hate how you had to question everything and place yourself in a shell when it comes to sexual expression. You knew you weren’t going to get judged, but your mind constantly plays with your head with topics like this, by convincing you that you were a freak and a maniac for enjoying what you’re enjoying.

“Why would anyone like to get tied up or tying someone up? That’s some kidnapper shit,” your brain constantly teases you. But you knew you weren’t, you hear Minho’s experience with his partner—or partners—and Hyunjin’s past sexual experiences, and you couldn’t help but secretly get jealous of your friends for being carefree about their needs. Sure, they’re both men, and oftentimes nobody will bat an eyelash if a man expresses any sexual needs, but there is no time for commentary on this matter—you want to be railed or rail someone.

You sighed as you opened your computer and started to type away on your search engine, you muttered to yourself what you were typing and opened the first link that popped up.

“URMUSE—THE PLACE WHERE ALL YOUR FANTASIES COME TRUE!”

What an eerie welcome, you thought to yourself as you read the slogan. You scrolled away and inspected their whole site. You thought that the site was legit; it had easy-to-read sections, provides information about the muses and important guidelines, and the site seemed like it was like you were reserving for paradise rather than an organized brothel—it even carried reviews.

You seemed convinced enough to hover your mouse down to the “find your muse” option and clicked and the link opened to a form; just like how Minho described it. Minho knew about this site because he used to be an active member and was even offered to work there as their muse only for him to reject as he wasn’t interested, which adds to the authenticity of this place. Now you were staring at the form in front of you, waiting for it to be filled.

“This is more intimidating than college application… guess here goes nothing.” You sighed before typing away your information and your preferences.

After filling out the form, you received an email from the place in the most eerily warming with an exciting letter that was graphically designed from them which says;

Hey there, (y/n)

We’re so excited for your first time at URMUSE, we welcome you full of joy and excitement. Based on your application and the preference you have given to us, we have booked you a session with our popular muse, Christopher, to help you fulfill your fantasy. If you’re interested in changing your muse or would like to make a change, just contact us at xx-xxx-xxxx.

You practically stopped reading as you were not interested in any change, you have paid your price and the date was given from when you go and have your time there. You have told the news to both of your best friends, only for you to get mixed reactions.

Minho was ecstatic, he was glad that you took his advice, and followed through with what he said, hoping you have the time of your life, “yay! I can’t wait for the stories, oh and make sure you tip them well if they did a good job, they’ll highly appreciate it!”

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was apprehensive. It wasn’t that he was against you doing this, he was just unsure if this is the right way to do it. He is no angel; he himself did go to brothels similar to URMUSE but he just thought you’d be overwhelmed by the environment and was worried you were going to regret it, “I’m not telling you to not go, especially since you’ve paid, but I’m telling you to watch yourself…”

While responses were different, still you sensed their caring nature, especially since both were adamant about calling them if someone tried to hurt you or something, but either way, you reassured them and you appreciated their thoughtfulness.

Fast forward to the date, it was finally that time to meet up with your muse and hopefully not be disappointed or judged by him. From the time you got the email, you wanted to research this Christopher guy, you knew he was popular but you didn’t want to see his face as you didn’t want it to tamper with your fantasy that you may embark in. You asked Minho if he can do it for you without showing you what he looks like, and he gladly accepted to help.

While in a facetime call, you see Minho creating a bunch of facial expressions, mainly an impressed expression based on his smirk, his raised eyebrows, and the way he pushed out his bottom lips.

“What?” You asked, brows knitted as Minho chuckles at the screen he was seeing and shakes his head, “oh boy, (y/n), you’re one lucky bitch.”

“What?!” you dragged out as you repeated

“Well, you said you don’t want details, but from what I can see, your boy Christopher? He’s—he’s a good one,” Minho said, trying to make it as vague as he can, which made you regret asking him to do the research in front of you as now your curiosity was practically pushing you further on going against your plans.

