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saetoru · 8 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six.

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four.

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.

scarily handsome, in fact.

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

#teepods.writings #fics.#thirstee!#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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inkdrinkerworld · 13 days

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Hi fawn 🏞️ what do you think bau!reaction would be to early spencer reid having a really hot girlfriend when they come to his house for some reason and a girl comes to answer the door with a robe and messy hair?

There’s an incessant knocking at Spencer’s front door but the man is sound asleep beside you.

His eyelashes look soft and pretty like the rest of him and you fight hard not to brush a finger against the crush of them.

You can also see some of the marks you’d left on him the night before- purple mottling bruises along his collarbones and chest that make you smile.

Taking pity on him, you kiss his brown one and slip into one of his old shirts and shove your feet into slippers before padding out to the front door.

On the other side of the door you can make out talking, “Wonder if he’s okay?” You hear a girl say and then, “It’s Spencer, he can hold his own.” Says a male one and then there’s another male voice that says, “If he doesn’t open this door in the next second I’m kicking it in Garcia.”

So you open it, using half of the door to block your body from view.

“Morning, can I help you?” You’re vaguely aware of the fact that there’s four FBI looking agents standing before you while you’re just wearing your boyfriend’s discarded shirt and you want to flush but what can you do- it’s hardly even eight o’clock.

“Yes you can,” says a bald man, Morgan you assume from Spencer’s recounts of his friends. “Where’s Spencer, sweetheart?”

You frown, “Asleep. Do you need him for work?”

A girl in a bright orange skirt shakes her head, “Oh you’re gorgeous! Hi I’m Penelope, that’s Derek, there’s JJ, Hotch.” The man named Hotch clears his throat, giving you a tiny smile.

“We do sorry. Can you get him?” He asks politely and you nod, eyeing them all a little. They’re all looking at you like you’ve grown three heads, a mixture of shock (from Penelope and JJ), pride (from Derek) and something akin to knowing on Hotch’s face.

You’re about to shut the door to get your boyfriend when you feel him right behind you. “Spence, your friends are here,”

Derek whistles and you catch sight of the marks visible on your boyfriend and you feel a little embarrassed. “Okay pretty boy, I see you!” JJ smacks Derek who groans and laughs a little.

He kisses the crown of your head, “Sorry, angel.” He whispers, still knuckling sleep from his eyes. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” He says to his team who all nod.

“We’re in the SUV.” Hotch says, Penelope nods, giving you a bright smile.

“It was so nice to meet you! We have to go for drinks sometime!”

JJ laughs, “It was nice to meet you.” You nod, a little smile on your face.

Derek claps Spencer on his shoulder and gives you a nod before Spencer closes the door, you can just faintly make out, “Spencer’s got game!” As it shuts.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know they’d show up at my door.” Spencer says softly and you shrug.

“That’s your job Spence, it’s unpredictable. Can we squeeze coffee into those twenty minutes?” Spencer smiles, all tired and lovely.

“Yeah I can, let me shower first and I’ll be down for five minutes of morning coffee.”

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x y/n

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verstappen-cult · 1 month

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# WAVE OF YOU | CL16

Charles is spending summer in Australia with his friends when he meets a very pretty girl and her dog at the beach.

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader Content Warnings: A little meet-cute, just pure fluff! And Pierre being a menace for like a second.

Gwen’s radio message. . . 💬 : i saw the video and an idea popped into my mind, you can’t blame me for being weak. this is just a little silly meet-cute because your girl can’t stop thinking about surfer!charles. save me surfer!charles, save me !! i’m thinking about turning this into a series, would you like that?

You never thought you’d be living in Australia in your twenties. You honestly never thought about leaving your hometown to follow your dreams. Yet, here you are, sitting on the sand on a quiet morning, playing with the golden retriever you adopted two weeks ago. She comes running back to you, leaving the tennis ball at your feet and sitting, patiently waiting for you to throw the ball again.

“You never get tired, uh?” She tilts her head, tongue out and breathing heavily. You throw the ball into the water and she immediately runs back for it.

You take the opportunity to look around. It’s still a little early so there aren’t many people, a few people walking their dogs or running, a few surfers and a group of girls a few meters away. You notice that they can’t stop looking at the group of boys in the water trying to catch waves. It’s funny, because you used to be exactly like them when you were a teen.

They’re talking and — despite knowing you shouldn’t — you pay close attention to what they’re saying.

“Last week he smiled at me, I swear!” One of them says, twirling her hair while still straight ahead.

“They’re so hot.” You try not to laugh, hiding a smile by turning your head around.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen the group of boys, but it is the first time that you pay attention to what people actually say about them, and that makes you a little bit curious.

There are five guys in the water, two of them are sitting on their surfboard talking while the other two chase waves. You notice that the fifth guy is actually getting out of the water, blue surfboard under his right arm as he looks at the dog looking up at him and wagging its tail. Your dog.

“Daisy!” You call her but she doesn’t move, she just looks at you from her spot next to the man. You get up and start walking towards her when the stranger looks up at you. And you stop breathing for a second, face turning pink as you feel bright, green eyes boring into you.

You agree with the teenage girls about them being hot because this man is definitely very attractive. He’s wearing a black wetsuit, you notice as he runs his hand through his messy, wet, brown hair. He’s also smiling. At you.

He crouches to unhook the surfboard’s leash from his ankle, leaving it aside, and pets Daisy behind her ears. She closes her eyes and moves closer to the stranger. Your heart skips a beat when he looks up at you again, still smiling.

“Hey, Daisy? You wanna play?” He has an accent that makes you weak in the knees. The stranger takes Daisy’s ball from between her paws and throws it a few meters away, and she immediately runs back for it. “She’s cute.” You’re very cute, he thinks.

You smile because you don’t know what else to do, still very much feeling frozen in place.

“I’m Charles, nice to meet you.” The stranger—Charles reaches out a hand, you look at it for a beat before taking it gently to shake. If you feel sparks flying, nobody needs to know that.

You swallow, trying to find your voice before the cute guy thinks you’re weird. “I’m Y/N and,” You feel Daisy’s nose nudging at your leg. “this is Daisy.” You say, looking down at her.

Charles crouches back down to take the ball again, this time not breaking eye contact, and throws it into the water. You feel yourself blushing — again !! — under his intense gaze. You also feel your insides burning and going crazy with butterflies. You curse under your breath because what is wrong with you?

“You come here often?” He cringes after saying that and you’re pretty sure you see a faint blush adorning his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Oh, I adopted her two weeks ago, so we're pretty new to the beach.” You explain, looking over his shoulder at your little golden playing in the water. You’re gonna have one hell of a time trying to get rid of the salt water and sand of her hair.

He smiles again and what the hell? He has dimples?

“You’re not from here, right? I can hear a little accent…” He blurts out, massaging his neck in a nervous manner.

“I just moved here a few months ago.” You laugh, fidgeting with your fingers. “I can say the same thing about you.”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m from Monaco. I’m visiting a friend for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” When Daisy comes running back, you’re quick to pick up the ball — to have something to do besides looking at his pretty green eyes — and throw it farther just because it’s good that she’s running and having fun, definitely not because you want to keep talking with Charles.

“What brought you to Australia?” Charles asks, like he's genuinely interested.

“It’s silly, really.” You break eye contact after what feels like an eternity looking into his eyes. “I just wanted to see more of the world. I’ve been traveling for the past two years but I feel like it’s time to settle down somewhere.” Charles nods along, listening to every word. “I don’t know if Australia is the place for me but,” You shrug. You’ve grown and gained experiences, you’ve traveled to places you never thought you’d visit; you are happy with your life. You want to experience a different kind of thing now. “so far I like it here.”

“That’s awesome!” Charles has traveled the world too, but he doesn’t see himself leaving Monaco and his family. But he understands the desire to see new places and discover new cultures.

“Charlie!”

You both turn your head around to see the boys he was surfing with coming out of the water.

“Those are my friends. I’m sorry for whatever they’re going to say.”

You laugh, whispering a ‘don’t worry’ just before you’re joined by the four guys.

“Oi, who’s this?” A dark-haired guy asks, crouching to pet Daisy.

“That’s Daisy,” Charles answers before moving to stand beside you. “and this is Y/N.”

The four boys look between you and Charles in silence, then they’re all waving at you.

Charles leans a little closer, and you hold your breath. “That’s Dani,” He points to the same guy who asked about Daisy. Then he points to a curly-haired boy wearing a pair of pink shorts. “that one is Lando and the one next to him is Max.”

“So, how do you find my boy Charles here?” A guy with French accent teases you.

“And that’s Pierre. Don’t listen to him.” Charles sends death glares at his friend, who just holds his palms up in surrender and grins.

“We need to go,” Lando or Max? says, looking at his friend with pity and mouthing a ‘sorry’.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N!” All of them say, making you laugh. You wave at them.

Then, you and Charles are alone again, Daisy lying on the sand in front of you.

“So,” Charles starts, fighting really hard not to look at your lips. He does a very poor job because you notice anyway, and of course you can’t help but wet your lips. Well, you have to do something, you’re probably not gonna see him again. “I have to go. But it was nice chatting with you.”

You reach out, placing your hand on his bicep and squeezing. And God, okay, he’s actually fit, fit.

“It was nice meeting you, Charlie.”

Charles smirks, winking. Or at least trying to before grabbing his surfboard and walking away, it takes you a great effort to not turn around.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You’re just a girl.

Charles is walking backwards, a bright smile dancing on his lips.

“Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

You try not to show how much effect his words have on you. “I don’t know,” You shrug. Playing hard to get now, really? “Come and you’ll see.”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x you #f1 grid x reader

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b0nten · 4 months

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HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months

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dear spring, stay forever ; satoru gojo, suguru geto, shoko ieiri

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it.)

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up.

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you?

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes.

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin.

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now.

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you.

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses.

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question.

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips.

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?”

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog.

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you…

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away.

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes.

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms.

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin.

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour.

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. and during women’s history month, too!”

”you aren’t a woman, satoru.”

”i could be.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten.

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun.

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this?

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning.

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours.

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd.

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking.

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up.

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks.

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come.

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again. a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins; and you smile.

it’s springtime, now, a little warmer.

(here’s to another year together.)

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto x you #geto x y/n #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x y/n #shoko ieiri x you #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #sashisu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader

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merakiui · 1 month

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the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #n/sfw #tw: age gap #tw: dubcon #tw: pregnancy mention

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mochimooon · 6 months

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DTF Only - aot x reader 18+ masterpost and prologue - complete!

Summary: Barely twenty-four hours after getting dumped by your now ex-boyfriend, Colt, your best friends are quick to conspire your next course of action: slutting yourself out on Tinder. Prologue word count: 1k+ Notes: Welcome to the world of online dating, featuring the men of AoT !! This was a project I started back in September, loosely based on my own (and my best friend's) weird encounters with online dating. Lighthearted, smutty, not to be taken seriously, this fic is pure crack. Although it does have a plot, it's not necessary to read every chapter if you just want to skip to your favorite AoT guy (each chapter is linked). Also, all characters (except two) are written to be in their early 30s. Lastly, the headers used don't directly depict what actually happens in the fics. Afab! reader using she/her pronouns Warnings: smut in every chapter (except prologue), explicit content, explicit language, lots of casual sex (more warnings included per chapter), mild Colt-bashing available to read on ao3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

Happy Hour — Porco Galliard Out of Towner — Reiner Braun Let's Experiment — Connie Springer Girl Dinner — Jean Kirstein DTF — Zeke Jaeger Tinder Whore — Eren Jaeger Super Like — Levi Ackerman taglist: @moonmalice @daisynik7 @theragethatisdesire @squidalapobre @arlerts-angel @shepnicolo @porples-blog @jeanboyjean @fictional-d-supremacy

“Time to enter the hoe phase.”

Pieck’s eyes light up in Ymir’s direction, and together they turn to you with mischievous grins.

Barely twenty-four hours after getting dumped by your now ex-boyfriend, Colt, your best friends are quick to conspire your next course of action: slutting yourself out on Tinder.

It feels like a movie. Meeting up with your girlfriends on a Saturday night for overpriced margaritas (on them thankfully) to catch up and console you as you process the breakup.

The only difference between you and those heartbroken women on screen is that you don’t know how to feel. You’re not sad, you’re not happy, you’re indifferent.

Three years together you and Colt had settled into a routine. He lived an hour away, but you both put in the effort to see each other. You don’t know when things turned stagnant, only that the spark had fizzled a long time ago. The phone calls and visits became forced, and the sex…

“You’re single now,�� Ymir explains, crunching on a tortilla chip. “Got to make up for lost time. Didn’t you say Colt was too stiff in bed?”

Heat blazes beneath your skin. “I never said that.”

Colt was not stiff in bed. He was selfless, ready to please, prioritizing your needs first before he got in his kicks. You liked having sex with him, didn’t need the grandeur to enjoy it—

Ymir and Pieck deadpan in your direction. Without further rebuttal, you fall speechless, and to your friends that’s as good as a confession.

You hate them (you don’t). You hate that they’re right.

Although the sex did the job, it lacked the passion that was once there when you two first started dating a lifetime ago. Eventually you grew a little bored. It became repetitive, lackluster even, that you were only half-satisfied by the end of each session. To feed your sexual appetite, you resorted to your vibrator more and more, a toy that you had initially purchased for you and Colt to use together.

“Anyways…” Ymir drawls. “He’s history and so is the vanilla sex. Now, you can let your inner sex fiend out.”

You roll your eyes “You mistake me for someone else.”

Ymir snorts, leveling you with a knowing look. “Yeah right. You weren’t a Puritan before you met Colt. If online dating was more of a thing back in our twenties, you would have been kicking and slipping every night of the week, more than you already were.”

Your skin heats up again, burning the tips of your ears. Sure, in your twenties, you were what some would call ‘floozy’ in nature back then. In your defense, you were a university student, out on your own, and you were definitely not the only person partaking in hookup culture. Now, at thirty, with how normalized it is, you know you’re not the last one either. If anything, being in a relationship these days is more of an anomaly.

“Not judging you for your relationship by the way,” Pieck says as a buffer. “Colt’s a nice guy, but he did water you down, you stopped coming out—”

You turn to her. “It’s because—”

“He’s a lightweight, yeah, yeah,” Ymir supplies, bored. “You were too much for him. You’re fun, and Colt?” Ymir’s dark eyes go into orbit. “—snooze.”

As much as you’d like to defend your ex-boyfriend’s honor, your mind draws a blank.

“His loss.” Pieck licks the rim of her margarita glass.

Ymir crunches on another chip, smiling wryly. “Back to my genius idea: Tinder. You’ll have so many options now. You don’t need to find your next boyfriend on it, just meet new people and be down to fuck only."

She says it so simply, but you can’t help feeling like there’s a catch.

“There’s no better place to explore sexual freedom than on Tinder,” Pieck says. “Scope out the market, see what you’ve been missing out on.”

You take a hearty sip of the margarita, lip curling. “I don’t even know how to date anymore.”

Pieck tuts. “No one does. There’s no formula either. Tinder requires an open mind, if you overthink it, then you’re not doing it right.”

“It’s about getting to know yourself better while also getting laid. It’s a win-win,” Ymir says. “There’s nothing for you to lose, only gain.”

You raise a brow. “Doesn’t that seem…wrong? We just broke up.”

Pieck blinks, lowering her margarita. “Do you think Colt’s just sulking around?”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I mean. He can go on dates, I guess. It’s just that it feels so new and so soon.”

As you hear yourself, you realize how unsure you sound. Since Colt dumped you, it’s pointless to expect that he’d waste any time before diving back into the dating pool. If that’s what he’s doing, you’re not bothered by it. And the guilt you expect to feel for considering an idea like online dating is nowhere to be seen either.

Perhaps it’s your way of making sense of why you feel so…nonchalant about the whole thing. Is there a politically or morally correct way to behave after a break-up?

“Of course not!” Ymir says with a lighthearted scoff. “The second you become a free agent, you can do whatever and whoever you want. Emphasis on the ‘free’ part.”

She’s right, you suppose.

Ymir takes your brief silence to further argue her idea. “The whole point is to have fun, no strings. If you’re not going to wallow, then get out there and be a hoodrat."

Pieck laughs, and you feel the mood lighten.

It’s not a bad idea. You’re still not sure how to process the break-up. You’re not hurt, but you are in this limbo of where to go from here. Carry on like normal? Cry? Neither align with your state of mind.

You’re not hard to convince, reaching for your phone and downloading the app. “Let’s see what’s up.”

A look passes between your friends that could only be described as impish. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes and set up your profile.

After Pieck and Ymir guide you on what to add to your bio, what you’re looking for, help you pick out the best selfies etc., the true fun begins.

In the beginning it’s awkward, reading and checking a person’s pictures and deem whether he you want to talk to them. But it doesn’t take long for you to ease into it.

The coaxing and the margarita might have played roles, but after a few profiles, it becomes an addiction.

Swiping one after another, skimming through varying profiles (a lot of them have their height included), questionable choices of selfies (many shirtless at the gym), it’s all a rush that the three of you had far too much fun crowding over your phone that night.

“Why does he have a screenshot of his credit score?” Pieck balks.

“No fucking way, that guy’s in a diaper?” Ymir’s eyes go wide. “This one says he and his wife want to be a throuple.” You swipe left.

At some point, you do swipe right on a couple of profiles, purely based on their looks, hardly giving their bios a proper onceover.

At the end of the night, you’re past the point of tipsy, tired, but pleased to have had a fun night with your best friends. As you doze off in bed that night, your phone lights up with several new notifications on your nightstand.

#aot x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #porco galliard x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #reiner braun x reader #connie springer x reader #jean kirstein x reader #eren jaeger x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #eren yeager x reader #zeke yeager x reader #aot smut #mochi-writings #dtf only series

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roanniom · 1 year

Note

i doubt it helps, but i also think eddie is the type to try to be respectful at a family holiday party but ultimately end up wanting to fuck you in a guest room or finger you in a closet at the very least 🫠

Hahahahaha this made it so much worse in the best possible way, I love you anon.

