#I USED TO KEEP SUCH GOOD TRACK OF THESE THINGS IT WAS INSANE

[formulafanfics13]

Another day, Another talk - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

The first month was loud. Not always publicly. Not always online. But behind the scenes? Inside hotel rooms, garages, data centres, and the echo chamber of the paddock? It was a symphony of disbelief, sarcasm, success, and late-night texts no PR team could ever intercept.

Kimi was killing it.

Race 1 — P9 to P6. Clean. Confident. No radio panic. The F2 kids were gagged. George said “good fucking luck keeping that one quiet” the moment Kimi crossed the line.

Race 2 — P8. Not ideal, but stable. Toto spoke to him softly on the cooldown lap. She watched from behind the pitwall, chewing her nails to shreds, wearing his headset. Wearing his initials around her neck. It wasn’t subtle. But nothing about them ever really had been.

Race 3 — P5. First overtake on track. Clean, aggressive, Antonelli. Cameras caught the way she stood up when he passed an Aston Martin on Lap 41. Bono handed her a champagne bottle before the cooldown lap even finished. Toto kissed her temple on live broadcast and didn’t even notice he’d done it until a journalist mentioned it in the press conference.

Race 4 — P7. Quali was rough, tyres were worse, but he held the car steady and George got P2. The team was thriving.

And her? She was everywhere and nowhere.

On the weeks she wasn’t travelling for her own work, usually flitting between photography campaigns in Lisbon, Rome, and the ever-chaotic streets of Paris, she was either at Toto’s Oxford home or his Monaco home.

She’d gotten used to the door codes before he ever offered it. Started leaving a toothbrush in the master ensuite. Sometimes sat in the hallway in one of his old shirts, editing film on her laptop while he took meetings in the kitchen. He’d bring her a glass of wine without asking. She’d steal his socks. He never asked for them back.

They didn’t define anything. But they didn’t deny it, either. Not anymore.

Kimi adjusted. In his own fucked-up way.

The tantrums stopped somewhere between Race 2 and 3. She could tell because he stopped saying “gross” every time Toto’s name was mentioned. By Race 4, he even smiled once when she showed up in the Mercedes garage in a pair of aviators and a perfectly oversized white shirt from Toto’s closet. But he had rules. Clear, specific, non-negotiable terms.

“Rule number one,” he’d declared at dinner one night while George tried not to laugh, “I don’t want to hear about anything physical.”

“Define physical,” she smirked.

“Anything involving moaning, touching, neck-kissing, or lap-sitting.”

“That’s like our whole thing.”

“And I hate it.”

Toto, without looking up from his phone, calmly said, “You were literally in the room when I pulled her into my lap.”

“That was BEFORE THE RULES WERE ESTABLISHED.”

George nearly dropped his fork. Bono had to excuse himself from the table because he was laughing too hard. But still, they found their rhythm.

Kimi focused on racing. She focused on her work, her brother, her life, and the way Toto always looked at her like she was a miracle and a headache wrapped in one.

Toto focused on balance. Which mostly meant learning how to exist with her in his bed and her brother in his car and not go clinically insane. It worked. God knows how, but it did.

By the time the next race weekend rolled around, she wasn’t just accepted by the team, she was part of the fucking ecosystem. The mechanics joked with her. The engineers sent her memes. Marcus once handed her a headset mid-session with a whispered, “Try not to flirt over the comms.”

She hadn’t even realised she was biting her lip while watching Toto speak into the mic. Kimi had said nothing.

Which was, in itself, a sign of progress. She texted Toto on nights she couldn’t make it back to Oxford: photos of her legs stretched out in hotel rooms, captions like “thinking about your mouth again” or “tell Kimi I miss you more than him”.

He didn’t always reply. But he never left her waiting long.

And when she did return? He was always there. At the gate. At the garage. At the door of his office, leaning against the frame with his tie already undone.

By the end of the month, it was undeniable. They weren’t hiding. Not really. But they weren’t screaming either.

There were no statements. No announcements. Just soft glances and shared hotel rooms and the growing, unshakable truth that Kimi had stopped rolling his eyes every time Toto looked at her like she hung the fucking moon.

And that? That was maybe the biggest miracle of them all.

The Oxford house was dead quiet. No engineers. No drivers. No race debriefs. Just the morning sunlight slipping through the glass doors, catching on the steel surfaces of the pristine kitchen. Just the soft hum of the fridge. The sound of her legs swinging slowly where she sat perched on the edge of the marble kitchen island, feet bare, wearing a black cotton long sleeve that might’ve been his, probably was, from the way the cuffs hung past her wrists.

She was eating from his cereal bowl. Not her own. One leg crossed over the other, wrist flicking lazily as she speared another berry with the fork and popped it into her mouth without even glancing down.

Toto sat across from her, on one of the high stools. Joggers on. White t-shirt. No watch. His hair was still slightly damp, brushed back, silver catching the light. He looked relaxed, but alert. Like he’d slept well — but hadn’t stopped thinking all morning.

She didn’t notice at first. She was mid-rant about something she’d seen in an airport lounge. “-and this man, I swear to god, had the audacity to-”

“I’ve been thinking.”

Her mouth paused. Mid-sentence. Mid-chew. Eyes flicking up.

He rarely interrupted her mid-story. Let alone with a tone like that.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He nodded once. Calm. Measured. Fork resting on the edge of his empty plate. “I know we’ve never talked about being official,” he said, voice low. “Not in a serious way. No labels. No declarations. And I know we only met ten months ago.”

She blinked once. Put her fork down. Waited.

“I also know you’re young,” he added. “Not too young. Not incapable. But young enough that people talk. Your brother talks. And we’ve never done things the traditional way.”

A pause. She stared at him. He stared back. Then, with a quiet breath, he reached into the back pocket of his joggers. And pulled out a ring box. No velvet. No dramatic hinge click. Just a small, absurdly elegant square of matte black leather with one thin silver edge.

He didn’t open it. Didn’t drop to one knee. Didn’t say a speech. He just placed the box beside her on the counter, close enough that it touched her thigh. And looked up at her again. “I don’t want to be with anyone else,” he said. “Ever.”

Her throat tightened.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t beg. Didn’t perform. “There’s no pressure,” he said, softer now. “It’s not a question. I’m not asking you to answer now. Or wear it tomorrow. Or even tell Kimi.”

She let out the tiniest laugh at that, breathless and disbelieving.

Toto’s eyes softened. “I just want you to know it’s there. That I’m here. No drama. No chaos. No media frenzy. Just you. Me. A ring. And the fact that I know what I want.”

Silence. Not heavy. Not tense. Just full. She looked at the box. Then looked at him. Then down again, blinking at the neat, perfectly proportioned shape. Her fingers twitched, tempted to open it. She didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she reached out. Ran a finger along the edge. Then curled her hand around the box and brought it into her lap. Held it like something sacred. Something terrifying. Something hers.

She looked up at him. And smiled. Not wild. Not smug. Not performative. Just soft. Real. Blinding in its sincerity. “You’re a fucking menace,” she whispered.

He smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

She set the box down on the counter again. Didn’t open it. Didn’t give it back either. She leaned forward, slow, steady, her knees pressing into his thighs now, and kissed him.

Not frantic. Not lustful. Just warm. Full of every unspoken thing she didn’t know how to say. She pulled back an inch and murmured, “If I say yes eventually, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

His thumb brushed her jaw. “I look forward to it.”

*

His home office was sunlit and silent. Tall windows cracked open just enough to let the breeze in. Jazz playing from the hallway speakers, faint and low. The smell of espresso still lingering from earlier.

She stood in the doorway for a second. Watching. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on whatever was open on his laptop screen. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, one leg crossed over the other, a Montblanc pen twirling between his fingers like muscle memory.

Her fingers tightened around the box in her hand. And then she stepped in.

He didn’t look up straight away. Just acknowledged her presence with the slight lift of his chin. And when she reached his desk, bare feet padding softly over the hardwood — she said nothing. Just placed the ring box down on the clean, glass surface with a soft thunk.

Toto finally looked up. Eyes flicking from the box to her face. He didn’t speak. Didn’t react. Just waited.

She folded her arms across her chest. Not closed off, just gathering herself.

“I want this,” she said finally.

His jaw flexed once. But he didn’t speak.

She nodded toward the box. “I want you. I want… the idea of this.”

Still, he waited.

“But I don’t want to rush to get married.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, not in surprise, just… openness.

She kept going. “I know I’m young. And I know we don’t need to prove anything. And I don’t want this to turn into… I don’t know, fucking Pinterest boards and guest lists before I’ve even figured out what city I want to live in next year.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile.

“I want the engagement,” she said, stepping a little closer. “I want to wear the ring. I want people to know I’m yours. I just… I don’t want to start wedding planning next week, or next month, or maybe even next year.” She exhaled sharply. “I want time.”

Toto reached forward. Pushed his laptop closed without a word. Then leaned back in the chair, arms resting on the armrests, long frame fully relaxed as he looked up at her with something that almost resembled peace.

“We don’t have to get married straight away,” he said calmly.

She blinked. “You mean that?”

“Yes.” Another blink. “I’m not in a rush,” he added, voice soft but sure. “This isn’t a countdown. It’s not a deadline. It’s a promise. That’s all.”

She felt her heart jolt in her chest.

“I’m not offering you a schedule,” Toto murmured, “I’m offering you me. Whenever. However. On your terms.”

Her breath caught. He stood. Rounded the desk slowly, stopping just in front of her, eyes locked with hers. “I’d wait ten years if you asked me to,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want a wedding. I want you.”

She bit her lip. Then smiled. Slow. Radiant. Overwhelmed. She looked down at the ring box. Picked it up. Flipped the lid. It was… perfect. Delicate. Not flashy. Platinum band, thin and smooth, with one pale diamond set low into the metal, not towering, not gaudy. Just timeless. Like him.

She looked up at him again. Toto said nothing. Didn’t move. Just let her decide. And she did.

She slipped it onto her finger, slow and reverent, like she was sealing something that had already been written months ago.

It fit like it had been made for her. Maybe it had. She held it up between them. Smiled again. Then reached for his shirt, tugged him down, and kissed him like a girl who’d finally stopped running.

[dangaer]

we as roleplayers talk a lot about how rp is not a job (which is important!) and that we have lives outside of rp but I did want to say i think it's okay to use certain irl things from what you've picked up from your job and experiences in helping you.

one thing i do for example is when I'm not sure what to do, I make an irl to do list which helps me a lot because physically ticking off once a particular thing is done helps me so much and im not afraid to admit it.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[quatregats]

Also I've been thinking more about DK worldbuilding and I think I am almost at a place where I can be trusted to answer the Worldanvil meta questions with actual real and useful answers

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

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[jaylaxies]

CALL ME WHEN YOU HATE ME LESS

PAIRING: jake sim x fem!reader (ft. jaehyun and heeseung).

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, eventual fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, using panties as a gag, spitting kink, edging, squirting, slight overstimulation, mentions of fighting, blood, usage of nicknames, slowburn if you squint, emotional trauma, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 18,321 words. (18.3k)

SYNOPSIS: Jake Sim was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect lips. But between late night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout, and honestly, it could go either way.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! if you have seen this before then yes, it is a revamp of my jeno fic as requested by a few anons! i hope you guys will enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: Raised in Shadows, Told to Shine. 

Comparison. 

The core of all insecurities. The onset of overthinking. The path to self loathing. 

That’s what comparison does to a person—drive them to the edge of insanity in hopes of turning into something; into someone the others will look up to, compare themselves to. 

It was a bad thing per se, but it was motivation enough for Jake to work harder in order to leave the country, to get away from his family. 

The reason? His mother ever so conveniently happened to have fallen in love with a rich guy, someone who never knew what struggle meant, and Jake was just four back then, he didn’t bother changing his surname. It didn’t take much time for him to settle into the lifestyle, however, no matter how much he could have prepared to face his step-brother, he simply couldn’t bother looking him in the eye. 

Why? Because he was known to be the epitome of perfection. Jung Jaehyun was the son every parent wanted, the student every teacher was fond of, the doctor every nurse wanted to work with. 

The sweet dimple on his cheek was a great asset in melting the hearts of everyone in his proximity or afar. 

Jake on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t considered to be enough, especially when he got decent grades throughout his school life, he wasn’t a bother, kind to those who were around them, but it changed. 

It changed when he got daily reminders of how he wasn’t even close to how amazing and successful his step brother was. 

That’s when things started looking down for Jake. He stopped caring about the grades, he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to put up a I’m so good, so smart act in front of others when there was no reason for him to do that. 

Others didn’t bother doing the same for him. 

Rather, he tried to work upon the only thing he was passionate about, the only thing that mattered to him—football. 

Despite winning several trophies for playing the sport, his parents labelled it to be useless, which broke the last fragment of his heart, shattering it to the point of no return. 

Which would explain his current demeanor—moody, permanent scowl on his perfectly sculpted face and no care for the others around him. His sole focus being football, which is also the reason behind his current dilemma. 

“Being an excellent player in the sports team does not guarantee you your scholarship, Mr. Sim,” Jake’s teacher incharge spoke up, taking off her specs right after reviewing his annual grade report, “you’re failing three out of five modules, and if you don’t start getting back on track soon, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to play in the team anymore.” 

Fuck. 

Jake had been neglecting his studies, he admits, yet he never thought that he’d reach this point. It’s not that he wasn’t smart, he simply had no motivation to go on with his studies. His parents could easily pay the university to keep him around, however, he wanted nothing from them, which also explains why he got himself a scholarship in the first place. 

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Jake’s eyes snapped wide open, turning back to see his step brother entering the teacher’s cabin. 

“Why are you here?” Jake asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching but Jaehyun only smiled. 

Jake’s professor was equally stunned, probably even more with her jaw wide open at the appearance of such a handsome young man. 

“I called him in since your parents were busy,” his professor said, handling Jake a letter, “go and find your tutor in the council room, she’ll be helping you with the upliftment of your grades, Mr. Lee, and now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to fill in your brother with your current situation,” she said the last part awfully sweetly as Jaehyun sat down in one of the vacant chairs, smiling at her kind tone. 

Jake scoffed, the demeanor change around Jaehyun went crazy and he wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he was called in to complain about his mistakes. 

He simply wanted to leave the university and never come back. 

He waited, taking deep breaths before punching the wall, not being able to contain his anger. The impact did hurt, yet he paid no heed to it, the blood dripping as he walked towards the council room to get over with the day. 

The name written on the sheet wasn’t unfamiliar to him, rather it only wearied the already infuriated boy as he knocked on the door of the student council room, which was empty except for you sitting there, working on a few papers which appeared to be the newsletter for the month. 

“Come in,” you allowed, not looking up as Jake made his way inside the room, observing the surroundings where he’s never been before. 

Then he looked your way, taking in your appearance. You looked cozy in your university varsity jacket, your specs sitting on your nose as you buried yourself in reading whatever it was that you were reading. He couldn’t deny you looked pretty in a way that’s comforting to eyes. 

With no words exchanged, he pushed the letter towards you, which finally made you look up at the source of disturbance, your eyebrows raising slightly as you most certainly did not expect the star football player to visit you in the council room, which he’s never been to before. 

He simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets while still looking around, and you took a second to grab the letter, skimming over to read and understand that the letter was given by Mrs. Kim, the teacher in charge of your department, requesting you to take up the few teaching sessions you had applied for, Jake being the student you’ll have to teach for the same. 

You clicked your tongue, folding the letter exactly as it was before pushing it his way, your arms folding across your chest as you finally spoke up, “I reject. I don’t wish to teach you.”

His eyes were quick to snap towards you, finally staring right into your own eyes, irritation clear as he pushed his tongue on his inner cheek, eyebrow raised. 

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jake rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level. 

You chuckled, expecting the exact response from him, “this is exactly why I don’t want to waste my time on you—you athletes don’t wish to study, you just require a passing grade, for which, I don’t have time to spare.” 

“What the fuck do you mean waste your time?” 

“Sim Jake, you’ve got more money with you than your bank account can handle, so I’m sure losing your scholarship won’t do you much harm,” you said with a sickening smile, “you’ve got no interest in studying, your attendance record states that oh so proudly.” 

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jake seethed out, messy hair strands falling over his eyes. 

“I know everything I need to know about you. Now excuse me, unlike you, I actually have work to do,” you said, passing him a tight lipped smile, not letting the proximity faze you. 

“You—” 

Jake’s sentence was cut short with two sharp knocks on the slightly ajar door, a head peeking in, successfully garnering your attention. You could feel your mood doing one eighty with the sudden intrusion of this stranger—whom you didn’t wish to be a stranger around anymore, your eyes softening, lips parting as you stared at him in awe. 

Meanwhile, if Jake thought that the day was done being a bitch to him, then he was wrong because the level of irritation that bubbled up in him the moment he saw the change in your expressions. 

“Sorry to interrupt, may I get in?” Jaehyun asked, smiling his usual dimpled smile, which had you swooning in record time. 

You could practically see veins of frustration popping out on Jake’s neck, “no. Your work is done, you should head back home,” he groaned, but Jaehyun only looked you way, continuing to get in, looking your way. 

“I’m Jaehyun, Jake’s elder brother. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing on giving him tutoring lessons, especially with how busy you must be with council duties,” he spoke up, shaking your hand, which was smaller in his warm, big hands. 

Jake scoffed, “she’s not—”

“Of course, Jaehyun! It’s my pleasure to help him out, and it’ll only help me better with my extracurricular credits! It’s no problem,” you nodded, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes practically twinkled with excitement, taking in the beauty that Jaehyun beheld. 

It was ridiculous. 

It was absurd how just two sentences; paired with a sweet smile from his brother, were enough for you to change your decision, in the span of two seconds at that. 

He tightened the hold he had on the strap of his black bag, “no fucking need. I’ll find another tutor,” Jake deadpanned, walking out of the room, not paying attention to Jaehyun who called out his name in the background. 

He wouldn’t let you use him to get to his brother. 

With that thought, he decided to detour and make his way to the gym, trying to blow off steam by practicing punching, each one getting progressively stronger as his mind replayed the difference in your behaviour when it came to him and his brother. 

It didn’t bother him that his knuckles were bruising, he knew he needed this extrinsic pain to get rid of the obvious hurt he felt each day. 

And he couldn’t understand why he felt so affected by your actions, especially when it was the first time you had met. 

Jealousy was indeed a bitch. 

Chapter 2: Surrendered to the skirt. 

Two days passed by and Jake’s mood showed no progress in terms of improving, rather, he felt worse each time the memory invaded his brain. He tried his best to sit down and open the first module of the unit he had to study. 

It’s not like he was bad at studying, he was just a bit out of practice, and well, his mental health wasn’t doing much to help him get any better. 

Just when he was about to actually get a hang of getting into the topic, the doorbell rang. His parents were out for business, as usual, and his step brother was busy doing morning shifts, which meant that he was alone at the mansion, minus the myriad of worker staff they had to take care of the place. 

Essentially, he had to get down to see who it was at the door, only to spot you leaning against the doorframe as one of the attendants had asked you to wait. He stopped, observing you from the staircase as you typed something on your phone. 

Why were you here after clearly rejecting him? Why were you here when he’s clearly told you he doesn’t want you to be his tutor?

Scoffing, he walked down the stairs and towards you, standing right in front of you, clearly invading your personal space as he decided to lean against the same side of the thick door frame with his brows raised.

You took a second to take in his appearance as he was clad in casual gray sweatpants with a blank tank, which honestly did nothing to hide his muscles. 

“Why are you here?” Jake asked with a bored tone. 

“I’m here to teach you, remember?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“And I clearly told you I don’t wish to study from you, it’s better if you leave now. I’ll just tell Mrs. Kim that you taught me,” he said, almost turning back to go inside. 

“And have them wondering how you failed even after getting tutored by me? Yeah, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, inviting yourself in without second thoughts. 

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. 

That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. 

“Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

You chuckled, “you really don’t want the previous year questions I have? The council students get them each year you see, they’re bound to guarantee you good marks,” you explained with a smirk. 

Jake groaned, his lip bitten as he tried to think if tolerating you would be worth the questions, but his football career was at stake and there was no better option but to accept it. 

“What’s the catch?” Jake asked after a few seconds, sighing with defeat. 

“Nothing at all. We both know that you need these papers to get the grade that you wanna achieve and I’ll get my extra credits,” you reason. 

“You just wanna meet my brother,” he said dryly, “either way, you won’t get to see a lot of him, he’s always at the hospital, working and being the perfect son he is. Plus, he’s definitely not into uni students,” he looked you up and down, soon gulping and looking elsewhere. 

You were clad in a pretty skirt which showed off your legs—which you did wear in hopes of crossing paths with Jaehyun, but you completely missed how Jake was staring at your body. 

He wasn’t sure if it was out of hatred that he stared at you, or it was admiration because you were one of those people he despised—overachievers.  

You were in the student council, got good grades and professors favoured you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your parents loved you for being the ideal daughter. It most certainly didn’t help that your appearance seemed as if you were the sweetest, kindest angel on earth, which wasn’t the case when you were around Jake though. 

“I’ll manage,” you shrugged, “so, I need your final word, Mr. Sim.”

“I am sure I can find better tutors than you,” he raised his brows, challenging you and you didn’t look fazed at all. 

“I am quite literally the best, professor Kim asked me to tutor you for a reason, besides, no one’s gonna agree to help you out with exams being only one month away,” you made your point, extending your hand for him to finalize his decision. 

Overconfidence. He sighed. 

Jake stared at your extended hand, thinking of the bigger picture here. He’d get tutoring and would be able to score decent grades if he gets back to his usual routine of studying. 

Downside? He’d have to face you each day. 

Sighing and keeping his feelings in check, he simply nodded, taking your smaller hand into his as he accepted the offer, suddenly aware of the warmth of your palm and how it leaves a tingling feeling behind as you shake his hand firmly with a smirk. 

“So, where are we gonna study?” 

Chapter 3: Silent room, a loud mind. 

Turns out, it’s not that easy to sit down and just teach Jake. 

Given the amount of classes he had missed, or rather, the amount of classes he had managed to attend, it was clear that he didn’t even have the basic idea of the syllabus for the semester modules. 

Moreover, you had already pissed him off by mentioning how you didn’t expect him to have such a clean and organized room, as if you had already decided that he was going to be a messy human. 

Moving forward, you both sat down next to each other with your laptop open in front of you as you made him write down all the topics he needed to cover for the next month, forming a sort of timetable of a kind. 

It was surprisingly peaceful between you two, as if you both wished to get over with it as soon as possible, behaving as civilly as you could but there was this one thing that Jake couldn’t stop doing. 

Overthinking. 

It’s the way you looked his way with disappointed and concerned filled eyes whenever he messed up, the way his jaw clenched when you told him to do better, the way he couldn’t help but stare at your glossed up lips as you looked around his room, eyes settling on his childhood pictures which were framed. 

It was also new to him to actually interact with people outside of his football team, especially girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to one. He wondered what was going on in your mind, he wondered if you were silently judging him through it all.

That’s all what people in his life did anyway. 

“You were cute as a kid, what happened to you now?” You joked, chuckling as you looked his way, only to find his mouth slightly agape.

He hadn’t expected you to say that, and he certainly didn’t want to retort back with something that would ruin his mood, “I grew up to be hot is what happened to me,” he replied smoothly. 

“Oh, so you do know how to joke around,” you raised your brows in surprise. It was indeed the image he had formed over the years. The image of him being nothing more than a rude jock who wouldn’t even reply to someone nicely. 

Now that you were actually interacting with him, you were going to find out how many of the rumors were true about him. 

He only leaned closer at your statement, you could see his muscles flexing as he rested one arm on the table in front of you both, “it’s not a joke, love. I am hot.”

You scoffed at the term of endearment, suddenly aware of his scent now that he was so close to you, “and egoistic too,” you helpfully added. 

“Rightfully so.”

Your childish argument was interrupted that very second as the door to Jake’s room swung open, revealing the exact man you came to see. 

Jaehyun was smiling, dressed in black slacks and a button up shirt as he welcomed you here, and you were quick to notice Jake’s mood turning fowl that very second. 

“Thank you so much for coming here, Y/N. Let me send a few snacks and drinks for you both while you study,” he smiled, and you rushed up to stand, not even bothering about the pen that fell down as you did so. 

“Jaehyun,” you walked up to him, much to Jake’s dismay, “oh, you don’t have to do anything,” you smiled sweetly, and he only shook his head softly, grabbing your arm. 

“Don’t worry about it, just sit and relax, okay?” He squeezed your arm, going downstairs and you sighed with a smile. Even his scent was perfect to you. 

“You done daydreaming?” Jake asked, deadpanning once his brother had left. 

“You done solving the question?” You retorted. 

He sighed, as if his energy was drained already, “yeah, just check and get this over with,” he said, handing you the binder and looking elsewhere. 

It was probably the first time you actually paid attention to his dejected tone, as if he didn’t have the energy to fight back, and you obviously didn’t wish to irk him more, especially when he looked so frustrated right now. Thankfully, a lot of his answers were indeed correct, which was another surprise to you. 

He was smart, he just simply didn’t wish to study. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, cocking his brow and you blinked, “you’re actually not as dumb as you portray yourself to be,” you mumbled, checking everything thoroughly. 

It should’ve been insulting to Jake per se, but even the slightest amount of approval was a big thing for him, causing the corner of his lips to curl up. He felt insane, the amount of emotions he felt in a single day was perhaps the reason for the same, courtesy of you. 

He was glad Jaehyun didn’t enter the room again, sending in a servant staff to give you the snacks instead, which maintained the peace throughout the session. 

You couldn’t help but notice how well he concentrated once there was silence in the room, your eyes focused on his hand gripping the pen, making it seem more veiny than it already was. 

Also, you didn’t miss the hint of a smile ghosting his face when you told him he did a good job right before leaving, which made you think of a few things, one being— 

He looked beautiful with a smile. 

Chapter 4: You can’t read my mind, so read my lips. 

As much as Jake loved the comfort of his room, he really wanted to avoid you bumping into Jaehyun again.

Even the thought of your interactions, your fake sweet smiles, made him wanna punch the wall. Jaehyun really had it easy and Jake never understood why, it was no joke that Jake was decent looking as well, talented in his own way, and a kind hearted person who just happened to have a protective wall around him so as to not get hurt any further. 

Which is why you had been tutoring him in the library from the past ten sessions, his own personal request to avoid having privacy with you. 

Heck, even Jake didn’t know it was his own mind trying to protect him, which is why he couldn’t let anyone in, anyone.  

Which made this situation far from ideal as he had you pressed against the library wall, no distance between you both as you closed your eyes in pure distress. 

“What the actual fuck is he doing here?” Your question was directed more to yourself, which confused Jake further.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, annoyance creeping through, “what the fuck is going on?” He asked. 

“Shhh, not so loud,” you pressed your palm against his mouth, “just hide me.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist effortlessly, pinning it above your head, “you don’t tell me what to do, yeah?” He mumbled, flustering you under his gaze before your eyes travelled back to where you were looking initially. 

He sighed in annoyance, looking back at the direction of your supposed fear. 

Lee Heeseung. Another of Jake’s football teammates. 

“Why are you hiding from Heeseung,” he asked, brow raised as he leaned into you. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, “he’s my ex, he shouldn’t even be in the library, he’s never here!” You were stressed and Jake smirked devilishly. 

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second. 

You used your free hand to grab his nape, “don’t fucking move,” you mumbled. 

Perhaps you were too harsh with the grabbing, also not calculating the proximity enough, because Jake’s nose was brushing against yours, lips close to the point of touching, and a low groan escaping his lips as your name rolls out his tongue in the most angry grunt ever, “what the actual fuck are you doing?” 

“J—just let him leave,” you mumbled, gulping and closing your eyes, his mint breath fanning your face as heat crept up your neck, up till your ears. 

“What will I get out of it,” he asked, his free hand resting on your waist now, “why should I help you?”

“I’m literally helping you study, Jake,” you seethed out.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he groaned, making you open your eyes, staring into his deep ones now, suddenly feeling small under his gaze, and well, his body. 

“What?” you asked, looking away to check if Heeseung had left, pushing Jake away the second you confirmed it. 

Jake, however, wasn’t having any of it. 

With a scoff and the shake of his head, he grabbed your wrist again, twisting it behind your back, not putting too much pressure so it just hurt but still made it clear how he would not let you go so easily, “you can’t run from me.”

“Let go, I fucking swear—” you let out, squirming around and pushing him, he didn’t budge at all sadly. 

“You do realize I’m a lot stronger than you, right?” He chuckled. 

“Fuck—what do you want me to do?” You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you looked at him. 

Before he could answer, your eyes widened in fear yet again as you yanked his arm so forcefully, he had no chance to balance himself, a yelp leaving his mouth as you ran and he was following right after you. 

Heeseung was back and you could just not deal with his ass anymore, hence the overwhelming response. Fight or flight? Flight for sure. Dragging Jake into it might be a stretch but hey, whatever helped you run away from the gremlin, right? 

“Y/N,” Jake hissed yet again, once you stopped by your seat, gathering both yours and his belongings scattered across the table from when you were studying a few minutes back, before getting up to find a book, before seeing Heeseung roaming around the halls of the library. 

It was quite amusing to Jake if he was being honest, a mix of feelings as you grabbed his wrist effortlessly yet again, your eyes set on the exit door leading to the parking lot where Jake’s Ferrari Purosangue stood proudly. 

“Get in!” You screamed even though you were far from the threat (read: Heeseung) now. 

“That’s my car in case you forgot—”

“Now.” 

“So fucking annoying—” He grumbled, with a small smile playing on his lips. 

You looked so bothered as if you were chased by Ghostface and not Heeseung, even though you probably wouldn’t run away from the prior. It was comical regardless, the long breath you exhaled once you were comfortable on his premium quality car seat, head leaned back fully. 

You opened your eyes after a few seconds only to find Jake’s eyes on you, face curved into an amused look. You stared at one another for a second, two seconds, three seconds—and he burst out laughing. 

It was probably the first time you saw him laugh like that—so freely, without any care in this world. It was loud but breathless, making his eyes crinkle with small crescents forming, his perfectly aligned pearly teeth showing as he went on, laughing at your disheveled state and crazy response to everything that happened the past twenty minutes. 

You were calm and composed for the most part, it was rare for you to look this frustrated over anything, which came as a surprise to Jake, the whole situation seemingly pure comedy to him. 

You observed him so carefully, your own lips twitching into a smile and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him so normally as if two friends were laughing over a joke. 