However, thankfully you eased yourself with it and didn’t let temptation win you over, especially since the date wasn’t far from the email you have gotten. Now you were on your way to the place for your session. Minho and his partner suggested that you should wear lingerie, be minimal with the make-up, and most importantly have fun. They also mentioned that the place also offers safe names so make sure you mention it at some point. You just had to keep a lot of mental notes before going in there.

Your taxi was driving you there, but not exactly at the place, but rather somewhere close. Once again, you let your insecurity eat you up when it comes to sex, shaming yourself for going to such a place, and being scared to be judged. It was too late to back down anyway, so you just accepted it, but you still hoped the ride would be done and over with, so you wouldn’t have to look at the poor taxi man in the face.

Once arriving, you paid your driver, and you were out of the car. Once you were sure the driver was gone, you walked in the direction of the place until you found the sign that made you eye up at it. The red cursive logo sign made it seem like it was a nightclub rather than what you thought would be a kin to a love hotel, however you didn’t let it drive you away and walked in there. You walked in and you saw a beautiful, blonde boy standing behind the counter, he maintained the prettiest smile as well as had the most radiant aura you have ever seen on a boy, you weren’t sure whether to feel small and intimidated or thirst over him just right where you stand.

“Hi, welcome to URMUSE, this is Felix, how am I help you?” The pretty boy behind the counter, Felix, spoke. You thought his cute presence was very contradicting to the vulgar environment he is in, but you can’t really judge him as you don’t know him well enough to confirm.

“Uh, hi, um,” you stammered nervously, “I have an appoint—I mean a reservation with my muse—I mean Christopher! Under the name (y/n).” you mentally face palmed yourself for what you thought was being an idiot, but Felix seems to think otherwise as he chuckles lightly.

“This is your first time right?” He asked, with a smile, however, the warmth in his smile contradicts the eyes he had as he examined your nervous being before going back to the computer to check for your name.

“Uh, yeah, y’know, just trying out new things and expanding my horizons and stuff,” you nervously rambled, once again mentally slapping yourself for making a fool of yourself, which amuses Felix rather than turns him off. “You’re so cute, you know that?” he comments. Which made you blush at the sudden comment, unsure whether he was being genuine or not, but either way, it was a confidence booster, and you took it anyway.

“Ugh, what a shame,” Felix pouted, making you frown, “you do have an appointment with Chris, ugh, he’s so lucky, can’t help but be jealous.”

To say Felix’s comment made your heart drop would be an understatement, but you weren’t sure if it was him leaving you off guard by pretending that the reservation was not there, or him telling you that he wanted to be in Christopher’s place, either way, so far, you were glad you’ve spent your money on this.

“Oh well, how about you follow me right this way, yeah?” Felix raised his hand in the direction of the hallway. You only smiled back at him politely as you two walked into the bright red hallway that had wooden maroon doors on each side with numbers written on the side with red or green lights radiating out of the panel, presumably to indicate the availability of the rooms.

“Are the walls soundproof?” You randomly asked as you two continued to walk down the quiet hallway. Felix smirked as he turned his head to you, “would you like the walls to be soundproof?” his deep voice was sultry when the question escaped his lips, you couldn’t help but feel weak at the response. Christopher has some serious competition, and Felix hasn’t even done anything remotely sexual.

“Umm…”

“Here we are,” Felix announced as he stops his footsteps and you bump into him, making you apologize profusely to him. “Don’t worry, this is probably the only time I’ll be this close to you,” he softly spoke, as he held your face and dragged his finger across your jaw, making you gulp at the physical and eye contact.

Felix turned as he opens the door by pressing the keypad on the handle and takes your hand inside the room. The door opened to a room with an interesting yet organized interior design. The room was big for what it seemed; silk black bedsheets in a queen-sized bed, a dark auburn wall-to-ceiling closet, a soothing yet arousing shade of red painted on the wall along with simple yet aesthetically appealing accessories and paintings on the wall.