Bad for the Holidays

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Note: I wrote most of this in my childhood bedroom while visiting home for thanksgiving. So this got very real, guys Lmao

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY!, teasing, dirty talk, pet names (Princess, bad girl, baby girl), alcohol consumption, oral sex (m receiving), PIV sex / unprotected sex, hand job, cum eating, semi public sex? (Your family is in the same house at the time)

Eddie Munson never thought he’d find himself at a holiday party straight out of a fucking Norman Rockwell painting, but then again he’d never thought he’d meet someone like you. Someone funny and kind and intelligent while simultaneously cool as hell and hot as hell. You’re everything he’d never let himself hope for, and he’s nothing like what he believes you deserve. Not that you listen to him when he voices his fears over not being good enough for you.

“Stop fidgeting, Eddie. This isn’t a big deal,” you whisper to him as the two of you stand on your door step. You pry open his tense fist to hold his hand in yours and he takes a deep breath, looking down at your smile. “They’re gonna love you.”

“Yeah but what if…what if they don’t?” Eddie mumbles. His brow is furrowed and his lips pout and all you want to do is kiss his frown away. But you know there’s no time for that. So you shake your head and squeeze his hand.

“I love you, so that’s all that matters,” you reassure him. “But this conversation is silly because they’re gonna love you.”

And you’re right. Of course. How could people not love Eddie? Especially people who loved you and who wanted to see you happy. And Eddie makes you the happiest you’ve ever been, and that just radiates off you when you walk into the room, proud to show off your boyfriend.

Eddie’s rough around the edges when you first meet him, sure. But he’s gone to great lengths to appear even more presentable than usual tonight, wearing a clean black button down and black jeans that don’t even have any holes in the knees. Before long, and exactly as you knew would happen, Eddie’s regaling your extended family with stories about his friends back in Hawkins and about life on tour as an up snd coming musician.

It’s pretty late by the time things start winding down. The dinner’s long done, your parents have gone to sleep and most of the older family members have puttered off with leftovers in tow. That’s just left you and Eddie with the crowd closer to your age - and amalgamation of cousins and friends of the family in their early to mid twenties. You all play a few rounds of board games and a few glasses of wine deep, Eddie starts looking way more appetizing than the holiday dinner.

You stare at him over your wine glass as one of your cousins prattle’s on about some drama going on at her job. But you can barely hear her because you’re watching Eddie pal around with Josh, your neighbor who you’d crushed on growing up. Next to Eddie, neighbor boy is absolutely nothing, an observation you make silently and with pride. Your boyfriend has an easy air to him, lounging back against the couch as he speaks, legs spread wide and casual. He looks completely at ease, comfortable in his spread out position. If you weren’t still in front of family you’d walk right over there and straddle him there and then. You lick your lips and silently hate him for the way he’s done absolutely nothing and yet has fully managed to get you salivating from afar. It’s unfair.

You couldn’t possibly know, however, just how much you’ve been driving him crazy all night. Bending over to pick things up in your tight little party dress. Munching on appetizers behind your red lips, licking your fingers clean of any crumbs or sauce. Pushing up against him when the two of you passed through narrow hallways and through crowded parts of the house.

He’s been working so hard not to pop an erection in this, the most inappropriate of venues, that he’s spent the last half hour practically avoiding you. When he looks up from his conversation with your boring neighbor, however, just to find you fucking him with your eyes from across the room, he thinks he’s going to combust.

You notice him frown when you finally catch his eye, but you don’t care enough to wonder what’s bothering him. Instead you wink at him - making his jaw drop - before raising your arms in a theatrical stretch with a matching dramatic yawn.

“God, I’m beat. Got a long drive home tomorrow,” you say to nobody in particular. Friends and family try to protest but you jump up and haul Eddie along after you, dragging him out the door.

When you finally make it to your childhood bedroom, you push Eddie towards the bed and lock the door all in one swift motion. You’ve kicked off your shoes and you’re reaching for the zipper of your dress before Eddie’s grabbing at your hips to stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?” he asks through gritted teeth, panic in his eyes. He’s sitting on your bed with you standing in front of him, his hands holding your wrists motionless to halt your effort to disrobe.

“I…I’m trying to get naked. And you should be doing the same,” you reply. Confused by the question in the first place. Eddie gazes up at you with. Wide eyes.

“But your family is like…right outside.”

“So?” you ask, now genuinely confused.

“And you’re tryna…you want to…”

“Fuck. I wanna fuck you. What’s the problem?” You let out an incredulous laugh. His grip loosens on your wrists so you circle your arms around his neck, massaging his shoulders. He seems to grapple for words so you continue to speak. “I don’t get it. You fuck me with my roommates in the next room all the time!”

“First of all, Nancy and Robin have made us listen to them having sex all the time and you know it,” he huffs immediately, but then returns to looking stressed. “And I’m friend with them. I don’t need to impress them…”

Your heart flips at the sentiment but you shake your head.

“You don’t need to impress anyone here either,” you argue, but Eddie’s having none of it. He springs to his feet in front of you, gripping your waist to pull you against him.

“That’s not fucking true and you know it, Princess.” He runs an aggravated hand through his curly hair. “I’m a freak. Your family wants - at least they should want - someone better for you than—,”

“Shut up. Shut up shut up,” you hiss, smacking his chest lightly with your open palm. “Nobody here knows your reputation from Hawkins, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because I’m fucking head over heels for you. You got that?”

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie says weakly, the ghost of a smile starting to curl at the corners of his mouth at how worked up you got all of us sudden.

“Now,” you say definitively, taking a step back to put your hands on your hips and take a deep breath. “I had three glasses of wine and I’m feeling…” you cast about for the right word and not being able to remember the word ‘horny’ you say the next best thing you can think of “…frisky. So you’re going to shut up and fuck me, snd you’re going to like it. Understand.”

Eddie looks dumbfounded, gazing at you with a mix of adoration, awe, and humor. He nods emphatically and you take another shuddering breath.

“Ok good. Help me take my clothes off.”

You expect him to crowd you. To throw you on the bed and rip off your dress and be on you so fast you barely see him coming.

Instead he walks over to you slowly, his eyes dark and lips pulled into a small smile. He steps around you to find the zipper you’d struggle with, lips finding the back of your neck as he pushes the zip all the way down to the curve of your lower back. He kisses his way over your shoulder as he pushes the fabric down and off your body. You shiver under his lips and the cool air you’re now exposed to. His hands find the front clasp of your bra - after making a pitstop to squeeze your breasts - and soon your bra joins your dress on the floor.

Eddie mouths at the side of your throat now as his hands grope every square inch he can reach, the bulge in his jeans pressing into your ass through the thin fabric of your panties.

It’s Heaven. Or close. The only thing is that it is noticeably, deafeningly quiet.

“W-why - oh. Why aren’t you saying anything?” you mumble out. Eddie chuckles against your skin and hips at your ear lobe.

“Told me to shut up,” he whispers. His hand slides forward to cup your mound and you swallow a moan.

“Oh so now you listen to what I tell you,” you bristle. Eddie’s chuckle vibrates through you again and you grind back against him intentionally. You grab his hand and shove it into your panties, no longer satisfied being touched through the fabric.

“I forgot. My baby’s feeling…frisky.” His voice is low and rich with amusement and sensuality. You huff but don’t protest because his big, thick fingers are finally where you wanted them all night. Swirling through your slick, his middle finger prodding at your entrance but not yet pushing in.

You try to step forward to urge him toward the bed, but Eddie pushes you to the side, his free hand coming to brace up against the wall in front of you.

“Not so fast. That bed is squeaky as hell,” he mutters between kisses to your shoulder.

“Well yeah. It’s almost as old as me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, and you squeak under me all the time too, Princess.” You go to roll your eyes again at his cocky tone but the quickly roll back into your head as he shoves not one but two fingers into your tight heat. You let out a high pitched squeal that you do your best to smother with your hand and he laughs. “See? What did I tell you?”

You don’t say anything at first because you’re so lost in the feeling of finally getting what you want. Eddie leans his weight against you as he picks up momentum with his hand, and you find your front getting pressed up against the wall.

“Needed you aaaaaall fucking day, Princess. You’re absolutely infuriating,” Eddie says raggedly into the back of your neck. His fingers hook up and you gasp at the added pleasure.

“How am I - oh god. In…infuriating?” you barely manage to ask in response.

“Tried to be on my best behavior. But you had to prance around looking like a fucking wet dream, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t do anything…” you try to argue, but Eddie snaps the waistband of your panties, stretched out as they are from his fingering, and you flinch.

“Oh yeah? Then why did I know the color of your panties by the time we started dinner?”

He’s right of course. You’d been intentionally finding reasons to bend over in front of him, or cross and uncross your legs in front of him - anything to draw his attention between your thighs. As if his attention was ever anywhere else to begin with.

“Wanted to make me slip up, huh? Wanted me to drag you into the bathroom in the middle of dinner and fuck your brains out?”

“Yes!” you gasp, though you’re less sure that you’re affirming his statement and more sure that your orgasm is fast approaching. “Oh fuck, Eddie.”

“Bend over,” he says suddenly. His voice is more demanding than usual and a thrill runs up your spine. He steps back and gives you room, which you use to shuffle a bit to the side and lean over, bracing your palms against the seat of an old wicker chair you’ve had in your room since elementary school. With your ass up, you half worry that Eddie will forget where you are and spank you loudly, but he seems to remember and opts to grope you instead. He slides your panties to your ankles and you step out of them, widening your stance in a way that has him humming appreciatively behind you.

You steal a glance over your shoulder to confirm the suspicion that he is, in fact, fisting his hard cock, staring at your ready pussy and lining himself up.

“You play the good girl so well, but you’re just a bad girl for me, isn’t that right Princess?” Eddie asks as he pushes the tip of his cock in a circle around your aching entrance. You whine at the fact that he’s not yet inside you, trying to push back to make him slide in. Eddie laughs and grips you by your hips, hauling them higher and making your knees shake. “Look at you. Not even listening because you want my cock that bad.”

You toss a glare over your shoulder at him.

“Eddie if you don’t get inside me right - fuck!” You hiss through your teeth when he slides all the way into you at once. One hand slides down the small of your back, up your spine, to grip solidly at the back of your neck as he wastes absolutely no time getting a good pace going.

The slap of skin on skin ringing out in your small childhood bedroom is absolutely obscene, as are the whimpers that spill out of you despite your best efforts.

“Eddie…so fucking - oh!”

You’re trying to tell him how good he’s making you feel, but you’re sure he’s able to gather that from the way you’re completely unable to finish your statement. Eddie’s chuckle vibrates into your body and you reach back one hand to clutch at his where it holds you at your hip.

“Feels good, baby? Hm?” he asks, almost mockingly but you can’t muster enough energy to reply in any way aside from genuine.

“Feels so good, Eds,” you whimper. Despite his teasing, the way you’re scrabbling to make contact with him tugs at his heartstrings. He lifts his hand up from your hip enough to grab your reaching one.

“Christ, even when you’re a bad girl, you’re still so fucking sweet,” he mumbles, leaning down over you to press bruising kisses to your back and shoulders. You pant beneath him and relish in the additional contact.

“Eddie…mmm Eddie. So full.”

“Fuck. You can’t say shit like that when you haven’t cum yet, princess. I’m only fucking human, I’m gonna fucking blow.”

“Good! Give it to me,” you whine out, and Eddie pretty much loses it.

“Ok, come here my lil greedy baby,” Eddie says gruffly, though not without humor. He pulls out of you - and he has to shush you when you whine in protest - before hauling you around so that he’s sitting on your wicker chair and sliding you into his lap.

“Fucking yes. Oh my god yes.” You’re practically crying now as Eddie gets straight to bouncing you up and down on his cock. You cling to him, your fingers tightening in his wild curly hair as you breathe heavily and gaze at him with unfocused eyes.

“You’re just a horny little mess, aren’t you?” Eddie chuckles darkly. You nod and grip at his shoulders so the leverage let’s you help him move you up and down on his lap. Eddie kisses at the hollow at the base of your throat before looking back into your hazy eyes. “Hey. You with me?” He lightly taps your cheek with his palm when you don’t respond, so far gone in pleasure.

“Y-yeah?” you hiccup. Since you’re bouncing enough on your own shaking thighs, Eddie’s able to slide a free hand from the meat of your hips down to start playing at your clit. So you’re even farther gone now.

“Did you bring any turtlenecks in that little suitcase of yours?” Eddie asks you and your brow knits on what he finds to be a cute little scrunch as you struggle to comprehend the question.

“Yeah I brought one—oh my fucking god…”

Before you’d even finished answering his question, Eddie’s sucking and nipping at the skin of your throat. An action he knows can send you over the edge.

And it does.

You cum in a burst of pleasure that has you rocking against Eddie desperately, clinging to him as you do your best to keep him inside you at the deepest point for as long as possible.

Eddie, to his credit, let’s you do what you want with him. He holds your face in his hands and presses your foreheads together, nodding at your quiet moans.

“There it is. That’s what you wanted, sweet girl? That’s it.”

He’s patient as you come down from your high, but it’s his dick that twitches expectantly inside you which reminds you he still has to cum.

You do your best to start bouncing again, but your legs are shaky. Eddie laughs and stills you, his big hands on your waist, and you grumble.

“Shhh don’t worry about that. It’s good enough just hold you,” he reassures you. You look at him with bleary, pleasure soaked eyes.

“No. You need to cum, too,” you insist. Eddie shrugs, clearly content.

“Having my dick deep inside you is enough of a win, Princess,” he says with a chuckle.

But you’re having none of it. You struggle to your feet and then slide down to the floor in front of him to settle down on your knees. Eddie’s eye go wide and you grip his wet cock, fisting up and down on his lap.

“In high school I wouldn’t even listen to songs with dirty lyrics. Now my boyfriend’s dick is out while he sits on my reading chair in my childhood bedroom,” you observe irreverently with a laugh. Eddie joins in, though his laugh is more strained the longer you jerk him off.

“That’s what I was saying. Everyone thinks you’re so innocent. And yet here you are - just got your brains fucked out and now you’re on your knees for me.”

As if to punctuate and prove his statement, you lean forward and swallow him whole, your cheeks hollowing to create a tantalizing amount of suction,

“Oh mother of - fuck!” Eddie whispers harshly. You bob up and down on his cock without preamble. You could tell how close he was from the near steady stream of pre-cum that leaked from his tip.

Your hands knead into his thighs as you take him deeper and deeper, being careful not to gag too loudly when his spongey head hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Princess. That’s…oh god that’s…”

He’s rendered even more speechless when you grab his hand and place it on the back of your head, pressing down to indicate that you’d like him to control your movements. Something you’d never done with previous lovers. Only Eddie.

Eddie curses under his breath and blinks rapidly before doing as you’ve asked him to do - guiding you up and down on his cock by his grip on the back of your head. His cock pushes deep into your throat and Eddie’s eyes roll back into his skull.

“Jesus H. Christ you’re such a bad girl, letting me do this right now. Such a bad fucking girl.” He’s rambling at this point and you love it. You snake a hand between your thighs and begin playing with your clit as he fucks your throat. Overwhelmed by the feeling of him using you and the nature of his words.

When he lets you pull back to finally breath, you choke and sputter before speaking up, voice wrecked.

“Like being a bad girl for you, Eds,” you moan against his balls, jerking his spit and slick soaked cock with your hand. Eddie’s sure he won’t survive this and closes his eyes against the intense pleasure conjured up by the image of you before him.

“God, you get so messy for me, Princess. You know I love that.” You nod frantically and that’s when he notices your other hand has disappeared between your legs, touching yourself. He bites his lip to smother his groan. “Were you really touching yourself while choking on my dick, baby?”

You nod again with wide, doe eyes.

“I wanna cum again,” you say simply, brow knitting together from the way you toy with your clit feverishly. “But I want you to cum, too.”

“Baby girl, you keep looking at me and touching me like that, I’m gonna cum any second.”

Your breath speeds up and so does your finger on your clit. Your fist moves faster up and down his cock and you know he’s close, so you scootch up even closer between his spread thighs.

“Where d’you wanna cum, Eddie?” you ask. “My face? My tongue? My tits?” You model each option for him, turning your head to offer your cheek, sticking out your tongue, and shimmying your naked chest to make your breasts bounce.

“Oh shit oh shit…” Is all Eddie can say as his eyes zero in on your tits. His abdomen seizes and you deliver a handful more expert tugs, angling his cock towards your chest just in time. His white cum paints your tits just as your own second orgasm takes over, making your spasm a bit and concave into yourself.

It’s another minute or two before either of you move, your hand finally stilling and letting go of his softening cock. Eddie slumps back against the chair and rubs his eyes harshly with the heels of his hands before gazing back down at your messy figure.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Princess…” he mutters low. You simply grin at him, gathering the cum on your tits and placing it in your mouth with a happy hum.

“Thanks for my present, Eddie,” you say in a lilting voice and Eddie rolls his eyes at you, reaching down to haul you up off the floor and into his lap.

“If anyone in your family heard that and decides they don’t like me because someone couldn’t keep it in her pants…” he grumbles the threat half heartedly, contradicting his own tone by kissing your throat. Right on the fresh bruise that you will definitely need to cover with a turtleneck tomorrow. You giggle and cling to him.

“Nobody heard it. And besides, isn’t keeping me happy the most important thing?” you ask cheekily. Eddie laughs, a little closer to full volume this time, and crushes you to his chest.

“You happy, Princess?” he asks a beat later. Despite the volume of his laugh, the question comes out quieter. As if he’s not 100% certain what your answer will be. You pull back and take his face in your hands so you can imbue your response with all the strength you can muster after being fucked so good.

“I’m absurdly happy, Eddie Munson. And you better be, too, because I don’t plan on giving this up any time soon.”