A weird sort of warmth spread over your body, it made no sense honestly, you were pinned to the wall just a few minutes back and Jake looked as if he’d burst into flames with his anger, and now he’s laughing at your disheveled, non-composed state. 

Once Jake caught you staring back at him with glittering eyes, and a little smile, he froze. It was easy for him to come back to his senses (read: put his walls back up) which only made your smile drop too. It was awkward, both of you looking elsewhere while clearing your throats, definitely not something you expected. 

“Uh—sorry about that, yeah,” you mumbled, playing with the loose threat of your sweater sleeve. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he retorted, turning the car engine on to start driving. 

Why was it awkward? Because you laughed together like two absolutely normal individuals? Because you had Jake pinning you to the wall to avoid your ex? 

Or because you almost kissed. Almost. 

The ride back to your apartment was silent, no songs playing in the car, just the small buzz of engine, and the nail tapping on the screen of your phone—to avoid any kind of conversation happening, also clearly missing out on how Jake glanced at you every few seconds, the speed of his thoughts running faster than his own car. 

“I’ll—see you tomorrow then?” Your voice cracked as you said so, wincing slightly at your own tone. 

Jake was about to chuckle again, yet he covered it with a low cough as he mumbled a yes, as you opened the door once he stopped in front of your apartment. 

That’s it, you were leaving, and his eyes didn’t leave you till you disappeared into the apartment. 

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, groaning as he banged his head into it, a low horn sound only frustrating him further. It was hard for him to drive after, the scene of you being so vulnerable yet glaring at him like a scared little vixen trying to look brave, replayed in his mind. 

No, he couldn’t drive, couldn’t focus on the road anymore, stopping the car at a random parking lot of a fast food chain, grabbing his phone to pull up Instagram, specifically Heeseung’s account. 

He didn’t have to scroll much to find the picture he was looking for—his teammate, Heeseung, standing right next to you with his arm resting on your waist. Jake didn’t know why that picture left a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden, knowing well how badly Heeseung fucked up when he cheated on you. 

And now the asshole is running after you again. 

You didn’t deserve that, you deserve someone better—someone perfect like you. 

He went back, not having it in him to look at the picture again, instead, going to your account now. It looked professional, all your posts being highly calculative to make your feed look pleasing. Your highlights, however, had this one particular picture—a picture of you smiling without a care in the world, so raw, so genuine, so beautiful. 

Beautiful. 

Jake thought you looked beautiful, and it made him angry. 

He was angry—because deep down, he desired to be the reason for your smile. 

Chapter 5: Pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark. 

Jake made you smile. 

You did know that laugh was contagious, however, you didn’t think you’d actually give in to Jake’s sweet chuckles. 

Sleep didn’t come to you easy when the constant reminder of the study session poked the back of your mind, not to mention what happened in the library earlier, where you and Jake almost kissed—

No. 

You shook your head. Such niche experiences never falter you, so why was this such a big deal? 

Another groan left your mouth, but alas, your body was relaxed enough to sleep so you woke up energetic the next day. It felt oddly friendly when you saw Jake at the University, and he threw a two finger salute your way, you waved back before going your way. 

“You’re zoned out, again.” Karina, one of your classmates, pointed out and you sighed as she rambled about how you needed to let some guy in, quite literally, to blow off some steam, which you clearly weren’t doing, hence the stuck up energy. 

Being descriptive about it didn’t help either—yet another reminder of how Jake’s body was pressed against yours this hour, yesterday. 

Heat crept up your neck, urging you to pack up and leave the room. It was hot, stuffy almost for you to do anything, which is why you found yourself studying at the empty seat of the University park. 

You had to face him again, of course, there was no escape to that, and as if the universe was testing you, the time passed by way too quickly for your liking and soon, you found yourself standing in front of the main door of Jake’s place. 

Before you could even ring the bell, the door opened to a huffing Jake, almost as if he ran downstairs, but how did he know—

“Hey,” he whispered, looking around. 

He didn’t wait for your reply, simply grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside, your skin burning at the unexpected touch, but you didn’t shake him off of you, only asking in a low tone, “what are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Jake mumbled, as though he was trying to avoid someone, or rather, trying to hide you from someone. His efforts were futile, however, once he heard that stern voice of his mother booming through the walls of his mansion. 

Now you get why Jake was in a hurry, the look on her face had a chill going down your spine. 

You felt Jake stiffen alongside you, his hold on your wrist now tighter, uncontrollably so. 

“You must be the new tutor for Jake,” she said, scrutinizing every bit of your existence, Jake’s jaw clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“Yes ma’am, It’s a pleasure meeting you,” you tried to say, only for her to cut you off. 

“Trust me, darling. There must be no pleasure in helping Jake, but I do hope he learns a thing or two from you—you look like a smart young lady, hopefully, a positive influence on him.” 

You looked at her with your mouth open slightly, not believing the sight in front of you. No mother should look down on their children like that, ever. 

“Mrs. Jung, I hope we’re talking about the same Jake because he is amazing at studies, he grasps concepts faster than I do, and then I believe I’m the one who’s learning from him right now!” You smiled, full of enthusiasm, feeling Jake’s hand dropping down from your wrist. 

“In fact, I’ve never seen anyone play football so perfectly while also being so brilliantly academically smart, I firmly believe his grades will shock you this time. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our tutoring session.”

You passed her a small smile, the shock clear on her face, before grabbing Jake’s hand and taking him along with you—to his room. You didn’t look back, simply closing the door as you breathed out with a pissed expression. 

Jake’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. 

You spoke for him. 

You defended him. 

No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation. 

“W—Why?” Jake couldn’t keep his voice in check, “you didn’t have to—say all that.”

That’s when you turned around, facing him. All your anger disappeared once you focused on his face, so vulnerable, so confused, so desperate to know your answer. 

“Jake,” the gentleness in your voice only made him gulp and look down at the floor, “I hope you don’t believe a word she says, because that’s not true,” you spoke, inching closer. 

You were not one who was good at making people feel better, Jake of all people at that, however, this gave you an insight of why Jake is the way he is—closed off, hence the lack of words from your side, but you knew you had to say it. 

That’s the thing, we judge people too quickly, you always had snarky remarks for him, not knowing how deep they cut him. He looked shaken right now, traumatized, especially because you experienced a part of his life which he never wanted to share with anybody. 

“Jake, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally. 

He was shaken, not from his mother’s words—he was used to them—but from yours. 

“No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

Jake didn’t realize his eyes were glistening. 

“What?” You breathed out. 

He gulped yet again, jaw clenched now as he struggled to get his words out, the floor being the most interesting thing to him, “defended me. No one’s done that.”

“I—is that why you hate Jaehyun? Because people only see him?” You asked, wincing at the question when you saw him stiffen again, a sharp pang in your chest once he brushed your hand off of his. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

“I didn’t mean—” 

“Oh I fucking know what you mean. Everyone sees him fuck—you see him, because he’s perfect, right? That’s what he is, perfect,” he seethed out, “you don’t know what it’s like—to live in someone’s shadow,” there was a flash of pain in his eyes. 

You stayed mum, letting him speak. 

“Every place, every room, every fucking person just sees him,” he muttered, “I need to be better, but it’s never enough, because he already did it—Jaehyun did it better. You look at him the same way as others do, and me? The afterthought—the failure.”

Your heart broke a little, guilt settling in because unknowingly, you fueled the same anger and trauma for him. 

“Jake,” you mumbled, “you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to,” you spoke, and he looked up, “and thank god you’re not Jaehyun,” you chuckled, fingers ghosting near his jaw, your touch featherlight, making him suck in a deep breath. 

“Why?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes hopeful, which scared him. 

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jake, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

He blinked. 

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, simply leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. 

“You’re you, the stupid jock who’s not scared of anything, yeah?” You tried to make him smile, which helped as you saw his lips curving up. 

Midway through your sentences, you genuinely questioned yourself about why you even like Jaehyun, it was honestly just your mind playing games with you. 

“You scare me,” he muttered. 

“Why?”

“Because you say things so convincingly, it makes me wanna believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Just—don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” you said in a breath, his eyes on yours now, more intense than ever, “I mean every word.”

He stared a little longer, staring at you unamused as if you’d laugh in his face right this second. You didn’t. 

“You’re serious,” he said, voice hoarse. 

You nodded softly. 

Jake took a single step forward, the air around you so tight, it felt like a rubber band stretched to its max, on the verge of snapping back. 

You inhaled sharply once Jake’s cold hand brushed the hair on your shoulder, grazing against your bare skin, moving up your nape. 

“Do you have any idea what you just said to me?” He murmured, eyes locked on yours, turning you around easily to pin you against the wall—something he liked to do, apparently. 

“Tell me,” you mumbled. 

If someone told you two days back that you’d be in Jake’s room, calming him down before getting into a compromising position with him, you would have laughed in their faces. It was reality for you now, something that made you feel so unconventionally flustered. 

The way he brushed his thumb along your jaw, slow and deliberate, made you shiver, “you’re making me forget that i’m supposed to hate this—feeling anything.” 

You were hanging on the last bit of your sanity, drowning in Jake’s scent, his nose brushing against your cheek, hand gripping your waist, heat radiating off of your body. 

“Jake—”

“Say it again,” he whispered. 

“Say what?” You breathed. 

“That you’re glad I’m not him.”

You chuckled under his hold, your voice still shaking, “I’m so glad—so fucking glad you’re not him.” 

His breath sounded like a curse, lips hovering a breath above yours, you could feel his hesitation against your skin. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch someone as perfect as you, yet you didn’t stop him, the space in between you was so tight, it might as well elicit electricity. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, only leaning into his touch, resting your hand over the top of his on your jaw. The touch was faint, yet you could feel it everywhere. 

You held your breath as he leaned in—

Knock. 

Jake swore under his breath as you flinched, it physically hurt him to step back. 

“Jake?” Of course, it was Jaehyun who had to interrupt you two. 

Your hands trembled as Jake moved to the door, and you quickly turned towards the desk, rushing to sit down, pretending that nothing had happened—that you didn’t almost kiss Jake a few seconds back. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes furious with a hint of daze in them. “Yeah?” His voice came out strained as he asked Jaehyun through the door. 

“Mom wants to talk to you,” He said.

“Be right down,” he answered, shaking his head, staring at your way one last time, holding eye contact for a second, letting you see just how much he hated this situation, veins popping in his neck.

Then he opened the door, closing it behind him and disappearing from your eyesight. 

You stayed there, overwhelmed, lips tingling, pulse racing. 

A truth burned your skin in an excruciating pain. 

If he had kissed you, you wouldn’t have stopped him. 

Chapter 6: I can go from A to Z, but U is what I want. 

Jake hadn’t texted you all night. 

Not that you waited, except, you did. 

He never came back to the room after Jaehyun called him out, you waited, till you couldn’t anymore and had to rush out before your mind drove you to the edge of insanity. 

So you grabbed your bag, rushing to the first place you thought of—the courtyard behind the Science block. It was calm, no student in sight, thankfully. 

Your five minutes of calm ended a second too quickly, a voice calling out your name in its full glory. You cursed the universe for treating you like this and you didn’t have to turn around to figure out who it was.

Heeseung. 

“I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you to fall for the broken type.” He stepped out smiling as insane as a villain who hasn’t moved on does. 

“Still stalking me?” You rolled your eyes, “get a fucking job.”

“I call it being invested,” he smirked, shoving hands in his pockets, “it’s honestly a downgrade, going from me to Jake.”

“Not again,” you muttered, grabbing your book which you had just taken out. 

“I mean, trading me for Jake?” Voice full of pity. 

“As if you were an option, Heeseung,” you turned sharply. 

That shut him up for half a second.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?”

Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Heeseung as he grabbed your arm. 

“What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

“I’m into honesty,” you snapped, “something you don’t offer.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Self awareness maybe,” a voice came from behind you, low, cold, almost lethal. 

Jake was here. 

“Let go of her,” he said, dead-eyed, he was ready to snap. 

And Heeseung did, a scoff leaving his mouth before he smirked, “great, speak of the devil.”

Jake raised his brow, “you done?”

Heeseung chuckled, “not even close.”

You sighed, “of course not,” this day couldn’t get worse. 

“You really think this is love or whatever?” He said, looking at Jake but his words were directed to you instead, “he’s gonna burn you someday, and you’re gonna let him.” 

Oh god, you were not having any of this, why was this conversation even happening? It made absolutely no sense. 

Jake moved faster this time, but you blocked his chest with your arms, “enough,” you said sharply. 

“Ask him to leave.” Jake said, voice low. 

“Heeseung, just leave,” you said, turning to him. 

But he didn’t, and so Jake did, shoving past you as you rolled your eyes, Heeseung’s sinister smile only widening, getting so close to him, he had to lean back slightly. 

“Don’t test me, and don’t come near her again, or else I won’t be this patient.” Jake spoke. 

“Aw? You’re gonna hit me in front of her, Jake?”

“I don’t need to, she already cut you deeper than I ever could.” 

Heeseung stilled once, clenching his jaw, before turning to you, maintaining eye contact, “she’s not your girl, Jake.”

“You don’t know that,” he gritted his teeth. 

“You’ll come back,” Heeseung’s jaw ticked as he said so. 

“Hold your breath until I do,” you replied.

That was it, he left. It wasn’t silent, nor dramatic, but with enough tension to let you know that he will be coming back. 

Once he was gone, you shoved Jake, hard. 

“The fuck was that?”

“What? I came here trying to find you, only to witness you talking to him.”

“I didn’t want it to happen either, but the world hates me,” you mumbled, grabbing your bag and walking away with Jake following you behind. 

“I fucking hate that he still gets to talk to you, why does he have access to you?” His voice rose and you prayed no one would hear him, thankfully this area was empty. 

“He doesn’t, and why do you even care?” You asked, with distress clear on your face, “pretending like I mean something to you in front of Heeseung is just as worse, Jake.” 

“I—”

“No, you won’t even talk about last night, as if it didn’t happen,” you snapped and he froze, “you didn’t even come back to your room.”

His silence was your answer, and you knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go any further, Jake couldn’t do that—he was scared of opening up, and he was scared of answering those questions, so even though you were hurting on the inside, you let him be. 

“Tomorrow, library, at five. Be on time.” You mumbled, leaving him behind you. 

“Fuck—fuck!” Jake punched the wall next to him. He didn’t want you to go—the first person who ever tried to understand him, took his side, defended him. He was beyond scared of letting his guard down, so he groaned, sliding down the wall. 

“How do I even tell you I want you?”

Chapter 7: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay. 

The library was too quiet for how loud your mind was. The sound of your pen dragging across the paper felt almost intrusive as you tried to finish your assignment. 

It had been three nights since the library fiasco. 

Two nights since the almost kiss. 

One night since the blow up with Heeseung.

You almost didn’t wish to come here, yet here you were, with the sample test papers ready, clad in your little black skirt, a cardigan too loose for you, waiting for Jake to show up—hoping he would. 

The clock ticked. He was a solid nineteen minutes late now, another minute and you’ll get up to leave. That’s when you heard the lazy footsteps approaching your side, the farthest corner of the library. You expected him to sit in front of you, yet he opted to sit right next to you, so close you could feel the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thigh. He took a seat without permission, like he had the right to be, like nothing had happened. 

He came in like guilt personified, shoulders hunched, hoodie loose, hair an unbrushed mess of indecision. And when he saw you?

He hesitated.

You didn’t look up, simply sliding him the sheet of questions to solve, the air around you turned weighted. His pen scratched, your leg bounced, you sipped water and he watched the corner of your mouth, practically burning holes into you. 

It was unbearable. 

This tension—it’s not a war but there’s rarely ever any peace. Catherine and Heathcliff reincarnated, except you weren’t on a moor, you were in a library, trying not to fall apart across the wooden study table. 

Just yesterday, he burned through Heeseung like jealousy was oxygen. 

He couldn’t stop staring, yet he solved the questions for forty minutes, sliding the sheet back to you for checking, expecting some sort of conversation now, anything, even a little hum of acknowledgement from your side, but none of it happened. 

He watched you scribble your pen over the margin, circling a few things, ticking the others, lip bitten in concentration. He observed you so intensely, how your eyes flicked across his answer sheet, but you didn’t look his way, not even once. 

“You won’t even talk to me now?” He asked, keeping his voice in check. 

“Four answers wrong, you did pretty well, can do better still,” you mumbled, passing him the paper. 

“Y/N,” he sighed, tired, he was afraid of this happening—letting you down, and that’s exactly what he did. Running away from his problems was what Jake always did, he wasn’t perfect, he knows it, but he wants to try and be better, better for you. 

“You came late,” you said, still not looking up. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he exhaled, jaw clenched as if trying to control his words.  

“Not my problem,” you retorted. 

“I was thinking.”

“You should study instead.”

“You hate me now, huh?” Jake leaned forward, voice flat. 

You blinked. The question hit out of nowhere.

“I don’t hate you,” you replied carefully. “But I don’t know how to deal with you either.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, Jake. It’s the truth. And that’s more than you’ve been giving me.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes narrowed, like he was keeping a war behind them, trying his best not to show his emotions. His eyes were empty, yet so full of you, you being the only person he wanted to see. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know how to be—good at this, with you, I’ve never done this before.”

“And yet you’re good at disappearing. You’re good at leaving me hanging like none of it mattered, Jake. Even a text would have made it better, just one text.”

You weren’t yelling. You didn’t need to. Your disappointment was louder than any raised voice.

Jake sat back in his chair, breathing shallow. “You kissed me back.”

Your throat tightened, “you didn’t kiss me at all.”

“Exactly,” he muttered. “Because I would’ve ruined it. Ruined you.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Jake. You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared of how much you actually want to.”

His fingers were now balled into fists. “And you’re not?”

“We’re not talking about me.” You looked away. 

He scoffed, turning to look at you fully, leaning in with his hand now resting on your thigh, burning the skin with his touch. 

“You want honesty, huh? So here it is—I’ve been thinking about you, about everything that’s happened in the past few days, no one’s ever messed with my mind so much and it fucking scares me. You’re messing me up—”

You couldn’t hear more, not when he was so close, not when he poured his heart out to you. Nothing about you two was normal, even your heartbeat was synced with how abnormally high they were. 

“Shh,” you mumbled, covering his mouth with your palm, and even the rude gesture calmed him down—your touch calmed him down. 

“You have an exam tomorrow.” You said and he stared, “study, pass the exam, and we’ll talk, yeah?”

He blinked, almost as if you showed him mercy, and gave him a chance to do something, to prove that he’s worthy of being near you. His scholarship, football, future—everything was at stake, but did he care? No. He cared about not letting you down. He wanted to prove himself to you. 

“You—you promise?” He asked, gripping the extra sheets and notes you passed his way.

You nodded, eyes softer now. You didn’t wanna hurt Jake, you could see just how hard he tried to fight with his demons, but this time, you wanted him to win.

“I’ll be waiting.” 

You turned to leave then, leaving Jake with his thoughts as he watched you leave, eyes on your legs. He gulped, looking back to the paper to find a line scribbled in your handwriting. 

You already know the answer, you’re just afraid of getting it wrong. 

It wasn’t about the question, it was about him. 

He just wanted to be worthy enough to stand in front of you and say I didn’t fuck this up this time. So he started, he worked all night, solved as many sample problems as he could, everything felt like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t give up, not this time. 

Jake couldn’t sleep at night, 

I’ll be waiting. 

That’s what you told him, and he was looking forward to it, because for the very first time in his life, someone wasn’t waiting for him to fail. 

He woke up before his alarm had the chance to ring, didn’t care about his mother’s remark on how he woke up on time for once, or how Jaehyun gave him a long, unreadable look. Jake didn’t react, he had bigger problems to tackle today. 

You were just as restless as him if not more, checking your phone every few minutes as if you’d get any text from Jake. He must be busy studying, you hope that was the case. 

He walked into the exam hall calm, focused, terrified. He didn’t skip questions. He didn’t zone out.

He solved the final problem two minutes before time and rechecked every line like his life was hidden in the margins.

When he walked out of that room, his shirt clinging to the back of his neck from sweat, his palms aching from gripping the pen too hard—he knew. He’d done it. Or at least, he hoped he did. 

Yet, he didn’t text you, he wouldn’t until he got the results. 

Chapter 8: Jealousy is but a red thread around my throat. 

You waited, not loud, but silently. 

Two whole days, you held your breath, even planned on visiting the football practice to just get a glimpse of Jake, yet you couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. God, you were so affected by everything he did, and this felt so very suffocating, waiting on someone. You knew what you felt, there was no point in denying it, however, you couldn’t figure out how it happened, so quickly at that. 

Heck, even Jaemin was more present in your chat inbox, even though you never replied to him, it just made you wonder if your time with Jake was just a hoax. 

Did you imagine it all? 

On the other hand, on the other side of the city, sitting in a dim room with sunlight pouring in, Jake was drowning in darkness. 

The exam portal was open in front of him, he refreshed the page every two seconds, not being able to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from want.  From the feeling of your voice telling him that you’ll talk to him once he proves himself. 

He gave up the wait, the result wasn’t out the whole day. It was three in the morning when the notification woke him up like a jolt. 

Results were out. 

He rushed to check it, the numbers stunning him as his jaw hung open. 

83%

Not perfect. But more than enough.

Enough to pass. Enough to stay on the team.

Enough to say, Look. I did it. I’m not a fuck-up. The first thing he thought of was you. So he typed—just two words.

Jake: I passed.

Because he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to—I passed, and all I could think about was your voice. I passed, and I still don’t feel whole unless you tell me you’re proud. I passed, and it’s not enough if I can’t show you.

Your reply came back six minutes later.

You: I knew you would. 

It was soft, gentle. But was it enough for Jake? No. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. 

He didn’t reply, he didn’t text you again. He opted to skip the lectures for the day and stay in his room, blinds closed, only darkness consuming him. 

You knew it was hard for Jake, you knew you shouldn’t wait for his reply or him approaching you—he was too scared to do that, which is exactly why you grabbed your bag and went to his place the first thing in the morning. Maybe Jake needed time, but you had to check. 

You rang the bell, your heart pounding as you did so, expecting Jake to open up and see you. Once the door opened, your pulse stuttered. 

Jaehyun. 

Of course, it had to be him. 

“Y/N,” he said your name smoothly, “didn’t know you were coming by.”

You hesitated with a small chuckle, exhaling the breath you were holding, “is Jake home?” 

He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, “yeah, he’s in his room, didn’t come out this morning at all.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering if he was alright. 

There was a pause, an awkward silence after that, you felt heavy, wanting to go upstairs but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to. 

Jaehyun closed the door behind you. “He’s been off since the results,” he said, voice low. “I thought passing would help, but I don’t know. He kind of shut down again after telling us he passed.”

You gulped, chest tightened at the revelation. 

“I came to check up on him, I’m not sure if he wants to meet though.”

“He’d want to see you.” Jaehyun said, smiling sincerely, “you’re good for him.”

Your eyes widened at that, “I’m not sure he thinks that.” You tried to smile, “can I go to his room?”

“He locked the door, I think he’s sleeping,” Jaehyun said apologetically. 

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You smiled sadly, “those are good pictures,” you mumbled, looking at the wall full of frames, particularly the ones with Jake in them.

“Yeah, I took most of those,” Jaehyun replied with another smile, he knew you wanted to talk to Jake so he suggested something, “Maybe if you take him something to eat? I can give the breakfast he skipped—”

“Oh no, I can run to the bakery and get something—”

Then you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision, you turned around to find Jake. He was standing down the hall, his fluffy hair a mess, eyes wide as if he didn’t expect you to be here—especially with Jaehyun. 

“Hey,” you breathed out. 

No reply. 

“Y—you didn’t reply, I came to see you,” you tried speaking again. 

However, his expression didn’t change and suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t have come here at all. He was frozen even when you said you wanted to make sure he was okay. Then he came back to his senses, clearing his throat. 

Jaehyun left the room, letting you two be alone. 

“Why didn’t you ask for me?” He whispered, just sadness in his voice. 

“I did, that’s what I came for,” you tried to explain.

Jake stared at you, he was so broken inside he couldn’t let himself believe it. You dressed up, all pretty, your eyes so soft, your lips turning into a pout of disappointment. You looked perfect, and you came here for Jake? He just could not believe it. 

“You were talking to him,” Jake said, referring to Jaehyun, his voice broken. 

“He opened the door, what can I do?” You shook your head, trying to explain, “you didn’t even text back, Jake.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, “I’ve never done this before, I’ve never had someone wait for me and mean it.”

Your lips parted to reply but he wasn’t done. 

“You said you’d talk to me after the exam,” he went on, voice sharper now, “but when you showed up, you let him open the door. You let him tell you how I was.”

“I didn’t—” your voice faltered, “I didn’t come for him.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

That hurt. You flinched. “Jake, why are you doing this?” 

“Because I waited for you,” he snapped. “I sat in that room like a fucking idiot thinking you’d come to see me. Not make small talk with my brother or compliment his photography.”

“You heard that?” You froze, it wasn’t your intention to do any of that. 

“I heard everything, every second you spent without taking my name,” he said. 

Just like that—he hurt you. Every conversation was about Jake, every single one. He just couldn’t see it. 

“I thought I was getting better,” he admitted, quieter now. “I thought passing the exam would mean something. That it would be enough.”

“It was,” you whispered. “Jake, it is. I am proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t it feel like it?” His voice broke on that line. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back, like his own body was a prison.

You stood frozen. Every word hit somewhere different.

“I wanted you to come,” he said, softer now. “Not to check in. Not to ask if I’d eaten. I wanted you to come for me. Just for me. You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jake. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

He turned away. “Then go.”

“I came for you.” You said one last time, your eyes watering, not being able to contain the hurt you held in them. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

That one landed like a punch.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. Just once.

“Fine.”

You turned.

And you left.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

Chapter 9: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay 

You spent most of your morning crying alone in your student council room, but it just wasn’t enough, not when you were being wronged every second of the day, not when the person you wanted kept running away from you no matter how hard you tried. At least you did. 

You couldn’t run away though, you had an important meeting with your council at six in the evening, by that time, you had done everything to make yourself look normal again, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, in another realm, a realm where things were different. 

Jake, on the other hand, left his room as soon as he realized how wrong everything had gone. All afternoon his own words replayed in his mind, how he asked you to leave and how you left a single tear drop on the floor before you turned around and left. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It felt like biting into something rotten, saying that out loud to you. Like watching the one and the only thing he wanted turn and walk away. You didn’t yell back, you didn’t beg, you went still, and left. He saw you leave—he made you leave. 

And he let you go anyway. Because that’s what he did. Because pushing people away was easier than asking them to stay.

Until now.

Now he was pacing in his room like a caged animal, hoodie still damp, heart in his throat. He kept hearing your voice in the hallway. Kept seeing your face. Kept remembering the way you reached for him and he didn’t reach back.

His chest felt tight, his limbs tense. He couldn’t stay here, not in this house, not knowing you might never come back.

He had to find you.

So he ran. He ran to the courtyard, not caring about the rain pour, soaking him up from head to toe. You weren’t in the library, not in the council room, the classrooms were empty. He was panicking. 

That’s when he heard a voice, turning around the corner of the athletic department, he walked straight into one of his football teammates he couldn’t stand at all—Minjae, a loud-mouthed asshole, smiling like a madman. 

“Fucking hell, Lee Jake, you look like shit.” He grinned. 

Jake didn’t answer, he was in a hurry, he had to find you, to make things right with you, he was about to push past Minjae when—

“Oh, by the way,” he smirked, “Heeseung told us a lot about how you finally landed his ex, the pretty goody two shoes, Y/N.”

Jake froze, jaw clenched at the mention of you and Heeseung in the same sentence, coming from an asshole at that. 

“Didn’t think you’d have a go at someone like her. She seems to like guys who have more brains than biceps.” He laughed at his own joke. 

“The fuck did you just say?” 

Minjae laughed. “Chill, man. I’m just saying—props to you, seriously. Girl like that? All polished and pretty and loyal? I mean, not that it’ll last. Girls like that don’t stay with guys like us. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jake’s vision turned black.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like static.

Minjae raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to get all—”

The punch landed before he could finish.

Minjae hit the ground hard, water splashing up from the impact, the rain pouring down heavier now. He tried to shove Jake back, but to no avail as he bent down, his fist colliding with Minjae’s jaw again.  

Jake wasn’t fighting Minjae per se, he was fighting every single voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he could never live up to his brother, that he could never be with someone as perfect as you. That’s what he believed too, till you actually became real for him. 

His mind was elsewhere when he took a blow to his jaw, lip bleeding now, Jake stumbled but scoffed before punching him again, and again, till his knuckles were shredded, a throbbing in his jaw which almost felt like fire. 

It was only when someone pulled him off of Minjae, Jake stopped, spitting out blood in the rain slick grass. Everything hurt, but not as much as his burning chest. 

“Are you insane?” Someone yelled his way, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake didn’t bother answering, pulling out his phone and rushing away, typing out texts to you. 

Jake: where are you? please say something i’m so fucking sorry Y/N i didn’t mean it  i didn’t mean any of it i swear Y/N please 

No response. His messages were just there, unread, and unanswered. He simply didn’t know why. 

He didn’t know how you had been in the private meeting room for the past hour, student council prep being a whole scheduling disaster, handling arguments about clubs and their out-of-the-worldly budget demands. 

You were half awake at best, distracted by the storm that brewed outside. Your phone vibrates once, then again, and when you finally pull it out to check the numerous missed calls—your screen goes dark. Perfect, just on the day you didn’t bring your charger or powerbank. 

The feeling in your gut—it wasn’t good, which is why you excused yourself mid meeting, something you never do, to rush back home. You were soaked as you ran to your apartment, close to the University, thankfully. You plugged your phone in to charge as you rushed to take a shower, hoping the hot water would soothe your nerves. It didn’t. 

You kept thinking about Jake, about the fight at his place earlier, how he asked you to leave with the saddest look in his eyes, and how badly it hurt you. You were out of the shower in fifteen minutes, toweling your hair with one hand and rushing to check your phone with the other, not expecting a myriad of notifications. 

17 Missed calls. 

6 Voicemails. 

26 Unread texts. 

The last of which made your blood run cold. 

Jake: Y/N please  i’m outside 

You rushed to the front door, and he was there—leaning against the wall beside your entrance, hoodie clinging to him, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, eyes closed and him wincing like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Like it hurts too much to exist. Hands bruised, lip split, and he opened his eyes—bloodshot, glassy. 

“Jake,” you gasped out loud, “w—what happened?” You said, going close to him. 

“I tried to find you,” he said, voice wrecked, “I tried but I couldn’t, I thought that maybe you blocked me.”