Felix held your shoulders to help you take off your coat and hung it up for you before he sat you down in the bed. He held up your face as a farewell before speaking, “it has been nice chatting with you, I wish I could have you for myself but I guess we can’t have what we want,” he smirks as he looks up and your face, “hopefully you’ll love it here, so I could see you again, but for now, I have to go. Have fun…”

“Chris, she’s all yours!” Felix looked up as he announces and he walks out of the room. You were now sitting at the bed, unsure of what to do right now, and just awaiting Christopher to come in.

“Hello?”

You jumped up as you looked around to find the source but you cannot find who it is, so you assumed it was just your voice playing around with you until you hear the voice again.

“Are you (y/n)? Can you hear me?”

The voice had a similar accent to that of Felix, while his voice wasn’t deep as his, it was still a pleasant voice. it had this gentle yet masculine voice that was soothing to listen to and you were in for it. But still, you couldn’t see the source of the voice, and confusion increased by the second.

“Y-yes, this is me, is this Christopher?” you called out still looking around the room.

You hear his soft laughter emanating in the room, making you knit your brows, “oh gosh, (y/n), you’re so cute, are you sure you want me to call you mistress?”

As soon as he mentioned mistress, everything started to connect the dot. You remembered when you filled out the form, you stated that you enjoyed the whole anonymity that comes with it along with wanting to try out to dominate someone who may seem physically virile and muscular, so you’d hope to see what they can offer, and so far you’re intrigued seeing how he has yet to reveal himself and is speaking into a microphone that blares beautifully in the room you’re staying in.

Your demeanor seemed to change, especially since Christopher didn’t seem bothered by your request, as you place your arms behind you and smirked, “Christopher, are you about to act up on me already?” You responded, now leveling yourself on his.

He laughs, gosh his laugh was too attractive you thought to yourself, “just wanted to make sure if I’m talking to the same mistress, and also…”

He paused his words and then you hear the door open from your right side and you looked at whoever walked in, and your jaw dropped, “You can call me, Chris or Chan… or baby, or pup, or whatever you want to call me,” he proceeded, you can make out that he was smiling as he was speaking.

Your eyes panned at the robbed yet evidently well-built masked man. The lower half of his face was covered by a balaclava, showcasing only his onyx brown eyes and his chestnut curly hair. Even though he hasn’t shown his full face, you can still clearly tell he was attractive just based on his eyes and his facial structure, which was simultaneously concealing and accentuating his cheekbones and jaw.

You admired him, as he walked up to you and got down on his knees, and got his large and veiny hands on your exposed legs, lightly gripping and massaging your thighs underneath your skirt, his fingers barely touching your core. Your breath hitched at the sensation, while Chris just eyes you up with glimmering puppy eyes.

“I’m all yours, mistress… please take me.”

It felt like it was more than an hour since you and Chris had interacted when in actuality it had been less than twenty minutes. You two briefly talked about rules and precautions, deciding to follow the traffic light system if anything were to happen to either of you, mainly you. After that discussion has ended your insecure, overthinking self has been completely replaced with a self-righteous, domme who has already in just panties and tied up a naked Chris, who was whimpering at the lack of touch from you after you stopped stroking his cock after he told you that he was close.

“Aw, what a good boy, being vocal to mistress,” you praised as you pushed his hair back, his whines were loud but slightly muffled by the mask on his lips. He nodded as he croaks, “anything for you,” his high-pitched whines were brought back up as you started to fist his cock but this time you got closer to his cock, the smirk on your face painted with villainy, “hey.”

Chris let out a closed whimper as he looks down on you, despite his hand being tied. You made eye contact with his eyes as you continued to move your hand, “you better keep your eyes on me, got it, pup?”

He nods through his sobs, and one thing led to another, your mouth was wrapped around his precum-slicked cock, making him let out a broken moan as the feeling of your mouth around him was so warm and so pleasant. His stomach sinks at the sensation as he cries about how good you feel, all the while he tries his best to keep eye contact with you.