He kisses you stupid in response, finally deciding the squeaky bed will have to do and hauling you over to start getting ready for sleep.

~*~

The next morning over coffee, eggs, and toast you get to witness yet again just how much your boyfriend has charmed your family and friends. They hang on his every word, laugh at his jokes, and ask him questions. And you know they aren’t just being nice, because they’ve never been this nice to any guy you’ve brought home before.

Watching Eddie regale some of your cousins with a particularly silly story from his latest small town tour, the sun hits him just right as it filters through the kitchen window. He’s back lit, haloing his hair and making him look particularly handsome. Your heart swells and you can’t take the yearning adoration that fills you to the brim.

To offset the achingly sweet emotions swirling within you, you have to do something silly. When Eddie looks at you over someone’s shoulder, you mouth “you’re fucking hot” at him and his face lights up in a massive grin, shaking his head. He mouths back -

“You’re bad.”

~*~

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#Eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut

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joelismiller · 8 months

Text

misunderstanding

joel miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Summary: you liked joel and you really thought he liked you back.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (joel is in his fifties and reader is in her late twenties), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), jealousy, protective!joel, violence if you squint, no use of y/n

A/N: hi everyone my name is ariel and this is my first post ! I have never written for joel before and i have never written smut so please go easy on me and enjoy ! <3 (oh also i completely made up the currency idk how that works😭)

It hurts, you think.

Having an attachment to a man who has seemed to lose the ability to comprehend on an emotional level how to form one.

An exception of course made for one goofy teenager named Ellie Williams, which you can’t blame him for—she is an easy kid to love.

You however still can’t help but feel a little envious of the fourteen-year-old even if it is a silly kind of jealousy. You just wish you could be close to him—know him like no one else does or has.

It started 6 months ago: you had been living in Jackson for a whole year after braving the world overtaken by Cordyceps alone.

Tommy and a group of other people on patrol found you near the edge of town looking right about to just give up and keel over and allow fate to take over and decide if you should live or die from that point.

After making sure you were not infected, Tommy scooped you up and managed to get you back to town where Maria agreed to help nurse you back to health and eventually make you an official resident of Jackson.

You were given a house close to Tommy and Maria’s and they gave you a job at the local clothing shop of sorts; really just a place to trade or purchase clothing, bootlaces, etc. You began to not just live, but enjoy living—a fate you never thought you would be able to see for yourself after the events of the last twenty years.

It was more or less a life of routine and monotony, but it was more of a life you had before which is what made it special.

Then Joel Miller came in and ruined all of that.

Six months ago he rode into town with his little brunette companion for a second time after briefly visiting a while before. He walked up to Tommy and gave him a firm hug while confirming your hope that he indeed would be making himself a permanent member of the Jackson community.

His house with Ellie was only a few blocks away which allowed for you to wake up a little early to see him leave on his way to patrol.

Now the interaction that started your infatuation with the grumpy old man was nothing too special; at least probably to the man himself. However, to you, it made a very old and foreign feeling form in your gut.

Butterflies erupted just at the sight of Joel Miller’s beautiful brown eyes that, depending on the light, either shined a light honey-brown, or dark and rich, like the coffee beans you used to brew your coffee that morning.

His hair reflected his age—a fluffy mess of brown with graying streaks and a patchy beard to match.

And his broad shoulders and strong looking arms made it so you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up by him—consumed by him.

He looked awkward, you think, as he stood inside your shop looking around wordlessly. You decided to step out from behind the counter where you were going over some previous numbers for inventory to help the handsome man get what he came for.

“Hi there, can I help you look for anything specific?” you asked as you approached him slowly from across the room.

“Hi, um, I was just lookin' for a thicker coat than the one I already have—‘just got my first pay from patrolling.” He muttered, continuing to search the many tables and walls littered with all sorts of clothing items.

“Oh okay, for sure! If you just follow me they’re right over here.”

You began to lead him to a rack near the register which had a small assortment of heavy winter jackets. You were constantly selling out of them since Jackson was always cold no matter the season which is why there wasn’t a lot to choose from.

He took a look at the jackets and gave you a nod, “Thank you, um…” Joel trailed off as you breathlessly laughed and told him your name.

He repeated your name trying it out on his tongue; making you wish for nothing more than to hear him say it in his Southern drawl over and over and over-

“I’m Joel,” he stated simply and you gave him a smile and nod of your head, pretending like you hadn’t already done a bit of digging to find out the handsome newcomer’s name a couple months ago when he first visited.

“Well Joel, if you need anything I'll be back behind the register.”

You pointed over to the table with a broken old register that worked just well enough to store the currency the town came up with so there was an extra curtain of civilization despite the events that were anything but that.

You thought it was kind of stupid, but it worked and made people happy so who were you to say otherwise?

He nodded to let you know he heard you as you went back to your previous position: pretending the whole time you weren’t shamelessly ogling the rugged, big, Southern man mindlessly looking through the jackets.

He eventually settled on a nice tan one with flannel material on the inside lining with white fleece on the collar and cuffs.

You quickly looked back down to the inventory papers so you wouldn’t be caught staring when you heard his heavy footsteps approach the counter.

“I’ll take this one,” he grunted as he began to gather up some coins to give you in exchange for the warm, heavy jacket.

You quickly pushed his hand away to alert him that it wasn’t necessary, “You're new here right Joel?” You asked as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and shook his head in agreement.

“Right, then consider it a welcoming gift—free of charge.”

You gave him a bright smile as he furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head causing you to see the honey sparkle in his brown eyes under the bright store light.

“Ya sure? Jacket doesn’t look cheap,” Joel muttered, his gaze flickering to his boots.

“A hundred percent! You’re new and patrolling isn’t an easy job, accept it as a thank you for keeping us safe if anything,” you told him shyly, the smile never leaving your face.

He chuckled softly and nodded his head.

“Okay darlin’, well, thank you—much appreciated.”

You whispered a soft ‘yeah’ as his eyes looked over you, causing a burning feeling to spread throughout your whole body as if you were being branded. He gave you one last nod of his head as he began to turn around and leave the store.

Not to your surprise, an empty feeling immediately filled you in the presence of his absence.

You whispered to yourself to pull yourself together—that you’ve only met him once and that his effect on you should not be this intense.

It didn’t help however as every interaction after that caused your feelings for the large stand-offish man to only grow.

Whether it was a quick acknowledgement of each other when you happened to eat in the dining hall at the same time, or a wave of a hand when you left your houses at the same time in the morning as he headed to patrol and you headed to the store.

But your favorite interactions were when he would come into the store to maybe get a couple of new shirts for Ellie, or some new socks for himself.

Over time you felt him grow more comfortable around you as you did him. He would tell you about Ellie’s latest antics; swearing that the teen girl was trying to ‘send an old man to an early grave.’

You would giggle and tell him that he wasn’t that old and that Ellie was just a teen girl finally in a safe somewhat normal place where she can go to school and make actual friends.

“About that, I think I might needa talk with her teacher soon—she’s been missin too much school and heading off god knows where,” Joel confessed to you, a frown overtaking his aged features as his worry about his adopted daughter showed clear all over his face.

You shyly grabbed his hand across the register and gave it a small squeeze.

“Try not to worry about her too much Joel. She’s young and she didn’t get to have a normal childhood—It's only normal that school probably doesn’t matter too much to her after everything,” you explained hoping that your words may ease him a bit.

He didn’t respond right away, instead looking at where your much softer hand overlapped his bigger, calloused ones. An unreadable look came over his face before he gently took his hand away from yours and looked to the ground.

“Yeah you’re probably right,” he responded in that low tone of his as he slowly began to back up.

“I gotta go check and see if she made it home okay. It was nice seein ya.”

You barely were able to say another word, maybe apologize for touching his hand in such a careless way before his heavy boots were already heading out the door; the little bell ringing a hollow sound in your ears.

After that, you began to see less and less of Joel and it hurt to admit that it slowly felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

You hated yourself for thinking that all your interactions meant something to him; that when he started to come to the store, not even leaving with anything but a conversation with you, that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you felt for him.

Every time you even attempted waving at him in the morning when you both left—he just grunted and looked the other way—pretending like you weren’t even there.

The store was for some reason busier than usual today and you closed up feeling drained and ready to sleep. The long shift accompanied by the hollow feeling in your heart Joel had left caused you to want nothing more than to curl up and forget all the pain in nicer dreams where things were better between you, things were different.

Joel would hold your hand in your dream and walk you to work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and a whisper of having a good day as you giggled and kissed him right back—whispering the same sentiments.

You were shaken out of your daydream on your walk home when you spotted the very man at the center of all your thoughts on the porch of someone's house, a woman’s house.

She was gorgeous with long, blonde hair framing her face perfectly, while she looked up at Joel with gorgeous, crystal, blue eyes. She looked older than you too, maybe even closer to Joel’s age.

They laughed about something before she was leading him inside her house as he followed suit; the door shutting in a finality behind them.

You felt a mix of jealousy and an even greater sadness than before filling your belly as you continued what felt like the longest walk home in your life.

As soon as the door closed you slid down the old wood as tears and sobs that you couldn’t stop wracked your body.

You just didn’t understand; what changed, what did you do to make him start avoiding you?

And you knew how hard it was for Joel to come out of his shell, so why did it seem so easy for him to talk and laugh with that woman?

After what seemed like hours, you finally picked yourself off of the ground and trudged slowly to your bed where you collapsed immediately upon impact with the old tattered sheets.

Instead of the usual happy dreams about Joel, tonight you were plagued with endless nightmares of him and the mysterious blonde woman; standing in the place you usually would in your dreams about Joel.

You woke up in the morning with a feeling of restlessness as you readied yourself for another long day of work.

After work that night you decided to go to the Tipsy Bison which was Jackson’s bar that you would usually frequent when your nightmares from the time you were on your own came back to haunt you.

Mindless images of a group of clicker’s taking from you the only person you had left in your life since the virus took over: your best friend.

After she was gone it was just you, and that period never seemed to completely leave your mind even after a year in Jackson.

After last night’s sleep, you definitely needed a drink you thought to yourself as you made your way over. When you entered you saw that it was a pretty busy night for the Tipsy Bison as you did your best to find a seat towards the end of the bar.

Once you took a seat, you gave the bartender your drink order and surveyed the area to see who else was here as you waited for him to deliver your alcohol of choice. Your breathing stopped and your eyes widened when you noticed a familiar group of people at a table closer to the front of the bar.

There in all his ruggish, handsome glory was Joel Miller, smiling widely as he talked with Tommy, Maria, and her.

You quickly swung back around to face where your drink was just set in front of you as you begged the burn in the back of your eyes to go away.

Fuck this, you thought as you downed most of the drink in one go, using your hand to wipe away the bit that escaped at the corner of your lips.

You did your best to ignore the person that was at the center of all your sadness; drinking and drinking until you felt a familiar buzz kick in and begin to cloud your thoughts.

Right when you were about to order another drink, a skinny, tall, blonde boy walked over to where you were seated and said it was on him as he handed over a couple of coins.

“You didn’t have to do that but thanks, I guess,” you muttered, hoping your disinterest was a sign that you wanted to be left alone.

He smiled wide in a way that caused you to shiver, and not in a pleasurable way like when Joel would grace you with the corner of his lip twitching up, releasing a breathless laugh; but in a bad, unnerving way.

“Anything for a girl as pretty as you.”

He winked which caused you to roll your eyes and once again look away from him. “I’m not interested but again, thank you,” you told him with a finality in your voice that the man—no—boy, didn’t take very seriously.

“Aw come on don’t be like that I just wanna have some fun with you,” he said in a sleazy manner as he reached out to grip your shoulder.

You quickly shook him off but in your drunken haze, you accidentally fell off your chair onto the ground—single-handedly causing the whole bar’s eyes to turn onto you.

“Godammit, now you're just causing a fucking scene,” the man snarled at you, causing tears to form behind your eyes as this man's actions as well as having the entire bar watching the now-forming scene.

And if the night couldn’t get any worse, you hear the familiar sound of boots coming up behind the man and it takes just one glance to confirm your suspicions.

“What did you just say to her?”

You heard a deep voice growl out, a look of pure rage overtaking Joel’s features as he stood right in front of the blonde boy’s face.

“Look man I didn’t know she was taken, I was just tryna have a good time, you know?”

An animalistic sound leaves Joel’s mouth before he takes the boy’s arm and forcefully grabs it until he's facing the bar counter and his arm is pressed deep into his back.

“It don’t matter whether she’s taken or not, you never treat a woman like that,” he snarls into the shaking boy’s ear.

“I never wanna see you come near her again, you hear me?”

He shakes his head wildly until Joel finally releases him and he scatters out of the bar. The anger on Joel’s face morphs into one of concern as he gently stretches out a hand to help you up.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He questions softly as you bat his hand away and attempt to stand on your own.

“M’ fine,” you mutter as you stand on shaky legs—about to fall over when Joel rests his big hands on your shoulders to steady you. He chuckles and curls an arm around your waist as he begins to slowly lead you out the door.

“You sure darlin’? Cause’ you seem a lil drunk to me,” Joel says amused at your hindered state while you frown up at him.

“Don’t you have to go back to your girlfriend,” you huff out, avoiding looking at the grumpy man’s features.

“Girlfriend?” He responds confused, not understanding what you were talking about until he catches your eyes drifting to Veronica’s face—Ellie’s teacher.

After the day he left abruptly from your store, he sought out Ellie’s teacher Veronica. They have been having weekly meetings about how Ellie was doing in school as well as her continuous efforts to ditch class.

There was absolutely nothing romantic about it, the whole ordeal gave him a headache—a subject he was too old to be stressing about.

Besides, how could he dare think about anyone else when you had him wrapped around your little finger?

When he first saw you at your clothing store and you gave him his jacket for free, he knew you would be trouble.

And trouble you were as he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to visit you just to see you and hear your comforting voice promise him that all his worries about his adopted daughter were normal.

It was actually your idea that maybe he should at some point meet with Ellie’s teacher. But when your small hand wrapped around his he got scared— scared this could become something real.

Everyone he has ever gotten attached to he’s lost and he already accidentally went and got attached to Ellie, he didn't know if he had it in him to do it to another person.

And on top of that, he was a bad man, he had done horrible things. You were also so much younger and prettier than him—a sweet, soft thing Joel didn’t feel he deserved.

But looking at your heartbroken face now as you looked back at him and then at Veronica, he knew he messed up. He should have never started avoiding you.

It was never the answer, but Joel had never been good at feelings, this much is evident.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

The walk back from the Tipsy Bison to your house was a pretty close one, your hose only being about five minutes away.

Once you were at your door with a Joel who did not take “leave me alone” as an answer, you struggled to get the key in the lock in your drunken stupor which the large man beside you thankfully helped with.

“Let me do that, sweetheart,” he muttered as his big warm hands covered yours and twisted the key, letting the both of you inside.

“Joel, I don't feel so good…” you said shakily as Joel uttered a “shit” and quickly hurried you to the bathroom which he found pretty quickly—his hands quickly opening the toilet seat and finding purchase in your hair as he held it back, allowing you to empty the contents of your stomach.

“Joel I’m so sorry,” you groaned as a tear fell down your cheek; your sadness, tiredness, and embarrassment flooded in all at once with help from the lingering alcohol in your system.

He shushed you softly and cradled you to his chest taking a second to rock you until your tears stopped and you felt well enough to stand.

“How bout’ you brush your teeth and get your pajamas on—I’ll make you some tea then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You nodded as he gently brushed your cheek with his thumb causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach as he made his way to your kitchen to attempt to find the ingredients and mug he needed.

You cleaned yourself up: showered, brushed your teeth, and put on sleepwear which helped you come back to a clearer state of mind allowing confusion to overtake you.

Why was Joel here taking care of you, wouldn’t his girlfriend begin to ask questions?

You weren’t allowed to keep worrying yourself with your thoughts as a knock on your bedroom door brought you back to reality.

“May I come in? Made ya tea,” Joel’s voice rang out into your room softly as you muttered a quiet, “Sure.”

Joel stepped into the room and handed you the mug which you took a generous sip of—the honeyed flavor soothing your throat and stomach.

“Thank you so much, Joel, for walking me home and taking care of me. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t go apologizing darlin’ you have done nothin’ to have to apologize for,” Joel interrupted sending you a soft smile as he went to pick up your hand laying on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the smooth skin.

In a reversal of roles, it was your turn to pull your hand away as Joel frowned and you looked to the floor; he should have expected that after everything that’s happened.

“I guess I deserve that,” he chuckles sadly as your turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Well you have a girlfriend and I bet it would make her uncomfortable if she knew you were holding my hand, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped him at your words which completely stopped when he saw your features form into one of anger.

“Why is that so funny? That’s why you stopped visiting and talking to me right? Because you found someone else.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as bitterly or as venomously as you said it but you couldn’t help it. You have spent weeks suffering over his actions towards you and now he helps you home, takes care of you, holds your hand like nothing happened?

“M’ sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was laughing at you. It’s just that…” He trails off collecting himself. Joel sighs out your name and begins to tell you that Veronica is not his girlfriend and that she was just Ellie’s teacher.

He explains to you all about their meetings and that tonight was just him getting her a drink to thank her for all her help.

“I promise you darlin’ it wasn’t anythin’ more than that—don’t feel that way about her at all.”

You process all the information Joel just unloaded on you; and though you do feel relief, you still feel irritation and sadness as his complete throwing away of your friendship—abandoning you without a word. You tell him as much as he releases another sigh and looks down toward the wooden floor.

“Look, m’ not really good at this…” Joel starts, eyes flickering up to your face as he continues.

“But coming into the shop and talkin’ to you started becoming the best parts of my day, sweetheart,” he pauses to give you a look of sincerity and to try holding your hand again—and this time— you let him.

“And I was just downright a coward and instead of facing my feelings I shut you out completely and I feel so fucking awful darlin’ I’m so sorry.” He whispers, tightening his grip on your hand.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I'm hoping you can forgive me and that maybe we can try to be somethin. I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it and I’m so much older than you, but-”

You cut Joel’s rambling off by pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. You begin to pull away when you don’t feel him kissing back, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he cups your head in a big hand and begins to kiss back with more fervor.