“No—I was in a meeting and my phone died, god I’m so sorry—fuck, come inside.” You shook your head in distress.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you gently helped him when he didn’t move, like he wasn’t allowed to, “I fucked up.”

“Shh, come inside, it’s cold,” you whispered and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You tried to be calm, you tried to take control of the situation for once and he listened, this time he did when you took him to your room. 

You didn’t ask how this happened to him, only guiding him to the bathroom, “you’re soaked and bleeding, take a shower, i’ll put your clothes in the wash and dryer.”

He opened his mouth to say otherwise, but you didn’t let him, grabbing a fresh towel and handing it to him. 

“Are you sure you want me here?” He asked, vulnerable. 

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise, Jake, I do.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he disappeared into the bathroom without another word and you worked your washing machine and dryer, sitting down right after, exhaling and letting your guard down, hands shaking with worry. 

You were glad Jake was taking his sweet time inside, because you had no clue how to go on with this situation. Jake stalling coming out simply because he was ashamed, also consumed in how good your shampoo smells. He was at your place, in your bathroom, all bloodied up, why? Because he couldn’t be normal for once and let you in. 

His walls came crashing down each time you came closer to him, but this time, he didn’t want them to go back up the second he touched you, this time, he wanted you inside with him. 

His clothes were dry very soon and you kept them in your room, waiting outside by the sofa, letting him come out all dressed up. The water stopped soon, the door creaking as he came out, and you were sitting on the sofa, hair still wet. 

Then Jake opened the door, you stood up at the noise, and he looked your way in a silent plea to ask you if he could sit next to you, and you nodded. He held up the bloodied towel, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you smiled softly, taking it away from him. 

The silence was too loud after as you both sat next to each other, you waited for him to say something, waited for the reality of tonight to settle in—to make sense, to stop trembling beneath your skin. And then he spoke as you took out your medicine kit, gently grabbing his hand to take a look at his bruised knuckles. 

“Y/N,” he took your name as if it was the only thing he knew. 

He watched you kneel in front of him, your eyes not angry, just steady, quiet, and unbearably kind. His fingers trembled in yours, you gently pulled the sleeve back, pressing a warm damp cloth to the wounds, making him wince slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you breathed out. 

“I deserve worse,” he breathed back. 

“No, you don’t,” you said, looking up at him. 

He laughed under his breath, “why are you so kind to me? I don’t deserve it, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide what I give you, Jake,” you replied, “you’re bleeding, again.”

“Not my first time.”

You gripped him tighter, “and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said, voice low, “just means I’m good at it by now.”

You didn’t answer. Just ripped the antiseptic packet open a little more forcefully than necessary and pressed it to the bruised line of his knuckles. He flinched.

“Good,” you muttered. “Means you still feel something.”

“God, Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped, trying your best to act normal but you both were far from that, “not yet.”

You cleaned the split in his skin with the kind of precision that only comes from anger—controlled, careful, but deeply furious.

“You don’t get to act like none of this mattered,” you said, eyes locked on his wounds. “You don’t get to disappear into your guilt and then show up bleeding and say I didn’t know where else to go. That’s not enough.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come for a reward.”

“Good,” you said coldly. “Because you’re not getting one.” You wrapped gauze around his hand slowly, tight enough that it would sting.

He didn’t pull away.

“I came because I thought I’d lose you,” he said through his teeth, “I came because I’m fucking terrified that I already did.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You said, standing up, “you keep doing this thing, you pull me in, let me see you and then the very second it gets real, you shut the door in my face.”

“I know,” he said. Loud. Frustrated. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when I say the wrong thing? Like you’re trying so fucking hard not to walk away?”

“You told me to go!”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then don’t say it!” You shouted, “don’t look at me like I’m everything one second and then act like I mean nothing the next!”

“I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I stayed!”

You were both breathing hard now. Staring at each other like you didn’t know whether to cry or kiss or throw something, You still stood in between Jake’s legs, him looking up at you.  Jake ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few feet before turning back to you, eyes wide and glassy.

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.”

Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

You stared at him.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Someone who’d gone through hell and walked straight into another fire because you were at the center of it.

Your voice cracked, “you don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

You looked down at your hands—his blood still faintly on your fingertips. He reached out slowly. You didn’t move. Not when his fingers curled around your wrist. Not when he pulled you in his lap, not when his forehead leaned into yours like he was holding on for dear life.

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, Jake.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m sick,” he said suddenly. “Sick of being the one who’s always too much. Too angry. Too wrong. I get one thing right—one fucking exam—and even then I screw it up by throwing a punch at someone who talks shit about you and then picking a fight with the only person who’s ever actually looked at me like I could be more.”

Your breath hitched. You grabbed the gauze, wrapped it around his hand. Tighter than needed.

“Then be more, Jake.”

He stared at you.

“Be more,” you repeated, “because I’m tired of being in love with someone who’s so determined to hate himself.”

That silenced him. Fully. Until he spoke again.

“You’re in love with me?”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

You froze. Swallowed. Refused to take it back, chuckling to yourself at how easily you let go and told him that, “yeah—god help me, I am.”

Then you tried to move back, only his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, holding you in place, “you don’t get to say that and walk away.” He growled. 

“Who said I’m walking away?” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support. 

It was unreal, how close you guys were but still not close enough, it was never enough. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jake stated. 

“I should be mad.” 

“I’m mad too,” he added. 

“Good,” you rolled your eyes, trying to move again.

But he didn’t let you, not this time, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

That was it. That was when Jake finally let go. He couldn’t delay this anymore, not again, not when you were right in front of him, not when your soft lips brushed so tenderly against his bruised ones, not when you told him you were in love with him—not when he knew he had to have you. 

He surged up and into you—hands gripping your face, mouth pressing against yours like it was the only way to breathe. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t neat, it was everything you’d been holding back.

Lips slotted together, you could taste blood on your tongue from where he was hurt before, which only made you groan into the kiss, he was frustrated, so frustrated, not having it in him to let go for even a second. 

You gasped, arms flying up to clutch at his shoulders, pressed chest-to-chest, his body was warm—too warm—and you could feel his tension in every line.

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting. 

“I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

You didn’t stop him, grabbing his nape and pulling him into you once again, because when Jake kissed you again, it felt like pain, penance, and pleasure all in one. It was as if he was trying to earn your forgiveness with his mouth, trying to pour out everything he couldn’t say to you, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted over his lap. 

“I fucking—” He said midway the kiss, “god I—”

You shushed him gently, “you don’t have to say it.”

“I love you,” he breathed out, forehead pressed against yours, eyes earnest and full of life for the first time since you saw him, “I don’t care if it’s too early, I can’t fucking not say it, I love you, I—”

Before he could ruin the moment with the spiral in his throat, before he could pull back in fear, you pressed your lips against his like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He responded like he’d been starving. Mouth hot, desperate, hands gripping your waist like the world was falling apart and he only had seconds left to memorize you. The kiss was brutal in the way it made you feel, there was no choreography to it, no elegance—just lips, teeth, breath, and aching hunger.

His mouth was swollen. Your lips, bruised from how much he kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

Then you grabbed his jaw once you heard him wince, “does it hurt?” You asked, pecking his jaw, trailing kisses all over. 

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, letting your lips take over, tracing every bit of his face and neck, his eyes closing with the fire that you ignited within him. 

“This feels like a dream,” he whispered.

“It’s not.”

“But it could be,” he added, almost to himself. “You—like this, in my lap, in your apartment, touching me like I’m not a monster.”

You cupped his face again, guiding his eyes to yours, “you’re not a monster, Jake.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve thought.”

“Then tell me.”

His voice cracked, “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you again. I thought that maybe I’m already ruined and maybe I don’t deserve you but I can’t stop loving you anyway. I thought—”

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep and aching, “then stop thinking,” you whispered, “just be here—with me.”

His fingers trembled as they curled into the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the fabric up carefully, reverently, and you helped him, raising your arms until it was off. His breath hitched. Not because of how you looked—but because he was looking at you like that.

Like something sacred.

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, tugging. He hesitated for a split second before pulling it over his head. The sight made your breath catch.

His torso was littered with bruises, some dark purple, some already fading yellow. His ribcage dipped where the muscle was taut with tension. You reached out, fingertips grazing over a particularly harsh mark near his side.

He flinched. “That one’s from earlier.”

Your jaw clenched, “you shouldn’t fight because of me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “I was fighting every voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth your love.”

You kissed the bruise.

He gasped.

“I hate that they ever made you feel like that.”

His hands slid back up to your sides, lips brushing your jaw. “You make it go quiet.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Your kisses grew slow again, heavier with emotion than desire. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest pressed into his, your hands in his hair, his head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss. You rolled your hips slightly in his lap, and he groaned again, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“Jake,” you murmured, your nails dragging softly along his back, “look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes—wild, glassy, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I love you,” you said again. “I’m not afraid of it. So don’t be either.”

He leaned forward, pressing your foreheads together. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty, did I ever tell you that?” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, brushing his lips all over before placing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your clavicle, “so fucking pretty.”

Jake wasn’t gentle anymore, not when he’d been craving your presence, craving you. He couldn’t help but treat you like a reward, like he finally had won the only thing in life that actually mattered to him. 

He was quick to grab your waist and flip you over, getting on top of you on the couch that was too small for things he had planned in his mind. It was almost like a dam breaking the way his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming you. 

“Jake—” you mumbled, your back arching as you felt his body pressing into you, fingers wrapped around his wet locks as he marked your skin with every ounce of desperation he had, his fingers mapping out every inch of your body as if he’s afraid he’d forget it—as if he could ever forget anything about you. 

The warmth of his hands brushed over your bra clad nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. Jake wasn’t undressed yet you could feel him getting hard, and god you wondered just how big he was, grinding into you as if he was already inside your cunt. 

“I hurt you so fucking much,” Jake mumbled, lips ghosting over your tit, “now I’ll hurt you in the way you want me to,” he said with dark eyes, yanking your bra down enough for your nipples to show, latching his mouth to you all in light speed. 

All his life Jake couldn’t take control of anything, but seeing you shiver under him just made sense to Jake, he had to take control—he had to make you feel so good, you wouldn’t ever look at anyone else. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered, already disheveled with how needy you were, wetness pooling in your panties, soiling the new pair you had put on not too long ago. 

“Yeah? You drive me crazy, baby,” he chuckled, and that sound went straight to your pussy. Jake was hot, so fucking hot, but him using nicknames on you with his deep tone—only god knows how you would survive this. 

You bit your lip to conceal your moans, which only infuriated Jake, biting your nipple harshly to make sure you scream, “don’t fucking hide your pretty voice,” he said. 

His hands went to your other breast and he gave it a tight squeeze, your eyes were on him as you watched his lips parting, letting his tongue make contact with the tip of your very hardened nub. He bites down on your nipple, making you cry out, but quickly soothes it with his tongue before switching to the other side, he wants to drive you wild with pleasure, to possess every inch of your body.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, you surrender yourself completely to Jake’s possessive touches, letting him have his way with you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his desperate sucking, a symphony of carnal desire. In this moment, there is nothing but you and Jake, and the burning hunger that consumes you both. 

Jake’s hands roam across your body, his touch electric against your skin. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him as he claims your lips in yet another searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth, hot and hungry, making you more hungry for his touch—for him. 

“I—can’t,” you whimpered, wanting more of him. 

Jake chuckled, “can’t even speak now, hm? What happened to the feisty lil’ girl who couldn’t shut up?” 

“Fuck, shut up,” you mumbled, tugging on his hair harder, which only made him groan and squeeze your tits harder, coming up to brush his lips against yours, hot breaths intertwining as he smirks, hand travelling down your body, very close to the hem of your shorts. 

“Want me to shut up?” He asked, squeezing your neck with slight pressure, your mouth opening in a gasp—he took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, watching your eyes widen as watches you gulp it down, “good fucking girl,” he mumbles. 

You were too gone to function anymore and you had just started, but you knew one thing—whatever Jake wanted, you’d let him do it to you. 

That man was no less than a Greek god with how sharp his features looked, especially in the dim light of the room, muscles flexing, abs on full display as he held himself up on top of you to press kisses all over. 

In a swift second, he pulled you up to unclasp your bra, throwing it away somewhere to continue pressing hot mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, and down your tummy, caressing it with the pad of his thumb, spending a good few seconds covering the expanse of your skin. 

You breathed harder once he reached the waistband of your shorts, his hooded eyes, almost drunk, looking up at you before he swiftly pulled them down, throwing them on the floor somewhere.

He couldn’t be gentle even if he tried, not when he was this thirsty, holding your legs open as he settled in the limited space that the couch held for him. Madman—that’s what he was and you couldn’t help but moan when he got closer to your panty clad cunt, burying his nose in the wet fabric, sniffing the scent of your arousal, groaning as he locked your thighs under his arms, which flexed harder now. 

You moaned his name as if a broken record repeating the same thing over and over again and he only mumbled things you couldn’t hear in your cunt, licking the already wet cloth, biting his lip at the first taste of you, “fuck—you’re so fucking perfect,” he says licking you harder, kissing your inner thighs alongside, leaving bites all over—he was feral. 

He slid your panties to the side, and the sight he had in front of him drove him to the edge. Jake was an impatient man, yes, he was messy, he was not the softest, but seeing you like this just made him realize how much crazier he could be. 

That first taste emboldens him and he dives in like a man starved, lapping at your folds like he’s trying to consume you entirely. 

His desperate tongue delves deep inside, fucking you with rapid strokes and curling to hit your sweet spot. You cry out sharply at the intense sensation, fingers tangling in his tousled raven hair to hold him in place. He grips your thighs tightly, holding you down and open for his onslaught as he devours you. 

Jake zeroes in on your clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly. Your back arches off the couch as he suckles hard on the throbbing bud, two fingers pumping inside your clenching hole.

“Fuck—Jake, I’m gonna cum!” You wail, thighs trembling violently around his head as your climax approaches rapidly. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers and lashing your clit mercilessly with his tongue.

He curls his fingers to stroke your G-spot with every thrust, drawing out more of your copious arousal to lap up greedily. Your walls start to flutter and clench around him as the pressure builds unbearably.

 Jake chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “You like that, baby?” He practically purred, before sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, your head falling back against the couch. Jake was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your thighs trembling as you stared at the ceiling with your mouth open, desperate for air. 

Jake pulled back for a moment, looking up at you with a wicked grin, “you want more, kitten?” He teased, running a finger along your slit, “go on then, beg for it.”

You groaned in frustration, but you were too far gone to care, “please, Jake,” you begged, fueling his ego. 

“Shhh, be a good lil’ kitten for me, yeah?” He mumbled into your core mindlessly, sending shivers up your spine as your thighs shake. He didn’t stop, but just when your ecstasy was about to crash—

He stopped. 

You let out a frustrated groan and Jake only got up with the essence of you sprawled over his chin, his hard on begging to be freed. 

“Fuck?” You asked, trying to get up on your elbows, looking at him incredulously. 

He only gave you a once over, tongue poking his cheek from inside before he came closer, swooping you up in his arms easily as you yelped, eyes wide as he carried you to the bedroom, “no patience, huh?” He asked. 

He was proud of himself for making you this weak, for cracking your high wall down so he could see you, so he could ruin you. Jake was possessive, especially after knowing what you and Heeseung went through, he wanted you to have the best, and he was willing to be the best for you. 

“I—I was gonna cum!” You said, holding on to him for support.

“Did I say you could?” He replied smoothly. 

“What—Jake what the fuck?” You whined and he only chuckled.

“Be patient, love, or else you won’t be coming all fucking night, yeah?” He said as he let you get down on the bed. 

You looked so innocent, eyes watery, hair messy, looking up at him like an angry little kitten trying to look tough. He climbed the bed and you moved back, till your back hit the headboard and he hovered above you, caressing your cheek as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to look him in his eye. Your heartbeat speeding up yet again, and good lord you loved being manhandled by Jake. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, thumb pushing on your lower lip. 

“Nothing.” You mumbled. 

He leaned in closer, “not thinking of my cock inside your pretty little cunt, hm?” He asks, watching you shiver at the thought, “by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you cum.”

Your jaw clenched as you slide your hand up Jake’s torso, tracing all the way from his abs to his neck, his own body reacting to your touch, cock twitching inside his pants by the time your hand rested on his nape, pulling him even closer so your noses were touching. 

“You know, Jake, you talk big game. Don’t make promises you can’t back up,” you mumbled to rile him up. 

Jake’s eyes flashed with a mixture of lust and irritation at your challenge, “oh, you’re going to regret those words,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips possessively. “I’m going to make you beg for my cock, baby.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust of his fingers, two of them plunging deep into your sopping wet pussy. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he worked them in and out, stroking along your sensitive walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. “I can’t wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned, your hips rolling to meet his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you shot back, your voice breathy with desire.

Jake chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to bring them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your taste. “Mmh—delicious,” he purred, “but I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart and settling between them. His tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your arousal like a man starved. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured your pussy with single-minded intensity.

He worked you over mercilessly, his tongue and lips and teeth finding all the right spots to drive you wild. You bucked against his face, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built inside you. Just when you thought you might burst, Jake would back off, leaving you desperate and aching for release.

“Jake, please,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to guide him back to where you needed him most, “I need to cum. Please let me cum.”

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Not yet,” he shook his head, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles on your clit, “I want to hear you scream first.”

“I fucking can’t!” You breathed out, trying to control your moans again, “someone’s gonna hear and—ah—complain about it,” you said, which only made him scoff. 

“Is that it, hm? Have it your way then, princess,” he mumbled, yanking your soiled panties down all the way, balling it up in his first to make a gag out of it and shoving it down your mouth, “now you can scream all your want, Y/N.” He said, taking your name in his deep voice. 

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Jake was for being the one in control. 

You squirmed beneath Jake, feeling utterly at his mercy as he continued his torturous teasing. The gag in your mouth muffled your moans but couldn’t silence them completely, much to Jake’s enjoyment. Your body arched, yearning for more, desperate for release.

“Such a needy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Jake growled, his fingers still circling your sensitive bud, “I can feel how wet you are, taste how wet you are, dripping for me, hm?”

His words made you clench, fresh arousal coating his fingers. He gathered some of your slickness and slowly dragged it up to your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your hips bucked up in hopes of seeking more contact.

“Hm—so responsive,” Jake purred, looking pleased with himself, “I could do this all night—keep you on the edge, begging so desperately for me.”

“Please—” you tried to say around the gag, your eyes pleading, you were so close, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax. Just a little more.

But Jake seemed determined to deny you that satisfaction, easing off right as you were about to fall over into your state of euphoria, frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the overwhelming lust coursing through your veins.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, baby,” Jake taunted, nipping at your inner thigh, “I want to hear you scream my name—let everyone know who you belong to.”

His fingers circled, feather-light touches that drove you wild with need. You thrashed beneath him, incoherent noises of desperation spilling from your lips. Jake just chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your plight, removing your gag to hear you gasp loudly, his name on the tip of your tongue. 

Jake was cruel, so cruel the way he denied your orgasm yet again with a smirk playing on his face, a whole one eighty from how he was an hour back and you were crying by now, something he seemed to enjoy too as he licked your face, tasting the salty teardrop you let out, “this makes me wanna ruin you more, y’know?” 

“Fuck—Jake, let me cum please,” you sobbed as he took you in his arms. 

“You wanna cum, hm?” He asked as you settled on his lap, his hard on pressing against your thigh as you nodded, “fuck, you look so pretty crying like that for me, like a doll, a doll for me to use, hm?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, getting off and undoing his pant buttons as he watched you with amusement how you struggled to take off his pants and boxers, only to find his cock waiting for you, hard and proud. 

Jake’s cock was throbbing, hard and ready to burst, as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip in a teasing manner. You could taste the salty beads of precum leaking from his slit, the flavor sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck—baby,” Jake groaned, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your throat. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going just like that, good girl.”

You moaned around his length, the vibrations making him shudder. Your own arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating them with your slick essence. The wet sounds of your slurping filled the room, mingling with Jake’s heavy breaths and grunts of pleasure.

“Shit—fuck, take it easy, I won’t be able to hold back," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna fucking come down your throat if you keep sucking me like that.”

You redoubled your efforts, eager to taste his release. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you sucked harder, determined to milk him of every last drop. Just as you felt him start to swell, signaling his impending orgasm, you pulled away with a pop.

Jake’s eyes jolted open, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. “What the fuck, baby? Why the fuck did you stop?”

You just smiled coyly up at him, licking your lips. “Because I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me up with your hot cum, or are you too much of a coward to fuck me?” You teased, your grin making him scoff. 

God he loved you. 

Jake growled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a flash, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your side, your back pressed firmly against his torso. 

Before you could even process the sudden change in position, he was lined up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Teasing me will only get you punished,” he warned, his voice low and husky with desire. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

With that promise, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching as he filled you completely. Jake set a brutal pace, pounding into you with wild abandon.

You let out a sharp cry as Jake’s thick cock stretched you open, filling you so deeply that you could feel him bulging through your lower abdomen. The feeling of his hard length pulsing inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press your ass against him.

“Lord—ah yes,” you gasped, grinding against him, “you’re—so fucking big.”

Jake grunted in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to pound into you at a furious pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your needy moans filled the room, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame beneath you.

“Shit, your cunt is so tight,” Jake mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. “Squeezing my cock like a desperate doll—you were made for me, baby. Made to take my dick and milk me dry.”

His filthy words only heightened your arousal, making you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your core as he hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust.

“Please don’t stop, not this time,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his thighs. “Fuck me harder, Jake. I’m so fucking close.”

He was quick to flip you over again so you were resting on your back, his hips settling in between you as he held your thighs up, your legs resting on both his shoulders with ease as he snapped into you harder, plunging his cock with more need, as if he was a monster hungry for lust and only lust.

Jake snarled, his hips snapping forward with a newfound vigor. One hand moved around to rub firm circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to tremble, your breath coming out in short gasps as you found yourself on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Jake demanded, pinching your clit hard, “I want to feel you cum all over my dick, baby.”

With a scream of his name, you practically exploded, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body convulsed, your back bowing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through you, which shocked Jake because you weren’t just having an orgasm. 

You were squirting all over his cock. 

Jake followed shortly after, his cock pulsing as he spilled his release deep inside you, as he breathed hard, watching you with surprised eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding against you to prolong your shared climax, “you’re so fucking hot, so fucking mine.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls, the sensation making your pussy flutter around his shaft. Jake held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks, his softening cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could. 

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jake.”

“Fuck—again.”

“So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jake.”

“Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

After a few moments, Jake carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back. He pressed gentle kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his touch soothing and tender in contrast to the rough passion from moments before.

“That was intense,” he murmured, nuzzling against your collarbone, “I don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you, baby. You’re fucking addictive.”

You smiled up at him, reaching up to cup his face. "I could say the same about you. The way you fuck me, it’s like you’re a fucking beast.”

“Was I too harsh?” He asked, placing soft kisses all over, “I’m sorry I just lost control—you have no idea how badly I need you, I don’t think I can stop,” he confessed. 

You kissed him again, “then don’t stop, just don’t.”

That’s all he needed to hear for the night, that you were finally his, and he was yours. He smirked, the night was just getting started. 

Chapter 10: Hate me less? You love me more. 

You don’t remember how the night ended, not when Jake kept his promise of how you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore once he was done with you, and he was precise about it. He was far from done when he made you fall apart on his cock so many times, you lost count. 

It was a crazy switch up once you both were done, he took care of you, almost like he was made for it, helping you clean up in little bathtub which was definitely too small to fit the both of you, yet he helped you bath, a faint blush on his face as you laughed once he tried to act sly, touching you again when you were so sensitive and overstimulated. 

Turns out, Jake can be super clingy when he has to be, also not letting you go once you get out of the tub, helping you dry your hair, helping you moisturize your body, helping you smile by kissing you every few seconds. 

He held you to sleep, not before hearing you say you actually want him and it’s not a dream. Jake doesn’t remember if he ever felt this way before, this warmth called happiness that you provided him so easily. 

“I love you,” he mumbled to your sleeping figure, he was whipped, already thinking of your future together. Yeah, maybe it all happened too quickly, he still wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t mind getting through all the hurt again if it meant that he’d wake up to you sleeping next to him—to you loving him. 

It was perhaps the best day of Jake’s life. 

The air felt different today.

Not because of the weather, which was finally warm and breezy after days of storm and stress, but because Jake was walking beside you—not behind, not ahead—beside you. His fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin every few steps like he was still checking if this was real, he still couldn’t believe it. 

It was.

You passed the main quad slowly, in no rush. The two of you didn’t need to say much. Conversations dimmed as you walked through. You could feel the glances, the whispers.

Someone definitely said your name. Then his.

And then, clear as day, they whispered. 

“Wait—are they actually holding hands?”

Jake didn’t flinch.

Not like he would’ve, weeks ago. Not like the boy who couldn’t stand being seen, being known. Instead, he just grabbed your hand a little tighter—casual, sure, and completely unbothered. His expression said it all—Yeah, and?

You chuckled. “Think they’re combusting?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, tugging you closer with a smugness he barely bothered to hide anymore. “Especially that one girl who’s walking with me, who swore she’d never even look at me.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” you teased. “You were kind of a menace.”

He groaned, tossing his head back, “were?”

You laughed, and it made him smile, soft and full, the kind of smile he used to hide and now gave you freely.

“You’re doing that look again,” he said, side-eyeing you. “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. Can’t help it. You’re a walking dissertation, y’know?”

“Yeah? What’s the title?”

You looked up at him with a shrug. “How to fall for someone you’re supposed to hate.”

That made him stop walking.

You blinked, startled, but he was already turning to face you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the fading bruises on his knuckles—old reminders of the version of him you never gave up on.

“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Fall for me, even when I made it so damn hard.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made his breath catch. “You still do.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed your hand, “at least I’m hot.”

You were too busy rolling your eyes to realize you’d just walked past Heeseung and his friends until the entire bench went awkwardly quiet. Heeseung looked up, eyes flicking from your joined hands to your face, and then to Jake—who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He was too focused on you. Too content stealing a bite of your ice cream like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, trying not to laugh as you nudged him forward.

Jake followed. No hesitation.

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal.

And for the first time in his life, Jake finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring.

It meant chosen. It meant enough.

It meant being yours.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[prettyliittleviolets]

NEEEEEEED remmick BADDDDDDUHHHHHH. You think he talks to *her* while he’s in it? no? just me? alright 😀

ohohhoho don't get me started. got a liiiiitttle off track here but... enjoy.

remmick is a fucking mess during sex. doesn't matter if he's on top of you or beneath you, inside of you or out — he is shattered to a million pieces from your first touch. he's reduced to tears and whatever words you can actually make out through his heaving breaths and broken sobs.

surely, part of it stems from how absolutely starved for touch he is. it's been ages, actual ages, since the last time he's been with someone like this, and all the built up tension and desperation finally breaks loose once your hands are on him. he can hardly control himself, bucking his hips against any restraint he's held on to, little cries and pleas falling from his lips like a prayer to you.

and god, he talks. if you thought he can't shut up most of the time, you're in for a nice fucking surprise once you're in bed together. this man can't keep his mouth shut for the life of him, he's extraordinarily vocal. sure, he moans and whines and such, but what will really catch you off guard is how every single thought he has will just fall out of his mouth. no shame, no consideration, you're not even sure if he's aware of the words streaming of his mouth.

it's flustering, at first, the things he says. how he's pulling you to your room, desperate for your touch, and can't help but whine out,

"god, i– please, darlin'. jus' need to feel you 'round me."

you're flushed like a strawberry, frozen against him and he's just continuing like nothing happened, pressing sloppy kisses to your now agape mouth. how he's going down on you, tongue pressed into you like it's his last meal, and he's moaning into you like he's talking directly to your cunt.

"mm, so fuckin' wet. so pretty f' me. wan'ta drink up all of you."

it takes a while to get used to how talkative he is, but you eventually adjust, not getting caught off guard by every comment he makes. and with some observation, you learn just how to use it in your favor.

god, it makes him so easy to tease.

you come up behind him, kissing on his neck all innocently, and it drives him insane. before you can do anything, he's all over you, moaning into each kiss and already half hard as he grinds against your thigh. he's right where you want him, and you can't help the grin that tugs at you lips as you tangle your hand in his hair.

"come on, baby. just gotta tell me what you want."

and that just sends him. he's a babbling, flustered mess, and words are spilling out of his on each breath.

"fuck, i– need you baby. mm, just need y' to touch me. need you so bad."

and if he's close? oh baby, he's gone. good luck trying to understand him through hiccuping sobs and pleas. he's halfway to a different world, eyes rolled back into his head as he begs you to let him cum.

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[zeroxxlhero]

Beastly Instincts • Vi & Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, begging, edging, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dom! Vi, sub! Reader, dom! Caitlyn, hair-pulling, double penetration, blowjobs, rough sex, foreplay, biting, blood-sucking, gp! Vi and Caitlyn, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Violet x You, Caitlyn x You, Vi x Caitlyn

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Caitlyn and Vi’s growing desperation leads to them initiating a search for you, their hunger not just for your blood but for the power and control you exude. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but you’ve turned it into something far more dangerous—a trap they walked into willingly, even knowing they might never escape.

The night was still, save for the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves and carried the scent of the hunt. Caitlyn and Vi moved through the dense forest, side by side but worlds apart in focus. Both were creatures of power, bound by their instincts yet driven by something far more dangerous: the memory of you. The two of them had felt the pull of your blood, the intoxicating lure of the power and pleasure you’d given them, and now they wanted more.

No, they needed more.

“I told you, she’s not just some ordinary hunter,” Caitlyn hissed under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth. Her voice was measured, calculated, but there was a fire burning behind her composed demeanor. “She’s clever. She won’t make this easy.”

Vi frowned, flexing her fists as she cracked her knuckles. “Doesn’t matter how clever she thinks she is. I can track anything. We’ll find her.” Her confidence radiated like heat, but even she couldn’t deny the gnawing frustration clawing at her gut. She could still feel the phantom touch of your hands, the intoxicating tease of your presence, and it was driving her mad.

They moved in silence for a time, their heightened senses alert to every sound, every shift of the shadows. Caitlyn’s nostrils flared as she caught a faint trace of your scent on the wind, and her heart raced despite herself. It was subtle, almost maddeningly so, but it was there.

“She’s close,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice low and sharp.

Vi paused, tilting her head to catch the scent as well. Her body tensed like a spring ready to snap. “I’ve got it too. Let’s move.”