“Oh my fucking go—mistress, your mouth feels so—ah, fuck,” his words were broken by his moans, to the point he accidentally broke eye contact when he threw back his head to moan out loud. He suddenly lost the warm feeling of your mouth and instead, he felt a sharp slap to his sensitive organ, making him yelp and wince, his hand gripped the rope, that was tied to his wrist, tightened.

“I told you to not lose contact,” you sternly spoke as you began pinching his thighs, making him jump and arch his back while crying out strings of apologies.

“I’m sorry, mistress, I’m sorry,” he sobs out, “please, just please, pup needs your mouth, please.”

You wanted to punish him but you found his pleadings so adorable, the way his eyes were getting glossy by your edging and the way you were pinching and slapping him. While you enjoyed the masked face and wanted him to keep it on, seeing how cute he sounds and how his eyes were mesmerizing to you, you can’t help but wanna pull down the balaclava and see his face fully.

“pup, is it okay if I took your mask down and ride your face?”

His skin reddened, and you could tell he was nervous and apprehensive, so you thought he didn’t want to and wanted to carry on with the mask. “It’s okay if you don’t—”

“No! No! it’s not that, I’m just… shy,” he revealed, and you couldn’t help but find him even more adorable than before. You’re unsure if he was acting or being genuine, but either way, his sex appeal grew to the sky in your opinion. You grabbed the lower part of his balaclava, him lifting his head to help you remove it from his head, and when his face was fully revealed, you couldn’t be even more enamored by his face even more. His lips were red and plump, his cheeks were speckled with freckles and red flushness, and his nose protruded out attractively.

“Wow,” you breathed out as you threw his mask away, making him sink down into the mattress of the bed and look away shyly. You pulled his face by his chin to make him look at you, “if I knew you had this face, I definitely would never have made the masked request… You are so pretty, Chris.”

Your compliment made Chris smile shyly and giggle, “thank you, mistress…”

You chuckled through your breath as you got off, making Chris wander your eyes silently pleading to get back on him only to see you remove your panties. You crawled back into Chris and placed your thighs between his head and looked back down at him, “Want to taste, mistress?”

He didn’t say anything aside from excitedly nodding at your question and licking his lips. You smirked at his excitement before slowly sliding yourself down until Chris began devouring you from below making you gasp at how active his tongue was. You were taken aback by the pleasant feeling of his tongue and the way it touched all the spots you wanted to touch, especially when your grinding away at his face. His nose would make contact with your clit, especially when he moves his head along with your hips, trying to catch every flavor of you.

You gripped his hair as you were moaning at the good feeling Chris was giving you, so much so, that you felt your lower belly heating up. “God, pup, you love making mistress feel good, right?” you sighed out your words before moaning.

Chris just moaned as a response along with tasting the nectar you’re giving him like he was thirsty for it. You threw your head back as your hip movements were becoming more sloppy and messy as you felt the heat bubbling up, and as much as you wanna come all over the pretty boy’s face, you decide against it, so you pulled his hair as you got off his face, making him chase for your juices before gasping for air and looking at you.

“You did so well for mistress… I think pup’s ready for me, is that right?” you asked as you were creating anticipation and Chris did a good job at pretending to be desperate, especially with the way he excitedly nodded and just chanted “yes, yes,” with a bunch of whines. You were so deep in, that you completely forgot that you were dealing with a professional, but you didn’t care, you want to relish in the whole experience no matter what way.

You gasped at the feeling of his cock stretching you, bringing you to utmost bliss. He whined at the feeling of your velvet and warming walls being filled and your hips moving around it. The movement was intense when it comes to the pace and depth of this session was getting, with you two praising each other based on your respective roles.

While this wasn’t the first Chris has ever been in the submissive role in his taboo career, he wasn’t really into most of the roleplays and positions he was given, but he had to do it as this was his job either way, but either way, he doesn’t seek submissive roles often. However, when your application came in and was offered to him, he was at first against it as he doesn’t want to do another submissive role, but for some reason, he had a change of heart and decided to do it—especially since you had paid extra more than asked for the hour, who would say no to that? Chris thought to himself.