“Joel,” you whimper as he begins to lay you back on your bed, his tongue licking the seam of your bottom lip asking for entrance into your soft, warm mouth—which you immediately allow.

“Shhh, darlin’ will you lemme take care of ya? Wanna make you feel so good baby, make up for how bad I've been actin’.”

You let out a moan when you feel the rough denim of his jeans buck up into your soft sleep shorts making contact with your clothed cunt.

“Please Joel, need you so bad,” you whine as he starts to place kisses from your jaw down to your neck—slightly nipping and leaving a trail of small red spots in their wake, which he soothes with his tongue causing a high pitched whimper to leave your lips; beads of frustration beginning to gather at the corner of your lashes.

“I got you sweetheart, I’m right here, can I take this off?” Joel questions as he lifts the hem of your tank top.

You nodded quickly as he borderline rips it over your head, quickly latching a mouth onto one of your nipples as he massages the neglected one with his hand.

“Ohmygod-” you cry as he expertly flicks the bud with his tongue, soon moving over to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

Arousal pools in your gut as Joel groans, beginning to leave kisses from your sternum, down to the soft skin of your belly, and right to the hem of your sleep shorts.

He leaves a soft kiss there and looks up to you to ask for permission to take them off. You nod vigorously but he shakes his head and leans down more to press a kiss to your clothed core, emitting a loud gasp from your mouth.

“I need words darlin',” he states, glancing back up to you as you vocalize your permission. Joel wastes no time in taking your shorts down in one quick motion once you say yes—leaving you in your white lacy panties.

He runs a finger over the damp spot in your panties and then brings his arched nose close to the spot to breathe you in as well as to lick your folds through the cotton, his nose perfectly bumping your clit in this position causing you to squirm and moan his name.

“Joel please,” you begged as he pulled away and began to run soothing circles into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Please what baby, tell me what you need,” he demands as you try to buck your hips up to his mouth, but he won't let you, strong hands keeping you in place.

“Your tongue Joel I need your tongue,” you whimper but he shakes his head.

“Where do you need my tongue, baby? Gotta tell me if you wanna cum, sweet girl.”

You whine in embarrassment and look down to see Joel Miller with the smuggest smirk you have ever seen.

“I need your tongue on my pussy Joel, please take off my panties and use your tongue,” you beg as he chuckles and gently removes the white lace—quickly stuffing it in his back pocket before you can see.

“Good girl baby, that s’all I needed,” he murmurs as his tongue comes into contact with the bare skin of your folds causing you to gasp his name and grab his salt and pepper hair to hold him against your cunt.

“Oh my god Joel that feels so good!” You cry as his tongue moves from licking solid stripes against your folds to suckling gently on your clit, as your legs threaten to squeeze around his head.

“Fucking Christ sweetheart, you taste so good, can’t get enough of you,” he groans as he continues to lick into you—the coil in your tummy beginning to tighten but you need more to get you to your high.

“Mmm your fingers Joel, please I need your fingers,” you groan, causing Joel to growl against your pussy, the vibrations only heightening your pleasure.

“Okay baby, think you can take two, huh?” he murmurs as he presses several small kisses to the inside of your thigh.

You whimper a small “yes” as he gathers your slick on his middle and ring finger—the burn you feel from the sheer girth of his fingers stretching you open fades into a dull bliss.

“J-Joel I’m close,” you alert him as you buck into his face and fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Yeah, baby? C’mon then cum for me sweetheart, let go,” Joel coos gently and that’s all it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap—a stream of your slick gushing out all over his face and onto the scruff of his beard.

He continues to lick you through it until you're shuttering and mewling from the overstimulation. He pulls away with a large grin on his face as he reaches down to kiss you passionately, the sweetness of your fluids on his tongue making the kiss that much sweeter.

He wiped the rest of you off of his beard before giving you small pecks all over your face until you were giggling and he was chuckling.

“I am sorry y’know,” he whispered in that silky smooth voice of his. You cupped his cheek with your hand, rubbing circles into the scratchy skin.

“I know.”

Joel got up to get a wet cloth to clean you up. He then took his time putting your sleepwear back on—leaving gentle kisses and massaging every inch of your body he could see.

He ended up spending the night as you curled into his strong arms as he stroked your hair until he felt your breathing even out as slumber took over you.

He stayed up and watched you for a while until he soon fell victim to sleep; the thought of him finally being able to be completely happy despite everything was a comfortable thought, and it was all because of you.

#i hope you guys like it omg #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #tlou x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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exhuastedpigeon · 21 days

Text

kiss him once for me

705 spec / 935 words / also on ao3

Eddie was perfectly happy and accepting about Buck’s sexuality when Buck came out to him. In fact, he liked to think he was the ideal picture of a best friend when Buck had told him. Nothing changed between them after Buck told him, or more accurately, nothing bad changed. They’re actually closer than ever. Buck has been happier and seems more comfortable in his skin in the last three weeks than Eddie’s ever seen him.

So, nothing changes between them. Or at least, nothing changes until he sees Buck and Tommy kiss for the first time.

It wasn’t even a particularly steamy kiss. It was just a soft press of lips together. Eddie wasn’t sure why he had such a visceral reaction to such a chaste kiss - maybe it was the way Buck’s eyes had fluttered shut at the contact or maybe it was his soft smile after.

Or maybe it’s because of something Eddie isn’t ready to look too closely at. Not while he was sitting in Buck’s living room with Buck and Tommy sitting less than five feet away from him.

His first reaction when he sees it is to punch something, maybe a wall? Something that’ll really hurt. Almost as soon as the thought crosses his mind he realized how not normal that instinct was and he wants to punch himself for having it.

His second reaction is to run. They’re at Buck’s loft. He knows it would take him eight steps to get from the living room to the counter where he tossed his keys when he got here, leaving them in their usual spot, like they belonged there. It would only be six steps from there to the door. Twenty-one to the elevator or twenty-three to the stairs.

He can’t seem to fight the instinct to run for long. He gives it three minutes, until the next commercial break in the game they’re watching, before he pulls his phone out.

“Oh shit.”

“Is everything okay?” Buck’s voice is laced with concert and Eddie will feel guilty about that later, right now he just needs to go .

Eddie gets up from the armchair and forces his body to relax, turning his feet and legs to jello before looking at Buck and Tommy on Buck’s new couch, the one he picked out with Natalia and clearly doesn’t like. He seems pretty comfortable on it now though.

“Pepa isn’t feeling well, she asked if could grab Chris early,” Eddie lies easily. He knows it’s an easily believable lie because Tommy just nods in understanding, but Buck doesn’t look like he’s buying it.

“Bummer man,” Tommy says and he sounds like he means it. Like Eddie being here third wheeling isn’t putting a damper on their night at all. And Eddie knows he isn’t. He knows they want him here too, but he just - he needs to leave.

“I’ll -I’ll walk you out,” Buck says, moving to stand. As he shifts Tommy’s arm falls off of his shoulders. Something in Eddie’s chest purrs in satisfaction at their loss of contact. He grabs hold of the chains of whatever monster has suddenly burst into life on his chest, trying to reign in his feelings at least until he’s alone.

“Nah man, pretty sure I could find my way out of this place blind by this point,” Eddie smiles at them, at Buck, and tries to look natural.

This one must land a little better, because Buck smiles back, big and bright. Tommy probably smiles too, but Eddie only has eyes for Buck.

“Why don’t you bring Chris here, it’s boys night,” Buck says and Eddie knows in his bones that the invite isn’t just genuine, but that Buck really wants that. He wants Chris to join them. He wants their little family unit together.

“No, I think I’ll just leave you two to have some uh - alone time,” Eddie’s made it the eight steps to his keys by now and he gets the final six steps to the door. Almost home free.

Then there’s Buck next to him, giving Eddie a quick hug. Eddie has no idea how he missed Buck moving off of the couch.

“Text when you get home.”

“Yeah, always,” Eddie says with a nod. “See you on Thursday for basketball Tommy. Can’t let Garcia and Harper get an ego.”

“See you,” Tommy calls back and Eddie opens the door, stepping backward through it, like he can’t make his body turn away from Buck. Like he’s drawn to him like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Bye Buck,” Eddie’s voice is too soft when he says it. He knows it as soon as he speaks because Buck’s eyes get all soft on him.

“Bye Eddie.”

He makes it the twenty-one steps to the elevator and then the fifty-six to the guest spot in Buck’s parking lot.

The monster in his chest purrs again with the knowledge that he was there first. That he’s the one who got the guest spot and he’s the one who made Buck laugh so hard that he snorted beer out of his nose before Tommy even made it over after his shift.

Eddie takes a breath, then another. It’s ten minutes before he feels ready to drive, his entire body made of jello.

He knows he’s not homophobic. He’s not, he never has been, so that’s not why he reacted that way. He’s not homophobic, but he’s worried he might be in love with his best friend.

Eddie doesn’t drive to Pepa’s. He’s on his way to Hen and Karen’s before he realizes where he’s going.

Read on ao3

#buddie #911 #911 spec #buddie fic #bucktommy #Eddie Diaz

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steviewashere · 2 months

Text

Dream Come True

Rating: General CW: Minor internalized ableism on Steve's end Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Adopting a Child, Parenthood, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Let Them Live a Quiet Life God Damn It, Mild Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is about healing each other's wounds."

💕—————💕

They haven’t discussed children since the second month they were together. Was that probably a little too early in their relationship? Probably—Eddie will be brave enough to admit that right now. But, considering where they’re at now: Steve is forty-seven and Eddie’s forty-eight, their wedding bands are simple and gold (something easily spotted amongst the silver ones that Eddie still wears), the house they took a loan out for is painted yellow with white shutters installed (well, they paid Dustin and Will to do it. They were happy to help), they live in Massachusetts away from public eye, and though they don’t have a dog—not yet, the service dog process has been a long and weary one on Steve’s end—they have their little brown tabby cat. They’ve got a well furnished home. And years of love between them.

Nearly twenty-eight years in total. Nineteen years wedded. Six years of that are legally recognized. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is they stopped talking about the prospect of having kids.

Eddie’s initial answer at the beginning was, “Maybe. I think it would be neat. But, I’m gay, Steve. That isn’t really a possibility.” He chuckled a little bit. “I meant like adopting, but in a technical sense—Considering what’s in my pants, the possibility is still out the window.”

Steve’s was changed from what he told Nancy in that Winnebago. “I still want children. Or, just one. I want a quiet life. Even if you make it as some big rock star, I want a quiet private life.”

It was doable. What Steve had whispered on Eddie’s shoulder, that was doable. The question for years though was, When does he want that? And also, When will he leave to pursue that?

The answer was clear. Steve was never going to pursue that. That, sure, they’d have the quiet life. But never have children. And Eddie saw him wilt a little further and further. When they passed by the playground at the park. The daycare up the street from their home. After the seizure diagnosis, Steve stopped looking and thinking about it all together. It hurt Eddie’s heart.

He may have got the quiet life. And Eddie may have lived out his simple dream. He’d been a rockstar for a little bit in the late nineties and early two-thousands, retiring before they got married. But…Steve hasn’t lived his dream. Eddie hates that he thinks it’s being held back from him. Eddie’s determined to heal that hurt inside him.

——— Steve comes home from his Wednesday teaching shift around four in the evening. Eddie’s already on the couch, combing Poncho’s fur, watching the local news. He’s got a very important print out laid neatly on the coffee table. He hears Steve set down his briefcase on the dining table, his footsteps retreating to their kitchen to rinse out his thermos, coming back to the front door and placing his loafers on the shoe rack, and he hangs up his coat. Then, he enters the living room, hands scrambling to undo his tie, body leaning over the arm of the couch to press a kiss against Eddie’s mouth.

But then he pulls away, turning his whole body to watch the news. And that’s when he spots it. The flyer. He shuffles over on his mismatched socked feet, hands falling away from the collar of his dress shirt. He swipes up the paper. Behind his glasses, he squints.

It’s advertisement for the adoption agency some forty minutes out. Eddie hopes, by everything, that this will heal the pain in his own chest, and the emotional line of thinking in Steve’s brain. Hopes with everything that his body can physically give.

“What’s this about?” Steve asks. His voice is neutral. Almost…dare Eddie say, steely. Okay, maybe he made the wrong move. “We haven’t even—“

“I know,” Eddie immediately says. “I know we haven’t talked about it. But, sweetheart, just listen to me, alright?” At Steve’s confused and hesitant nod, Eddie tries to arrange his words. “This is something you’ve been wanting since forever ago. And I know that I haven’t really voiced my wants on it. But I also thought that it would never happen.

“That it would never be something people like me—“ He raises his eyebrows and points to the keyring attached to Steve’s belt loop. The short rainbow garland that sits discreetly among his keys. “—Would ever get the chance to do. But I—Steve, god, I want it so bad. I want to be able to be a dad and chase around a kiddo of our own while you’re busy at work. I want to see one off for school for their first day and cry like I’ll never see them again. Wanna make them a lunch they can bring to school, the same time that I make your lunch for your school. I want to watch them grow up with your goofy dancing skills and our combined love for music. And I—I want to be a better parent that I could’ve ever imagined.

“I want it with you,” Eddie breathes. “I want all of that with you. And I know that you still want it. Your forlorn looks at couples with babies. Every time you see Lucas and Max and their spitfire teenager, your eyes get this brightness to them that I—I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ve seen you happy like that since we got married.” He swallows at some of the implications there. And it’s not meant to be accusatory, but gosh does Eddie notice. The way his sunflower wilts. “This is just something for you to think about, okay? I know my decision on it. But think about it.”

Steve’s grip on the paper trembles. And his eyes are searing Eddie in a way that melts him. Blazing with adoration and love. “You want that?” He shakily asks. “You want to raise a kid with me?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, baby. I really, really, really do.”

“Even though…Even though I have seizures that could scare them shitless? And I get so angry some days that all I can do is hide in our bedroom and cry? And I—You want that with somebody like me?” He hesitates to ask again. Eddie doesn’t answer, but his arms open in comfort and his eyes soften with earnest. Steve doesn’t move from his spot, though. He looks back at the paper. “What’s the—Our first step?”

“We apply. And they determine if we’re worthy and that it’ll be safe,” Eddie answers. “If they see us fit, they’ll look at our house and things like that. We’ll come back to that later on. If that’s something you still want.”

“Okay,” Steve states with fervor. “Let’s do this.”

——— After a tedious process, Eddie realizes how correct he was.

It’s a Saturday. The curtains are open. Dinner is simmering on the stovetop. And Eddie stirs the soup while he listens in on Steve’s activity in the living room.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Steve is cooing. “Good job, Carmen. Look at you.” He’s been supervising her tummy time everyday he’s able to. Loves being able to lay on his back on the floor, eyes watching their daughter, his fingers combing through her hair as she uses her wide brown eyes to wonder about the world around her.

Eddie bites back a smile.

“That’s Poncho,” Steve is saying. He’s introducing them like they’re all acquaintances around a water cooler. Eddie, maybe, snickers a little bit behind his hand. “He’s gonna be your buddy. He likes the space between his shoulder blades scratched. Just like you, huh?” And hears the moment that Steve dully traces his fingernails on Carmen’s back. She gurgles a little excited babbling. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” Steve murmurs. “Daddy likes that, too.” He’s talking about himself. Because he practically fought tooth and nail for that title. Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

From the kitchen archway, Eddie surveys the display on the living room floor. And Steve’s on his back in his pajamas. Glasses smooshed awkwardly up his face as his cheek is pressed against the carpet, eyes gone soft and glistening while Carmen is on her belly. Her hands are sprawled in front of her, squeezing at the soft toys they had gotten. He’s brushing his fingers through her short, curly wisps of brown hair. Then, his hand travels back down to massage and scratch at her back again. She’s wearing a pink striped onesie and a pair of white socks on her little feet.

He clears his throat to make himself known. Steve looks up at him, softly smiling. “I reckon things are going good in here?” Steve only nods, too enamored with petting at Carmen’s back. Eddie finally smiles at him. “Good,” he whispers. He leans his weight on the doorway. A dish rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed low over his belly, hair thrown up in a loose bun on his head. Domestic life has really begun to suit him, if he’s honest. He finds himself at ease about it now.

As he turns back to the kitchen, to serve up their bowls of soup, Steve calls his name. He immediately turns back around. Greeted with his husband’s soft face, his deepened smile lines, his messy hair spread on the carpet. He’s more youthful than ever, fatherhood has changed him for the better, at least Eddie thinks so. He hums to see what Steve needs, because by god, he’ll do anything for him.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

“For what?”

“Making my hurt go away,” Steve says. But Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. And Steve clarifies, “Allowing me to accomplish my final dream. I’m really happy that it’s with you.”

Eddie crosses into the living room, crouching down to kiss Steve’s forehead, pecking Carmen’s soft head, too. He combs his own fingers through Steve’s hair. Smiling at the way he keens. “You made me believe that I could be a good dad,” he admits. “I can’t wait to do this right.”

Steve brings a hand to Eddie’s cheek. His index finger softly tracing down the side of his face. “Love you,” he murmurs.

Turning his face, Eddie kisses the tip of Steve’s finger. “Love you, too,” Eddie easily says in return.