The hunt continued, the two predators weaving through the trees with predatory grace. They followed the faintest traces of you—a broken branch here, a scuffed footprint there. You were taunting them, leaving just enough of a trail to keep them chasing but never enough to catch you.

“She’s playing with us,” Caitlyn growled, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. The edge of frustration in her voice was unmistakable, and Vi couldn’t help but smirk at her partner’s irritation.

“She’s good,” Vi admitted. “But she’s not perfect. Everyone slips up eventually.”

But deep down, both of them knew better. You weren’t slipping up. You were toying with them, leading them deeper into the forest, away from any semblance of control they thought they had. And that only made them want you more.

As they pushed forward, the air seemed to thicken, the tension between them growing. Caitlyn’s normally cold composure was fraying at the edges, her mind clouded with the memory of you—the way your blood had tasted, the way your voice had dripped with authority, the way you’d held complete control over her.

Vi, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wasn’t the type to overthink things. She wanted action, and she wanted it now. The waiting, the searching, the endless chase—it was driving her insane.

Finally, the faint scent of smoke reached their noses, and both women froze. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. This was it. You were close.

They approached the source carefully, their bodies low and their senses on high alert. The scent of smoke was stronger now, mingled with something that made their blood sing—the faint, heady trace of you. It was enough to make Caitlyn’s mouth water and Vi’s heart race.

The small campsite came into view, the dying embers of a fire casting flickering shadows against the trees. But the clearing was empty.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, her frustration boiling over. “She was here.”

Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the area, her mind racing. She didn’t believe for a second that you’d just left without a reason. “Be careful,” she warned. “This could be—”

Before she could finish, a low, melodic chuckle echoed through the trees, stopping both women in their tracks. It was your voice, smooth and mocking, and it sent a shiver down their spines.

“Well, well,” you drawled, stepping out of the shadows with a predator’s grace. “Look who came crawling back.”

Caitlyn and Vi spun to face you, their bodies tense and ready, but there was no mistaking the hunger in their eyes. You stood before them, calm and composed, as if you hadn’t been the one hunted all night.

“Miss me that much, did you?” you teased, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caitlyn snapped, though the sharp edge of her voice faltered as her eyes darted to the faint cut on your arm, the scent of your blood filling the air once more.

Vi growled low in her throat, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re not getting away this time.”

You laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and took a slow step closer. “Oh, sweet Vi,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “You think this little hunt was for me? No, darling, it was for you. Both of you.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched as she realized just how completely you’d played them. You hadn’t been running from them—you’d been leading them, controlling the entire game from the start. And now, standing before you, she felt it again—that pull, that undeniable need that made her knees weak and her resolve waver.

“Now,” you said, your smile widening as you looked between them. “Why don’t we see just how desperate you’ve both become?”

The tension in the clearing was palpable, the air charged with the energy of two predators sizing up their prey—or so they thought. Vi cracked her knuckles, her grin more animalistic than confident now, while Caitlyn’s glowing eyes locked onto you, her sharp fangs bared as she gauged your every move.

“Enough,” Vi growled, her voice low and feral. “Let’s end this.”

The first strike came fast, almost too fast. Vi lunged forward, her fist aimed squarely at your jaw, the sheer force of her punch enough to snap a tree in half. But you sidestepped at the last second, your movements smooth and precise, as if you’d been expecting it all along. Her fist sailed past, hitting nothing but air.

Before Vi could recover, Caitlyn was already on you, her speed a blur as she closed the distance and swiped at you with claws sharp enough to cut steel. You ducked low, feeling the rush of air as her claws missed your head by inches. With a fluid motion, you spun and brought your leg up, kicking Caitlyn squarely in the chest and sending her stumbling back a few feet.

“You’re both getting sloppy,” you taunted, your voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I expected better from Piltover’s finest.”

Vi snarled, her frustration bubbling over. “Shut up!” She came at you again, this time with a flurry of punches that were faster and more erratic. But for every strike, you had a counter. You weaved between her attacks, your body moving like water, fluid and untouchable. The sound of her fists cutting through the air was deafening, but not a single blow landed.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, had regained her footing. She darted in from the side, attempting to catch you off guard. Her claws flashed in the moonlight as she aimed for your throat, but you dropped into a low slide, narrowly avoiding her strike. As you slid past her, you hooked your leg around her ankle, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground.

The two women regrouped, panting slightly but far from finished. Their eyes burned with determination, and something more—something wild. They weren’t just fighting anymore. They were hunting. And they were losing themselves to the thrill of it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked, your smirk infuriatingly smug as you straightened up. “Letting the beast out. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Shut your mouth,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice low and venomous. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, her eyes narrowing as she glared at you.

Vi growled, her muscles tensing as she prepared to charge again. “You’re not getting out of this one. Not alive.”

You feigned heartbreak, “Oh, Vi, I can’t believe you would do such a thing to me. I thought we were just getting closer.”

This time, they came at you together, their movements coordinated and feral. Caitlyn moved with the precision of a predator, her strikes calculated and deadly, while Vi was raw power, her punches shaking the very ground beneath your feet. But even as they pushed themselves harder, faster, more monstrous, you kept up.

You ducked under Vi’s punch, countered Caitlyn’s clawed swipe with a swift kick to her side, and leapt over a combined attack that would have torn any other opponent to shreds. Your movements were almost… effortless.

It was starting to sink in for them. You weren’t just skilled. You weren’t just lucky. You were something else.

“What the hell are you?” Vi snarled, her chest heaving as she circled you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes now, and she hated it. Hated that you were still standing, still smirking, still in control.

Caitlyn’s gaze was sharper, more analytical even in her feral state. She could feel it—the wrongness of you. The way you moved, the way you fought, the way you seemed to anticipate their every move. “You’re not human,” she said, her voice quieter but no less dangerous. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

Their silence was telling. For all their bravado, for all their power, they were realizing just how outmatched they were.

But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Caitlyn lunged at you again, her movements a blur as she aimed straight for your throat. You sidestepped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. She hissed in pain but didn’t cry out, her pride refusing to let you see her weakness.

Vi charged in next, her fists glowing faintly with a hint of her suppressed power. You released Caitlyn just in time to dodge Vi’s attack, her punch grazing your ribs but not quite connecting. You spun, your foot sweeping out to catch Vi’s ankle, but she jumped back, snarling in frustration.

“Getting tired, are we?” you teased, your tone infuriatingly calm as you faced them both. “You can keep going if you want, but I think we all know how this ends.”

They didn’t respond. Words weren’t necessary anymore. They were too far gone, too lost in the hunt, too consumed by the memory of you and the maddening need to have you at their mercy.

The fight reached a boiling point, the air around you thick with tension and fury. Vi and Caitlyn moved with increasing speed and power, their attacks fueled by frustration and primal rage. They weren’t holding back anymore, their monstrous sides emerging as they fought with a ferocity that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.

But you weren’t normal, were you?

Vi charged forward, her punches coming in a blur of motion, each one powerful enough to shatter stone. You weaved through them effortlessly, your movements precise and almost lazy, like a predator playing with its prey. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws aimed at your side, but you ducked and spun away, leaving them to collide with each other in their frenzy.

“You’re getting sloppy,” you taunted, sidestepping another wild swing from Vi. “I thought you two were supposed to be the best of the best. Guess I was wrong.”

Vi growled, her voice guttural as her frustration mounted. “Stand still, you coward!”

She lunged at you, her fist glowing faintly with suppressed power, but you sidestepped her again, grabbing her arm mid-swing. With a fluid motion, you flipped over her, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her into an excruciatingly arched position. She let out a strained snarl, her muscles trembling with the effort to break free.

Leaning in close, you grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. “Tell me, Vi,” you murmured, your voice low and mocking. “Do you have a preference? Vampires… or humans?” Your teeth hovered dangerously close to her throat, the promise of a bite lingering in the air.

Before you could make good on your threat, Caitlyn’s furious snarl ripped through the chaos. She charged at you, her glowing eyes blazing with fury. You shoved Vi away just in time, sending her tumbling to the ground, and dissolved into a swirling black mist as Caitlyn’s claws swiped through where you’d been a moment before.

The mist reformed behind her, and when she turned, her eyes widened in shock. You stood there, no longer the calm, human figure they’d been fighting. Your amber eyes glowed like molten gold, and your hands had morphed into claws sharp enough to tear through steel. The faint outline of fur traced your arms, and your grin was sharp and predatory.

“Werewolves, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice a low rumble. “Not all of them are mindless beasts. Some of them know how to have a little fun.”

Caitlyn froze, her feral instincts clashing with the disbelief on her face. “You’re—you’re a wolf?” Her voice faltered, her confusion and rage warring with each other.

Vi, picking herself up from the ground, stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “That’s not possible,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re—you’re human.”

You chuckled darkly, flexing your claws as you regarded them with an almost casual air. “You’re right, I am human. I bleed like a human. Smell like one too. It’s what makes the hunt so much more fun.” You took a step closer, your eyes flicking between the two of them. “But you’ve felt it, haven’t you? That little itch in the back of your mind telling you something’s off? You knew I wasn’t normal.”

Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. “What are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Their rage reignited, and this time, there was no holding back. Vi lunged at you with a roar, her fists swinging with a force that made the ground tremble. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their movements were faster now, more animalistic, their monstrous sides fully unleashed.

For the first time, you had to take them seriously. You met Vi’s punch with a block, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground, and twisted to avoid Caitlyn’s claws, her strike barely grazing your side. Their power was overwhelming, even for you, and you found yourself being pushed back.

But you didn’t lose your composure. Instead, you smirked, your movements becoming even more fluid as you dodged and countered their attacks. “You’re both getting desperate,” you teased, sliding under Vi’s swing and narrowly avoiding Caitlyn’s strike. “It’s cute.”

Caitlyn let out a snarl of frustration, her claws glowing faintly as she lashed out again. Vi followed up with a punch aimed directly at your head, but you ducked under it, grabbing her arm and twisting her to the side.

“You’re not human,” Vi growled, her voice strained as she tried to break free. “You can’t be.”

“Good observation,” you said with a smirk, tossing her aside and dodging Caitlyn’s attack in the same motion. “Took you long enough.”

Their feral instincts had fully taken over now, their attacks wild and relentless. But you knew when it was time to end a game. As Vi charged at you again, her fists glowing with raw power, you dissolved into black mist once more, letting her attack pass harmlessly through you.

The mist swirled around them, disorienting them as they tried to locate you. “Time to cool off,” your voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, tinged with amusement.

When the mist dissipated, you were gone, leaving Vi and Caitlyn standing there, panting and furious, their monstrous sides still clawing for control. But in the quiet that followed, one thing was clear: they hadn’t even begun to uncover the truth of what you were.

Caitlyn’s rage was unstoppable. Her mind clouded by the thirst, her vision tunneled to the scent of your blood. It consumed her completely, driving her to abandon everything else—reason, restraint, and her usual calm. She felt herself losing control with every step, and though Vi’s voice echoed behind her, calling her name and trying to pull her back, Caitlyn couldn’t stop. The hunger was a beast inside her, and it was all she could do to keep it at bay long enough to follow your trail.

She tore through the streets with frightening speed, her senses sharpened, homing in on your scent as it led her to a small, dimly lit town. She stalked through the streets, her fangs already extended, eyes burning with that bloodlust that had taken over her. The people she passed didn’t even notice the air around her change, but she could hear the beat of their hearts, smell the warmth of their blood. She had to hold back. She was going to find you. She was going to make you pay, but she couldn’t show her powers to anyone, not yet. The town had no idea what was coming, and she was going to keep it that way.

Finally, she reached the bar where the scent of you was thick, almost suffocating. The door creaked open as she slipped inside, scanning the room with a predator’s gaze. And there you were. Sitting at the bar, so casual, as if you weren’t the cause of everything that had broken inside her. The moment your eyes met, she could feel that familiar wave of fury crashing over her again.

Her fangs elongated, her hands trembling with the effort to control her power. Her eyes flashed red, and a low growl rumbled from her throat. She didn’t care about the eyes that were starting to look her way; you were the only thing that mattered. She stalked toward you, her every step radiating pure menace. There was no reasoning left in her, no fear. Just the unrelenting need to tear you apart, to drink from you until there was nothing left.

But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, your posture relaxed as you watched her approach, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Careful, Caitlyn,” you warned, your voice smooth, deliberate. “You don’t want to make a scene in front of a bunch of hunters. They’d take you down faster than you could say your mother’s name.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the rage in them intensified, but there was a moment of hesitation. She could feel the presence of others in the room now. The hunters, the ones who had been lurking, waiting. Her bloodlust was on the verge of consuming her completely, but you had her on the edge of two choices—fight or retreat.

She didn’t listen. She lunged, her body a blur of motion, intent on bringing you to your knees.

But you were ready. Faster than she could process, you reached out and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward with force that made her stumble. The shock of it hit her like a jolt of cold water, and for a split second, she froze. Her fangs were still bared, her lips curled in a snarl, but there was no action. Not yet.

And then, in one swift movement, you pulled her into a kiss. It was forceful, demanding, and Caitlyn’s mind went blank. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened in surprise, but there was something strangely calming in your touch, a strange power in your control. The hunger in her lessened, her senses buzzing as she tried to regain control over herself.

“Relax,” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and teasing. “You’ll be able to show me those scary vampire powers later.”

Something inside her shifted. The red in her eyes dulled, just a fraction, enough for her to think clearly again. She pushed against you, still furious, but she couldn’t shake the unsettling calm you had instilled in her.

You released her from the kiss and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair. “Stay seated,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. “Let the storm pass for now.”

Caitlyn was still seething, her heart pounding with frustration, but the primal rage that had gripped her was fading. She remained seated, her fangs retracting, her breath returning to a more normal pace. She clenched her fists, silently simmering in the chair, the tension still thick in the air.

Moments later, the door to the bar creaked open again, and Vi stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the room, locking onto Caitlyn before her gaze shifted to you. The tension between the three of you was palpable. Vi’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She stalked toward the table, every step measured and cautious, a predator assessing her prey.

As Vi moved to stand beside Caitlyn, you leaned back in your chair, unfazed, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t make any threatening moves, Vi,” you warned, your voice calm but edged with something darker. “One of the hunters in this room will be wearing your canines as a necklace before the night is over.”

Vi paused, her gaze flicking toward the people around the bar. She looked at Caitlyn, the two of them silently communicating with just a glance, both of them reluctantly understanding the situation. Slowly, without another word, Vi took a seat at the table across from you.

You watched the two of them closely, the tension between them and the room shifting into something more controlled, more calculated. The game had changed.

Now, you were in charge.

And they knew it.

“What now?” Caitlyn finally spoke, her voice quiet, but the edge of her anger still evident.

You met her gaze, your smile never wavering. “Now, we wait,” you said simply. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to make this easy for either of you.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged another look, both of them more aware than ever that they were dealing with someone who wasn’t just playing by the rules—they were dealing with someone who made their rules.

And the night was just beginning.

The moment stretched unbearably for Vi and Caitlyn as they sat across from you, forced to watch while you leisurely sipped your drink. The tension between you all was palpable, a wire stretched to its breaking point. For them, it felt like an eternity of restraint, each tick of the clock dragging them further into frustration. You were composed, maddeningly so, your casual demeanor only fueling their growing impatience. Caitlyn’s knuckles were white against the table, her nails threatening to break the wood beneath them. Vi, though trying to appear calmer, had her leg bouncing under the table, a clear sign of her fraying patience.

Finally, Caitlyn snapped. She slammed her hand onto the table, leaning forward with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. “Enough games,” she growled, her voice low but brimming with fury. “Why are you doing this? Why us? Everything you’ve done—every little game—it’s all been to get our attention, hasn’t it? You knew we’d fall for it. Every single time.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, the glint in your eyes both infuriating and captivating. Swirling the last of your drink, you finally set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned back in your chair, as if you were pondering her question. “You know,” you began, your tone playful yet cutting, “I think you’re starting to figure it out.”

Caitlyn’s glare darkened, her fangs peeking through as she fought to keep her composure. Vi’s gaze darted between you and Caitlyn, her own frustration evident, though she held back, letting her partner do the talking for now.

“You’re good little beasts,” you continued, your voice dripping with amusement. “Always coming running the second you catch my scent. Obedient, relentless… predictable.” You leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Caitlyn. “You want to know why? Because you like it. The chase, the fight, the thrill—you crave it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, and Vi’s fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. But before either could respond, you leaned closer to Caitlyn, your smirk growing into something sharper, more dangerous. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the effect was immediate.

Caitlyn froze, her gaze snapping to your lips, where a thin line of crimson welled up. Her nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated, a flash of red overtaking her irises as her vampire instincts surged to the surface. She gripped the table tightly, her claws beginning to dig into the wood as she fought to maintain control. Her composure was slipping, her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping to a low, almost taunting murmur. “Do you want it, Caitlyn?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her attention was solely fixed on the blood, the scent drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She barely registered your words as her instincts battled with her self-control.

“Go on,” you encouraged, your tone soft but laced with a challenge. “Clean it up. I won’t stop you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn’s restraint faltered entirely. She leaned closer, her fangs fully extended now, her breath ragged. Her gaze flicked to yours, and for a fleeting second, there was hesitation—perhaps a trace of shame or conflict. But it was quickly swallowed by the primal hunger surging through her.

She closed the distance, her movements almost trembling with need, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips brushed against yours. Her fangs scraped lightly against your skin as her tongue darted out, catching the bead of blood that threatened to spill. The taste was electric, a jolt that sent her instincts spiraling out of control.

Vi’s voice cut through the haze like a whip. “Caitlyn,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though it lacked the full conviction of disapproval. There was a flicker of something else in her voice—curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

But Caitlyn didn’t pull back. If anything, Vi’s interruption only made her grip on the moment tighten. Her hands, still clenched against the table, trembled as she fought to maintain some semblance of control while indulging in the taste of you.

You chuckled softly, your voice steady despite the ferocity in Caitlyn’s actions. “There you go,” you murmured, almost teasingly. “Good girl.”

The words seemed to snap something in Caitlyn. She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as she pulled back slightly, her crimson-stained eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance.

Vi, still seated, was tense, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. There was a flicker of conflict in her gaze, torn between stepping in and staying back.

You leaned back slightly, licking the corner of your lip as if reclaiming what Caitlyn had taken. “See?” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond, her breathing still uneven as she fought to regain her composure. The hunger in her eyes hadn’t faded entirely, but there was something else there now—frustration, humiliation, maybe even a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

You turned your attention to Vi, who was glaring at you with equal parts anger and intrigue. “What about you, Vi?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Are you going to sit there and pretend you’re above it? Or are you just waiting your turn?”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, and for a moment, Vi’s hands flexed, as if she were considering lunging across the table. But she stayed rooted in place, her jaw tight and her gaze locked onto yours.

“Thought so,” you said with a smirk, leaning back in your chair once again. The game was far from over, and you were enjoying every second of it.

The tension in the room thickened as you shifted your attention from Caitlyn to Vi, a slow, deliberate move that felt like a predator locking onto its next prey. Vi’s sharp blue eyes met yours, her expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. You leaned back lazily, crossing your arms as if this were all a casual conversation instead of the charged, dangerous game it truly was.

“Hmm,” you began, your voice dripping with mock contemplation, loud enough to draw Caitlyn’s wary glare back to you. “I’ve always wondered what werewolves really liked. I mean, vampires? Easy. Blood, obviously. Power. Control. But werewolves…” Your eyes flicked to Vi, watching her jaw clench as her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “What’s the deal with them?”

Vi didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward, her muscles tense. The corners of your mouth curled into a smirk, and you continued as if pondering the answer aloud.

“Is it the thrill of the hunt?” you mused, tilting your head. “The feeling of the ground under your claws as you chase your prey? Or maybe it’s the fight? That surge of adrenaline when you’re up against someone who won’t go down easy. Or…” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, and though your tone was quiet, it carried across the table like a taunt. “Maybe it’s something else entirely. Something more… primal?”

Vi’s breathing hitched ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes briefly flicked to your throat before she forced herself to look away. Her reaction only fueled your teasing.

“Do werewolves like to dominate?” you asked, your voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Or is it the opposite? Do they like to be pinned down, teeth at their throat, heart racing because they know they’re at someone else’s mercy?” You paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as Vi’s hands flexed against the table, her knuckles turning white.

You leaned even closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her. “What about you, Vi? Is that what you want? To take me down? Or…” Your smirk widened, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you delivered the next line with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to do that to you?”

The reaction was immediate. Vi shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor as her fists slammed onto the table. Her expression was a volatile mix of anger and something darker, something she didn’t want to name but couldn’t entirely suppress. Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her partner, a flicker of concern breaking through her still-recovering composure.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous. Her heightened senses made it impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the maddeningly calm scent of you—human, yet not—only further stoked the fire in her veins.

You leaned back casually, unbothered by her outburst, and shrugged. “I mean, I’m entertaining myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vi’s teeth bared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to lunge across the table. Caitlyn’s hand shot out, gripping Vi’s arm, and though her strength was still shaky from her earlier loss of control, it was enough to hold Vi in place.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn warned, her voice sharp but tinged with the same frustration. She wasn’t defending you, not entirely—but she knew that causing a scene in this bar, surrounded by hunters, would end badly for both of them.

You watched the exchange with mild amusement, raising your glass for another sip before setting it down with deliberate slowness. “Careful, Vi,” you said, your tone mocking but underlined with a hint of genuine warning. “You wouldn’t want to prove me right, would you? That you’re just as predictable as your partner over here?”

Vi’s gaze burned into yours, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage. “I’m not predictable,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, grinning. Then, as if to drive the point home, you added, “You came running just like she did. And you’re still here. And you keep coming back. Why is that, Vi? What’s keeping you glued to that spot? Is it the thrill? The challenge?” You tilted your head slightly, your grin sharpening into something more dangerous. “Or is it me?”

Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s arm tightened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she spoke, her voice low but filled with warning. “Stop provoking her.”

You glanced at Caitlyn, your grin softening into a smirk. “Oh, I’m not provoking her. I’m just asking questions.” Then, turning your attention back to Vi, you added, “She’s the one getting worked up. Must’ve hit a nerve.”

Vi took a step back, her fists still clenched, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep her composure. For a moment, silence hung between you all, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, Vi let out a slow, shuddering breath and sat back down, though her glare never left your face.

“Good girl,” you murmured, the words dripping with condescension, and Vi’s knuckles cracked as her fists tightened once again.

Caitlyn shot you a sharp look, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line.”

You met her gaze evenly, your smirk unshaken. “Oh, I know exactly where the line is.” You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms behind your head. “The question is, how long can you two stay on your side of it?”

The clink of coins on the counter marked the end of your drink as you finished it in one smooth motion, savoring the silence that followed. You rose from your seat with a fluidity that made even the smallest movement seem deliberate. Vi and Caitlyn, ever vigilant, mirrored your movement almost immediately, their eyes trained on you like hawks circling prey. Despite the seething animosity that practically radiated from them, neither could bring themselves to break away from your orbit.

As you adjusted your coat, you cast them a lazy glance over your shoulder, smirking faintly at how they followed so closely. “Well,” you announced, your voice calm but carrying just enough of an edge to draw their attention. “I think it’s about time I turned in for the night.”

“Like hell you are,” Vi growled, stepping closer, her sharp glare boring into you.

Caitlyn stood rigid beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her crimson eyes glowing faintly under the dim bar lights. “After everything? You think you can just leave?” Her voice was clipped, the words escaping through clenched teeth.

Your smirk widened, clearly enjoying their defiance. “Oh? And why not?” you asked, your tone light but steeped in mockery. “What’s stopping me from walking out that door? Surely you’re not saying you need me to stay?”

Vi bristled at the implication, her fists tightening at her sides. “Don’t twist this around.”

“I don’t have to,” you replied easily, your gaze sliding between the two of them. “You’re both doing that just fine on your own.” You took a single step toward them, your presence almost suffocating as the smirk on your lips softened into something more mischievous. “So tell me—why can’t I leave? What is it you’re both so desperate to say but won’t?”

Silence fell between them, the tension palpable as they both stared at you, their emotions warring just beneath the surface. Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep control. Vi, on the other hand, looked ready to throw a punch, her body vibrating with barely contained frustration.

When neither of them spoke, you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought,” you murmured, almost pityingly. Then you tilted your head, feigning curiosity as you asked, “Or maybe…” You paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maybe you just don’t want me to go because deep down, you like this. The chase, the thrill. The fact that I’m the only one who can make you feel this alive.”

Their reactions were immediate. Vi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her nostrils flaring as she clenched her fists tighter. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed brighter, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath.

Before they could argue, you took another step forward, this time closing the distance entirely. Standing between them, you reached out, one hand gently brushing against Vi’s cheek, the other cupping Caitlyn’s with a surprising tenderness. They both stiffened under your touch, their bodies rigid and their breathing shallow.

“There’s no shame in it,” you said softly, your voice low and almost soothing. “It’s natural to want to follow your instincts. To give in.” Your thumbs grazed their skin lightly before you pulled your hands away, your smirk returning as you straightened. “So… are you coming with me, or do I leave you here to brood?”

They exchanged a brief glance, their pride clearly warring with something deeper, something primal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop you as you turned toward the door. Instead, when you stepped outside into the cool night air, they followed, silent but determined, their presence a steady weight at your back.

You cast a glance over your shoulder as they fell into step behind you, their reluctance betrayed by the fire still burning in their eyes. With a faint chuckle, you reached out and patted them both on the cheek once more, a gesture that was equal parts condescending and oddly affectionate. “Good little beasts,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement as you began to lead the way. “This is going to be fun.”

..

The tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of ale and woodsmoke. You strode up to the front desk with the same air of confidence you always carried, Vi and Caitlyn trailing just behind you like reluctant shadows. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged tavern keeper with a tired but pleasant face, perked up as you approached.

“I need a room,” you said smoothly, your voice low and calm. “Something soundproof.”

The request was simple, but it hung in the air like a thunderclap. The woman blinked, momentarily taken aback, her gaze flickering to Vi and Caitlyn, who stood rigid behind you. Caitlyn’s sharp, elegant features were still taut with barely contained tension, while Vi’s fists remained clenched at her sides, her glare aimed at the back of your head.

The tavern keeper’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as her imagination filled in the gaps. “Soundproof, you say?” she repeated, her voice faltering just slightly.

You gave her a polite, knowing smile, leaning an elbow on the counter as you added, “Yes, soundproof. Privacy is very important to me, you see.” Your tone was calm, but there was a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Her gaze darted to Caitlyn and Vi again, lingering on the two of them with a flustered expression. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her vampiric features giving her a dangerous beauty that likely unnerved the woman. Vi, with her broad shoulders and tense stance, looked no less intimidating. The tavern keeper cleared her throat and fumbled for the ledger in front of her.

“Right, well,” she said quickly, avoiding direct eye contact as she flipped through the pages. “We do have a room that should meet your… requirements.” Her tone carried a distinct undertone of awkwardness, and you could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled something down.

You tilted your head slightly, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement. “Perfect,” you said, sliding a few coins across the counter. “I appreciate your discretion.”

The woman nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as she slid a key toward you. “Room at the end of the hall. Quiet as a graveyard. Should be just what you’re looking for.”

Her choice of words earned a faint chuckle from you. “Graveyard, hmm? Fitting.” You straightened, pocketing the key before casting a glance back at Vi and Caitlyn. “Come on, then,” you said casually, gesturing for them to follow.

As you turned, you caught the tavern keeper’s gaze darting between Caitlyn and Vi again, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment. She clearly didn’t know what to make of the situation, but she was far too polite—or too scared—to ask questions.

The three of you moved toward the stairs, the tension between you palpable. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes still glowed faintly, her composure hanging by a thread, while Vi’s scowl deepened with every step, her fists clenching and unclenching as if itching for a fight.

When you reached the room, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open just long enough for them to follow. You didn’t bother waiting for them to settle in before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and surveying them both with a faint smirk.

“Well,” you drawled, “now that we have some privacy, let’s talk.”

You leaned casually against the wall, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked between the two of them. Caitlyn’s crimson gaze was fixed on you, unblinking and unnervingly intense, while Vi stood a little behind her, arms crossed and jaw clenched tightly enough to crack. They both looked like predators cornered into an uneasy alliance, trying to decide whether to lunge or retreat.

You grin, an expression that was predatory and chilling.

“So,” you began, your voice low and teasing, “why is it, exactly, that you two are chasing me like this? Hmm? Can’t get enough of me? Or maybe…” You stepped forward, inching closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory grace, “…you’re just bored and need a little excitement in your lives?”

Caitlyn stiffened as you approached, her jaw tightening. Her fangs gleamed faintly under the lantern light, and her red eyes never left yours, but she didn’t move. Vi, behind you, let out a low, irritated huff, but you could feel her tension like a coiled spring. She wasn’t going to make the first move—not yet.

Caitlyn’s composure finally cracked. She took a step forward, her fangs fully bared and her voice trembling with fury. “You’re toying with us,” she spat. “You think this is some game you’re in control of, but you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Or,” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you closed the distance to Caitlyn, “maybe it’s something else. Something deeper. A craving you can’t quite ignore. A thrill you can’t resist.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, soft and coaxing. “Is that it, Caitlyn? Am I the only one who can give you what you really want?”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, her composure cracking for just a moment before she forced herself back into control. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t answer, but the way her crimson eyes flickered betrayed her struggle.

You smirked, taking another step closer until you were right in front of her. Her tall frame loomed over you, but you showed no fear. If anything, the proximity only seemed to embolden you. Behind you, you could sense Vi shifting slightly, her frustration simmering as she watched the scene unfold.

“And Vi,” you said suddenly, your tone light and almost playful as you glanced over your shoulder. “What about you? What’s your excuse? I know you’ve been itching for a fight, but this?” You gestured vaguely to the room, the tension, the chase. “This isn’t just about a fight, is it? No… you’re just as caught up in this as Caitlyn.”

Vi growled low in her throat, but her hesitation was telling. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even move. You chuckled softly and turned back to Caitlyn, your gaze locking with hers as you reached up, your hand moving with deliberate slowness.

“Maybe it’s time to admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate. Your fingers brushed lightly against Caitlyn’s cheek, your touch gentle yet firm. Her skin was cool beneath your fingertips, and her breath hitched again, her eyes widening slightly as you leaned in just enough to invade her space.