He was glad that you failed his expectation, as the way of delivery, albeit a rocky start, was phenomenal in his opinion. You absolutely were one of the few doms and dommes he seemed to enjoy being with thus far, he was highly impressed by you if anything.

He looked up at you, heavy breathing as her movements began speeding up, his knuckles turning white with the way he’s pulling on the ropes, and her fingernails scratches on his defined pectorals. Your combined moans were echoing loudly in the room, had it not for Felix telling you that the walls were not soundproof, you would have brought your insecure self back. But even so, you wouldn’t have cared at the moment as you and Chris felt good about being around each other.

“oh, fuck! Chris—pup, I’m so fucking close,” you shuddered your words as the heat in your lower belly was getting overwhelming. You assume Chris was not far behind either due to the whine he just slipped out, so you encouraged him to come with her.

“You can come with, pup, it’s okay, you ready?”

Chris nodded before he mewled as you moved faster so you could reach high. And long after, you came around him, cursing out at how good you felt, but you sensed that Chris hasn’t orgasmed yet so you slipped yourself out and began stroking him instead. While your hands were incomparable, Chris couldn’t deny how good he felt, and with the pace you were going and the pressure you exerted, you wounded out milking him as he came all over his stomach and chest while sobbing and shaking at his orgasm, especially when you overstimulated him.

“Mmm—mistress,” his whines were so high-pitched as he teared up and hiccuped at how overpowering the extra strokes you gave him. His silent pleads to stop were answered as you saw how much he covered himself with his white cum and you couldn’t help just licking some of it off, while Chris was trying to catch his breath. He tasted salty but not too overpowering where it was gross, you couldn’t help but wonder if he has drunk enough pineapple or something, but either way, you couldn’t get enough.

However, you got to your senses and stopped licking him, as you looked at him wide-eyed. You couldn’t believe you just tired the poor tied-up man, you thought.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, concern laced as you tapped his shoulders, making him laugh as a response.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” He responded back with a smile as he looked at the restraints, hoping you would untie him, which you instantly did. He groaned in glee once again as he freed his wrists out of the ropes, stretching them out.

You didn’t know why but you felt like apologizing only for him to shake his head, “there is nothing to be sorry for, after all my job was to help you fulfill your fantasy… which I hope I did.”

“Oh yeah you definitely did a good job, and I would definitely rate you a five star and tip you!”

Chris’s face lit up with a smile, “I’m so glad to hear that, I also had really fun, I don’t often do submissive roles, but I’m glad I got to do with it you.” His words seemed genuine and you didn’t know how to react so you ended up feeling flustered once again.

“Well, I tried…” You mumbled making both of you laugh.

After cleaning up and tipping, you two left outside the door, stating your farewells.

“Well, it’s been fun, I’m really glad you enjoyed your experience, you already know me, so don’t be shy to drop by to y’know… destress,” Chris cheerfully spoke with a smile. He was too charming and you couldn’t help but admire him once again, especially when he was back in his robe with his chest revealed. He extended his arms for an embrace, which took you by surprise, but you were far from uncomfortable. Despite the previous activities, he smelled oddly good, like musk for some reason, you couldn’t get away from it.

He pulled away from you, and he rubbed your arms with a smile before letting them go, “I’ll see you, yeah?”

You nodded back and there you two went your separate ways. You saw Felix still standing behind the counter, his eyes still on you, and he asked about your experience. You raved everything to him and told him that this won’t be the last time he’ll be seeing you for sure.

“Well, I’m glad you liked it here, and I wish to see you,” he says as he leans closer to your ears to whisper, “but ask for me next time, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but be stunned at his last phrase, while he leans back and smiles at you. “Hope we can see you again, (y/n).”

Yeah, definitely… You’ll see me here again… I have to call Minho and Hyunjin.

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