Sure, he got to be a rockstar, but he thinks that this life—Steve soft and middle aged and smiling at him, petting down their daughter’s back, cooing soft as if he’s not almost fifty—is much better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed. Maybe filling the hole in Steve’s soul, the remedy that their daughter brings—Maybe that heals something for Eddie, too.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 16 #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #fluff

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dottores · 2 years

Text

WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME MAKES ME WANT YOU MORE | HAITANI BROTHERS

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: being part of a stepfamily was difficult, but not for the reasons you had initially thought. the issues rose not in your stepmother, but in your new brothers instead.

warnings: fem!reader, dom!ran, mean!ran, dom!rindou, sub!reader, inexperienced!reader, stepcest, face fucking, ran’s a bit creepy at first ngl, corruption/kind of predator vs prey, kind of manipulative!ran, accidental noncon voyeurism, mentioned/taken prescribed sleeping pills, age gap (21/22 -> 30/31), humiliation, degradation, edging/orgasm denial, fingering, ran has an absolutely filthy mouth, pet names (doll, good girl, princess but only mockingly), dumbification, ran calls rindou a “sister-fucker” mockingly also brings up the fact that they’re siblings several times to taunt reader and rindou

wordcount: ... 16k don't let it flop :') pls

Notes: for tee’s stepcest collab and eris and abby's corruption collab @hanmas @kxeyas @munsonsins

“Mom got a new husband,” Ran announced as he walked into the vast lounge on the top floor of Bonten’s headquarters, stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his slacks and circling his glass, watching as the amber liquid sloshed to the top before settling back down. His feet dragged against the wood as he made his way toward where Rindou was reclined back on one of the dark couches, one arm thrown over the back as he tilted his head toward Ran, clicking his tongue sharply.

“Again?” Rindou asked, lips turned down and brows furrowed, just as displeased as Ran expected he would be. Rindou rolled his eyes when Ran nodded, downing the rest of his glass of whiskey before leaning forward and pouring himself another. “This is her third this year. You’d think she’d get sick of having to find a new wedding dress every couple months.”

Ran snorted, leaning against the wall next to the couch, taking a sip of his own drink, “I think that’s her favorite part,” he noted, sparing one last glance toward his younger brother as he laid back against the couch again, feet propped on the ebony table in front of the couch as he scrolled through his phone, lighting up another joint, unbothered by the news.

Ran drew his gaze from his brother toward the floor-to-ceiling windows looking over Roppongi. The sun was setting already, the building casting an eerie shadow over the streets, the cars were beginning to thin out on the busy roads as people returned to their homes after work for dinner. His thoughts ran amok as he considered his mother’s words, trying to figure out the best way of conveying them to Rindou before he finally decided to just come out with it.

“Mom wants us to meet him,” Ran said simply, ignoring how Rindou choked over the smoke he had inhaled, head snapping to the side to look at Ran. Ran only stared ahead, eyes following a plane headed west from the city.

“Meet him?” Rindou demanded, tone laced with disbelief, “She’s never made us meet any of them before. She’s run through like twelve different guys and never asked us to come meet them.”

Ran shrugged, head dropping to the side to meet Rindou’s wide-eyed gaze, “She says she really likes him, thinks we’ll get along.”

Rindou snorted loudly, “I doubt that,” he said but Ran could see from the way that Rindou’s jaw was tight and his nostrils were flared that he was unhappy with the sudden turn of events and Ran couldn’t say he blamed him. They did not have good experiences with the men that their mother brought into their lives--from their biological father right up until the last man that their mother had forced them to meet when they were in their early twenties.

Rindou let out a frustrated noise, inhaling another puff of smoke before tilting his head back and exhaling, letting his eyes slide shut, “When’s she want us to meet him?”

Ran bit down on his tongue for a moment, letting out a soft breath. “Now,” he said. Rindou’s eyes shot back open.

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Rindou said unhappily but Ran only gave him a wry smile.

“I wish,” he said dryly, “She was insistent about it too. Says we haven’t even come to visit her in two months, the least we could do is come now.”

Rindou rolled his eyes so hard that Ran swore it must have hurt, “How mad will she be if we don’t show?” he muttered.

“On a scale of Fiji to Oslo?” Ran asked, tilting his head to rest against the wall. He noticed Rindou nod from the corner of his eye, “Definitely leaning Oslo. She already sounded pissed.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Rindou put his glass back down onto the table, rising to his feet, looking back at Ran, “You’re driving.”

“And you’re changing,” Ran muttered, eyeing the bloodstained white button-up Rindou was wearing, “Go change out of that. I’ll go start up the car.”

---

There was a car in the driveway, your fingers twitched at your sides as you stood from your vanity, trying to get a better look out the window. You couldn’t tell who had shown up at the house--whoever it was must have come into the house while you were still getting dressed and drying your hair after your shower.

You took in a shaky breath, eyes darting down to your phone. There were no new messages from your father or your new step-mother telling you who had stopped by and you bit your bottom lip, glancing at the glass of water sat atop your nightstand.

You had to go to the kitchen to get your sleeping pills, your father didn’t let you keep them in your room--they were in the kitchen cabinet, past the sitting room, and if there really were guests over, you had no doubt that that’s exactly where they’d all be.

Anxiety ate at your stomach, your gaze flicked to the clock. It was getting late already and you had to be up for classes the next morning. You wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night if you didn’t take your pills, and if you took your pills any later, you’d sleep through your alarms.

You briefly shut your eyes, letting out a long exhale as you made your decision.

Fuck.

You grimaced as you stepped into your slippers, tugging down your silk shorts as you left your bedroom, arms wrapped around your torso. The halls were long and decorated with old, expensive paintings and antiques, the lights above were dim and flickering as a storm rattled the windows.

Mrs. Haitani was old money—your father was wealthy, yes, but the more you hung around with your new step-mother, the more you realized how vastly different her lifestyle was compared to the one you were used to. From spending habits right down to the way she talked and dressed, sometimes you genuinely believed Mrs. Haitani was from another world altogether despite technically being in similar class brackets.

And she was nice, you supposed, if not a bit pretentious. She doted on you like she would her own daughter, bringing you out to brunches, out shopping, gossiping with you over boys at your university.

She had always wanted a daughter, she would tell you but her first husband passed away before they could try again, and by the time she finally started dating around again, she was too old to have any more kids no matter how hard she tried.

She was older than your father—by a good twenty years, even if she didn’t look it—when he had first told you about her, you had been unhappy because it felt like he was trying to replace your mother. But you supposed that of all the women that your father could have remarried, Mrs. Haitani certainly wasn’t the worst pick.

You turned down another hallway. In the distance, you could hear voices talking—your father, Mrs. Haitani, and two unfamiliar male voices. You let out a shaky exhale, arms tightening around your torso.

In and out, walk through the room to the kitchen, get your pills, and leave.

You stepped into the large sitting room and immediately four gazes were on you. You felt sick, you had never been good with people, especially new people.

Mrs. Haitani smiled bright when she saw you, leaning against your father, curled up at his side. She called your name happily, “C’mere,” she said, “I want you to meet my sons.”

Your mouth was dry as your gaze flickered over to the two men sitting in one of the sofas—sharp lavender eyes, dark button-ups and slacks, sleeves rolled up above the forearms revealing matching tattoos on opposite sides.

The one with longer hair looked distinctly unimpressed, lounged back into the red cushions as he took one short look at you before returning to conversation with your father. The shorter-haired one, on the other hand, leaned forward, a sort of interest sparking in his eyes that had your hair on end.

“Haitani Ran,” he greeted smoothly, a warm smile tugging at his lips that would have lulled you into a sense of security had you not caught the calculating look in his eyes a second prior. He held his hand out to you and you hesitated before placing your hand in his, the cool metal of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. You prayed he didn’t notice how your fingers were trembling. From the way his smile widened and his grip on your hand tightened firmly, you knew your prayers went unanswered.

You swallowed thickly as you introduced yourself, pulling your hand away and letting it drop back at your side. Ran’s eyes glittered in amusement, teeth gleaming under the light of the room as he glanced at the longer-haired man, “Rindou, don’t be rude.”

Rindou rolled his eyes, tilting his head up and back to look at you again. You caught sight of the tattoo decorating his throat, a simple hanafuda design, “Rindou,” he introduced, eyeing you briefly from the corner of his eye as he turned back to your father.

Ran clicked his tongue in annoyance, eyes flashing cold for just a moment as looked down at Rindou before returning his attention to you. Your head tilted to the side in curiosity when you noticed that Ran had a matching tattoo on his throat.

“Why don’t you sit with us for a bit?” your father said, motioning to the armchair next to where he and Mrs. Haitani were sitting. “You guys should get to know each other, you’re family now, you know?”

The words didn’t not sit right with you. An uncomfortable feeling spreading throughout your chest at your father’s words, glancing back at Rindou and Ran once before shaking your head.

“No, dad,” you said quietly, “I only came down to get my pills. I have class in the morning.”

Your father opened his mouth to protest but before he could say anything, you turned your attention back toward Haitani Ran and Haitani Rindou. Rindou met your eyes for half a second before looking down at his phone while Ran kept his eyes on you. You shifted uncomfortably beneath his sharp gaze, “Nice meeting you,” you said half-heartedly, not entirely meaning it.

Rindou didn’t respond, Ran’s lips ticked up into a small, sly smile--one that you liked even less than the warm, artificial one. “Nice to meet you too,” he murmured.

You forced your gaze off him, a strange and unwelcome feeling stirring in you before you bid goodnight to your father and Mrs. Haitani, disappearing down into the kitchen, intent on grabbing your pills, returning to your room and going to sleep. You had a big day of presentations for your government class tomorrow, and the last thing you needed was for this to rattle you after you had been prepping all day.

It wasn’t like they’d be around often anyway, this was the first time you’d heard of them except for the pictures Mrs. Haitani had set up around the house from when they were younger. You were sure that they’d disappear again after tonight, so it was best to just push them from your mind.

Right?

---

“You’re a fuckin’ creep, y’know that?”

Ran raised his eyebrows, not even bothering to turn toward Rindou as he heard his brother approach from behind, eyes trained on you instead, watching as you shifted beneath your sheets, dead to the world.

“How you gonna explain this if she wakes up, hm?” Rindou continued, and Ran only rolled his eyes.

He turned his head over his shoulder from where he was leaning against the doorframe of your room, shooting his brother an annoyed, lazy look. With two fingers, he lifted the bottle of pills he had found in the kitchen cabinet prescribed to your name before flicking it over to Rindou. Rindou caught it easily, frowning as he read the prescription before scoffing, tossing it right back to Ran.

“She won’t be up for a while,” Ran grinned at Rindou before turning his attention back toward you, eyes lidded as he considered your sleeping form.

“I don’t get it,” Rindou shook his head, standing half-behind Ran as he eyed you for a moment before turning his attention back to Ran, waiting for him to explain. Ran ignored him. “Hello?” Rindou demanded, “I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, I know,” Ran said dryly, “I am ignoring you.”

Rindou gaped, face twisting in annoyance but Ran tuned him out as he spit a volley of irritated curses at Ran. Though Ran supposed he wasn’t ignoring him to be annoying, he didn’t really know the answer to his implied question. He wasn’t sure what it was about you that was drawing him in.

And it wasn’t like this happened often with Ran. If anything, it was always the opposite. Women were drawn to him and he took advantage of it--whether it was for trying to subtly gather information for Bonten or just for an easy fuck, Ran was never the one that was captivated by someone but…

He let out a breath, tilting his head to the side as he watched you shift in bed again, soft puffs of air escaping your lips, covers half-thrown off, strewn across the bed haphazardly. He could see your chest rising and falling with every breath in and out, the way your button-up pajamas had come half-undone in your sleep.

Sister, you were technically their sister now, weren’t you? he considered, unable to draw his eyes from you. Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to get his mind off of you. Throughout all of their mother’s marriages, they never had a step-sibling before. It had always just been him and Rindou.

But even as the thought crossed through his mind, he knew it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just interest because of the fact your father had married his mother. It was something else--but what?

Maybe it was your innocence? he thought as his eyes searched your sleeping form for an answer. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, eyes darkening. He supposed there was just something about the way you came down your hall in silk pajamas, arms wrapped nervously around your stomach, eyes darting around like a cornered animal, that had his blood running hot.

You were younger than them--your father had mentioned that you were still in college, and his mother had implied that your father had kept you rather sheltered. Ran had not a single doubt about that, your eyes were still wide and bright, unlike most of the other women that Ran usually encountered around the clubs in Roppongi, who became jaded and empty-eyed over the years. It had been a long time since he’d come across someone who hasn’t been made dull and apathetic by the realities of the world and…

And Ran wanted to fucking ruin you.

“Don’t fuck this up for mom,” Rindou said sharply as if he could read Ran’s mind. Maybe he could, Ran considered as he forced his gaze from you back to him, frowning. “Don’t look at me like that, you saw her with the new guy. She really seems to like him. Don’t be fuckin’ gross and try to fuck with his daughter.”

“She always seems to like the new guys at first,” Ran dismissed and Rindou let out a frustrated breath at Ran’s blatant way of ignoring Rindou’s main point. “She’s pretty.”

It was an innocuous comment--a lot tamer than anything else Ran could have said watching your shirt ride up your stomach--but Rindou’s lips still twisted in disgust, “You’re disgusting,” he said, “Mom married her father, she’s technically our fuckin’ sister, Ran, c’mon.”

“Not by blood,” Ran grinned, winking at Rindou, who only looked even more disgusted at Ran’s words, “You’re gonna switch up,” Ran said firmly, ignoring how Rindou let out a ‘yeah, sure’, “and when you do, ‘m not gonna let you hear the end of it.”

“Fuck off,” Rindou said half-heartedly. “I’m going back to bed. Stop fucking staring at her, it’s creepy.”

“Whatever,” Ran said, waving his hand, sparing you one last look as you let out a soft hum in your sleep. His mouth went dry when he noticed that your blankets had slipped off your leg, revealing your skin all the way up to your thighs.

“Ran,” Rindou said sharply, and Ran rolled his eyes, finally ripping his eyes off of you to quietly shut the door behind him, “Don’t.”

Ran only smiled, “Relax,” he murmured, mind already whirring as plans bounced around his head, “I wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want.”

---

You let out a frustrated breath as you looked down at the wires in your hand and then back up at the television, unable to figure out which cord you had plugged in wrong. You were exhausted, and your body was sore from working out, and you just wanted to lay down on the couch and binge the latest season of your favorite show. Why your father had decided to unplug the television before leaving for work was a mystery to you, you had heard him complaining about the picture being more static than usual and calling an electrician over to look at it after having fiddled with it for an hour and giving up.

He could have at least put it back the way it was before he fucked around with it, you thought to yourself. But knowing your father, he didn’t know how to put it back the way he had found it.

You grit your teeth as you looked between the wires and television again, going in for the fifth attempt. As you fiddled with the wires, you heard the shower water turn off in the distance. You frowned, instantly shooting a suspicious look in the direction of the bathroom.

The brothers had been around more often since the night they had shown up a few days ago—Ran, in particular. You didn’t know why—they had claimed to their mother that it was because they hadn’t seen her too often over the past year but you had a feeling that the excuse was not the real reason.

The number of times you had come home to Rindou smoking a joint by the pool or Ran wandering around shirtless after a shower, tattoos broad on display, was ridiculous, really. You hated how nervous the two of them made you, you hated how Rindou would barely spare you a glance even when you tried to say hi to him, and you hated how Ran was so touchy with you and you hated even more the part of you that couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

They had you on edge—both of them did, albeit for different reasons.

“Need help?” your eyes widened as you turned your head to the side, eyes catching sight of Ran leaning up against the wall next to the fireplace, towel hanging low on his waist and another towel draped around his shoulders. Your mouth was dry as your gaze darted down, just as it always did whenever you caught him walking around shirtless, dipping down and tracing his tattoos right to his v-line before you went hot, realizing what you were doing and looking back up. He raised his eyebrows, the smirk on his face very telling of the fact he knew exactly what you were looking at.

Your face heated up in humiliation, you tried to remember what he had asked.

Help, he had asked if you needed help.

Your eyes darted between him and the television that you just couldn’t seem to hook up correctly--you wondered how long he had been standing there watching you struggle with it before he finally spoke up. You weren’t sure how long you had been lost in thought. Silently, you cursed your father yet again for unplugging it before he left for work.

You didn’t want to ask him for help, there was something about Mrs. Haitani’s older son that really, really rubbed you the wrong way. He was always nice to you, too nice, even, and it should be putting you at ease…

But…

Your eyes met his lavender ones, they were sharp, calculating, and you had a strange, distinct feeling, one that you couldn’t quite place but you were sure it was reminiscent of how a deer might feel when it’s cornered by a predator with nowhere to run.

You swallowed thickly, “Yeah,” you said quietly, looking away from him. Ran peeled off the wall, walking closer to you and your fingers twitched at your sides when he finally stood in front of you. Silently, you held out the wires you were trying to hook up and your breath caught as Ran reached out to take them, fingers brushing yours.

You stood there for a moment, unmoving. Ran raised his eyebrows again and you frowned, unsure of what he wanted. His lips twitched up, a sort of mocking amusement dancing in his eyes, “Gotta get past you, doll,” he murmured.

Your face went hot again as you realized you were standing right in front of where he had to get to, and just as you were about to move out of the way, your eyes widened, Ran pressed his hand against the small of your back, sliding past you. And you felt dizzy, the scent of his body wash was overwhelming, the feeling of his body brushing against yours, you could feel his skin--you felt light-headed and you didn’t even know why.

As if he could sense how the brief contact had flustered you, he tossed you a wink. You stood there, stiff and nervous as he shifted the television on the wall mount so he could access the plugs better.

“C’mere,” he said, nodding his head to you, “I’ll show you so you know how to do it next time.”

You swore your heart was in your throat. The area behind the television was small, too small, you would be pushed up against him if he wanted you to come watch him plug it in. Just as you were about to shake your head and take a step back, Ran reached forward, tugging you a little closer.

Your breath caught as your back pressed against his chest. He let out a quiet apology, not having meant to pull you that hard--but a part of you didn’t believe him even as you told him it was okay. You took a step away so that your body wasn’t flush against his but it didn’t help.

You could barely focus on the way his long fingers fiddled with the wires, connecting them correctly. His voice was low in your ear, smooth like honey as he explained what you were fucking up with. It had your blood running hot and your hair standing up all at the same time.