“You’re both here because you want to be,” you said, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. “Because no matter how much you hate me—or how much you hate yourselves for it—you can’t stay away.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted between yours, her fangs still bared, but her resolve was slipping. Behind you, Vi’s breathing grew heavier, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your fingers trail over the exposed skin of Caitlyn’s neck, her collarbone. She trembles beneath your touch, her fangs biting into her lower lip as you descend.

Lower.

Lower.

Your hand ghosts over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her pants. The need to feel her, to explore the secrets hidden beneath the fabric, is a living thing inside you. But you have company. A warm, solid weight at your back. Vi flanks you, her front pressing to your back as she watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. A growl rumbles deep in her throat, a wordless approval as you cup Caitlyn through her pants.

Caitlyn hisses through clenched teeth as you stroke her through the fabric of her pants. The need to rip away that barrier, to feel her soft, pliant skin is an itch beneath your nails. But Vi's presence at your back is a steadying influence, a reminder that this is a game, a dance. So you hold back, contenting yourself with teasing swirls of your palm over her clothed length.

"You want this, love?" you coo, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to feel me wrapped around you, squeezing you so tight you forget your own name?" Your hand squeezes as if to punctuate your words, and Caitlyn's hips jerk into your touch. You smile, all teeth and wicked promises. She snarls, her hands clenching at her sides as she fights the urge to grab you, to take what you're so coyly offering.

You stroke her slow, maddeningly slow, keeping your touch feather-light to drive her wild. She’s squirming now, her hips rocking into your palm seeking more friction. You obligingly tighten your grip, humming low in your throat as she pulses against you.

"Such an eager vampire," you taunt, your thumb swiping over the tip of her cock. "So desperate for my touch. Will do anything for it, won't you?" To emphasize your point, you drop to your knees before her, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her length. The need to taste her, to feel her slide over your tongue is an ache in your mouth.

But you have patience.

You suck her through the fabric, letting your teeth graze the sensitive flesh beneath.

She reacts sharply, hissing as your teeth scrape over her straining erection. You do it again, purposefully, your tongue a wet swirl against the hidden shape of her. The need to see her, to truly appreciate the sight of her cock is a burning demand. Without warning, you rip open her fly, your fingers delving into the newfound space.

Your hand wraps around her immediately, the hot, hard length of her against your palm making your mouth water. She's perfect, thick and veiny and hard enough to hurt. The need to swallow her down, to feel her stretching your throat, is a pulsing throb between your legs. But you hold off, settling for a gentle pump of your wrist as you lave the weeping tip with kittenish licks.

You swirl around the swollen head, collecting every drop of pearly pre-cum as it leaks from her tip. She squirms, her hands fisting at her sides as you torment her. The need to wrap your lips around her, to finally put her out of her misery, is a desperate clawing thing. So you do, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down her cock. The taste of her explodes across your tongue, musky and masculine and so deliciously hers.

You swallow around her, fighting your gag reflex as she nudges the back of your throat. The sound she makes is pure sex, a drawn out moan that has your cunt clenching. You do it again, over and over until she's reduced to a panting, pleading mess.

Caitlyn's hands bury in your hair as you release her from your mouth with an obscene pop. She's panting, her chest heaving as you continue to stroke her steadily.

The need to hear Vi's permission, her okay to touch and taste is a sudden, desperate thing. You gazed over your shoulder, your tongue peeking out to wet your swollen lips. "Want me to suck you too, baby?" you purr, your voice husky with desire. "Want to feel that pretty cock fucking my throat while I swallow Caitlyn's cum?"

Vi's answering growl is low and primal, her fangs flashing as she licks her lips. In an instant she's behind you, her hands making quick work of her pants as she frees her massive erection. The thick length slaps against your cheek, smearing pre-cum over your skin. "Yes," she hisses. "Fucking yes.”

You return your attention to Caitlyn, your hand stroking her with renewed purpose. You scoot forward, your free hand wrapping around Vi's muscular thigh for balance as you take Caitlyn's cock back into your mouth. Your lips stretch obscenely around her girth, your jaw aching as you force yourself to relax.

But she doesn't push for more, allowing you to set the pace as you bob up and down her length. Beside you, Vi hisses, her claws scoring your hips as she watches you. Your core clenches, arousal flooding your panties at the feral possessiveness in her growl. Your neck aches from the strain of your double task, the need to have both your beasts inside you, consuming you, a physical hunger. So you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around Caitlyn's cock.

You alternate between the two cocks, your saliva mixing with their pre-cum to slick the way. One moment your mouth is wrapped around Caitlyn's impressive length, the next your hand is wrapped tight around Vi's massive girth. The need to taste them both, to feel them both, is a burning insistence in your gut. She reacts differently to your ministrations, Caitlyn's hips stuttering as you take her to the root, Vi's thrusting into your grip like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You work them together, your mouth coming down to gently suck Caitlyn's heavy sack. She doesn’t disappoint, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, chasing her pleasure on your tongue. Beside you, Vi grunts, her rhythm faltering as you jerk her off with practiced strokes.

Caitlyn curses, a litany of praise falling from her lips as you worship her cock. Her grip on your hair tightens, bordering on painful as she fucks your face. The need to be used, to be nothing more than a convenient hole for their pleasure, is a dark thrill that races down your spine.

You pull back, releasing Caitlyn's cock with an obscene pop. Your spit shines on her cock, a testament to your oral attentions. But there are other ways to pleasure her, other ways to drive her wild with need. So you let your fingers do the talking, jacking her off with a loose, easy grip. The need to multitask, to pleasure both your lovers, is a challenge you're eager to meet. The need to have them coming undone because of you, to be the center of their universe, is a burning desire.

So you lean back, your hand continuing its steady work on Vi's dick even as you lave Caitlyn's with kittenish licks. The combined sensations are heady, intoxicating. A drop of pre-cum lands on your cheek, the warm wetness a brand against your skin.

You turn your head to the side, your mouth gaping wide in invitation. Vi stumbles forward eagerly, her cock sinking into your waiting throat with a low groan. You swallow around her, your nose pressing into the wild thatch of hair at the base of her dick. The need to breathe is a distant concern, eclipsed by the burning desire to taste Vi's pleasure on your tongue. Your tongue undulates along her length as she thrusts, your hollowed cheeks hollowing and swelling with the force of her strokes.

Beside you, Caitlyn groans, her hand joining yours as you feverishly pumps her cock. The added stimulation is too much, Vi's thrusts growing erratic as your throat squeezes around her. You bite back your own moan, the vibrations of your vocal cords urging her on.

You bob back and forth between the two, your hand working Caitlyn with feverish strokes even as you release Vi from your throat with an obscene slurp. You need to have them coming, to see them falling apart because of your touch, is a chant in your head. You kiss up Vi's dick, nuzzling into her heavy sack as your fist tightens around Caitlyn's dick.

She doesn’t hold back, her hips snapping into your grip with animalistic grunts. You need to taste them, to feel their hot release coating your hand and painting your skin, is a screaming desperation. So you lean forward, your hand twisting on Caitlyn's cock as your lips wrap around Vi's weeping tip.

Caitlyn hisses, her hips jerking erratically as her orgasm crashes over her. Hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your chest, splashing against your waiting skin in a show of mark-making that has your cunt clenching. But you have no time to bask in the warm, squelch of seed on your breasts. Vi's hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks your throat with abandon. She snarls, a broken sound of ecstasy that mixes with Caitlyn's panting moans.

You swallow, your cheeks hollowing as you fight your own gag reflex. The taste of her, salty and thick and so unmistakably Vi, floods your senses. It's perfect. You moan around her, the vibrations of your throat catapulting her over the edge.

You stay kneeling on the floor, Vi's cock slipping from your lips with a lewd pop. Your chest is sticky with Caitlyn's release, the white ropes splattered across your heaving breasts like macabre war paint. They look down at you, panting and flushed and oh so very ready for round two. You need to be filled, to be stretched, to be utterly ruined by these magnificent creatures is a pulsing demand between your legs.

But first, you want to admire your handywork. Vi's cock is bobbing obscenely, pearly drops of cum beading at the tip. Caitlyn's is no different, the head engorged and leaking. You want to have them inside you, surrounding you, consuming you is a roar in your skull. You scoop up some of Caitlyn's seed, painting your lips like you're about to eat the most decadent treat.

Your thoughts are swallowed by Caitlyn's mouth as she yanks you up by your hair. Her kiss is hungry, desperate, her fangs scoring your lips in a way that has you opening automatically. Your blood mingles with her tongue, the coppery taste a metallic counterpoint to the musky flavors of sex and sweat that cling to your tongues. Behind you, Vi is a warm, solid presence, her canines worrying the nape of your neck in a mirror of her lover's actions.

Your head swims, the combination of pain and pleasure shorting out your circuits until the only thing that matters is the mouths on you, the hands groping, the cocks pressing urgently into your curves.

You surrender to it, to them, your body pliant and yielding as they manhandle you between them. You fall in Vi's arms, your fronts flushed together as Caitlyn crowds you from the back. The sword of Vi's tongue duels with the press of Caitlyn's fangs, the dual sensations stoking the fire in your veins to a roaring inferno.

You want to be touched everywhere, to be worshiped and cherished and fucked until you can't walk straight, is a chant in your head. Caitlyn plays her hands over your ribs, her thumbs flicking across your nipples. You moan, the breathless sound dying against Vi’s lips. She grinds into you, the hard length of her cock nestling between your thighs like it was made to be there. Vi cups your ass, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh as she grinds against you.

"Fuck," Vi groans, her hips grinding harder into you as she watches you debauch yourself. "Fuck,you're so hot like this. So desperate for us." Her words are a dark promise, the rumble of her voice making your clit throb. Behind you, Caitlyn seems to silently agree with her, her eyes glassy with lust as she takes in the sight of you.

"C’mon," you whisper, your voice raw and ragged. "I need you. Need you both. Need you to fucking breed me." The words are a revelation, a baptism in the basest, most fundamental of needs. And they're only too happy to oblige.

Caitlyn grabs your hips, spinning you around to face her. Her lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, her fangs nipping at your lower lip in a silent demand for entry. You yield, your mouth opening automatically to grant her access. Your tongues dance, the taste of you mixing together in a perverse mockery of foreplay. Behind you, Vi growls, her hands yanking your ass up and back in a move that has you gasping into Caitlyn's mouth. The change in angle puts your cunt right at the perfect height, Vi's dick nestling between your folds like it was made to be there. You shake, the heat of her almost too much to bear.

But that’s the point isn't it?

To burn in their fires, to be consumed by them until there's nothing left but cinders and ash. Caitlyn’s hands roam your body, calloused fingers teasing and taunting until you're a writhing mess in their arms. Every touch is an inferno, stoking the flames of your desire until you're ready to incinerate from the inside out. She scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs locking around her waist as she impales you on her thick dick with a single, smooth stroke. You wail, your head falling back on a scream of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around her. The stretch is obscene, your walls straining to accommodate her girth.

But oh, it feels so fucking good.

So right.

Vi's hands on your hips guide your movements, lifting you up and down on Caitlyn's cock like you weigh nothing. The drag of her dick against your walls is delicious agony, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Behind you, Vi grunts, her own hips rocking forward to slot her dick between your ass cheeks. The slick slide of it, hot and heavy and oh so very her, makes you clench hard around Caitlyn.

Behind you, she snarls, her hands digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. But you don’t care. You just want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible, is a pulsing throb beneath your skin. The greed to be theirs is the only coherent thought left in your head.

They work you between them, Caitlyn's thrusts setting a brutal pace that Vi matches beat for beat. Your head lolls back onto Vi's shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in the rhythm. It’s hypnotic, the push and pull of their bodies, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your throat, marking you in a way that goes soul-deep. The pain is fleeting, lost in the haze of pleasure as Vi's hips buck, her cock slipping between your folds to slide against Caitlyn's. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your vision whiting out as the dual stimulation shatters you. You fall, tumbling headfirst into bliss, into ecstasy, into a place where there are no more worries, no more cares.

Caitlyn stands, holding your quivering body aloft as Vi sinks her cock in your pussy, stretching obscenely around her girth. You are stuffed so full, so deliciously stuffed, you feel like you might split in two. But you don’t. You don’t because this is what you were made for, to be their plaything, their receptacle for all things depraved and delicious.

You sink down, taking them both to the hilt in a move that has you screaming. The pleasure is incandescent, searing, so all-consuming that you don’t even feel it when Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your breast or Vi clamps down on your neck. All you know is the bliss, the perfection, of being taken so hard and so deep. Of finally, blessedly, being home.

You can only hold on, your nails scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked shoulders as they fuck into you. Caitlyn's angle has her rubbing that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending stars shooting across your vision. Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she pounds into you from behind. You are sandwiched between them, a willing prisoner to their combined machinations.

Caitlyn’s hands roam freely, tweaking your nipples hard enough to border on pain before soothing the sting with gentle caresses. Vi nips and sucks at your throat, no doubt marking you as theirs for all to see. But you don’t need to look to know they belong to you just as much as you belong to them.

The thought is a revelation, a sudden burst of clarity in the haze of fucked-out bliss. The cree is binding, unbreakable, and in this moment you know you would do anything for them.

Anything to keep them, to preserve this moment of perfect connection. It’s a thing that scares you. It's something that, in your right mind, youwould run screaming from. But this isnt that. This isn't right or wrong, good or bad. It’s just is, a simple, pure truth that settles over you like a warm blanket. You surrender to it, to them, your body going slack in their hold even as your walls ripple around their cocks.

You're nothing more than a willing vessel now, a receptacle for all their pleasure. And that, you think dazedly as you're fucked into mindless oblivion, is exactly how it should be.

Caitlyn’s hands move to your hips, holding you in place as they fuck you with increasing speed. The need to come, to let go completely, is a desperate litany on your lips. Vi's rhythm steadied, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own release. They work together seamlessly, as if they've done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have, with countless others who weren't you, who weren't their mate.

The sudden surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, is enough to make you see stars. You clench around them, your cunt bearing down on their cocks as you teeter on the edge. You're so fucking close, every nerve in your body drawn tight as a bowstring. Caitlyn must feel it too, because she bites down, hard enough to draw blood.

And that's it.

That's all it takes to catapult you over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that rips through you with the force of a hurricane. You come with a scream, your cunt clenching and spasming around Vi's and Caitlyn's cocks. A flood of liquid heat gushes from your core, soaking their dick and dripping down your thighs. It's obscene, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it feels like it's splitting you apart from the inside out.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her hips slamming into yours with a force that would be bruising if you weren't so far gone. She doesn’t pull out, working you through your orgasm until you're writhing, oversensitized.

"Keep going, please keep going," you babbles, your words slurring together as they pound into you. Your overstimulated cunt spasms around them, aftershocks from your previous orgasm still rattling your frame.

But they don’t stop, if anything their thrusts grow harder, more insistent. It’s almost too much, pleasure bleeding into pain as your body is pushed to its limits. You scrap at their shoulders, your nails leaving red welts in their flesh. Caitlyn hisses, the sting only seeming to spur her on. Behind you, Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she fucks into you like a woman possessed. You're being used, claimed, fucked into oblivion, and it's perfect. It's everything you could ever want. You cum again, a high, keening wail tearing from your throat as your vision whites out.

But there's no respite to be had, not when Caitlyn and Vi are so close to their own finish. They work you mercilessly, pounding into your abused cunt with single-minded focus. You're nothing more than a toy to them, a warm hole to spill their seed in, and you've never felt so deliciously used in your life. Caitlyn groans, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her release.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her canines finding your mating bite and biting down hard. Pain and pleasure short-circuit in your skull, the resulting burst of sensation sending you careening toward a third orgasm. You clench around them, your walls rippling along their lengths as you teeter on the brink of oblivion. Then Caitlyn’s coming, her cum flooding your channel in a scalding rush that pushes you over the edge.

You fall, your mind going blank as your body is wracked with pleasure. Your cunt spasms around Caitlyn's cock, milking her for every last drop as you squirt on their cocks for the third time. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already full channel with even more cum.

You want it, crave it, so much so that you can taste it on your tongue. The need used by them, bound to them in every way possible, is a frantic beat beneath your skin. They crush you between them, their mouths finding yours in a sloppy, three-way kiss that leaves you panting. Youcould die like this, youthink dazedly, sandwiched between these two magnificent beasts.

Vi's arms hold you aloft, your legs too weak to support your own weight after your mind-blowing orgasms. She slowly walks you towards the bed, Caitlyn's cock slipping from your pussy with a lewd squelch. Your legs hit the mattress, the sudden change in angle making you pitch forward. But Vi's hands are there to catch you, guiding you down onto all fours.

You collapse onto your elbows, your face pressed into the sheets as you tremble with exhaustion. But that exhaustion does nothing to dampen your desire, the need to feel them inside you once more an all-consuming inferno. Caitlyn scoops your hair away from your neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. Behind you, Vi hums, her palm flattening against the small of your back.

You squirmed between them, your hips wiggling back against Vi's in a clear invitation. You're so fucking sensitive, every brush of air against your swollen, well-used lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. But that pain-slash-pleasure only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt clenching madly around nothing as you crave to be filled again, to be stretched and stuffed and utterly used until your pussy is molded to their cocks. You beg them to take you again, your babbling pleas falling on deaf ears. Caitlyn chuckles darkly above you, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips.

"So greedy for us, aren't you?" she purrs, her breath hot against your ear. Behind you, Vi growls in agreement, her fingers pricking at your skin as she squeezes the globes of your ass.

You mewl, arching into their touches like a cat in heat. Your pussy is throbbing, the emptiness a physical ache that demands to be filled. You know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't crave their cocks like you do. But you can't help it, not when they make you feel so good, so cherished. Caitlyn slides a finger between your swollen folds, the lightest of touches enough to make you gasp. You're fucking dripping, your arousal coating her digit and dripping onto the sheets below. Vi groans behind you, her hand slipping from your hip to your core, swiping through the slick mess.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she growls, her voice rough with lust. She punctuates her words with a sharp spank to your ass, the sting only serving to heighten your desire.

Vi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as she thrusts into you. Her thrusts are messy and desperate, the force of them jostling the bed beneath you. Over your back, Caitlyn makes her own slick sounds, her fist working her dick to the tempo Vi is setting. Your head spins at the sheer depravity of it, of being used so carelessly, so thoroughly, like a common whore. And yet it's the hottest thing you've ever seen, the knowledge that your body is enough to drive them to such heights. You sob into the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress as Vi takes you harder and faster. She's fucking you like she's trying to split you in two, her grip on your hips hard enough to leave lasting bruises. Behind you, Caitlyn grunts, her hand moving faster as she watches Vi rut into your aching cunt.

You can only take it, your body rocking with every savage thrust. Your cunt is on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain as Vi ruts into you. But you love it, love the feeling of being used so roughly, so thoroughly. Caitlyn groans above you, her fist flying over her cock as she chases her pleasure. You cry, a desperate, keening sound that's muffled by the sheets. Your orgasm is barreling towards you, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Caitlyn slaps your clit hard. The pain-pleasure rocket sends you screaming over the edge, your cunt clamping down on Vi's cock hard enough to make her snarl. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already cum-soaked channel with even more of her release.

Vi pulls out, her cum leaking from your well-used hole and dribbling down your thighs. You barely have a chance to miss the fullness before Caitlyn flips you over, hauling your limp body up into her arms. She sits back on her heels, settling your straddling legs on either side of her hips. Her cock slides against your folds, smearing their combined releases between you. Behind you, Vi moves to kneel on the bed, her chest pressed to your back. Her hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of your breasts and teasing your nipples. You mewl, your hips rolling in Caitlyn's grip, chasing more of that delicious friction. But she holds you still, her grip bruising as she lines herself up with your entrance. You barely have time to brace yourself before she slides into you, impaling you on her thick cock in one brutal thrust.

Vi and Caitlyn work you between them, one thrusting into you as the other nudges her cock to your lips. Your pussy is stretched and filled to the brim, every ridge and vein of Caitlyn's cock kissing along your inner walls in a way that has you sobbing for more. It's a primal move that speaks to the most basic parts of you that crave to be owned and claimed most fundamentally. You claw at the bed, your nails biting into the sheets as you hang on for dear life. Behind you, she groans, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and straight to your core.

You gag on Vi's thick dick, spit bubbling from the corners of your mouth as she fucks into your throat. Your eyes roll back, your hands scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as they use you so thoroughly. You're just a set of fuck holes for their pleasure, a warm sleeve for them to dump their seed in. And it's perfect, so perfect, to be so utterly and completely theirs. Behind you, Caitlyn pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. The force of it rocks you forward, Vi's dick lodging itself even deeper down your throat. You gag, the muscles in your neck convulsing around her as your eyes water. They pound into you mercilessly, their rhythm ruthless as they chase their release.

The two of you exchange a long, heated look. Then, as if by silent agreement, they double their efforts. Vi's hands fist in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks into your mouth. Caitlyn's grips on your hips tighten, her nails digging into your flesh as she pounds into you from behind. The need to come, to let go completely, is a frantic rhythm in your skull. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Vi roars above you, her dick pulsing as she reaches her peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your face, your hair, your open mouth as you struggle to swallow it all. But it's Caitlyn who steals the show, her thrusts growing erratic as she nears her own climax. You barely have time to gasp before she slams into you one final time, her dick erupting inside you.

You clench around her, your cunt milking her for every last drop of her seed as your own orgasm crashes over you. It's so intense, so all-consuming, that your vision blanks out at the edges. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Behind you, Caitlyn collapses against your back, her forehead pressed to your shoulder as she pants heavily. Above you, Vi grunts, slumping down to drape herself across the bed. You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lusts and desires.

And in this moment, as you bask in the afterglow, you know there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ bulking szn / caleb x reader

synopsis; who knew your lovely and insanely strong boyfriend could get even more muscular — even more sexy. gotta thank bulking season for that!

⋆ 800 words / suggestive (NSFW) / fem reader / 2nd person

caleb's hot. he's been hot.

you know that, and everyone around you knows that — it's almost become a running joke how he gets stares from everyone when he's out and about.

what you didn't know is that he could get even more attractive. who could blame you, though? he looks like he inspired michelangelo's david — and he can get hotter? now that's just plain greedy. except it's happening, and all you can do is stare at him more than usual.

and here was your greek god of a boyfriend standing in the kitchen, preparing his protein shake. sitting at the kitchen island with your chin resting on your hand, you were staring at him, ogling him. his arms looked so good. how would they feel around your neck, you wondered — but your daydreams had to be cut short by the sound of a refrigerator door closing loudly.

"you know baby, a picture might last you longer. i can feel your eyes on me, and i'm not even facing you."

"mmh, i'm just not used to this whole," you make vague gestures in the air, "bulking thing. gotta stare and memorize it."

he laughs, and you keep on openly admiring him. when he mentioned that he'd be bulking soon, you just nodded, not entirely sure what that implied. the caleb you knew from your childhood and teenage years was strong, yes, but mostly athletic. this meatier, buffer version was new, but so, so, so welcome.

right now, his muscles weren't as defined as you were used to. he looked more.. soft. still as strong, but he seemed bigger — he could already dwarf you before, but now, it was way more serious. not only that, he's traded his looser shirtless tank tops for compression shirts, and it was such a delight for your eyes. his pecs looked bigger, and his back — his back. just a little more broad. just a hint more sexy. was it even legal to look that good?

but man, whenever you hugged him? it was like heaven held you in its embrace. the cherry on top of your very attractive (beef)cake. he was so much warmer too — caleb always ran hot. he's your personal heater during the winter months, but now? he was burning hot. or maybe is it just how you see him? who knows, honestly.

funniest thing about this situation, though? caleb knew you'd react like that upon seeing him get more buff, but he didn't know you'd be that affected by bulking season. he knew how much you enjoyed his physique, and bulking up in order to cut and get stronger and bigger than you, just seemed like a nice challenge. a good way to keep himself busy and please you.

there was one more thing though, way more challenging than keeping tracks of his macros in his new diet. you made it insanely difficult to keep his hands to himself. first, it was the staring. he was well aware that you couldn't really help yourself, he was there looking all handsome just for you. the half-lidded stares when he worked out, lingering glances at his arms and chest, bedroom eyes when he wore that compression shirt one size too small, were to be expected. the way you basically undressed him with your gaze occasionally made him flushed, but caleb couldn't even comment on it — he did the same to you practically daily.

and then came the physical touch.

caleb wasn't shy. he knew he looked attractive, and he knew that you found him attractive. he also knew you were touchy, but your touchiness increased tenfold when he started bulking, always poking and prodding at his body. a perpetually careful hand making goosebumps appear on his skin as you softly traced the lines of the veins on his arms. did you know what you were doing? or were you unconsciously exercising your right to touch his body as if it were yours to own. oh well, it basically was — he was your possession as much as you were his.

god, you made it so hard to hold back, though. caleb just wanted to manhandle you and show you that he wasn't just getting softer — his strength remained. he could still bend you whatever which way he pleased (and he knew you'd enjoy it), but he held back. he held back because after years of yearning, years of practiced patience, he knew the reward was worth it.

so caleb just kept on tolerating it. after all, bulking season wasn't over just yet — he could handle your hands roaming around a little more. three more weeks until he could show you his full potential.

you'd get your lovely buff caleb showing off his muscles for you, and in return, he'd get his even lovelier girlfriend underneath him and return all the physical touches he's been subjected to while bulking — he'll have you oh so pliant and responsive to his roughhousing in bed.

fair trade!

🍎 pomme's final notes — don't look at me too hard this is so self indulgent i just really like strong guys and i've been rewatching caleb content and his back is just. irresistible i'm gonna chew on him like those buff bear breads

[hcneymooners]

⋆ do you love me enough that i may be weak with you?

caitlyn x morally ambiguous!fem!reader x ambessa. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you are in competition with caitlyn for ambessa’s attention. you will follow her, to whatever end. no one draws you in like ambessa does. or so you tell yourself, even as caitlyn's lingering gaze makes your heart stutter. she’s almost desperate to be friends, but you don’t trust that girl by any means. to entertain her is to enable weakness. but, then again, have you ever truly been strong?

cw: a lot wow. age gap, older woman/younger woman, you're the youngest but in your twenties, canon divergence au, toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, power dynamics, impact play, body worship, dirty talk, bdsm dynamics, sub!reader, brat!reader, dom!caitlyn, dom!ambessa, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tribbing, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, face-riding, slightly dub-con in some parts, kissing, so much kissing, non-sexual intimacy, shower sex, hate sex (but is it really), sexual punishment, implied mental health issues, implied manipulation, you are all up to no good, polyam but is it really we'll see, caitbessa is not in love but they use each other, slight violence (fighting, training, & reader is hurt though not by caitbessa.), enemies to lover, rivals to lovers, slightly dark but not too much, guys i even wrote this properly no lowercase.

wc: 10.03k

soundtrack: give up - fka twigs, careless - fka twigs ft. daniel ceaser, holy terrain - fka twins, your girl - lana del rey (unreleased), & oh my angel - bertha tilman. order is intentional.

notes: this was supposed to be 7k. i need to be locked up. dedicated especially to @megalomaniacz for being the beautiful mind behind the caitbessa note that started it all. definitely one of my favorite things i've ever written.

A COIN’S FIRST SIDE. — CAITLYN.

​​You do not understand her incessant need to look at you.

The day has broken dark and cold. Your body aches with the rigor of being destroyed and depleted timelessly by Ambessa's experienced hands. It is only the three of you in the early morning - you, Caitlyn with her delicate bones wrapped perfectly in binding and sequestered underneath her uniform of buttery, dusky leather, and Ambessa with her arms bare, her face exposed by the careful braiding of her hair that reveals every subtle shift of expression.

It is this, over and over, until your body shudders into collapse. Yet—minute victory or sudden death—Caitlyn must look at you. Even when it's her turn, with her arched back pressed hard into the textured bamboo of the mat, her face crushed against the hollow of Ambessa's palm, she is looking at you. Those eyes, relentless and searching, track your every movement. It drives you utterly insane.

The weight of her gaze feels like another opponent entirely, separate from Ambessa's ruthless instruction. You tell yourself it's determination that keeps you standing, keeps you coming back day after day to this dance of dominance and submission. But there's something else, something in the way Caitlyn's breath catches when Ambessa's fingers ghost over that perfectly formed bruise on her collarbone—the one you gave her yesterday. Something in the way Ambessa's eyes darken when she notices you noticing.

You leave it. You cannot think of it.

Yet it follows you from the training grounds, through the winding corridors where shadows pool like old bruises. Back to the quarters you share with her, where even the air feels thick with unspoken things. It follows you. 

Caitlyn's presence fills every corner of the space you're forced to call home, from the precise way she arranges her rifle components to the lingering scent of gunpowder and leather that clings to her sheets. You are aware of that incessant staring, of the way her eyes rove over your naked chest; your small breasts are cupped dutifully in your hands as you unwrap yourself with a harsh breath.

Teacup tits, she'd called them when she’d once had you pinned against the wooden floor. It had been a day without mats; a day of endless testing. She had leaned in close, teeth gleaming like jewels as she held your stomach down with her hips. She had been sitting on you, and you had floundered then froze at the comments. You didn’t know she could be so brazen, so dirty-mouthed. This follows you too.

You've learned to move around her—around each other—in careful orbit. You are like twin moons, two violent girls with cheeks pressed against each other in the night, caught in some larger gravity - Ambessa's gravity - never touching but always aware. Always watching. 

The way she strips her gloves off finger by finger after training makes your teeth clench. You tell yourself it's irritation, not fascination when she unwinds the bindings from her own chest with methodical precision. Tell yourself you don't notice how the morning's wounds are already blooming across her shoulders, masterpieces in indigo and blue that match the ones Ambessa left on you last week—it doesn’t make it less true.

And Ambessa—sometimes you catch Ambessa watching too. The way her eyes linger on Caitlyn's throat, on the marks her own hands left there. It sparks something warm and dangerous in your gut - not envy, you insist. Never envy. Just hunger, the same hunger that drives you to push harder, to prove yourself worthy of Ambessa's attention, maybe both of your intentions. To prove you're stronger than whatever weakness Caitlyn stirs in you with her endless watching.

But later the envy cannot help but be itself, and you retch into your hands and sink from the vibrations of your anger. You do not trust her. You’ve seen her with that girl, the reckless pink-haired one, and she knows that you’ve seen her. But you are keeping this secret for reasons you don’t understand.

And in the dead of night, when sleep eludes you, you hear Caitlyn's breathing change rhythm across the room. You wonder if she lies awake thinking of the way Ambessa's fingers traced that lesion on her hip today, the one that matched the shape of your knuckles perfectly. Wonder if she knows you're awake too, caught in this web of wanting that none of you dare name. 