His words went in one ear, out the other—you were more absorbed in the way you could feel how his skin was still hot from the shower he had taken, in the way you could smell his body wash so intensely, in the way you could hear each and every subtle fluctuation in his tone.

You prayed to god that he didn’t ask you to hook the television up yourself after he was done explaining to prove you understood what he was saying. On one hand, you knew damn well he already knew just how affected you were by his proximity and you were sure the satisfaction of that would be enough for him but on the other, you had a distinct feeling that Haitani Ran was the sort of man that got off on humiliation.

He was dangerous, you realized to yourself thickly. Your father kept you sheltered, but you were not naive. You knew of the rumors circulating Tokyo surrounding the people that bore the tattoo marring your stepbrothers’ throats, and you knew that the rumors were more than just rumors.

An unsteady feeling curled in your stomach as Ran finished explaining. You stepped away, still feeling hot and unwilling to look at him as you made your way to the couch, shooting him a quiet, stuttered thanks as your shaky hand lifted the remote.

He sat next to you.

Too close. You could feel his skin brushing yours, you could see the way his towel loosened from the corner of your eye.

“What’re you gonna watch?” Ran asked curiously.

“A show,” you responded tensely, trying to loosen the way your jaw had clenched tight at his proximity yet again.

He was waiting for you to elaborate, you realized and you let out a soft breath as you told him the name of the show, stupidly mentioning that it was your favorite.

“Mmm, hit play,” he hummed, “I’ll watch a few episodes with you, don’t think I’ve got anything else to do today anyway.”

With a figure that trembled just a bit too much to be solely from the way the air conditioning was blasting in the house, you pressed play on the remote—desperately trying to relax yourself against the cushions and ignore the way Ran’s toned arm was draped on the couch behind your head, ignore the way that if you looked out of the corner of your eye, your gaze could dip down below his towel from the way he was sitting.

Haitani Ran was dangerous, you noted again, hoping he missed the way you had instinctively rubbed your thighs together, especially if he could throw you off kilter like this so badly, if he could fluster you so intensely with minimal actions.

He was dangerous in more ways than one, you glanced at the tattoo branding his throat again and then went hot when he flashed you another smile. Very dangerous and you had always hated danger, no matter how appealing the form it came in was.

And that realization was all you needed to know to come to the conclusion that you would stay the fuck away from Haitani Ran and his charming smiles and captivating words no matter what the cost.

—

Haitani Rindou could not understand. It took a lot to boggle him like this but his older brother’s obsession with you was certainly more than enough to render him to such a state.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t try to understand. He did, he swore he did. Especially after Ran made that comment about how Rindou would switch up, and he only tried to understand because he wanted to avoid what might cause the switch up just so Ran couldn’t hold that ‘I told you so’ over his head.

But he could not understand. He did not know why Ran was so captivated by you, he did not know why Ran was so insistent that Rindou would switch up, and he certainly did not know why you kept trying to talk to him despite the fact he was cold and aloof with you.

Or, well, maybe he did know. Rindou’s lips pulled up around his cigarette as he made his way through the house toward the back door. You could not stand Ran, that much was apparent from how you had begun to actively avoid him. Whenever he walked into the room, you were moving in the opposite direction almost instantly. Maybe it wasn’t that you couldn’t stand him, he considered, more than it was Ran having come on to you too strong.

You were a lot like a deer, Rindou noted, inhaling a deep breath of smoke before tilting his head back and exhaling, letting it cloud around him. Hesitant, wary, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, and evidently, you had deemed Ran as dangerous. Rindou would be insulted, really, that you didn’t seem to view him as dangerous but he found it way more amusing watching the frustration cross Ran’s face every time you drifted over toward Rindou or whenever you fled the room as soon as he showed up.

Rindou pushed open the back door, making his way out toward the pool, pausing mid step when he caught sight of you floating in the pool on one of the pink inflatable pool mats. You lowered your sunglasses when you heard the door open, tilting your head up to look at whoever had come outside. Your lips had been twisted down in suspicion until you seemed to recognize Rindou. Your lips turned up and you lifted your hand to wave at him.

Rindou ignored you, trying to hide the smile that nearly touched his lips when he realized you must have been suspicious over the fact that it might have been Ran that came outside. He debated on going back inside but decided against it--Ran was arguing on the phone with Kokonoi and Sanzu, and Rindou knew it was only a matter of time before the argument started getting loud and he did not particularly want to deal with that.

Holding the cigarette between his lips, he took off his tank top, pulling out his phone as he sat down on the pool chair next to the water. He scrolled through the groupchat he had with Mochi and Kakucho, snorting when he realized that the two of them must be in the same room as Kokonoi and Sanzu, listening as the argument drew on between them and Ran.

16:33 Kakucho: Sanzu won’t shut the fuck up, think Ran might actually lose it this time?

16:34 Mochi: Oh yeah, there he goes

As if on cue, a crash came from inside the house. Rindou snickered, shooting a message to them before a splash from the pool caught his attention. His gaze darted up above his phone right as he pressed send. He raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of you wading toward him, head bobbing above the water as you leaned up against the side of the pool.

“Hi,” you said, eyes happy as you looked up at him. He wondered what changed from the first night he had met you when you could barely look him in the eye. Or he supposed that he did know, you considered him the lesser of two evils now.

“Hey,” Rindou responded, meeting your eyes for half a second before letting his gaze drift back toward the house. Ran was at the window, phone pressed to his ear, eyes dark when he noticed that you were initiating conversation with Rindou.

Rindou, who had been very much intent on ignoring you after you exchanged your greetings, abruptly had a much better idea.

He sat up from where he was leaning back against the pool chair, putting his phone down, legs spread and feet pressed on the ground on either side of the chair, elbows resting on his thighs. Your eyes brightened over the fact that he wasn’t ignoring you, Rindou bit back a smirk when he noticed the vile, frustrated expression that crossed over Ran’s face when he noticed.

Not as fun when you’re not the first choice, hm? Rindou jabbed silently toward his older brother, having been in that exact position for the majority of his life. He knew that the only reason Ran had been so arrogant with his, ‘you’ll switch up,’ was because he was certain that you would prefer him over Rindou anyway, as most women have. And now that it was becoming apparent that that was not, in fact, the case…

Rindou was suddenly a whole lot more interested in you, even if it were for all the wrong reasons.

You propped your elbows up on the edge of the pool, resting your chin on one of your palms as you looked up at him.

“Whatcha guys hanging around so often for now anyway?” you asked, eyes lidded in a way that had his thoughts taking a rather filthy turn. He scolded himself silently, hating the way his blood jumped as you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wide and curious.

He supposed he could see the attraction. He calculated you as he gave you a half-assed answer as to why he and Ran were suddenly all over their mother’s place again. You were a pretty little thing, that was for sure, and Ran had always enjoyed pretty little things like you. Rindou too, of course, but he had never seen it grow to this much of an obsession.

He watched as you babbled on about one of your classes--he wasn’t even quite sure how the conversation changed to this, but in his defense he hadn’t really been paying attention, too focused on trying to piece together the mystery you had thrown on him. He was grateful for the sudden change in your demeanor--this way he could focus on trying to figure this out while you distracted yourself with your conversation. You had been quiet the night that they had met you--quiet and timid and nervous. You were still that way whenever Ran was around, but Rindou thought he might prefer this side of you--the bright smile and brighter eyes that decorated your expression as you chatted animatedly about your interests. Interests that he genuinely couldn’t care less about but he still found himself listening fairly intently to as you went on and on about world politics.

You wanted to be a lawyer specializing in international law, he learned, eyes tracing your lips as you told him about a presentation you had on about the geopolitical risks of nuclear technology.

He asked you a question about your presentation, he watched as your eyes lit up, as you pushed yourself out of the pool just a little more, his breath caught as your breasts bounced at the subtle movement. Momentarily, Rindou’s gaze dropped down, watching as water droplets dripped down your collarbone and between your breasts.

He dragged his eyes back up to your face, gaze slowly tracing up the water droplets still dripping down your body up to your lips, spread wide across your face in a sort of smile that ignited something in him that he didn’t expect. His mouth felt dry, his eyes met yours again. You didn’t notice--he supposed he should be grateful for that. The last thing he needed was for you to start thinking he and Ran were the same.

Oh.

Realization hit him slowly--in a sort of way that had his skin crawling and heart stuttering in his chest. He spared one last glance to the window he had seen his brother in not ten minutes before, eyes wide and panic beginning to hit because…

… because Rindou had a distinct feeling that he just fucked himself.

---

Like his brother, Haitani Ran also could not understand. He was absolutely baffled as to how he had gone so horribly wrong with you. He had been nice, friendly, he went out of his way to try to help you and he made sure that he kept his temper in check whenever you were around even when Rindou was purposefully needling him. He had done all of that, and yet you still refused to talk to him--go near him, even.

But somehow you were perfectly comfortable with Rindou, and Ran just couldn’t understand why no matter how hard he tried.

His thin temper was on the verge of snapping, and it would not be pretty for anybody if, or more likely when, it did.

His jaw was tight as he stared down at his glass of wine, watching the red liquid slosh back and forth as he circled his hand.

He didn’t even know why this was bothering him so much. Or he supposed he did, Ran was pretty sure this was the first time ever that a woman had not chased after him. And likewise, it was the first time ever that he had chased after a woman.

And that was what had Ran so confused.

Why the fuck was he chasing after you?

Why was it not working?

Why was he continuing to chase when it was apparent that it wasn’t working?

Well, the last question was easy to answer--Ran had always had trouble accepting defeat and this was turning into one of the most frustrating games of his life.

His finger hovered above the call button on his cell phone.

Humiliating, this would be fucking humiliating. Mochi’s number was displayed bright on his screen, and he knew that calling his friend would result in a number of jokes at his expense but Ran wasn’t sure what else to do.

He could practically hear the comments already and it had his face heating up in anger and embarrassment.

How the fuck was he supposed to explain that he was trying and failing to seduce his new step-sister without sounding like an absolute fucking loser?

There was no way, he realized mournfully, locking his phone and shoving it back in his pocket, downing the rest of his drink. He would have to figure it out by himself.

He glanced over to the clock on the wall. It was late, obscenely so, he hadn’t realized how quickly the time had passed, and Ran felt dread pooling in him when he remembered that he had a meeting first thing in the morning.

He let out a long sigh, tipping his head back and downing the rest of his glass. Placing the glass back down on the counter, head fuzzy from the alcohol, Ran began to make his way back toward his room.

A part of him hated you, truly. He felt it deep in his chest, flowing throughout his body. He never tried for anyone, ever, not until you--and you, the first person he genuinely tried for, only brushed him off, avoided him.

It was fucking embarrassing. Humiliating. He knew that Rindou was laughing at him whenever he got the chance, and he knew that if the others found out, they would be doing the same exact thing.

The fact that he had even been considering going to Mochi about this, to ask his advice concerning how the fuck to approach you, was a mystery in itself. Mochi would have never let him live it down and you should not matter to him this much.

Why the fuck did he care so much about what you thought of him? Why was he so desperate to make you see him, want him? He had never been that way with other women, why you?

Even if he had been right a few nights ago when he decided the reason he wanted you was because he wanted to taint that purity that seemed to cling to you like a second skin, it didn’t explain why he was trying so fucking hard when it was obvious you had no interest.

It was exhausting. And he was certain it was driving him half-mad, watching you hang around his brother like an elementary school girl with a crush all the while avoiding him like the plague.

He let out a heavy sigh, sparing your ajar bedroom door a hateful glare as he made his way toward it so he could pass it to get to his own room further down the hall.

It was a waste of his time, he told himself, he was better off forgetting you and going back to women at the club. But even as the thought crossed his mind, the picture of your wide eyes and long lashes looking up at him as he helped you hook up the television flashed through his head, he recalled your soft voice and even softer skin as he sat just a bit too close to you and all he could think of was how your body would feel beneath his, how you would sound crying out his name, wide eyes glassy and tears spilling over your cheeks as you begged him for more and begged him to slow down all at the same time.

Ran let out a low groan, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back against the wall next to your door.

Fuck, he thought to himself, letting out a shaky, heavy breath as he tried to work himself up to continuing back to his room.

You were so close, he swallowed thickly. You were just behind the door and Ran could practically picture the way you were fast asleep in bed, blankets strewn all over, one bare leg visible, pajama shirt riding up your stomach. Your lips would be wet and parted, soft puffs of air escaping your lips as you slept soundly, unaware of his presence on the opposite side of the door and the vile, vile thoughts running through his head.

Another noise escaped his lips, his eyes screwed shut. What the fuck was wrong with him? he wanted to scream at himself, he wanted to pick his feet up to keep moving down the hall but he couldn’t.

Especially when he heard noise coming from inside your room.

His head fell to the side, eyes trained on your door as he listened intently. You should be asleep, fast asleep, really, he had been in the kitchen with you when you took your sleeping pills earlier. Was he imagining it?

No, he definitely wasn’t. A quiet whimper resounded from your room, one that he would have missed had he not been listening for it.

There were no sounds of movement from behind the door, Ran was so still that he was certain if someone passed by they would’ve mistaken him for a statue.

He waited a moment—another, he recognized, swallowing thickly as he glanced at the door, a hot feeling pooling in his lower abdomen. Maybe you were having a nightmare? he considered, trying to figure out what to do.

His palm pressed flat against the ajar door, hesitating only for a moment before pushing it open. He winced at the creak, and cursed his mother for never replacing the hinges on the older doors in the house. And just as Ran was about to take a step into the room, he froze, because the next noise that escaped your lips was not a whimper.

His eyes ripped up to where you were laying, mouth going dry as his gaze landed on you, covers strewn on top of you, just like he expected, quick, heavy pants escaping swollen lips, chest rising and falling rapidly. You were wearing different pajamas tonight—a tank top that was half-falling off of you and a pair of shorts that barely covered anything—and Ran could not take his eyes off of you, and he wouldn’t have wanted to even if he could.

Your eyes were squeezed shut tight, sweat beaded at your skin, body shifting and squirming underneath the thin sheet—you had tossed your comforter off some time during the night. Another soft moan escaped your lips, unmistakable this time, and Ran’s cock twitched at the thought.

Fuck, he thought, his feet were pressed hard against the ground. He tried to force himself to turn on his heel and walk away but he couldn’t.

It would be the right thing to do, Ran told himself but Haitani Ran had never been a good man, and a part of him wondered why the fuck he should start now.

But Rindou’s words circulated through his head—don’t ruin this for mom—and more selfishly, a part of him really was worried you would wake up, no matter how illogical the fear might be (he had seen you take the pills), and if you woke up and saw him, any chance he had would be thrown out the window.

With that thought in mind and a litany of curses running through his head, he took a step out of your room, closing the door behind him. Just as he was about to quietly shut it, another noise left your lips.

His name.

Ran stared ahead blankly, scared, if only for a second, that you had woken up and seen him. He glanced back over his shoulder, a million excuses on the tip of his tongue, but his lips only parted in shock when he realized you were still asleep.

Oh fuck.

God was testing him, he realized. His throat felt tight, his head felt dizzy. He took in a deep breath. Fuck.

And it took absolutely everything Ran had in him to step out of your room and close the door behind him. His eyes slid shut as he leaned back against the door, trying to control himself.

His hand twitched toward the buckle of his pants, cock straining against the tightness of his slacks, abdomen tense and breath shaky. The sight of you squirming in bed, the sound of your whimpers and moans playing on repeat through his head—his name.

You wanted him.

The thought was almost enough to push him over the edge after having heard you moan his name in your sleep. For all of your avoidance and excuses, you wanted him, and it set a new sort of fire running through his blood, igniting the determination that had slowly faded after two weeks of rejection.

You and your father and his mother were going on vacation next week, Ran remembered, head half-dizzy and legs all but trembling as he made his way back to his room.

He would figure out a game plan while you were gone, and once you were back, he swore to fucking god, he would do this right.

—

Something had changed.

You weren’t sure how, or what exactly it was, but something had changed and it had you on edge.

At first it was just Ran that had thrown you off kilter, unnerved by how familiar he acted with you and unhappy with the very unwelcome feelings he had brought upon you. But now it was Rindou too, and you hated it because he hadn’t been the one to change. He was still aloof with you, he was still distant, but now every time he accidentally (was it really accidentally?) brushed up against you, your head felt fuzzy and your body felt hot.

It had been easy to avoid Ran, because you would run to Rindou instead, but now Rindou wasn’t an option because he was making you feel those same, equally unwelcome feelings.

You shut your eyes. You hated it.

School. Studying. Clubs.

That was your life.

You wanted to do well in university. You wanted to get into the best law school. You wanted to make a name for yourself.

And now you wanted them.

You wanted them, and you hated it.

You wished you could go back to before you had met them, you wished you had stayed in your room and gotten a shitty night of sleep because now you couldn’t focus on anything but them.

Every time your professor droned on in class, your mind would wander to the way that Ran’s body had felt pressed up against yours that day he helped you with the television, your head would feel dizzy as you wondered how he would feel pressed up behind you in different scenarios—on his bed, over your desk, against the door to your parents’ bedroom. Your mind would wander to Rindou and his ever-apathetic expression, and you wondered what expression he would make if you were on your knees in front of him, if he was hovering above you with your legs hooked over his shoulders, and every time you realized just how far your mind had drifted, your face heated up and your eyes got teary.

You had never been like this before. You hadn’t. You weren’t totally inexperienced, you’d had a boyfriend before, but you had never been so dumb and obsessed over some guy’s cock before. You weren’t the type to just sit there and fantasize for hours on end but now you were and it was affecting your studies and it was their fault.

And it wasn’t just some guy, you wanted to cry, they were your brothers. Your brothers. Your father had married their mother. They were your brothers, maybe not by blood, but they were still your family, and all you could think about was them having their way with you in any and every possible position.

“You okay, hun?” you nearly flinched at the sound of Mrs. Haitani’s voice, and you wanted to cry even more when you noticed the genuine concern. She was worried about you as if you hadn’t just been having vile thoughts about her sons.

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “I’m okay.”

She didn’t believe you, but for once she didn’t push and you were grateful.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” she sat on the couch next to you. Her suitcase was packed by the door next to your father’s, she was dressed fancy in a nice fur coat and hat. “It’ll only take a few minutes to pack, there should still be an extra seat in first class near us.”

“I’m sure,” you said softly, “I have an exam in two weeks, I really need to study.”

Mrs. Haitani sighed, but she nodded, rising to her feet. “If you say so,” she sounded disappointed, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to feel guilty.

With your father and Mrs. Haitani out of the house, and the brothers thinking you were with them, you would have plenty of time to study and get yourself under control, and you would be sure to take advantage of it.

—

He had fucked up. He had so awfully, terribly fucked up that he didn’t know if he would even be able to recover from it. Rindou gasped for breath as he frantically tried to turn his bike on, holding his wounded side and grimacing as he sat on the seat. As quick as possible, he pulled out of the warehouse.

He had stumbled right into a fucking trap, and he had no one to blame but himself but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone--not even his brother. He was the one who had pushed for accepting the deal from their rivals, Sanzu had been vehemently against it--claiming that they were just trying to set Bonten up--and Rindou had been stubborn, too stubborn, once he realized Sanzu was disagreeing with him. It had turned into a battle of egos because there was no way he would ever let Sanzu win because he knew damn well Sanzu would never shut up about it--Sanzu had it out for them ever since the Kanto Manji days, and it had only gotten worse over time.

He had wanted to prove the fucker wrong and all he had done was give him more ammunition against Rindou and his brother. Rindou was not prepared for the slew of insults and accusations that were going to be thrown his way at the next meeting.

Assuming he survived the night.

He couldn’t worry about that yet.

First, he had to get out of enemy territory, and then he had to get his wound closed up before he fucking bled out.

The speedometer ticked upwards as he sped down the streets, trying to lose the cars chasing behind him. Each little movement had pain shooting through his body so intense that it had his vision going spotty.

He might die, he realized, a sick feeling in his stomach as he took a sharp turn down another street, gasping as the movement ripped the wound open more.

He turned down another street, and another, and another after that. His vision tunneled and blurred, once he was certain that he had at the very least lost the immediate tails on him, he fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket.

It was night time, and it was drizzling, and he supposed he should be more careful but he also supposed that being reckless was really his only option right now--his chances of survival were already slim anyway.

He pressed the first number that popped up on his screen--Ran.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ran picked up instantly, voice panicked, and Rindou could practically picture the expression on his face. Guilt ate at his stomach. “Rindou, wh-”

“Was a fuckin’ trap,” the words were bitter to admit out loud. “I got shot, I lost the people chasing me. I’m gonna head to mom’s place, it’s closer than the apartment.”

Rindou could hear Ran choke, “You got shot?” he demanded, “What about all the backup-”

“Dead,” Rindou grunted, swerving dangerously as his vision started going out again, “We don’t have time for this right now. Mom and the new guy are on vacation, right? I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“They are,” he heard Ran say over the line, his voice tense, laced with worry, and Rindou hated that it was because of him, “I’ll be there in twenty. Slow the bleeding, okay?”

“Yeah, I know,” Rindou muttered, hanging up the phone and stuffing it back into his pocket as he came to a hasty stop at the front of the house. He let out a slew of curses as his feet hit the ground, pain shooting up his side again.

He stumbled into the house, eyes frantic and breath quick. It fucking hurt, he grit his teeth hard as he looked around. He couldn’t remember where his mother had kept the bandages or needle and thread to stitch the wound up.

Fuck, he thought to himself, side on fire as his gaze darted around. The bathroom?

Just as he was about to make his way to the bathroom, a noise made him freeze. Inhaling sharply, he reached for the gun holstered at its side, flicking the safety off and holding it up, ignoring how his side screamed in pain at the movement.

The hallway was dark and it took all of Rindou’s self control not to get trigger-happy. No one should be here--his mom, your father, you, you guys were all on vacation. The house should have been empty. His finger twitched as a shadow appeared in the hallway, a hesitant figure making its way toward him.

“Who-”

“Rindou?”

The anxiety that had been building in his chest disappeared in an instant at the sight of you standing at the edge of the hallway, dressed in pale pink silk pajamas, similar to the ones you had been wearing that first night. He dropped the gun to his side, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Y/n,” he breathed out, “the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with mom and your dad in Santorini?”

You shook your head, “No, I stayed home,” you said quietly, stepping into the sitting room. Your eyes darted around suspiciously before they finally focused on him, widening when you saw the blood staining his shirt and dripping down the side of his body. “You’re hurt.”

No shit, he nearly said but he bit the snippy words as soon as they reached the tip of his tongue when you rushed toward him, “Come, your mom keeps the medical stuff in her bedroom’s bathroom.”

You wrapped an arm around Rindou’s waist, careful to not put pressure on the wound and Rindou let out a shaky breath as he leaned into you a bit, not wanting to throw his whole weight on top of you and topple the two of you over. He let his eyes slide shut as you guided him through the halls.

You were talking, but your voice was wavering and he could feel the way you were trembling against him. You were scared, and Rindou supposed a part of him felt guilty for it, but in his defense, you were not supposed to be here.

You turned on the light of the bathroom, ushering him to sit on the closed toilet seat. You didn’t say anything as you kneeled in front of the bathroom cabinet pulling out a bunch of different items before shuffling back over to him. Rindou’s eyes felt heavy as he looked down at you, watching as you knelt between his legs.

“I’m going to take off your shirt,” you said after a moment, looking up at him, “To see the wound.”

Rindou only let out a grunt in response, grimacing as he forced himself to sit up straight. You fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaky. Rindou liked to blame it on the blood loss-induced haze, really, because when he looked down at you, watching your fingers trace his skin as you wiped away the blood with an antiseptic wipe, he couldn’t help the way his mind wandered.

And a part of him wanted to punch himself in the face because here he was, bleeding out in his childhood home, his new step-sister helping patch him up, and the only thing he could think about was how fucking pretty you look on your knees in front of him.

Get a hold of yourself, Rindou spat at himself, gritting his teeth and letting his head fall back as you pressed the needle into his skin. A hiss escaped his lips at the sting and you apologized softly under your breath.

Rindou’s eyes were lidded as looked down at you, kneeling between his legs, elbows propped on his side as you stitched up the wound in his lower abdomen.

“How do you know how to do this?” he asked, which was evidently a mistake because your gaze shifted up toward him, looking up at him through your lashes with wide eyes.

God was testing him, he decided, forcing his gaze away from you and looking back up at the ceiling.

“My ex got into fights a lot,” you finally said. He did not like the thought of you having an ‘ex’ but he couldn’t linger on it long as you continued, he could practically hear the amused smile twitching at your lips, “he didn’t often win.”

Rindou snorted, but the action made him wince.

“The bullet went through, so i’ll stitch the other side and you should be fine,” you said after a few moments of silence, “… you’ll still probably wanna get this checked out by an actual doctor though.”

“Yeah, I will tomorrow or something,” not an actual doctor though, just one of the one’s on Bonten’s payroll. Going to a hospital was not exactly an option for him, and from the way you didn’t even question why he didn’t go to one, he had a feeling you knew that.

The bathroom door slammed open. Rindou jumped, fumbling for his gun, you let out a surprised shriek, just as he had a firm grasp on the grip of the gun, he realized who exactly had entered the bathroom with them.

“Ran, what the fuck?” Rindou demanded, heart racing as he relaxed back on the seat, “I thought you said twenty minutes.”

Ran shot him an irritated look, out of breath and still significantly frazzled, “You got shot,” was all he said in response, and Rindou wondered just how fast Ran had driven to get to the house so fast. “You don’t know how to patch up your own wounds you could have bled out.”

Rindou looked away. Ran was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“I thought you were on vacation,” Ran said, having finally noticed who exactly was kneeling in front of Rindou, stitching him up.

“I didn’t go,” you said quietly. Ran let out a hum, moving around you to sit down on the side of the tub next to Rindou, watching intently as you finished stitching the entrance wound. You tapped his thigh and Rindou took it as a cue to turn, straddling the toilet seat, facing the tank as you began to start on the exit wound.

Rindou made the mistake of looking at Ran, who was watching the two of you curiously. Rindou did not like the look on his face.

You stood up after a few minutes of tense silence, looking awkwardly between the two of them, “I’m gonna head to bed,” you said, “the stitching is pretty sloppy but it gets it done for now.”

“Thanks,” Rindou said, voice rough, and he felt a little bad because he should have been nicer—you just saved his ass, after all—but all he could focus on was how Ran was watching him with that stupid, knowing look on his face.

As soon as you left the bathroom, Ran was running his mouth, “You switched up,” he said so matter-of-factly that there was no arguing against it.

Rindou looked away, “Fuck you.”

“Bet you wish you were fucking her,” Ran countered in response and Rindou scoffed.

“Fuck you,” he said even louder, glaring at Ran heatedly. Ran only grinned, eyes bright. “Shouldn’t you still be sulky over the fact she won’t even look at you?” Rindou spit out, voice vile.

Ran looked unbothered and the thought had Rindou’s skin crawling because just a few days ago Ran had been furious and distressed over it.

What had changed?

“Why would I be?” Ran’s voice was teasing, too light to be of comfort.

“The fuck you mean why would you be? You’ve been shitty over the fact she likes me more for weeks,” Rindou snapped.

Ran’s smile had Rindou nervous.

“Oh, does she?” Ran cooed, “I don’t think it was your name she was moaning in her sleep, little brother.”

Rindou’s expression dropped, he stared at Ran, “You’re lying,” he hissed but Rindou knew that he wasn’t.

“Mmm, it seems our new baby sister likes me a bit more than she lets on, Rindou.”

—

You’d been tossing and turning for two hours. You couldn’t get your mind off of the brothers.

Again.

You had never seen Ran like that before, so serious, so scared. He had been terrified when he first burst through the bathroom door, and you weren’t sure you could exactly blame him. When you had seen Rindou stumbling through the sitting room, blood soaked through his shirt and dripping onto the floor, you swore that your heart was in your throat.

You sighed as you sat up in bed, hands pressed against the mattress behind you, head tilted back as you looked up at the ceiling.

Your hands were still shaking, you noticed, swallowing thickly as you shifted to sit off the side of the bed, feet dangling for a moment before you forced yourself to stand up. You had classes again tomorrow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. You were stressed over Rindou’s wound, you were stressed over whatever caused the wound, and you were stressed over the fact that no matter what you did, you could not take your mind off of either of them.

This was not like you. A part of you was angry that they had showed up--this was supposed to be your week to relax, your week to finally get yourself under control, to focus back on school and studying and all of the upcoming exams you were going to have to suffer through.

Instead here they were, and here you were, once again up half of the night thinking about them.

You should have taken your pills, you realized, but you were thrown off so badly by Rindou’s appearance that you had totally forgotten about them, and if you took them now, you wouldn’t be able to wake up for your 8 AM class tomorrow.

You let out another irritated breath, rising to your feet. You might as well go make yourself some sort of tea to try to help you doze off.

Just as you were about to make your way to the door, you paused when you heard a rather harsh knock at your door, two familiar voices behind it.

“Rindou, c’mon,” you heard Ran mutter.

“Fuck off,” Rindou snapped right back.

You sighed, speak of the devils. Your feet dragged against the ground as you made your way to your door, pulling it open and looking up at Rindou and Ran. The question on your lips died when you saw just how furious Rindou looked as he pushed past you into your room.

“Um-” you began, turning to look at him but he cut you off.

“You like stringin’ both of us along?” Rindou demanded, taking a step closer to you.

Your jaw went slack, your face was on fire. You took a step back, stepping right into Ran’s chest. Ran shot you a smile unfitting for the situation, one hand on your hip as he made you take another step forward, back into the center of the room so he could follow Rindou into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“I asked you a question,” Rindou said sharply, reaching forward to grab your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, a dark look circulated behind his eyes but you couldn’t pinpoint whether or not it was anger or… something else.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to look away, but his grip tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stuttered over the words, you were sure Rindou could feel how hot your face was beneath his fingers. “I don’t know-”

“No?” Ran cooed, coming right up behind you again, just like that day where he was helping you with the television. Your breath shook as you felt his body press up against your back, fingers grazing your hips as he held you in place lightly. “Are you calling my brother a liar, doll?”

“I-I didn’t say that,” you said, trying to shake your head and failing when Rindou didn’t let you move your face.”I did not say th-”

“So you’re saying there’s some truth behind it?” Ran interrupted you. He leaned down, you could feel his lips brush the shell of your ear, you hated how your body shivered directly in response to it, and you hated how you knew damn well that Ran noticed if the chuckle he let out was anything to say about it. He clicked his tongue mockingly. “How filthy, doll, have you been fantasizing about your big brothers?”

You blanched, fingers trembling, body hot--and you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or from the feeling of both of them so close.

“Y-you’re not my brothers,” you cried out, trying to push away from them but you couldn’t get yourself free. “You are not my brothers, don’t say that, that’s so-”

“Oh?” Ran murmured, and you had a feeling that you had walked right into whatever trap he had laid out for you, “So you have been fantasizing about us?”

Your heart was in your throat, “No, no, I did not say that either-” you tried to shake your head again but couldn’t. Rindou scoffed, you felt tears spring to your eyes. “I didn’t-”

“You haven’t?” Rindou’s voice was harsh, mean, you took in a wet, shaky breath, “So then why the fuck were you moaning Ran’s name in your sleep, huh?”

You swore your world went still, your ears were ringing, his words rang in your head over and over and over again.

Moaning Ran’s name in your sleep-

“There’s no-there’s no way,” you couldn’t breathe, “You must’ve heard wrong, there’s no-”

You were lying through your teeth, you had woken up many times over the past few weeks from less than pure dreams about one, or both, of the brothers. But there was no way they had overheard you--you don’t sleep talk, there was no way. You had never sleep talked before as far as you knew.

“Mm, but you did, princess,” Rindou’s tone was laced with malice, eyes heated as he stared down at you.

“I didn’t,” you tried again, “I didn’t, I don’t think of you guys that way, I don-”

“You haven’t?” Ran cooed, his lips were still close to your ear, you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut, “Well, if you don’t think of us that way, then I guess you don’t wanna hear all the dirty little fantasies I’ve had about you, do you?”

Your breath caught, your mouth went dry, “H-huh?” was all you could say, and you wished that Rindou’s grip on your face would loosen so you could look back at him but Rindou forced you to keep looking at him.

“I’ve thought about you a lot,” he murmured, and you trembled when you felt his lips brush your ear before dipping lower, ghosting across the skin of your neck, breath hot and dizzying against your skin, “Thought about that pretty face of yours, havin’ those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. You think you could handle my cock, doll? … I don’t think so, but I think you’d look real good chokin’ all over me.”

You bit back a whimper, lips parting when the fingers on your waist trailed lower, tracing light patterns on your hip bone, sliding even lower, too low. Your breath was quick, you could feel your body reacting to his touches, and you could feel the way his lips were pulling up in amusement.

“Thought about that pretty pussy of yours too, thought about ruinin’ it,” he breathed out, teeth grazing your skin. This time you couldn’t hold back the whimper. “Stuffin’ you so full of my cum that it’s leakin’ from your cunt for days.”

You shifted, accidentally brushing against Ran’s cock. A gasp ripped from your lips when he let out a low groan against your skin, “Thought about bending you over that desk you’re always doin’ your work on, takin’ you over the hood of your dad’s fancy car, splitting you open while you try to focus during one of those dumb Zoom meetings for your club.”

“S’not right,” you gasped as one of Ran’s hands flattened against your lower stomach, pressing you harder against him, “We can-”

Your eyes snapped back open when a hand wrapped tight around your throat, pulling you right from Ran’s grasp and backing you up into the bed. You gasped as the back of your knees hit the mattress, falling back flat, Rindou hovering on top of you, eyes dark and lips twisted down.

“Rin,” you gasped, “We shouldn’t, your wound and-and our parents and-“

“Fuck the wound and fuck them,” Rindou spat out and a soft keen left your lips when he let go of your neck, lips attaching to the spot beneath your jaw instantly. His mouth sucked hard at your neck, and you knew it would leave marks come morning but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, while his tongue drew pretty patterns against your skin, as if he was trying to soothe the area his lips and teeth were violating.

He drew back momentarily, knees straddling your waist as he looked you over, shaking his head, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, pressing his lips back to the junction of your neck, voice muffled against your skin, “Never seen anything like it.”

One of his hands slipped beneath your silk pajama top, smoothing over your skin before sliding up your body, kneading one of your breasts firmly, thumb flicking over your nipple. You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as your back arched up off the bed and into his touch instinctively.

You could feel him smile against your neck, “You’re so sensitive,” he breathed out, pulling back to look over you. You watched as curiosity sparked in his eyes. “Have you ever…”

You knew what he was asking without him having to finish it, and you could feel the way your face heated up in humiliation at the question, “Yes,” you interrupted before he could speak it out loud. “Yes,” you hesitated, “I have…”

You have, that was true, but your ex-boyfriend wasn’t exactly adept in making a girl feel good. He was always more focused on his own pleasure. This was foreign to you, and you were nervous.

Not to mention the fact that a part of you still was hesitant.

You wanted them, god, you fucking wanted them. You’d been thinking about it nonstop since you had met them--it was eating your brain away, consuming your every thought. You hoped that letting them have their way with you once, you would get it out of your system, you’d be able to go back to focusing on your studies and your future.

But… you couldn’t shake the thought out of your head--they were your brothers. Maybe not by blood, but they were your brothers. They were. Your father had married their mother, and both of them wanted the three of you to get along as siblings would. Mrs. Haitani was very vocal about it and even your father had made comments about how nice it would be for you to have brothers to look out for you now.

This was wrong, you told yourself over and over and over again but instead of pushing Rindou off and telling him to stop, you tilted your head back, giving him better access.