🕸

She is desperate for you, in a way that you do not understand. It is easier when she is quiet about it. 

There is an evening where she is loud—where everything is loud—and it rattles you. There is an incessant buzzing, maybe cicadas, and in the beginning, you are enjoying it because it reminds you of home and the way your feet fall into wet earth in the heart of the warm season. But then slowly, you begin to lose your mind and the buzzing is in your teeth and you now feel slightly detached from the world and your body is nothing but heat and you are almost lapping at the screen between the open dormitory window and the world and—

You crawl out of bed. You wear nothing but a sleep shirt two sizes too big, the chest open so that your sweat-laden skin gleams like a body of water. It belongs to Ambessa but it was your father's first until she swallowed your homeland and stole you away. You took it back and she said nothing. Maybe she was impressed with the voracity with which you bit and scratched her in the dark, massive cave of her bedroom.

So, yes, you crawl out of bed. You are swamped in ivory fabric and you drag your feet as you roam the halls. There is movement and it scares you, but you muzzle your mouth with your hand so that your scream dies between your teeth. It's only another guard. You keep moving.

Now, you are in the kitchen. You rummage through spaces until your fingers alight on the thick sphere of a pomegranate. You yank and now it is yours; hard and red in your hands. You turn, and she's there.

Caitlyn moves like water in the dark, all fluid grace even in her own sleep clothes. Her eyes catch the moonlight streaming through the high windows, turning them to pale fire. You clutch the pomegranate tighter, your nails breaking the skin. Juice runs down your wrist.

"Let me," she says, and she's closer now, close enough that you can see the light sheen of sweat on her collarbones. It satisfies you that she is warm too, that she is touchable. Her fingers brush yours as she takes the fruit, and you let her only because you're transfixed by the way she reaches for the small cheese knife on the counter, the way she tests its edge with her thumb. You hope for blood but there is none.

You don't remember moving, but suddenly you're against each other, a dance of hands and breath and barely-contained violence. She pushes, you pull. You spin her toward the table, but she turns it, uses your momentum to send you both sprawling across its surface. Your back cracks against the stone like a bone. Her face crumples momentarily at the sound of your pain, but then she is herself again. The pomegranate rolls away, forgotten until it isn't.

You think of another table, a wooden one from when you were younger. You think of hiding beneath the heavy oak with her, your breaths shallow and hushed as you press close to her side. You were younger then, small enough to fit between her knees, your hands gripping hers like a lifeline. Above, Ambessa’s boots thundered across the floor, her sharp commands reverberating through the room.

“Where are you?” she’d barked, voice like a stone through a window.

But Caitlyn had only grinned, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t breathe."

It's different now. You no longer fit.

She lands on top of you when you hit the floor, pinning you with her hips. The knife glints in her hand, but she just smiles, that same smile from the training mat, the one that makes your stomach clench with disgust and desi—no. She reaches for the pomegranate, and you watch, breathless, as she begins to peel it with delicate precision.

"I'll show you how," she murmurs, and then she's leaning down, pressing her mouth to yours with bruising force. Her teeth catch your lip, and you taste copper, sharp, and sweet like pomegranate juice. When she pulls back, your blood is dark on her mouth, and she licks it away like it's nothing, like this is nothing, continuing to peel the fruit with steady hands.

You buck your hips and she sets the knife down, next to your wrists where your veins gather and bulge like snakes. She holds you down with her core, and you can feel the heat between her legs. There is a moment where you freeze, and she smiles with delight. You buck again and she slams you back down, using a hand around your throat to keep you beneath her like a lamb. Her other hand comes up—the knife, you think in fear—and loiters against herself. Then it moves down, quick and smooth, to raise her slip of a nightgown and bare her creamy thighs. She shifts so that she is atop your stomach, and pushes the shirt up until it’s beneath your breasts. 

She isn’t wearing undergarments, or maybe she is. Maybe they are just thin. Either way, you can feel her against the skin of your belly, warm and weeping. You still aren’t moving, but you are slicking in return. You want to bite her, dig until she releases some sort of sound. 

Then there is a sound - a sharp intake of breath - and you both turn. 

Ambessa stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable in the darkness. For a moment, she watches, her head tilted like she's solving a puzzle. You look back at Caitlyn—who seems unrepentant about her half-nakedness. You put it together, the idea that they have seen one another like this before. The envy is riotous. You ache to kiss Caitlyn again if only to vomit in her mouth. 

It’s as if she knows and so she leans in, holds the side of your head as she feeds you pomegranate seeds from the cavern of her own mouth. Eventually, she is no longer feeding, only taking. She presses harder and harder until you let out a yelp of discomfort. It feels, if you aren’t mistaken, like a claim. 

Ambessa gazes at the two of you for a moment longer, then she turns away. Her footsteps echo down the hall, leaving you with the taste of blood and fruit and Caitlyn's smile against your mouth. 

You regain your strength; you throw her off. 

🕸

You don't sleep. 

Your body vibrates with fury, with want, with the phantom press of her against your stomach. The dawn breaks grey and sullen through the window, and when you dress for training, you notice Caitlyn watching you again. But it's different now - you see the tremor in her hands, the way she swallows when you bend to lace your boots.

The training grounds are empty. No Ambessa. The message is as clear as a blade against the skin, and you want to scream. Instead, you strip and step into the shower block, letting scalding water pound against your shoulders. You hear the door open, close. Her footsteps on the tile.

"Don't," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. You're too tired to maintain the walls between you.

"You think she's punishing us." Caitlyn's voice is closer now. You hear fabric hitting the floor. "She's not. She's giving us space."

You turn, ready to snarl, but the sight of her stops you. She's different in daylight - less predator, more girl. There are shadows under her eyes that match your own. Water beads on her collarbone where last night's sweat had gleamed.

“Get away from me.” She doesn’t. You try again. “Space for what?” 

The question comes out raw.

She steps under the spray with you, and you don't stop her. You watch the way the water falls over her, the spread of the moisture against her staunch skin. She is so angular, so prismatic. You feel as if the world refracts off of her. The water is running cold, so her breasts are erect and straining toward you. You think of drinking from them, more the effort of it, of the space between them where your mouth would fit.

"For this," she says but doesn't touch you. "For whatever this is. I'm tired of watching you pretend you don't feel it too."

"You don't know what I feel."

“I think you are a lonely creature.”

The heat between you evaporates like ash against the wind. Your mouth twists, and she steps toward you. She understands she has misrepresented herself and her intentions. You feel a familiar prickling. Tears. 

“Is this how you see me? A cowardly animal?” Your voice is flat, and she balks with her hands flexing nervously against her thighs.

“No. No. I only meant—if anything we are both animals. We have been trained as such at least.”

“You aren’t making this better for yourself,” you say, turning away. “And you don’t know me in any way.”

"I know you taste like pomegranates." 

You turn back to look at her, incredulous. “I had just eaten one, you little fool.”

“I know you let me kiss you before you threw me off.” Her smile is small, almost sad. “I know you've been keeping my secret about Vi.”

The name hits like a slap. You rise to the bait. 

"Why her?"

"Why Ambessa?"

You have no answer for that. The water runs between you, and for once, you let yourself really look at her. At the desperation in her eyes, the way she’s holding herself like she's afraid you'll bolt. Maybe you've both been hungry for the same thing all along.

Still, it eats at you. This odd way she is pretending to be meek and mild. She is soft in the same ways you are, with the same dips in her hips and calluses along her palm. You think of the panther-like movements of her muscles as she readies a shot. 

Something gathers underneath your tongue, and suddenly you are wailing. Loud and long. You rush at her, but she is waiting for you. She dips, and rams into your stomach as she flips you onto the tile. Though she is fighting back, she’s careful with you. Your head is cupped by her limber fingers as she sends you down. 

You kick and catch your foot on her side. With a gasp, she’s down too, but a hand still manages to grip at the fine bones of your ankle and yank. It hurts, and you make a terrible noise. She releases you as if you’ve burned her, and you twist to get out from underneath her. 

You’re on your belly now, flopping like a fish, but she makes you stay. She wrestles you up so that your back is bent as you press against her chest. You feel her fingers crawl like spider legs down your chest. She fondles, gropes, your tits. She is starved and erratic, pinching your nipples until they are standing on their own. 

Your skin is slippery with soap, so Caitlyn digs her nails in for grip. Then the action stops and her hand descends into the apex of your thighs. You try to jerk, try to send her off but she knows this now. She is understanding. That’s even worse.

She holds you, exactly as you need, and gets two fingers inside of your cunt. She curves them, tries to pull you inside out. You let out another noise, but it is less terrible. She works at you until you cannot remember language, only a deep animalistic noise of ‘uh uh uh’, a rhythm. Her thumb swipes against your clit and you’re there, the pleasure like a blinding fire.

You still try to leave her; you try to crawl. She rolls you over and bullies herself in between your legs until she can place her cheek along your heaving stomach. You begin to cry. You’re unsure why, but maybe Caitlyn knows because she only strokes your inner thigh to soothe you. She looks up at you, hair black with water.

“It can be like this, always. You only need to—”

You shove her and scramble back until you’re sitting on your own. She still watches you, cheek to the tile now.

“No conditions,” she says, reworking her words. “Only us.”

You close your eyes and see pink. You open them and think of your general.

“There will always be her.”

Neither of you knows which woman you’re speaking of.

A COIN’S SECOND SIDE. — AMBESSA.

Sleep does not come that night either. You only try because when there is no session to distract it, your body aches for a bed.

You lie awake, counting the beats between Caitlyn's breaths across the room, replaying the way her cheek pressed against your belly, her lips ghosting over skin as she spoke. The way she looked at you like you were something both precious and perilous, desired and dangerous all at once. Your body still aches from her attention.

A sound draws you from your thoughts - the soft click of your dormitory door. Through barely-opened eyes, you watch Caitlyn rise like a phantom, pulling on a robe. She doesn't look back as she slips out. 

Your feet are moving before your mind catches up.

You follow her through corridors you know by heart, the same path you took for that damned pomegranate. But she goes deeper, down halls you've never dared explore. When she stops at a familiar door—Ambessa's door—your heart clenches.

They speak in whispers you can't quite catch, but you see the way Ambessa's hand cups Caitlyn's face, the way Caitlyn leans into it like a cat being stroked. Your stomach twists violently. But then:

"She's ready," Caitlyn says, just loud enough, still soft. "She just doesn't know it yet."

Ambessa's laugh is low, rich like honey. "Oh, little one. She's been ready since I took her. We're just waiting for her to admit it."

You don't stay to hear more. But in the morning, when the summons comes—delivered by a guard who won't meet your eyes—you know they were expecting this too. They've been moving you like a piece on a board, and only now do you see the game.

You go anyway. You always do.

You press your lips together to avoid commenting on the way they stand separately like this will erase what you overheard yesterday. Ambessa stands at the center of the room, her presence devouring the light. It bends around her, as though the universe itself cannot decide whether to confront or flee her. Caitlyn is there too, poised and watchful, her gaze darting toward you and away again.

You look at her with an apathy you designed to get you through burning cities and crumbling countries. You wear your mother’s jewelry today: a septum ring with delicate chains of gold stretching across your cheeks, glinting over your ears. Ambessa’s eyes catch on it, a flicker of distaste passing over her face. Your fingers twitch, but you don’t remove it.

Caitlyn moves toward you, her steps tentative. You step back, forcing her to stop and speak first. Always assume power. This is what they have taught you.

“Do you find it fun,” you ask, head tilting, “to be careless with me?”

Caitlyn halts, her expression caught between guilt and something softer. Regret, maybe. This may be your delusion. Ambessa remains impassive, her gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

“Little one,” she begins, the shared nickname making you flinch. “You should be grateful. I’ve only eased you into a better space. This insipid competition for my attention is draining. I need my best soldiers to remain the best, to work with one another fluently.”

“You’ve been awful to me,” you say, your voice directed at Ambessa but your eyes locked on Caitlyn.

The mask you wear shifts, and you let your anger surface. 

“Do not call me her name. I’m nothing like her.”

Ambessa’s expression betrays a flicker of disagreement, but she inclines her head, a mockery of deference. “As you wish, little one. What do you think, Cait? Do you agree?”

The nickname hits like a physical blow. Ambessa smiles wickedly. Cait. You used to call her that, back when you were little girls, not yet twisted. You saw her as some kind of beautiful flower, one that had learned to tremble tall amongst the trees.

“You could have spoken to me,” you say finally, your voice sharper now. “You didn’t need this...elaborate scheme of seduction.”

“Love is a good enforcer,” Ambessa says, her tone rich with amusement.

“You wouldn’t know love if it spat in your face,” you snap.

The room freezes. Caitlyn stiffens, but Ambessa’s expression darkens, her presence swelling like a storm. You meet her gaze, unflinching.

“Get out,” she says, her voice quiet but deadly.

Caitlyn hesitates, her body angling toward you as though to shield you. Her hands twitch, almost childlike in their uncertainty. “She’s only angry. Let me—”

“Get out,” Ambessa repeats, her tone slicing through the air.

Caitlyn turns to you, desperation softening her features. “Listen to me,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “I meant it. All of it. With you. I only—”

You think of the evening before. Your throat works until you have something to say; your hand moves before you can think, shoving her back. The memory of her warmth lingers on your palm like a curse. You try to lose it. 

“Get out,” you whisper. 

She stumbles, her expression crumpling into something fragile. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay cold, and distant. Caitlyn hesitates for a heartbeat longer, but then she turns to leave. 

“You always try so hard to be good,” you push out. 

She pauses, remains facing away from you.

“I meant it,” she says again. “With you.”

She goes, the door clicking shut behind her.

Ambessa doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. The silence between you is a battlefield, and you know you are primed to lose.

“Do you want to have me to yourself, or do you only wish to be my favorite?”

The question surprises you. However, you shouldn’t be surprised by anything Ambessa does. Her voice is calm, and measured, but it holds a challenge. There waits a quiet dare for you to step into the space she’s carved out for you.  

Your throat tightens, words lodging there like a trap. You hate the way your body reacts to her—the warmth that spreads under your skin, the treacherous pull of her presence. It disgusts you. It thrills you. You feel weak.

“I don’t want either,” you say, though the answer feels thin. A lie.  

Ambessa’s mouth curves into something sharp, more predator than a smile. “Liar.”  

Your hands clench at your sides. “I refuse to play this game, least of all with you.”  

“Oh, but you are, little one.” She takes a step closer, the sound of her boots deliberate, echoing in the cavernous space between you. “You’ve been playing since the day you first looked at me with that fire in your eyes. When I took you away.”

She clarifies as if you can’t quite recall. It grates at your nerves.

“You hate me, and yet you can’t help but ache for me. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”  

Your pulse quickens, the air between you crackling with tension. You hold her gaze, refusing to look away, even as heat rises in your cheeks.  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, but the words lack conviction.  

Ambessa tilts her head, her gaze dragging over you in a way that feels invasive, consuming. “I don’t need to flatter myself. I see you. At first, I thought you might take after me in a way meant to replace your mother.”

She reaches forward, fingers the cold along the ridge of your cheekbones. 

“I see the way you tremble when I’m near, the way your apathy tastes so much like desire,” she continues.

She steps closer, and you step back instinctively, your spine meeting the cold stone wall behind you. You hate how small you feel under her gaze, how she makes the air around you feel heavier, suffocating.  

“You’ve used me,” you bite out, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve used Caitlyn, too. You pit us against each other like we’re pawns on your board. Is that all we are to you?”  

Ambessa’s expression doesn’t falter, but something flickers in her eyes, something unreadable. “You’re more than that, but useful as pawns when it’s needed. Both of you. But you’re still mine.”  

Her hand moves, slow and deliberate, until her fingers brush your jaw. The touch is barely there, a whisper against your skin, but it sets every nerve alight.  

“You hate it so much when we touch you,” she says softly, her voice a low rumble. “But it’s that hate that keeps you sharp. That’s why I keep you close. Why we—I— can’t let you go.”  

You want to pull away, to spit something venomous, to remind her that you’re not some plaything for her amusement. But you don’t move. You don’t speak. You can’t.  

“Caitlyn wants your approval,” Ambessa continues, her thumb grazing the corner of your mouth now. “She craves it. But you... you want something deeper, don’t you? Something darker.”  

You flinch.

“I want nothing from you.”  

Ambessa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Then why are you still here?”  

“Because you summoned me.”  

“Because you wanted to come,” she counters, her voice soft but unyielding.  

You try to defend yourself, but she’s moved past this now. Instead, her hands come to the bend of your hips and lift you with an easy effort that makes your legs widen around the bulk of her body. With quick steps she moves you to the chaise just off to the side of the room, sitting you on top of it. The world is blurring; she is moving too quickly for you to dispute.

Ambessa’s hands are firm as she strips you bare and traces the shape of you. Like Caitlyn—or maybe Caitlyn, like her—she cups a tit in her large hand and squeezes. This version of it is more painful, different from its softer sister movement in the shower. 

She leans forward, opens her mouth, and swallows that loose circle of fat. You arch into the heat of her lips, moan low and reedy as she suckles at your nipple. Her teeth trap bits of skin between them, marking you purposefully. She pulls off and takes your other breast inside of her again to be teased and tainted by her bruises.

You rock gently, chasing the feeling. This time when Ambessa’s mouth leaves you, she presses your tits together and appraises them. 

“She said this was one of her favorite parts of you.” When she finds your confused gaze, Ambessa smiles. “Cait.”

You tense at that, and she chuckles. The sound infuriates you. Still, you do nothing as she sinks lower, her breath approaching the swollen pearl of your clit. Without a word she latches on to you, lapping idly at you as if you aren’t already dripping down her chin. She holds you as your body stutters, pleasure arcing through you like thousands of arrows. 

Ambessa is measured in this too. She sucks your folds into her mouth, laps at you carefully as she grips your ass. She makes you ride her, clit bumping against her strong nose as you follow her instruction. She draws back from you once, only to spread you apart and spit crudely into your cunt. She watches it travel down your slit, slicking you with her saliva, then she spits again and pushes it in with a finger.

Before she continues she glances at you and gives you another order.

“Say her name.”

You say nothing, mind racing. She slaps your ass, hard.

“Say her name. As you used to.”

You understand now. Again, you ride her tongue but when your mouth opens it is not her name that you say.

“Cait,” you moan, legs falling open even wider.

Ambessa adjusts you, slings your legs over her wide shoulders as she consumes you. She shakes her head, burying herself in your cunt as she leads you over the edge. Over and over, she laps at you until you’re panting hard like you would when sparring. This is sparring in another form.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper. “Oh, fuck. Fuuuuck, Cait. Please.”

“Mmhmm,” Ambessa hums over your clit, and that’s the end of it for you.

You let out a sharp, shrill scream and attempt to bow over yourself with the strength of your orgasms. Ambessa refuses to let you, forcing you back and keeping your legs spread so that she can watch your cunt flutter wildly as you cum. 

“There you go,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” you answer, dazed and nonsensical.

Your pussy spasms, pink and oozing juices like a wound. Your thighs strain with the stretch of remaining open. You think of the shower floor.

“Caitlyn,” you gaps. You can’t stop pulsing. “Yes. Fuck, Cait.”

There’s a thud outside, against the door as if someone has fallen.

Ambessa removes her hands. The silence stretches between you, taut and electric. Finally, you find your voice, though it’s hoarse and trembling. 

“If you think I’ll ever belong to you, you’re wrong.”  

Ambessa’s smile returns, wicked and knowing. 

“You are brave, but you already do, little one. You just haven’t admitted it yet. What do you think we speak of waiting for?”

The absence of her touch feels colder than it should. She steps back, giving you space, but her gaze remains heavy on you, a reminder that you are never truly free of her.  

“Go,” she says, her tone dismissive. “Think about what you want. And when you’re ready to admit it, you know where to find me.”  

You don’t wait for her to say more. You rise and make to leave, hands grappling over your clothes. You feel discombobulated like a puppet with its strings cut. You only manage to slide your shirt back over your head and it dusts the tops of your thighs.

Ambessa only watches your struggle. You hate her. You want her. You don’t know where one feeling ends and the other begins.  

You tug the door open and step back as Caitlyn spills back against the floor, hand still between her thighs and shining with her own pleasure. Her chest is heaving, her skin pink with the rush of lust and physical exertion. Her legs splay beneath her like a doll’s. 

She pulls her fingers out with a wet ‘schleck’ and tucks them into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she looks up at you—unashamed. You say nothing, only bend down and tug her fingers from her mouth. You put them in your own.

THE COIN, FACE DOWN. — CAITBESSA.

The dormitory is devoid of you. Caitlyn is unsurprised.  

You are unused to being touched. You don’t know how to be wanted. 

Still, she worries. More accurately, she spirals. The ache of your absence gnaws at her in the quiet moments, like a phantom limb she can’t stop reaching for. She doesn’t know where you’ve gone. 

Ambessa is losing herself too, albeit in a different way. Caitlyn wonders if she has ever truly lost something before.  

The world continues to turn. They train, a familiar ritual that feels increasingly hollow. Their strikes are sharper now, their parries more reckless. Ambessa’s movements carry an edge Caitlyn hasn’t seen before, a fury barely leashed. She fights like she’s trying to exorcise something, and Caitlyn is often the target of that rage.  

A blow to her stomach knocks the wind out of her. A strike to her face nearly cracks her jaw. Caitlyn knows better than to show weakness, so she grits her teeth and pushes back, delivering her own brutality in return. She delivers as well as she receives. 

She kicks Ambessa in the mouth once, the impact jarring up the toned meat of her leg. The older woman’s lip splits, blood dripping down her chin, but she doesn’t flinch. In response, Ambessa hurls Caitlyn into the corner of the room. She skids across the mat, hitting the wall with enough force to rattle her bones.

Ambessa isn’t looking at her, stays crouched on the mat with her hand pressed to her mouth. Caitlyn struggles upward, sliding to rest against the wall. The fight had been nothing more than an outlet, and Caitlyn, nothing more than a tool.  Caitlyn struggles to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall. The guards in the room avoid looking at them, the air too charged, too dangerous. 

Something simmers in Caitlyn’s stomach, a volatile mixture of anger, frustration, and something softer she doesn’t want to name. She refuses to puncture it, afraid of what might spill out. She is already suffering enough, diseased with the spores of her affection for you. 

And Ambessa.  

The thought churns in her mind, dark and poisonous. Ambessa has become an obsession she doesn’t want to admit to, a shadow that looms too large since that moment in the room. Caitlyn hates her, resents her, envies her. She knows what you taste like, what you’d like. She too has been inside you. Caitlyn now has nothing; they are disgustingly equal.

 But beneath it all, she respects her. And that’s what makes it worse.  

When Caitlyn finally speaks, her voice is strained, biting. “Do you always break your toys this quickly, or am I just special?”  

Ambessa’s gaze finally lifts, sharp and cutting. She wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles, a malignant curve that doesn’t reach her eyes.  

“Special?” she echoes, rising to her full height. “You think too highly of yourself, Cait. You’re simply better than most.”  

The nickname grates, a reminder of the intimacy they share now—unwanted, unavoidable, tangled in you. Caitlyn clenches her fists. “Don’t call me that.”  

Ambessa takes a step closer, her presence suffocating, magnetic. “You’ve been insufferable since she left,” she says, voice low and dangerous. “Do you think I don’t see it? You miss her like a dog misses its master.”  

“And you don’t?” Caitlyn fires back, the words cutting deeper than she intended.  

Ambessa’s expression darkens, and for a moment, Caitlyn wonders if she’s gone too far. But then the older woman smirks, cruel and knowing. 

“I miss her,” Ambessa admits, her tone a blade. “But not like you do. You ache for her because she is a twin to your pain, a foil to my approval. I ache for her because she belongs to me.”  

The words twist in Caitlyn’s chest, sharp and unbearable. “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” she snaps.  

Ambessa chuckles a low, bitter sound. “You’re wrong. [Name] belongs to both of us, and that’s why you hate me.”

Caitlyn’s breath catches, and she doesn’t deny it.  

Without you, they writhe like snakes, their weight pulling them into collision after collision. The mouth of the snake swallows the tail. The hatred between them is palpable, a toxic undercurrent that fuels their every interaction. And yet, when the nights grow long and the ache of your absence becomes unbearable, they find themselves drawn together.  

It’s not love, not even close. It’s desperation, a way to drown the pit you’ve left behind. Their intimacy is suffocating, a visceral reminder of everything they can’t have. 

When Caitlyn’s nails dig into Ambessa’s back, it’s not out of affection but frustration. When Ambessa’s teeth scrape Caitlyn’s collarbone, it’s not passion but punishment. They use each other because they can’t have you. After all, the emptiness you left is too much to bear alone.  

It’s never enough, no matter how fierce. Because they don’t want each other.

They want you.

Still, they try.

🕸

Again, the shower. 

They’re slightly cruel to one another. It fuels the high. 

Caitlyn snaps back to the moment as Ambessa needles a nail into the mottled skin beneath her shoulder blade, where a bruise sits thick and spreading. She hisses in pain, tits pressing further against Ambessa’s own. There are three thick fingers in her pussy and they fuck her in the way she needs. 

Despite the embarrassment, she lets her head fall onto Ambessa’s wide shoulders as she chases her orgasm. Her cunt is like water, dribbling down Ambessa’s wrist as she carves Caitlyn out. Again, a nail presses into the bruise. 

The motion is harsher this time around and Caitlyn cries out, throwing her head back so that her hair brushes the middle of her spine. Ambessa continues to toy with this patch of marred skin, teeth clamping on the wide skin of Caitlyn’s neck as the younger woman twists and shudders around her. 

“Good fucking girl,” Ambessa mutters, fucking her faster.

Caitlyn bounces to meet her, slamming herself down until her belly tightens and roars. Ambessa lifts her further, suctions her mouth around one of her perky tits, and digs deeper into the pink tight nature of her. Caitlyn roots a hand in her hair and slides the other down her body to collect pieces of that foamy, white ring gathering around Ambessa’s hand.

Slick with herself, she rubs tight, quick circles around Ambessa’s clit. The older woman’s cunt is large, folds heavy and leaking. Caitlyn feels her tremble and she moves faster, breath coming fast as the spray of the water slides down the crack of her ass.

With a muffled grunt, Ambessa cums. As she does, she bites deeply into the meager flesh of Caitlyn’s collarbone. Caitlyn whites out, eyes rolling back briefly so that she’s swaying and focusing on a blurred ceiling. Their orgasms warp and connect; they refuse to stop touching one another as if it will keep reality at bay.

The comedown is almost irritating, and in a frenzy, Caitlyn clutches Ambessa to her chest. This does nothing. 

She kisses Ambessa feverishly, practically mauling her, because the echo of your cunt is on her lips. Ambessa holds her, returns the kiss, then breaks it. 

“No matter how hard we try, she is not here.”

Caitlyn closes her eyes and her face pinches in pain.

“And where is she? Gone, and you are doing nothing to find her.” 

This close, Caitlyn can see Ambessa’s face twitch and melt into something revealing. Something rocks through her at the sight and she detangles their bodies.

“You cannot find her.”

The statement is accusatory, so much so that Ambessa surrenders and turns away. She shuts off the water; Caitlyn remains shivering. 

THE COIN, POCKETED. — YOU.

Your mouth tastes like metal and smoke. The streets of Zaun pulse beneath your feet, virulent and alive, and you can barely remember how many days it's been since you left them. Since you left her. Them.

You've gotten yourself into trouble - the kind Ambessa would have prevented, the kind Caitlyn would have shot through. Blood trickles down your side from where the knife caught you, and your vision swims with chemical fumes and exhaustion. You don't know where you're going anymore, just that you're going.

The world tilts sideways. You stumble and catch yourself against a wall slick with condensation. A familiar laugh echoes from somewhere above - it stops your heart, then starts it again too fast. You know that laugh.

When you look up, they're there on one of the suspended walkways - Caitlyn and that pink-haired girl, Vi. They haven't seen you yet. Vi has her hand on Caitlyn's waist, casual, proprietary. Something in you breaks and mends and breaks again.

Then Caitlyn turns her head, and her eyes find yours like they always have. The world stops. You try to run—you always try to run—but your legs give out. You thud to the ground. Mind heavy. Heart heavy. 

You hate her more than anything else in the world. You wish that was true.

You hear the clatter of boots on metal as she descends, and then she's there, gathering you up as if she hadn’t been entangled a moment before. She hooks a hand into your hair, and claws you into looking at her as she squeezes your face hard. Something inside of you understands that the action isn’t intentional, not this time.

She bends, hair falling from her hurried bun, and swallows you—grime and all. Her kiss tastes devastating and strains with relief, and you're too weak to fight it anymore. You push back, this time into her, and force her to hold you. She squeezes you tighter, moaning almost obscenely as she relapses and languishes in your feel, in your taste. 

Here is her sweet girl. Her sweet fucking girl. 

“Cait,” you moan.

She pulls away and strokes your baby hairs away from your forehead as you let out a feeble, wounded noise.

"Vi," she says, not looking away from your face, "help me. I need to get her back to Ambessa."

"This is your runaway?" Vi's voice is rough, knowing. "The one you've been tearing yourself up over?"

Caitlyn's hands tighten on your arms. "It's important for the mission that we-"

"Save it, Cupcake." Vi's laugh is different now, sadder. "I know what love looks like on you."

That training, that beloved animal comes back in full force, and Caitlyn looks up from beneath her lashes. Her face contorts and it’s the strangest she’s ever seemed to Vi. She reaches up, hooks a hand around Vi’s jaw, and drags her down. 

“Get it together, Violet. This is not your moment.”

Vi blinks at her, equal parts disturbed and titulated. Caitlyn lets her go, places that same hand on the peek of skin between the hem of your shirt and your linen pants. Why would you ever wear linen when running away? She looks back up again, traces Vi’s expression—analyzes it.

“I can love you both. I’ve done it before.”

Vi's laugh catches in her throat. You watch through half-lidded eyes as something passes between them— understanding, maybe. Or resignation. Your blood is making patterns on the ground.

"Fine," Vi says, and then she's lifting you like you weigh nothing, careful of your wound. "But if this gets me killed, I'm haunting you both."

“If she dies because of our procrastinating, I’ll do something worse than haunting,” Caitlyn snaps.

Caitlyn's hand doesn't leave your skin as you move through the undercity. You drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments: Vi muttering about shortcuts, Caitlyn's fingers pressing against your pulse, the way they work together like they've done this before. They probably have.

"Stay with me," Caitlyn keeps saying, and you're not sure if she means now or forever. Maybe both. 