“Atta girl,” you heard Ran say, feeling the bed dip next to you and Rindou let out a low grunt of agreement against your skin, “Flip her over, Rindou.”

“Wh-” you began but you were cut off as Rindou immediately did what his brother asked, grabbing you by the hips and flipping the two of you over so that you were straddling his hips. Ran shifted behind you and Rindou sat up, pressing his lips to yours.

Whimpering softly against his lips, your hands rose to intertwine with his hair, holding him close. Ran chuckled as he pressed up against your back, lips pressed to the nape of your neck, trailing wet kisses down your neck toward your spine. His fingers worked at the buttons to your shirt as Rindou kept you distracted, tongue tracing along your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth, pressing down gently on your tongue as Ran slipped your top off of your shoulders.

They moved fast, and efficiently. You just couldn’t keep up. You swore you felt like their hands and lips were everywhere, and it had you dizzy and reeling, you couldn’t even hope to make full sense of what was happening, all you knew was that you felt good, so fucking good that it almost felt like an alcohol-induced hazed had swept over you.

Ran’s lips moved slowly down your spine, and your body trembled under his touch, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your silk shorts and you gasped into Rindou’s mouth, giving the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

“Shhh,” Ran hushed and your hips jerked as you felt his fingers ghost over your panties, drawing a light circle over your clothed clit, “You weren’t kidding, she is sensitive,” he chuckled.

You pulled away from Rindou for only a moment, “Ran,” you panted, trying to look back but Rindou’s hand returned to your jaw, grip rough.

“Pay attention to me,” he said, voice low, dragging your face back toward him, to press his lips hard against yours again.

Ran’s fingers dipped lower and he laughed, lips pressed to your shoulder, “You’re fuckin’ drenched, doll, how many times have you imagined this happening… have you tried to get yourself off thinking about us?”

You shook your head quick--too quick--tears springing to your eyes once again because you had. It was only once, and as soon as you realized what you were doing, you stopped yourself, reminding yourself who they were to you, and how you couldn’t be thinking of them that way.

“Oh you have, haven’t you?” Ran gasped in mock disbelief, “Dirty girl, aren’t you? How would your father react if he knew you were finger fucking yourself and pretending it was your big brothers’ cocks?”

You forced yourself away from Rindou again, trying to ignore the way Ran’s long fingers dipped beneath your panties, body shuddering as his pointer finger glided between your folds, gathering up the slick before smearing it all over your clit.

“Y-You’re not my brothers, stop saying that,” you stuttered, trying to convince no one but yourself, and from the way Ran snorted he knew that as well.

“Hmm? Then why were you so worried about our parents before?” Ran questioned, biting down gently on your skin as he sunk a finger deep, deep into you. Your eyes half-rolled back at the feeling, hips jerking yet again in a desperate attempt for more. Ran groaned against your skin, “Fuck, doll, you’re so tight. How the fuck’re you supposed to fit us in there when you can barely fit a finger?”

His words went in one ear out the other, too lost in the feeling of their bodies already. Ran pumped his finger in and out of you steadily, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your clit while his free hand slid up your body to your neck, keeping a firm hold on it as he held you back against him. Rindou took the opportunity to trail his lips down your collarbone to your chest, hair brushing your skin as he captured one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue flicking over the bud as he sucked on it while his hand played with your other breast, pinching your nipple softly and massaging the soft flesh around it.

It was too much, they were too much. You couldn’t even think straight, much less pray to do anything. All you could do was lay between them and let them have their way with you, panting, gasping for air, body twitching and jerking with every touch.

Ran slipped another finger inside of you, stretching your walls around him and your vision went spotty and your head felt fuzzy. Your body felt hot, too hot, and far too quick.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, “Oh god, ‘s, ‘s so-“

You didn’t even really know what you were trying to say. Rindou’s teeth grazed your skin and the noise you let out was obscene, Ran picking up the pace of his fingers in time with Rindou’s increase of aggression.

It was overwhelming, so fucking overwhelming, you tried to hold yourself together. You tried so hard but it was just impossible with their hands and lips all over your body, and with the incessant filth spewing from Ran’s mouth.

“God, look at you,” Ran groaned, “Tried to play all fuckin’ coy and innocent avoiding me these past few weeks. If I’d known the only thing you wanted was to be stuffed with cock I would’ve given it to you, but you had to be difficult, didn’t you?”

No response left your lips other than another high pitch moan when his thumb pressed down hard on your clit at the same time as he tried to push another finger into you.

And that was all it took to send you spiraling, crying out their names so loud that you swore your neighbors would be able to hear as you came all over Ran’s fingers, body spasming between theirs and the grip Ran had on your throat tightened to hold you in place.

Your vision was blurry and your body was shaking but Rindou and Ran didn’t even give you a chance to recover. You were still fully out of it as they manhandled your body around positioning you on top of Rindou, straddling his waist.

“H-hold on,” you began, “I need a sec-“

Your jaw went slack when you felt the tip of Rindou’s cock nudge against your entrance before pushing in.

And it hurt, even with Ran having loosened you up with his fingers before, it was no comparison to how bad Rindou’s cock was stretching you out. The tears in your eyes spilled over, streaming down your cheek. It burned and it stung, your fingers, Ran’s fingers, your ex’s cock, nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of being split open on Haitani Rindou’s cock.

“S’too big, s’too big,” you sobbed, “‘m gonna die.”

Ran only cooed, reaching from behind you to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears, “How cute,” he murmured, “How’s she feel, Rindou?”

Rindou was breathing heavy, “Fuckin’ tight, you weren’t kidding, fuck,” he moaned, hips jerking up, the tip of his cock nudging so deep inside you that you swore he was up in your guts somehow.

Your eyes rolled back and the pain slowly, slowly began to shift into pleasure, the burn of the stretch becoming bearable as Rindou rolled his hips up into you, waiting for you to adjust to his side.

And it was in no time, really, you had your hand braced against his abdomen, nails digging into his tattoos, careful to avoid the stitchs, arms trembling and your thighs tense as you tried to move your hips with him. You could feel every inch of his cock molding against your walls, the in-and-out drag had drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, heavy pants and high-pitched moans spilling from your lips.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ran said quietly, and your eyes fluttered up, you turned your head to meet his eyes, unfocused and blurry, your hips still moving to fuck yourself on Rindou’s cock. “Feels good being split open by your big brother, doesn’t it?”

And his words were only partly registering as you nodded frantically, “F-feels s’good, feels s’good, Ran,” you cried, eyes sliding back shut, “Feels-“

Two hands fell heavy on your hips, bruising, stopping your own movements and Rindou’s in one fell swoop. You sobbed, Rindou let out a string of vile curses.

You forced your eyes back open to look at Ran again, and distantly, you recognized the cruel, playful look in his eyes as he watched you, “I want you to tell me every little filthy fantasy you had about me and my brother.”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to refuse but Ran’s smile only widened, “Then stay here, I’ll hold you here cockwarming him all night if I have to,” he told you, and the expression on his face let you know that he had every intention of following through.

Your lips wobbled, your eyes blurred with tears again, one of Ran’s hands slid to rub soft circles on your clit while the other held you down on Rindou’s cock. He leaned in close over your shoulder, lips so close to yours they were nearly brushing. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, hot and dizzying.

“You feel how good he’s stretching you out,” Ran murmured, and between his words and the circles he was rubbing on your clit, your walls clenched down hard on Rindou’s cock, you could hear him let out a shameless moan behind you and you whimpered. “Imagine how much better it’ll feel when I let go and let him actually fuck you, doll.”

God, you could practically feel it. You could practically feel Rindou’s fingers digging into your hips as he brought you down hard on his cock over and over and over again, hips thrusting up to meet yours every time, cock so deep inside you that it had your mind going numb. You could practically hear the lewd sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room, the sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt.

You needed it.

And Ran knew it, if his smile had anything to say about it.

“Go on,” he urged, “tell us and I’ll let go.”

A humiliated sob bubbled at your lips, your body felt like it was on fire and you knew it wasn’t because of the way Rindou’s cock was lodged deep inside of you. You tried to move your hips despite Ran’s grip but he was stronger than you, and he only laughed when he noticed your attempt.

“S’not gonna work, doll,” he cooed, voice cruel and mocking. “Only way you’re getting what you want is if you give me what I want.”

The noise that escaped your lips was pathetic, your cheeks were wet from the tears that had spilled over, your body trembled violently beneath his grasp. Looking down, you noticed that Rindou’s eyes were screwed shut and his jaw was clenched, fingers wrapped tight around the bed sheets as he tried to control himself.

“I-I’ve thought about you,” you finally cried, and Ran hummed behind you, kissing your shoulder as he continued to trace light circles around your clit, “Th-the day you were helping with the TV-“

Ran tutted quietly and you stopped talking immediately.

“Tell me something new,” he said, “I could’ve guessed that one.”

Your lips wobbled again, taking in another ragged breath. He kissed back up to your ear, biting at the lobe gently.

“I want you to tell me all the filthy thoughts you had while you were stuffin’ your pussy full ‘n pretending it was us,” Ran breathed out, the hand on your hip sliding up your body to palm one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

And distantly, you noticed your hips were free to move again but now any sense of coherence was gone as his tongue returned to tracing patterns on your skin, as one of his fingers continued to tease your clit while the other gave your breasts some much needed attention.

“I-I thought about both of you,” you couldn’t even see straight. You were dizzy as Rindou’s cock twitched inside you, begging for the chance to finally fuck you right; and your eyes were blurry as the tears fell faster, your body hot as embarrassment spread through you. “I thought-I thought about suckin’ you off while Rindou fucks me. ‘n-n I thought about doin’ it while our parents are in the house n-n Rindou keepin me quiet while you go down on me. ‘n I thought about tryna take you both at the same time-“ another sob ripped from your lips, “please, please let him fuck me please-“

Ran laughed, a mean, spiteful laugh that had you crying even harder, “Hear that, Rindou? Our pretty lil step sister is nothin’ but a cock hungry whore, and here we were thinking she was all cute and innocent.” Rindou didn’t answer, his breath heavy and quick as he tried to hold himself still. “I don’t think you can fit us both this time but maybe next time, yeah?”

Next time?

You didn’t get the chance to linger on the thought because at once your world spun and now instead of facing Rindou, you were facing Ran, Rindou’s cock still lodged deep inside of you, the slight switch in angle pushing him even further inside of you. You nearly fell forward, hands falling forward to brace yourself on Rindou’s thighs.

You felt a hand intertwine with your hair and you winced as it yanked your head up and back rather harshly, your eyes met Ran’s amused ones.

“We can put that pretty mouth of yours to work though.”

Ran didn’t even give you a chance to process his words before he was pushing your head down hard, he tapped the tip of his cock against your lips twice impatiently, “Open up,” he said sharply and your body reacted on its own as your lips parted on instinct, “Good girl.”

He was not kind as he pressed your head down even further, pushing his cock between your lips and into your mouth. He was big, longer and thicker than anything you had seen before and you had very little experience with giving head. You choked around him, struggling to take him in but he didn’t seem to care, only letting out a huff of amusement and then a groan as your throat spasmed around him.

You couldn’t breathe, and you couldn’t think straight to try to take in deeper breaths through your nose, although that wouldn’t have even mattered considering Ran held your face flush to his pelvis, cock stretching out your throat so much that you swore there was a bulge there.

“The fuck you waiting for, Rindou?” Ran asked his brother, and that was seemingly all Rindou needed because at once his hands found your hips, bringing you down hard as he thrusted up into you.

You choked on Ran’s cock, moan muffled and eyes half-knocked back at the feeling of him bullying his cock deep into you. Your mind felt absolutely blank and numb as Rindou began fucking up into you at a steady pace, the sloppy sound of his cock fucking into your cunt, the breathy moans spilling from his lips, the sound of you choking on Ran’s cock—it was all too much for you to handle.

“Don’t think I-fuck-forgot about you, Rindou,” Ran warned, “Actin’ all fuckin holier-than-thou that first night. Look at you now, fuckin’ your sister like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rindou groaned, each snap of his hips getting just a bit rougher at his words—but you couldn’t even really register what they were saying, more focused on trying not to pass out because of the combined lack of air and intense pleasure.

“Hm?” Ran laughed, “That’s what you were tryna call me, wasn’t it? Who’s the sister-fucker now, Rindou?”

The noise that Rindou let out was shameless, “Fuck you, Ran,” Rindou choked out as his grip on your hips tightened, as he brought you down so fast and so hard on his cock that it had your vision flashing white as your body shuddered and trembled, hips jerking and thighs tense as you came all over his cock.

“Fuck,” Rindou moaned loud as he felt you clench down on his cock, fingers bruising your skin as he fucked you through your high.

Neither he nor Ran give you a chance to recover. Rindou picked his pace back up almost immediately and Ran had never even faltered in his.

He let out a low whistle before his grip on your hair tightened when you went half-limp trying to recover from your orgasm, continuing to rock his hips against your face at a steady pace, “That’s it, doll, relax your throat,” he said, but his words went in one ear out the other.

His pace shifted into a rougher, faster one, moving your head in time with your hips and you felt your vision start to go spotty. You couldn't breathe through your nose between each snap of his hips and even if you could, any air that might’ve made it to your lungs was torn right from them as Rindou drove his cock deep into you.

It was too much.

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think except for a few garbled thoughts, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything except lay there and take it—the overwhelming pleasure, the pain of your throat being stretched out, the sound of all of the filthy noises resounding through the room and god the taboo of it all. What would your father think if he walked in on you choking over step-brother’s cock while getting railed by your other? What would Mrs. Haitani think?

The tears streaming down your face fell faster but even as the shame began to hit you, you could feel the heat pooling in your stomach again—faster, more intense this time. The burn of your lungs, the burn of the stretch of your throat and cunt, it was pushing you right back over the edge again.

You gagged at one particularly harsh thrust of Ran’s hips, trying to pull off to get some air only for him to press your face right back down, nose flush to his pelvis, grinding his hips against you. Your vision went spotty again as you felt his cock drag roughly against your throat.

“Gunna fuckin’ cum,” Rindou gasped, and he was fucking you harder, faster, faster than you thought was possible. His hips snapping up at a pace that had you clawing at Ran’s thighs trying to keep yourself steady, moaning and choking as Rindou fucked you into your third high.

You should be embarrassed, you thought to yourself distantly as another muffled cry around Ran’s cock signaled you were cumming again. You could feel the sticky mixture of your drool and Ran’s precum dribbling down your chin, your tears staining your face, you were shaking and trembling and weak, you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, rendered to such a humiliating state and the worst part was you couldn’t even bring yourself to care, too caught up in how good they were making you feel.

You felt Rindou’s hips stutter against you, his grip tightening on your hips as he grinded you down on his cock, cumming deep inside you with a shameless moan of your name. You felt full, too full, and warm, you could feel Rindou’s cum leaking from around his cock, dripping down your thighs.

You were barely conscious, your third orgasm having knocked all thought and reason from your mind, the only sensations you could make sense of were the feelings of their hands sliding against your body and their cocks buried deep inside you.

Rindou hissed when Ran didn’t let him pull you off of his cock, the overstimulation evidently a bit too much as his hips jerked instinctively against yours, but Ran was more concentrated on keeping you in place so he could finish himself off.

You heard him let out a pretty moan, and that was the only warning you had before he was stuffing his cum right down your throat. You choked and spluttered, trying your best to swallow what you could but it was just too much.

Ran pulled out of you after shooting half a load down your throat, seemingly pleased with having you gagging over his cum, attempting and failing to swallow it all. He held you in place by the hair as he stroked his cock a few more times, head tilted back and a low groan escaping his lips as he painted your face and chest white, releasing the rest of his cum onto your body.

He let go of your hair and you lost the only support you had, falling limp on Rindou’s thighs, unable to gather the strength to move. You whimpered as Rindou pulled out of you, shifting you off from where you were still limp on top of him onto the bed next to them.

You felt hazy and exhausted, your body already felt sore and you were trembling on the blankets as Rindou and Ran talked over you but you couldn’t even make out what they were saying.

And while your mind wasn’t exactly functioning properly in the moment, you somehow had a distinct feeling that your “fuck them to get them out of your system” plan just wasn’t going to cut it.

#ran x reader #rindou x reader #ran smut #rindou smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut

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abiiors · 3 months

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cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified.

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds.

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips.

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon.

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye.

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard.

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him.

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off.

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh.

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip.

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head.

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview.

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek.

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly.

and so he follows suit.

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes.

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in.

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing.

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her.

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone.

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest.

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward.

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.”

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him.

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside.

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare.

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside.

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things.

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her.

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do.

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room.

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning.

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs.

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before.

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust.

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts.

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands.

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan.

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl.

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it.

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue.

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride.

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system.

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after.

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do.

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again.

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort.

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him.

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder.

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows.

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan.

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy.

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them.

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly.

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback.

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him.

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder.

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again.

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is.

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option)

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it.

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious!

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance.

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs.

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth.

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest.

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size.

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest.

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes.

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug.

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak.

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless.

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend.

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much.

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him.

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones.

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?”

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting.

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid.

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.”

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself.

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.”

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat.

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes.

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him”

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.”

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.”

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days.

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?”

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.”

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.”

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt.

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass.

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out.

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode.

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully.

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps.

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest.

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue.

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest.

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow.

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest.

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before.

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined.

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her.

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag.

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind.

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again.

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing.

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold.

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside.

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side.

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss.

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet.

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch.

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth.

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers.

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again.

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again.

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again.

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear.

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it.

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss.

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name.

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now.

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there.

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable.

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks.

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever.

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his.

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places.

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before.

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her.

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth.

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice.

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there.

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all.

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva.

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly.

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

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#this is the longest. the others are not going to be this long #well it's already past midnight when i'm posting this so i'm already a day late but shh you didn't see that #valentine75 #valentine's week #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald smut #minors dni #the 1975 fanfic

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