You think of Ambessa waiting, of how her hands will feel on your skin again, of how she'll look at you like you're something wild she's finally caught. You think of Caitlyn's desperation in the shower, that fucking shower and it’s cold water—of her mouth against your stomach. Of how they both break you apart and put you back together wrong.

"She's burning up," Vi says somewhere above you. Her voice sounds almost gentle.

"We're close." Caitlyn's voice shakes. "The extraction point is-"

"I know where it is." A pause. "You really love her that much?"

"More than is safe."

You want to tell her that nothing about any of you has ever been safe. Instead, you let the darkness drag you into its arms.

When you wake, you're in Ambessa's chambers. The sheets smell like her - lime and mango and earth. Caitlyn is curled against your side, her breath evening out against your neck. And there, in the doorway, Ambessa stands watching you both with hunger in her eyes.

"Welcome home, little one," she says, and steps inside.

THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD — CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.

Ambessa moves like smoke in the water. 

The room holds its breath as she approaches, and you feel Caitlyn's arm tighten across your middle—not protective, possessive. They don't look at each other. They never do. Their hunger is only for you.

"Did you think you could run from us?" Ambessa's voice is silk over steel, very careful in the moment. She sits on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips with her weight. Her hand finds your ankle, thumb pressing into the hollow where your pulse beats rabbit-quick. "From me?"

You try to answer, but Caitlyn's mouth is suddenly on your neck, wet and wanting. She bites down, marking you, claiming you and Ambessa's grip tightens in response. They're going to tear you apart.

You realize, distantly, that you want them to.

"She's hurt," Caitlyn murmurs against your skin, but her teeth don't gentle. "We should-"

"We should punish her," Ambessa cuts in, and your body betrays you with a shiver. Her hand slides higher, past your knee. It makes you realize that you’re in nothing but a simple pair of baby blue cotton panties and a skimpy bra. Your tits spill out at the bottom. "Shouldn't we?"

Caitlyn makes a sound like drowning. Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and ghost over the bandaged wound at your side. "Yes," she breathes, and you feel yourself sinking, sinking. "But she's ours to punish."

"Ours," Ambessa agrees, and the word feels jagged.

You're losing yourself in them. A thought floats up through your hazy mind: that they refuse to acknowledge each other even as they work in tandem to break you down, to unmake you piece by piece. Their synchronized destruction should be beautiful to watch if you can remember how to open your eyes.

"Look at me," Ambessa commands and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. Her hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip. "She trembles so prettily for us, doesn't she?"

Caitlyn's answer is to drag her nails down your spine, making you arch into the touch. The pain blooms like ink in water, spreading out until you can't tell where it ends and pleasure begins. You're caught between them - Ambessa's unyielding strength and Caitlyn's desperate need - and you're not sure you want to escape.

"Tell us why you ran," Caitlyn whispers, but it's not really a question. Her fingers trace the edges of your bandages again, a reminder of what your foolish escape attempt cost you. "Tell us what you thought you'd find out there.”

"Freedom," you manage to gasp, and Ambessa's laugh is dark honey, sticky-sweet, and dangerous.

"Oh, little one." Her grip tightens, not quite painful. Not yet. "You're only free when I allow it."

She speaks only of herself, but you know the notion pertains to both of them. You know they're right. You've always known and it leaves something bitter in your mouth.  That's why you ran - not to escape them, but to make them chase you. To prove they would. To ensure they'd punish you when they caught you.

And now they have.

"Please," you breathe, though you're not sure what you're begging for. More? Mercy? Neither?

"Please what?" Caitlyn's voice has gone rough with her aching. Her teeth find your shoulder again, and you shudder. "Use your words."

But Ambessa's hand is sliding into your hair now, pulling your head back to expose your throat. "No," she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "I don't think she gets to speak anymore tonight. I think she’ll bore me with her useless whining.”

The whimper that escapes you makes them both pause, just for a moment. Just long enough for you to feel their satisfaction ripple through the air like heat waves. You might die this way, you’re realizing. They may build you up one final time, only to slit your throat at the time of climax.

Ambessa is practically stone with her tempered fury, and Caitlyn is antsy with her need. You never realized how much you riled them in the same manner they did you. Ambessa goes on to say more, filling the silence with something sick and cruel but Caitlyn has had enough now. 

She lurches up, rolls you over so that she sits atop just like the night she first kissed you. The night where it all burst. There’s a moment where she has a hand on your chest, pushing down as if resuscitating you. You don’t understand it until you look down and see the way the pressure makes your breasts surge and spurt from underneath your bra. She pushes again and again and again until you’re taking halting, broken sips of air. Over and over, your tits spill until she grows crazed and snaps the fabric off of you.

Ambessa only watches, though you notice her thighs spreading. She looks soft, her hair unbraided and haloing her face. She wears nothing but a silk yellow robe which displays her figure lovingly. Your cunt grows warm, tender.

Catilyn taps your cheek, brings you back to her. You can’t remember if the button-down she wears is yours or Ambessa’s. Maybe both. You wince at her weight on your stomach and she moves up and over your face. 

There’s no time to prepare for the way she comes down on you, her groan thunderous as her pussy settles on your parted mouth. You fall into line, give her what she wants.

Still, you are to be punished, so she sits for a long while. Just smothers you. Occasionally she grinds, filling your nose with her musk. You can feel her soft curls around your lips, and you arch up as if to crawl inside of her skin. This gets her to move, a slow rocking that amps up as you settle into making out with her pouring pussy. 

You kiss her here, over and over, dragging your tongue into the affair until she’s riding you. Your tongue slips in and Caitlyn quivers with a whimper as she rides your face harder. You bring a hand up to hold her, to prevent her from slipping but she smacks it away. 

“No,” she pants. “No—oh, fuck me. Holy shiiiit.” She bounces liberally, selfishly. “No touching.”

Caitlyn leans forward, supporting herself as she fucks down on you with fervor. You’re so distracted with getting her to fill your throat with her pleasure that you mistakenly lose focus on where Ambessa is. Which is why the press of her cunt against your own absolutely blindsides you.

She’s climbed atop the bed during the desperate coupling between you and Caitlyn, removing your panties so that your pussy winks at her voraciously. True to her nature she decides to take, to conquer you. You grip Caitlyn tightly, so tightly that she squeals and cums at the pain. 

You forget to let go, buck wildly as she creams over your nose and chin. It settles on you like sugar; she takes a long finger and dips it in—soft and sweet. You suckle at the pad of it, taking the digit into your mouth and moaning around it as Ambessa slides your cunts together. 

You can’t tell if you are one body or three or three-in-one. You feel enmeshed in the both of them. Your blood is theirs; your cunt is theirs. Maybe it is less togetherness and more possession. Ambessa groans deeply as you gush against her, the squelch both loud and quiet. Caitlyn is now off to this side—this you know. She has her other fingers playing with herself, shifts down to let them puncture her. 

She shoves another finger into your mouth and you gag, let her hit the back of your throat. Drool is coalescing and running over them. The sight makes Ambessa open you further, and hold you down as she slides your clits together over and over—harder and harder.

Your babbling makes the both of them smile, dark curves tinged with their sadistic pleasure. Again, the possession. Ambessa shoves Caitlyn aside and crawls over you to hook her thicker digits into your mouth. She drags you, your head lolling, as she reaches down and rubs your clit.

You scream, silent with your mouth open wide as you cum. This is not enough. It is never enough. She is back on you, like a lioness on a gazelle. Her pussy swallows yours, and Ambessa forgets you as she leads herself to that approaching golden horizon.

When she crests, she falls on you and you do nothing but accept her weight. You lay there, do this for what feels like years, until Caitlyn weasels behind you. Then you do it again.

🕸

You wake with a start, disoriented by the weight pinning you to the bed. Caitlyn's arm drapes loosely over your waist, her fingers curled like she’d been holding you even in sleep. Ambessa’s warmth radiates from behind you, her breath slow and even. The sheets smell of sweat and sandalwood, of something heady and unnamed.

The sheet clings to your skin almost oppressively, a reminder of last night’s twist of limbs and pleasure. You slide out from between them, careful not to disturb their slumber. Ambessa stirs slightly, her arm shifting, and you hesitate. Caitlyn murmurs something unintelligible, and you freeze. When neither of them wakes, you slip free.

You take Caitlyn’s robe from the chair by the bed, pulling it around your shoulders. The fabric is sheer, nearly useless, but it smells of her. You step onto the balcony, and the cool morning air kisses your skin. The horizon is painted in hues of gold and rose, the sun stretching its fingers across the sky.

You lean against the railing, the chill of the metal biting into your palms. The fortress sprawls below and blends into the distant city, a patchwork of shadows and light. For a moment, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. But the ache in your chest reminds you that isn’t true. 

You are loved. You are wanted. And it terrifies you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest. The robe clings to you, and the light hits your body in a way that feels exposing, even with no one watching.

A soft sound pulls your attention, and Caitlyn steps out onto the balcony, her hair a tumble of dark waves over her shoulders. She’s still half-asleep, her bare feet silent on the stone. When she sits beside you, the space between you feels both unbearable and necessary.

"Couldn't sleep, baby?" she murmurs, her voice rasping in the quiet.

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the horizon. You ignore the goosebumps that rise at the pet name.

 "I don’t know what to do with so much love," you say finally, your voice trembling. "From you. From her. It’s… too much."

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing your forearm. You flinch, and she pulls back, pain flickering across her face. 

"Baby," she says softly, and the word lands like a stone in your chest. "I will undo this. I will make your living easier."

You exhale sharply, the sound halfway to a laugh.  “Will I always have to share you?” you ask. 

You don’t look at her. 

Caitlyn hesitates, then glances toward the bed where Ambessa shifts, her hand moving as if searching for you in her sleep. You glance over instinctively, the motion so natural it betrays you.

“I could ask you the same,” she says finally. Her tone is steady, but there’s a thread of something deeper woven through it—something sharp and sad. Your gaze flickers to her, then back to the bed behind you. Ambessa shifts again, her brow furrowing, and you instinctively turn to her. The action is so ingrained, that you don’t realize what you’ve done until Caitlyn speaks again.

“She pulls at you,” Caitlyn says, not unkindly. “I see it.”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you say, “And you don’t?”

Her lips curve into a wry smile. “I pull at you too. But she’s… something else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The city stirs below, oblivious to the ache of your small world.

INTERLUDE: THE LIONESS, WITH THE COIN IN HER MOUTH. 

Ambessa lies still in the bed, her breathing measured and even, but her mind sharp and alert. She hears the murmur of voices from the balcony, the quiet cadence of Caitlyn's voice mingling with yours, a soft harmony in the cool morning air. 

Her eyes remain closed, yet her thoughts stray to the image of you wrapped in Caitlyn’s robe, the rosy light of dawn casting faint halos around your figures. She imagines the tension in your body as Caitlyn reaches for you, the way you’d shift, hesitant, but never pulling away entirely. It’s a dynamic Ambessa understands all too well: the push and pull, the magnetic sway you hold over both of them.

You’re the thread that binds, fragile yet unbreakable. It’s maddening. It’s beautiful.  

Ambessa shifts slightly, her fingers brushing the cool sheets where you once lay. The absence is temporary—she knows this. But the way you linger in her mind is something she can’t easily reconcile. She has always been a woman of precision, of control. Yet you are beginning to undo her in ways she cannot name, cannot stop, that she believed herself too old for.

Through the door left ajar, your voice carries faintly. When you and Caitlyn return, Ambessa will let you come to her. For now, she waits, her lips curving faintly, as if in a private, unspoken promise.  

“You’ll come back to me,” she murmurs under her breath, a whisper carried only by the stillness of the room.  

And outside, the sun climbs higher, gilding the world in its light.

RE: THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD — CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.

Caitlyn leans back, her eyes tracing your face. "We grew up together," she begins, her voice softer now. "Trained together. They taught us to kill, to win, to survive. But you…" She pauses, swallowing hard. "You were always my half. I can’t promise much, but when the pendulum swings, I will choose you to save. Every time."

Her words settle heavy in the space between you. You lean your head against her shoulder, letting the warmth of her presence ease the sharp edges of your doubt.

Caitlyn tilts her head, resting her cheek against your hair. "You’re half of me," she murmurs.

From inside, Ambessa’s voice calls softly, "Come back to bed."

Caitlyn shifts, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, then your nose, and finally your lips. It’s a lingering kiss, tender and unhurried as if she’s trying to pour every unsaid word into you.

"You’re my girl," she whispers against your mouth. "I love you, baby."

The declarations are so soft you almost think you’ve imagined them. But the look in her eyes tells you otherwise.

Ambessa calls again, her voice low and expectant. Caitlyn straightens, her hand falling away from yours. She glances at the door, then back at you. She stands, offering her hand to you. 

"Come," she says simply.

You hesitate, the ache in your chest a living thing. But you take her hand.

The sun exposes as it further moves toward its high point, casting the balcony in streaky light, but you feel no warmth. Only the quiet weight of something you can’t name, pressing into the spaces between your ribs.

And behind you, the world goes on turning.

“Come,” Caitlyn says again, her tone gentle but firm.

You go.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wives taglist: @s-4pphics

⚚ special taglist: @blackdykegirlblogger @bibi-e @hell0-ki55y @suibiaan-l @astarcalledtala @iluvwomensm @whuppincream @rottngrl3 @16novvs @sillygirl-lol @petalsnhoney @simmplerussiangirl @ambessaswifey @ambessas-doll @marvelwomenarehot0 @baeumonde @abbyslvrrr @sevslefthand @milfshotss @sevikas-whore @poteitalouca @foreverdolled @azteriarizz @helaenabugmom @p3arlier @depressedqueersocialists @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @rios-st4rs

[cheriladycl01]

And … by Uber, I mean texting my boyfriend Franco - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Plot: In which you always seem to use your boyfriend as a convenient Uber and the media start to pick up on it!

You were being interviewed by the media while you were stood in the paddock waiting for your boyfriend to come out of his motorhome.

“Ah there’s Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve never spoken to her before but rumours around the paddock say she’s just as funny as her partner and she’s very sweet. Let’s go haggle her” Martin says into the camera that’s following him through his Grid Walk

“Y/N! Y/N hi hello, Martin Brundle from Sky Sports! Can we chat?” He asks you, your head whipping round at the sound of your name.

“Oh hi! How are you today?” You smile kindly as you reach out to shake his hand.

“I’m good, I’m good! Glad I’ve bumped into you!” He smiles and you nod.

"So Y/N how have you found the paddock!" Martin asks, moving the microphone a little closer to you.

“It’s really welcoming! Everyone here has been so kind to me, and I’ve made tons of new friends with Lily last year when Franco was in Williams and Kika this year! But I’ve also spoken to Oscar’s Lily, Alexandra and a few of the other girls and their all really sweet, it’s nice to have people other than Franco” you explain and he nods a smile on his face.

“Ah that’s brilliant, that’s something we love here. All about family and keeping those close connections right?” He asks and you again nod.

“Mmmm, yes I’ve become very close to Kika! We’re going shopping together after qualifying tomorrow!” You exclaim happily, you’d become incredibly close to Kika. You pretty much hung out with her all the time now.

Originally, you’d been very shy when Franco underwent his first year in F1. He was the hotshot new rookie who came in to replace Logan and he ended up being phenomenal. Which led to him getting pretty popular VERY quickly. Which frightened you as it meant you’d be more in the limelight.

You’d remained towards the back, silently cheering him on whenever you were able to attend a race and kept off camera.

However now that he’d gotten a seat in Alpine, he was begging for you to appear so … in his words he didn’t seem like ‘a lonely flirty man whose desperate for attention’ you’d of course joked back and said take out the lonely and that’s a pretty accurate description of him.

“So we’re happy you’ve settled into paddock life so quickly, but let’s move onto the racing questions?” Martin asks and you nod your head. You actually knew a pretty decent amount about your boyfriend’s sport and once he introduced you to it and his world you became increasingly interested in not just the sport but the engineering behind it.

"So obviously you were here last year when Franco stepped in for Williams, how was that knowing that those last few races for him, could be his last time ever in formula one?" Martin asks and your smile remains despite the question.

"Franco and i have dated for a while now and been friends for even longer. So i've always known he'd make it. Last year was stepping stones and i think everyone could see how promising he was with the way he was pulling points from that Williams and now that he's taken on this role in Alpine i can see him being a stellar driver for years to come!" you explain Martin seeming happy with your answer.

"Well that will mean we get to see much more of you which im sure everyone in the paddock will be incredibly happy about!"

"Yeah, I wasn't into racing at all before i met Franco at school and thats when he asked me to go to one of his races in the lower catergorys. I swore i was going to be so bored but the thrill was insane, looking out for Franco on track became my new fravrioute thing... and it still is!" you grin and Martin laughs, the imagine of a younger you cheering on for Franco now planted in his mind.

"Anyway I'm so sorry Martin but i have to go I gotta go get my Uber. And by Uber ... I mean my boyfriend Franco" you joke and he looks at you in mock shock.

"You don't drive?" he asks and you look down a little embarrased.

"I do, but im not the best. Franco's terrified whenever I'm behind the wheel. He actually refuses me to drive now!" you admit shyly and Martin just laughs.

"And Franco, he doesn't try and teach you?" he asks in shock and you nod.

"He's tried but i genuinely think I'm unteachable. I have no clue how i passed my test, so a passenger princess i will remain" you sing the last note making a crown motion over your head.

"Ah and here he is now Franco Colapinto the Uber!" Martin says before you boyfriend comes up to the both of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks you concerned knowing you get a little camera shy and don't really like being incredibly public.

"Mmmmm yeah" you smile kissing the side of his face before taking a hold of his hand.

“I’m an uber?” He asks with a laugh raising an eyebrow at the interviewer.

“According to Y/N you’re her personal taxi driver” Martin intervenes.

“Oh! Yes! You didn’t know? My day job is a chauffeur for this lovely lady” he says pulling you in for a hug, laughing at you.

“Ah well it was lovely talking to you both, but I think times up as you guys have some Alpine members running to come get you! I think maybe you’re needed Franco. Lovely to see you both!” Martin says before continuing on his grid walk.

“An uber seriously?” He asks holding you at arms length as he looks over you.

“WHAT! Come on I was having fun!” You laugh hitting his shoulder before he wraps and arm around you, walking to meet his team that have been looking for him.

“You’re a menace!”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[lalacliffthorne]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

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@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Piece of you- L.MN

SURPRISE!! Today is a triple special day for me, so let's get started

First of all, it's my babygirl @sweetlifeofjoy 's bday!! Happy birthday, Nari! I hope you have a wonderful day, surrounded by those you love and I wish a lot of happiness 😊 And thanks for making my day a lot funnier whenever we talk... or flirt haha

Now, the second thing I wanna celebrate, it's Minho's debut on this blog yay! I tried to make something very Lee Know coded here, I guess it's giving off his vibes. I hope you all like it

And last but not least, I want to celebrate the 700 of us. I didn't even have time to thank you for 600 so consider that a combo. I am really really grateful for each one of you. Really. You make my little heart very happy 💜🤭

Word count: 1.0k

No warnings

Alexa, play Ink by Coldplay

Minho had been gone less than a day when you found the first note.

It was tucked beneath your toothbrush, folded into a tiny triangle with a doodle on the front— a cat  version of him, with exaggerated pouty lips and two big bright eyes that he asked Hyunjin to sketch. Underneath, in his unmistakable handwriting, it said:

“Miss me yet?”

You laughed, even if your chest ached a little. Opening it, you could listen to his voice in the ink.

“Brush your teeth, sleepyhead. I’m not there to kiss you good morning, but I still expect fresh breath when I call”.

You stood there for a long moment, grinning down at the paper, toothbrush forgotten.

The next one showed up that afternoon, in the hoodie you stole from his wardrobe. You slipped your hand into the front pocket and felt it— another folded piece of paper. This one had small hearts all over it and a simple message:

“Wear this one often. It smells like me. I gave it a final hug before I left. You're welcome”

You giggled, hugging the hoodie tighter.

Minho had always been the quiet type when it came to words, more teasing than tender, but it felt like he had left tiny pieces of himself all over the apartment just to keep you company.

Every day you found a new one. One was taped to the coffee jar:

“Drink water too. No, coffee doesn’t count. Neither does bubble tea. I'm watching you”

Another slid out from between your laptop screen and keyboard:

“Take breaks. Don’t sit there for six hours straight or I will find out”

And then there was the one beneath his favorite mug:

“Play our playlist. Skip the sad ones unless you’re missing me a lot. If you do listen to them, please don’t cry while holding my mug. It’s bad for the aesthetic”.

They were scattered everywhere— beneath your pillow, taped to the ice cream lid in the freezer, inside the pages of your current book. Each one perfectly timed, each one so Minho. 

One, though, made you stop in your tracks and cackle like a hyena. It was taped to the front of the air fryer, written in red ink:

“I SWEAR TO GOD if you break my air fryer while I’m gone, I will haunt you. Not gently. I’m talking about flickering lights and mysterious cat hair in your cereal”

And then, like the cherry on top, a tiny postscript:

“(Miss you though. Please eat something that isn’t chips)”

You shook your head, grinning like an idiot. Only Lee Minho could threaten you with ghostly vengeance and still make your heart flutter.

Another note had been left on the windowsill where the cats loved to take a nap. This one was softer, written with a little paw print doodle in the back:

“Tell Soonie he’s in charge. Doongie gets extra head kisses. And Dori… can’t be trusted, so watch him”

“If they look at you dramatically and cry like they’re starving, remember: they are liars. Do not fall for it. But also… maybe give them a snack anyway”

“If they sit on your lap, don’t you dare move. I don’t care if your leg goes numb. That’s the price of love”

“PS: If you fall asleep with them like that… just know I’m gonna be insanely jealous. But also please take a picture so I can melt over it for five minutes and then pretend I’m not crying in the tour van”

You were crying laughing by the end of that one.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail leading you right back to him, even while he was miles away.

But the note that made you sit down and press a hand to your chest, was under his pillow.

You only found it on the third day. You weren’t even looking, you were just making the bed out of habit, and there it was— thicker than the rest.

You sat on the bed and unfolded it slowly, heart stuttering.

“This one’s for the nights that feel heavy”

“You don’t have to be okay just because I’m not there to see it. I know you’re strong, but I also know you. So cry if you need to. Eat ice cream for dinner. Watch that movie we’ve seen a hundred times”

“Then call me in the morning. I’ll listen to every word. You don’t have to do this alone. You never have to”

By the time Minho called you that night, the notes were lined up across the wall, like a paper mosaic. 

He appeared on your phone screen, hair damp from shower

 “Wow”, he said when he saw the background, “I didn’t think you’d actually keep them”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the hoodie tighter around you. “Shut up, you wrote them! You thought I’d read them and toss them in the trash?”

“I mean, yeah”, he said, “That’s what you do with my texts”

“I react with a heart to them!”

Minho looked at you, inexpressible

“You reacted with a heart to ‘did you eat?’ like it was a love confession”

You bit back a grin, “Wasn’t it?”

He paused, pretending to think, then nodded. “Well, you are right. I’m very romantic”

You laugh softly before confessing, “Damn, I miss you”

“Yeah”, he said, rubbing the towel over his hair, “If I were you, I’d miss me too”.

You let out a loud, theatrical gasp and flopped dramatically back onto the bed like you’d just been betrayed.

“I can’t believe this! I’m dating a menace. An actual menace”

He blinked at the screen, “You’re so dramatic”

“You’re not even pretending to miss me!”

Minho shook his head in disbelief, “You’re wearing my hoodie, laying on my pillow, surrounded by my notes and you’re gonna sit there and act like I don’t miss you?”

You were still pouting

He rolled his eyes

“I miss you so much it's annoying” he said, “Happy now?”

“No! You said it was annoying!”

“Because I’m annoyed at myself, he grumbled, “For being this whipped”

You grinned.

“Say it again”

“No”

“Say it!”

Minho sighed like he felt physical pain

“I miss you”, he muttered, “More than the cats. But don't tell them that”

You melted instantly.

“See?” You are romantic indeed”

He huffed, but his smile lasted— warm, bright and entirely yours.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR IX

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.3k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I hope I got everyone who asked to be added to the taglist. if possible, if you want to be added, can you let me know in the most recent chapter? that way I don't have to scour through all the previous chapter comments, I'm worried I'll miss or forget to add you 🩵

RACE TRACK

You were having the time of your life.

The last thing you expected when Jason texted you about a second date was to end up behind the wheel of a vintage muscle car, roaring around a private race track like you were in Fast and Furious: Gotham Drift.

Yet here you were—hands gripping the steering wheel, wind whipping through your hair, tires screeching against hot pavement.

And the best part?

You were driving.

“You know, my brother used to love cars,” you babbled, voice rising over the thunder of the engine. “We used to sneak out to the track at night and watch others race. He swore he’d be a professional driver one day.”

Jason’s ears perked up at the mention of your brother.

It was subtle, the way his posture shifted—just a slight tilt of his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He kept his expression relaxed, but inside, his mind sharpened,

He leaned in, ever so slightly, hoping you’d keep going. Hoping you’d slip something. A name. A location. A breadcrumb he could follow.

But instead, you let out a wild cheer, head thrown back in exhilaration as the car hit the straightaway.

“This is amazing!” you shouted, laughter bursting from your chest, raw and unfiltered, as the engine snarled like a beast beneath the hood. The tires screeched against the asphalt, and wind tore through the open windows, stealing your words and replacing them with pure adrenaline.

Beside you, Jason barked out a laugh—half amused, half alarmed—but his eyes kept flicking toward the speedometer.

You were a very good driver.

You were also going very fast.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he called over the roar of the engine, “but are you trying to kill us on our second date?”

You grinned, wild and unrepentant, shooting him a quick glance. “Is that fear in your voice?”

Jason scoffed, but the way his hand clenched the door handle said otherwise.

“In your dreams,” he shot back, though his voice pitched a little higher as you took the next corner without so much as tapping the brakes.

You let out a delighted laugh and downshifted with an aggressive flick of your wrist, sending the car into a perfect curve along the bend. The tires screamed. Jason did not—but it was a close thing.

“God, you’re insane,” he muttered, but there was unmistakable admiration in his tone.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, eyes gleaming as the straightaway opened up ahead. “Think I can hit 120?”

“Absolutely not—”

But you were already gunning it.

The engine howled, the track blurred, and Jason’s curses were lost to the wind. You were flying now, a streak of black and chrome cutting across the asphalt.

As you were having the time of your life something in the rearview mirror caught Jason’s attention. His eyes narrowed and subtly he angled the side mirror, just enough to catch the glint of something, cutting through the sky behind them.

A small, black silhouette trailing in their wake, a Bat drone.

Dick.

Jason’s jaw ticked, just once as he glanced back and subtly raised his middle finger at the camera.

BAT CAVE

Dick, who had been leaning over Barbara’s shoulder watching the live feed, blinked in disbelief. “Did he just give our bird the bird?”

Barbara didn’t even look up, her jaw working steadily as she lazily chewed her gum. She casually tapped a few keys, zooming in on the grainy screen. “Yep.”

There was a beat. Then her chewing slowed.

“Wait… what’s he doing?”

Both of them leaned in, eyes narrowing as Jason shifted in his seat. The camera caught the subtle movement—his arm reaching behind the passenger seat, fingers curling around something just out of view. Then, without warning, Jason twisted toward the drone in one fluid, practiced motion.

And the screen blinked to static.

Barbara whipped around in her chair, eyes wide. “He just shot my drone! That was a custom build!”

Dick took a small step back, hands raised as if she were about to launch something sharp at his head. “Okay—okay, I didn’t think he’d see it!”

Stephanie smirked. With a few keystrokes, she brought up the final frame before the drone feed cut to black—Jason caught mid-motion, his face half-lit by sunlight and locked in a cocky smirk, one hand proudly raised with his middle finger aimed directly at the lens.

She grinned. “This would make a killer profile picture. The ladies will go crazy for it.”

“Stephanie!”

“What was that?!” you exclaimed, twisting slightly to glance over your shoulder at the sudden pop that echoed behind you.

“Eyes on the road!” Jason yelped, one hand flying out instinctively to steady the wheel as you started to turn. “What was what? That was just the… exhaust. Yeah. Backfire.”

You squinted at him. “Sounded more like a gunshot or explosion.”

He winced, then plastered on a smile far too fast to be innocent. “Performance vehicle. Loud pipes. Very normal.”

You didn’t look convinced, but before you could press further, the track opened up again into a long, gorgeous straightaway—and Jason seized his moment.

“Alright, speed demon,” he said, leaning close with a glint in his eye, voice low and tempting, “think you can beat your last time down this stretch?”

Your attention snapped back to the track, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Is that a challenge?”

He shrugged, smug. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, you are so going to eat those words.”

The car shot forward once more, tires screaming as you floored it, laughter spilling past your lips. Jason leaned back, grinning as the wind whipped around him—less concerned now that you were distracted, and more impressed than ever at your driving skills.

He’d have to apologize to Barbara later.

Probably.

Maybe.

Barbara was already turning to glare at Dick. “I’m going to strangle him.” She crossed her arms, jaw tight. “And you’re not off the hook either, Romeo. That drone wasn’t cheap.”

Dick winced. “We’ll pay for it.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You two better.”

He held up his hands in surrender, then turned quickly—perhaps wisely—to Stephanie, who was back to lounging at the nearby console, one leg hooked over the arm of the chair, scrolling through a tablet.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

Stephanie didn’t miss a beat. “She likes red wine and has a secret sweet tooth—keeps chocolate-covered almonds in her bedside drawer.”

Dick arched a brow.

“She’s not subtle about it,” Steph added, shrugging. “Lavender bath salts. Her Spotify history is a surprising mix of everything, but she primarily listens to indie rock, electronic house, and top 40 hits. Gotta say… not what I expected from a scientist like her. I would’ve clocked her for some Beethoven, maybe a little Philip Glass if she was feeling edgy.”

Barbara raised a brow. “You hacked her Spotify? How is that even relevant to the Joker case?”

“Hey, I’m just covering all my bases,” Steph shot Dick a knowing wink, “and I temporarily borrowed access,” Steph corrected. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Dick waved a hand. “Keep going.”

“And that painting you noticed hanging in her apartment?” Steph tilted her head with a grin. “Gustav Klimt. The Kiss, limited reproduction. She’s an art lover—deep dives into symbolism, expressionism, romanticism.”

Dick leaned back, brows drawing together thoughtfully. “Huh.” Then he paused looking to Stephanie.  “You got all that since yesterday?”

Steph looked up, smug. “Please. I got all of this in one hour”

ART GALLERY

You were still buzzing from your date with Jason—adrenaline thrumming through your veins, your hair windswept, your cheeks sore from smiling. You had barely made it home and kicked off your shoes, when your phone buzzed again.

Another missed call. You ignored it.

Instead, your attention drifted to the text that had just come in.

Dick:

Got any plans tonight?

You bit your lip, heart skipping. Two dates in one day should’ve been too much. Should’ve felt like whiplash. But somehow, with him, you couldn’t say no.

Which was how you ended up here—standing in a dimly lit private gallery, surrounded by warm golden frames and soft overhead spotlights.  It was just the two of you. No crowds. No noise. Just the art and him.

You turned to Dick with wide eyes. “How did you even do this?”

He flashed you that signature smile, that you’ve come to associate to him— warm and utterly charming. “I have my ways,” he said casually, hands in his pockets as he led you deeper into the exhibit. “And finally, we get to the main piece.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on the painting in front of you. “Is that—? No. Is this what I think it is?”

You both spoke the artist’s name at the same time, voices overlapping in perfect harmony. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes, both of you frozen in mutual shock.

“He’s my favourite artist,” Dick said, voice softer now, almost reverent.

Your lips parted. “He’s my favourite artist. Are these the originals?”

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Yeah. You recognize this one? The Harpist, 1895?”

“Yes!” you gasped, stepping closer, instinctively leaning in to examine the texture, the detail, the brushwork. “The lines, the composition...”

“Pre-Secession movement,” Dick said smoothly, strolling beside you like a seasoned curator. In a van parked discreetly outside, Barbara’s voice crackled in his earpiece.

“Now say: ‘Look at the tension between two and three dimensionality.’”

Dick echoed obediently, “Do you see the tension between two and three dimensionality? It’s… incredible.”

You turned to him, laughing in disbelief. “How do you know this?!”

He just grinned and pivoted smoothly, guiding you to the next painting.

“This is one of my favourites,” he said.

Your breath caught. 

“Undine, 1902.”

“Undine, 1902,” Dick repeated a heartbeat later.

You stepped closer to the canvas, your voice dropping to a hush. “Gorgeous,” you murmured. “Dick, this is amazing.”

“Innovation became Intrinsic…”

“…to Degas and other modernists,” he continued reciting Barbara’s information. “You can see the influence of art nouveau in the curvature and thematic flow.”

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with something between shock and admiration. “You really know your stuff.”

Dick smiled faintly, hands clasped behind his back in his best art-patron pose. “You know,” he added, “he was a strong advocate in the finger painting movement.”

Silence.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…What?” you said, your brow furrowing.

Dick froze. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. “I—uh…”

BAT CAVE

Unknown to Dick, it was no longer Barbara coaching him. Jason and Tim sat hunched over a custom console, cackling at the fact they managed to hack into Barbara’s comms.

Tim leaned back with a satisfied smirk, spinning slightly in his chair. “Told you I could get into her comms.”

Jason grinned, shushing him as he leaned forward with a glint in his eye, dragging the mic close to his mouth. He pressed the button and, with the voice of Barbara Gordon—courtesy of a little audio sorcery—he purred, “Sometimes, he would finger his paintings…”

“…to get closer to them.”

Dick squinted slightly, doing his best not to react outwardly even as his stomach dropped. What the hell was Barbara saying?

“He… um…” He cleared his throat. “He used his… he…”

You tilted your head, confused by the sudden hesitation.

Dick forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “The intimacy with the canvas. To finger a painting—”

Your eyes widened. His did too.

“—To paint,” he corrected quickly, voice rising in pitch as he panicked, “using hands. With his hands.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your expression teetered between bemusement and concern.

“Sometimes he would use mud and sticks,” came Barbara’s voice again—or what sounded like Barbara’s voice.

Your brows furrowed. “He did?” You squinted at the painting in front of you, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t remember reading that.”

Dick winced internally, already praying to every art god in existence that you wouldn’t fact-check this later.

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…”

“And if he couldn’t find a stick…” 

“…He would use his dick.”

“…He would use his di—” The word stopped dead in his throat as his brain finally processed it.

Your head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle your neck didn’t cramp. You stared at him, eyes wide, searching his face.

Dick cleared his throat, his fingers twitching as he reached up to scratch behind his ear—only it wasn’t a scratch. With one swift, practiced motion, he tore the earpiece out and tucked it into his pocket, all without breaking stride.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice a touch hoarse, “I think that’s enough talking.”

He gestured toward a tall, sheet-covered frame near the far end of the gallery. “Let’s let the paintings speak for themselves.”

Curiosity flickered across your face, but before you could ask anything, he reached up and pulled the linen sheet down in one smooth motion.

The fabric fell away—and time seemed to stop.

Framed in delicate gold leaf and soft lighting stood Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss. The gilded masterpiece shimmered beneath the spotlights, rich with warmth and intimacy, every curve and contour singing with emotion and longing.

You took a breath—but it hitched, catching in your throat. “Oh my god…” you whispered. “This is amazing. It’s so beautiful… just… just incredible.”

You stepped closer and without thinking, your arms slipped around Dick’s, your head coming to rest gently against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Barely even breathed.

“Yeah,” he murmured finally, barely audible over the hum of the room. “It is…”

But his eyes weren’t on the painting.

They were on you.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

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[fastandcarlos]

My Little Graduate : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: as you prepare to wave goodbye to your student days, charles is there to celebrate your new role

pairing: charles x student midwife!reader

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 31,604 others

ynusername: last couple of weeks of stress before I can finally say goodbye to that student lanyard forever 👩🏻‍⚕️

4,058 comments

username1: ngl I’m just insanely jealous of that study setup, yn you must teach us your secrets!

charles_leclerc: can’t begin to tell you how proud I am, I promise that it’ll all be worth it 💋

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc couldn’t have got this far without you 💕

username2: we’re so proud of you yn, you’ve got this 🎉

landonorris: still blows my mind how hard you’re working, I could never do your job!

username3: whoever get you as their midwife is gonna be one incredibly lucky person!!

pierregasly: we can’t wait to see you say goodbye to that student lanyard too 🤩

username4: how she does this and support charles so effortlessly blows my mind 😂

carlossainz55: I can’t believe you still have the pin that I gave you when you first started 😂

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I keep it with me forever I go ☺️

username5: I wish I had yn’s stamina to study and keep up with her busy lifestyle

username6: I’m stealing that photo to try and convince my parents that I’m studying too 🥺

iamrebeccad: can’t wait to tell everyone how amazing it is to have a qualified midwife as one of my best friends ✨

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by scuderiaferrari, landonorris and 2,948,261 others

charles_leclerc: another great qualifying session, hoping to keep it going and deliver tomorrow after a pep talk with my love 💞

138,605 comments

username7: you were amazing charles, p1 is yours tomorrow ❤️

scuderiaferrari: congratulations charles, the whole team is behind you tomorrow ❤️

landonorris: I’m right behind you and ready to pounce 👀

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris you don’t scare me 😂

username8: it’s so cute how him and yn always make sure they have time for each other!!

arthur_leclerc: yn is the best at giving pep talks, I mean she reassures enough parents that labour wont hurt everyday 😉

username9: we all know how much of a good luck charm yn is 😂

maxverstappen1: looking forward to another battle on track tomorrow!!

ynusername: so proud of you, I’ll be watching tomorrow 😘

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername good you need to make sure you’re taking plenty of breaks!!

username10: no doubt in my mind that we’ll see you at the top of the podium tomorrow charles

danielricciardo: deliver like your girl delivers babies??? 🙃

charles_leclerc: @/danielricciardo how long did it take you to think of that!?

username11: just think of yn tomorrow and that’ll get you over the line in top spot 💪🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 37,948 others

ynusername: another weekend spent with my head buried in books and glued to my laptop screen…so proud of you charles 🍾

4,069 comments

username12: please make sure you’re getting plenty of rest yn, we don’t want you to burn out now!!

carlossainz55: just gonna forget that the other guy in red got a podium too 😭

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I’m proud of you too carlos don’t worry 😂

username13: it’s the sweetest how she’s always there for charles regardless of how much work she has to do 🥹

arthur_leclerc: I’m coming round to take you out and stop you burying your head into books!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc but I’m soooooo busy!!

arthur_leclerc: @/ynusername charles told me to keep an eye on you so stop arguing with me and pack your things up!

username14: once again I’m just here to admire the setup…

username15: he wouldn’t have got there if it wasn’t for your pep talk 😉

oscarpiastri: wish I could have brains as big as yours 🧠

carmenmmundt: if you ever need a study partner I volunteer myself to come and rest you!

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt might just have to take you up on that offer soon

username16: I wish I had this level of dedication to things in my life like yn does graduating

landonorris: those notes are making me stress just looking at them 🤦🏻

username17: remember to take care of yourself always yn 💕

charles_leclerc: thanks for your wise words last night angel, you always know what I need to hear ❤️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55 and 48,472 others

ynusername: charles offered to help me study, he lasted ten minutes before insisting he needed to lie down cause his head hurt ☺️💞

7,941 comments

username18: maybe charles should just stick to racing instead 😂

arthur_leclerc: it’s been a long time since this kid went to school, you should’ve known better than this yn!!

username19: he genuinely looks on the verge of a breakdown in that lost photo bless him

charles_leclerc: I swear half the words you said to me weren’t actually in the english language!!

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc now you know how I feel whenever you decide to talk about cars 🏎️

username20: everyone always underestimates how hard being a midwife truly is!!

landonorris: “and it all got too much for little charles leclerc…”

georgerussell63: I think you might’ve actually broken your boyfriend 🥲

username21: he lasted ten minutes longer than I ever would looking at all your notes yn 😂

carlossainz55: can’t believe you thought trying to study with charles was a good idea 🤦🏻‍♂️

carmenmmundt: sounds like you might need me to come and rescue you next time??

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt no one can do as bad of a job at study partner as this guy ☺️

username22: we all love a supportive boyfriend, at least he tried 😝

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername and 1,392,058 others

charles_leclerc: visiting the prospective graduate and delivering plenty of treats to the incredible team of midwives down at the hospital 💕

174,072 comments

username23: I love how charles takes care of all of them and makes sure they’re well fed 😭

ynusername: I’m sure they’ve only offered me a job when I graduate because they’re not ready to say goodbye to you and your extremely delicious cake deliveries 😂

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername what you don’t know is they all actually like me more than you 😝

username24: look at yn she looks like she’s born to be a midwife 😍

carlossainz55: and you just so happened to feel the need to share what an adorable boyfriend you are on social media did you???

username25: charles must be the favourite boyfriend on the ward if he’s delivering cakes like those!!

landonorris: us drivers work hard too but we don’t get any cake 🤷🏻

username26: now wondering what I have to do to get a boyfriend as sweet as him??

maxverstappen1: yn looks in her absolute element there 😍

danielricciardo: I wanna send them some cakes too for all their hard work, gimme an address to send something 📫

username27: yn really is the luckiest girl in the world 🥺

scuderiaferrari: admin here to remind you that you’ve got a team of engineers who also love cake very much 😅

charles_leclerc: @/scuderiaferrari deliveries on their way to montreal 🧁

username28: it’s adorable how charles is just constantly on yn and making sure that she’s taking care of herself 🫠

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liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 52,921 others

ynusername: all the hard work has paid off…officially a midwife and ready for duty 🥂👩🏻‍⚕️

13,859 comments

charles_leclerc: I wish I had the words right now to express just how insanely proud I am, I love you so much my little genius 💕

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc thank you for being by my side every step of the way 🥺

username28: this is the post I’ve been waiting for for so long, congratulations yn 👏🏻

danielricciardo: you should be so damn proud of yourself yn - congrats!!

username29: enjoy the feeling of finally being able to bin those crazy notes!!

scuderiaferrari: from everyone here at ferrari, we’re sending you lots of congratulations ❤️

carmenmmundt: secretly think you managed this because you had the best person testing you 🤣

username30: hands down gonna be the best midwife ever 🙌🏻

username31: no one can try and convince me those flowers aren’t from charles btw 💐

carlossainz55: ik just how hard you’ve worked for this, so proud of you!!

maxverstappen1: simply lovely my friend, so glad you’ve finally completed this chapter ☺️

username32: there’s no one more deserving yn, so glad your hard work was worth it 🫶🏻

arthur_leclerc: I’m honestly in awe of how hard you’ve worked for this, coolest sister in law ever!!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc thanks for being my secondary babysitter behind your brother 😂

username33: I hope you’ve got the biggest smile in the world on your face rn!!

iamrebeccad: not only did you compete it, you absolutely bloody smashed it ✅

username34: congratulations on the next step of your career yn 💞

landonorris: hands down my coolest and smartest friend just so you know 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri and 2,037,138 others

charles_leclerc: the day we’ve waited for…no one cheered louder than me in that graduation hall today. the proudest man in the world 🥂

218,504 comments

username35: I’m so glad you were able to be there and support your girl charles 🥺

ynusername: still can’t believe that you were actually there ✨

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername I wouldn’t have missed this for the world ❤️

username36: ofc you rolled up looking like the smartest man in the room too!

alex_albon: these photos are adorable, good job yn 🎉

carlossainz55: did you steal someone’s hat to take that middle photo!?

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 I’d never be smart enough to have one of my own 😂

username37: why can I picture him being like an embarrassing dad when yn’s name was called 😂

georgerussell63: congrats yn, you’re incredible 👏🏻

username38: can’t begin to imagine how proud you must’ve been feeling charles!

landonorris: be honest…did you cry?!

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris I might’ve shed a tear or two…

username39: just when I think you two can’t get anymore impressive, yn becomes a graduate 😂

arthur_leclerc: it must suck to be you when yn has both the brains and the beauty!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 53,949 others

ynusername: a day of firsts, so happy to finally be fully qualified and welcome my first little one into the world 🐣

12,597 comments

charles_leclerc: so happy for you, this is your moment and you deserve it so much sweetheart 💞

username40: oh yn this melts my heart…look how far you’ve come!!

carlossainz55: hope you’re having the time of your life yn, the team are so lucky to have you ☺️

landonorris: this is awesome yn, the first of many 💕

username41: I’m sorry but I can’t ignore the fact you’re all in crocs 😂

username42: that baby is so lucky to have been brought into this world by you!!

maxverstappen1: idk which is worse the crocs or the fact charles left our game of padel to deliver cakes 😂😂

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 one day I’m gonna convince you that crocs aren’t the devil!

username43: you were made for this job, you’re already a natural 😍

carmenmmundt: I think I might’ve just cried a little seeing these and knowing how much you wanted this 🥺

username44: hope you’re ready to be delivering any paddock babies now

iamrebeccad: I hope you know just how proud so many of us are of you 🫶🏻

username45: it makes me so happy to see all your dreams come true ✨

˚*•✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[carlislefiles]

morning routine | fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuuji itadori ╰►he is obsessed with watching you get ready; whether you’re an all-over-the-place mess, or painstakingly meticulous, he loves the little things 6.1k words

a/n: reader is kind of all over the place in this one, so it might not be applicable to all self-inserts mb. warnings: cussing, eating habits (but not in a negative way)...I think that's it. I love a man that's painfully obsessed with every single, minute thing his girlfriend does, and so.......here we are. enjoy <3

it takes nearly a year of dating before you sleep over at megumi’s. not because he doesn’t want you there—he does. in the quiet, desperate way he wants everything good. but his dorm is…sterile. spartan. the bed is always made, the floor always clean, his desk meticulously organized down to the direction his pens face. it’s not for show. he lives like this. he needs it like this.

your dorm, in comparison, feels like another planet. the walls are bursting with you—posters slightly peeling at the corners, handwritten notes pinned beside polaroids, a stack of annotated books threatening to topple. there’s a mug of tea gone cold on the windowsill, a cd player mid-skip, a sweater that might be his draped over the back of your desk chair. the chaos of it all unsettles him. the comfort of it? that’s what undoes him completely.

he never says so, but after the first time he sees your space—really sees it—he stops inviting you to his. keeps you on the couch in the lounge, sitting on yuji’s desk while they argue about which movie is worse (spoiler alert: they’re both terrible), curled under a throw blanket on a bench on the campus grounds…you don’t question it. you’re used to the way megumi loves: quiet and reluctant, like a secret too sacred to say out loud. he comes to your room regularly, choosing to sleep there more often than his own bed. the mess of it doesn't overwhelm him like he thought it might; if anything, it's comforting, just like your presence.

after a mission that shakes the ground beneath his feet, he slips into your bed. no words, no warning—just his body curling into yours like he’s homesick for something he can’t name. and you, still half-asleep, burrow into him like instinct. you never ask questions. you just hold him. it’s in those mornings after that megumi sees the version of you no one else does.

you're dignified by default. stoic, composed, always two steps ahead of your emotions. you keep your feelings buttoned down and folded neatly behind your eyes. but when the alarm shrieks at 6:00 am, all of that unravels.

you groan like you're being punished. a truly inhuman sound leaves your throat as you roll over and claw at the covers like a toddler protesting bedtime—but in reverse. “five more minutes,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a particularly needy sea creature. megumi’s already been awake for ten minutes. he’s well-rested. too well-rested. you smell like his shampoo. there’s a red line on your cheek from where you were pressed against his shoulder. he’s going insane, and you’re snoring.

when he finally peels you off him, you stumble around like you’ve never lived in your own body before. you trip over your desk chair. pull a t-shirt over your head and then realize you forgot deodorant. there’s a toothbrush hanging out of your mouth while you hop into your pants. your socks don’t match. you glare at your reflection like your own hair is personally attacking you. megumi just stands by your door, bag slung over his shoulder, watching like you’re performing high art. you are, in your own way.

you don't even notice how he stares. how his eyes track your every move, memorizing your rituals like prayers. how his lips twitch into the faintest smile when you attempt multitasking and nearly knock over your entire bookshelf. if you have time, your makeup is minimal—nothing more than a subtle enhancement. if you don’t, you mumble something about “au naturel” and try to tame your thick eyebrows with your fingers. he’s never once thought you looked anything but beautiful.

breakfast is always a surprise. sometimes a banana and a granola bar, sometimes a bagel that you throw in the toaster and forget about. sometimes just coffee—until he narrows his eyes at you, all judgment and concern, and you begrudgingly accept the yogurt he hands you. he pretends it’s not a big deal, and you pretend you’re not soft for it, and that’s the thing: he knows you. knows how you make lists in your head as you brush your teeth. knows how you always triple-check your bag before you leave, even though you’ve packed it the same way for years. knows that you’re meticulous in the field, a force in combat, and somehow still a barely-functional goblin in the mornings.

because in those chaotic, half-conscious mornings, he sees the parts of you that don’t belong to the world. the parts that are only his. and though you’ll never say it outright, when you sleep in his shirts and mouth “love you” into the hollow of his throat at midnight, megumi lets himself imagine what a life with you could look like. what it will look like, if he’s lucky enough. he’s always been quiet. always tried to need nothing, but he can no longer deny that he needs this, needs you.

toji never meant to fall in love with you. he thought you'd just be a good partner. reliable. sharp. someone who wouldn’t die and wouldn’t let him die either. that was it. simple. clean. professional.

but then, you were laughing at something during a stakeout—low and breathy, half-annoyed, half-amused—and he looked at you too long. just a second too long. and everything shifted. 

now you’re drooling on his pillow, hogging his blankets, tangling your legs with his in the middle of the night like you’ve always belonged there. like you own the place. (you do.) he wakes up before you sometimes. not always. sometimes he’ll sleep like the dead until you’re jabbing him in the ribs, sure he’s stopped breathing, well into the afternoon. but most mornings, especially when you have to leave and he doesn’t, toji’s eyes crack open just as the sky’s starting to blue.

he doesn’t say anything. just turns his head and looks at you. you’re all soft angles and slow breaths in the morning. face slack, hair a mess, limbs heavy with sleep. a far cry from the weapon you become once the day gets going. he used to think you were always on. always alert. calculated. it made him crazy, how good you were. unflinching. cold. but mornings peeled that mask right off you.

now he knows the truth: you are an absolute mess before sunrise. you roll out of bed like your bones don’t work. trudge to the bathroom half-blind, dragging your blanket with you like a child. you brush your teeth while he’s peeing and don’t even blink. he used to flinch at that kind of intimacy. used to brace for awkwardness. now? he just spits into the sink next to you and hands you a cup to rinse.

you're freezing, always, even in the summer. you steal his hoodie like you paid for it. tug it over your head with a sleepy grunt and shuffle around the apartment like a raccoon in sweats. and if he’s anywhere in the vicinity, you’re sliding your ice cube hands under his shirt without warning. he used to curse you out for that. the first few times, it pissed him off, but now? he waits for it. he wants it. it’s like a ritual. your sleepy little ambush, his warm back, your sigh of relief when his skin starts to thaw your fingers.

you don’t talk much. he likes that. if you say anything at all, it’s in a voice octaves lower than usual, cracked and rough and all kinds of sexy. a lazy, “you wan’ coffee? or jus’ water?” as you fumble with the kettle. toji doesn’t even really care, but he says yes to both just to hear you say something again.

you're utilitarian to your bones. cotton underwear, black cargos, tight long-sleeves. hair up and out of your face, braided or slicked back, always ready for a fight. you don’t like perfume, but you’re militant about deodorant. you’ve got a whole rant ready about it, and toji’s heard it at least fifteen times.

when you finally start getting serious—knife tucked into your boot, water bottle clipped to your bag, watch set five minutes fast—he’s already packed you breakfast. sometimes it’s leftovers. sometimes it’s a protein bar and an apple. sometimes it’s a whole sandwich because he knows you’ll skip lunch if things get dicey. that’s the thing about being toji’s girl: you’re never leaving the house unfed.

you grumble when he walks you to the door, squinting at the rising sun like it personally offended you. shiu’s already out front, tapping his watch like a smug little bastard.

you roll your eyes. toji does too. “dickhead,” he mutters. you smirk. and then, always, always, he says it: “call me if you need anything.”  you nod. “I mean it. help, food, ride, someone’s face punched in—call me.”

“I know,” you say. and you do.

you’re awake now—eyes sharp, movements clean, shoulders squared. the mask is back on. the girl who never misses a shot. who never runs late. who never lets anyone see her bleed. he loves her, too. but he especially loves the version of you who drools on his pillow and talks to him with your morning breath. who shuffles into the bathroom for a handful of seconds, forgetting what you even needed in there, who steals his clothes and stabs him in the kidneys with her toes under the covers. he never meant to fall in love with you. but he did. hard. and for once in his life, he’s not sorry about it.

suguru looks at you like you hung the moon with your bare hands. like the mere fact of your existence is a miracle that he’s unworthy of witnessing—but still gets to wake up to every single day. his love isn’t loud. it’s not brash or performative. no, it’s reverent. like worship. like prayer. like the kind of thing you kneel for. but don’t mistake quiet for passive—because his love is consuming. from the moment he met you, it bloomed in his chest like wildfire, and it took everything in him not to let it swallow you whole. he knew you were skittish. you flinched at dependency, floundered when anything felt too soft, too needed. so he was gentle. patient. devoted.

he chased you, but never cornered you. he adored you, but never overwhelmed. until one day… you let yourself want him back. let yourself need him. not just tolerate the idea, but cherish it. now? now you don’t just let him take care of you—you thrive in it.

mornings with suguru are quiet symphonies. always the same, whether the sun's up or not, whether there's a blizzard outside or birdsong at the window. his kisses—those feather-light things on your neck and shoulders—are always the first thing you feel. sometimes, they tickle. sometimes, they melt you. every time, they anchor you. the way he wakes you is an act of love. an offering. he murmurs sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, presses his nose to your jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again. it’s not performative—it’s ritual. because waking you up is sacred to him. he always gives you enough time. enough space. enough stillness. before suguru, you’d yank yourself out of bed like it owed you money. now, you rise slowly, curled in his arms, his warmth a tether. he makes sure there’s time for the both of you to exist together, unhurried and whole.

you hate the cold—but he kind of loves it. loves the way you cling to him in oversized sweaters and mismatched socks, trailing him like a ghost with cold feet and sleepy eyes. you wrap yourself around his middle while he brushes his teeth, lean back into his chest while you brush yours, half-asleep and adorable. he ties the back of your hoodie when the string gets stuck. he presses vitamins into your palm without a word. watching you take care of yourself has become his favorite show. doesn’t matter if your hair’s wild or your makeup’s half-finished—he watches you like you're magic. because you are.

and when you blush under the attention, flustered or a little grumbly—he only smiles. because that stage-light feeling, that spotlight you hate? he’ll soften it for you. dim it, until it just feels like a warm sunbeam you can bask in. suguru doesn’t just admire you—he tends to you. dresses you if you’re too sleepy to do it yourself. asks you quiet questions in that low morning voice of his—just to hear your sleepy replies. “how’d you sleep?” “want tea or coffee?” “you still love me, even with bedhead like this?” (he already knows the answer. he just likes the sound of you saying it.)

you used to dread mornings. used to drag yourself through them with caffeine and survival instincts. now, you’ve adopted his routine. slow. intentional. loving. breakfast is never skipped. you sit at the kitchen table in one of his hoodies while he scrambles eggs with one hand and keeps the other on your knee under the table. you talk—sometimes. sometimes you don’t. but it’s never awkward. just peaceful. familiar. and when it’s time to go? he insists on driving you. every time. even if he has nowhere to be. even if it’s an hour out of his way. even if you protest.

he shuts you up gently with a scarf wrapped around your neck, tugging it snug so it covers your mouth before you can argue. “you don’t inconvenience me,” he says, looking at you like you personally hung the stars. “you’re the whole reason i want to leave the house.” suguru geto teaches you that love doesn’t have to be chaos or ache. that needing someone doesn’t have to hurt. that mornings can be soft. that you can be soft. and every day you wake up like this, in his arms, in this bubble of quiet love—you start to believe him.

mornings with gojo are kind of a shitshow. they are not peaceful. they are not organized. they are not quiet. they’re a mess. but the kind you almost look forward to. a domestic battlefield, all tangled limbs and laughter. not elegant, but real. and weirdly sweet.

the first alarm doesn’t stand a chance. it’s silenced before it finishes the first note. gojo smacks his phone off the nightstand without opening his eyes, groaning something unintelligible as he drags you closer, burying his face in your neck like he's trying to go back in time. you're no better—clinging like your life depends on it, legs twisted around his like ivy. if one of you has to get up first, it feels like mourning.so no, you don’t get up the first time. or the second. and by the third alarm, you're already running late.

it’s chaos. blankets kicked off the bed. hair wild. clothes half-on, half-lost somewhere in the room. you’re tossing his uniform at him from across the bed while he’s in the bathroom, already wetting your toothbrush with one hand and brushing his own teeth with the other—finger-brushing, because his actual toothbrush is nowhere to be found. you don’t even question it anymore.

you swap places, brushing your teeth while he fumbles for deodorant, and he pinches your cheek like it’s some kind of reward for being cute. you swat him away. he just laughs, mouth full of foam, and then kisses your forehead anyway. two seconds later, he drops your moisturizer into the toilet. you shriek. he kisses you again before getting smacked on the hard plane of his chest.

shower time is not optional—not when you’re always getting home so late from missions or parties, one thing or another, you keep each other busy. you’re already so far behind that arguing over whose turn it is feels pointless. so you both squeeze in, barely dodging elbows and shampoo bottles, and immediately start bickering about who used the last of the conditioner (it was him). he gets soap in his eye. you nearly slip trying to rinse your face. it’s not graceful. it’s not romantic. but it’s yours. and honestly? it’s kind of perfect. you’re drying off with a towel that’s definitely damp from yesterday, grumbling softly about how he never does any laundry. 

getting ready is a two-person operation. he zips your jeans while you wrangle your mascara. you straighten his blindfold, then redo it because his “I did it cute” actually means “I did it crooked and wrong.” he brushes your hair while you slap on moisturizer (the toilet water was scrubbed off religiously), catches the jacket you toss over your shoulder without even glancing. it’s not impressive anymore. it’s just normal.

downstairs, he starts the coffee while yelling up, “don’t forget your phone again, I’m not turning around!” you shout back, “you forgot you whole ass wallet twice last week, satoru!” he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like surrender.

you throw toast in the toaster. he pulls leftover pizza from the fridge, eats it cold off the plate. you steal a bite without asking. he lets you. the toast pops and hits the floor. he shrugs and you share it anyways. there’s no such thing as a smooth exit. you’re hopping into your shoes, still tugging on your jacket, while gojo fumbles for his keys that are somehow already in his hand. and before you can open the door, he’s there, pressing you back against it, arms around your waist, nose tucked under your jaw.

“you smell too good,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your skin. “I can’t walk into school like this. I’m gonna die.”

“then maybe stop sniffing me like a bloodhound,” you mutter, but your voice is soft. you don’t actually want him to move. he kisses you once, then again, just below your ear, because he knows exactly what that does.

“we are so fucking late,” you sigh, pulling away with effort.

“we are,” he agrees, not the least bit concerned, a corner of toast still sticking out of his mouth.

you steal it. eat it. smile. because yeah, you're always late. and yeah, it’s a mess. but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. you’re together. and somehow, that’s always enough.

mornings with ino are always a little...cluttered. not in a bad way. just in a way that feels like him—shoes untied, hoodie wrinkled, a bag half-packed with yesterday’s receipts and a granola bar he forgot to eat. a little chaotic, a little late, but somehow still endearing. somehow still yours.

you, on the other hand, are his opposite in almost every way. precise. polished. the kind of woman whose alarm only has to go off once. who showers every morning without fail, who lines up her skincare bottles in order of use, who styles her hair neatly and brushes her teeth with an electric toothbrush that charges on a little glass stand. you're not uptight about it—you’re actually quite gentle—but your routine is sharp, crisp, efficient. it works for you. and, in turn, it works for him.

because even though ino is a lifelong lover of the snooze button, he's gotten better about mornings. mostly because of you. you don’t demand he change, but he wants to see you before the day pulls you both in opposite directions. he’s slower to get up—body warm and heavy with sleep—but he always rises. sometimes with a groan. sometimes with a yawn so big it makes his jaw crack. but he sits there, criss-cross on the bed, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you glide across the room, already moving through your mental to-do list.

you float. that’s how he sees it. all grace and direction, even as you’re talking out loud to yourself, running over the day’s checklist. you’ve packed your bag already, and now you’re packing his—mumbling about mission protocol and check-in times, slipping clean socks into the side pocket of his bag because he always forgets. he barely hears the words. he’s too busy watching you, soaking you in.

and then, like clockwork, he reaches out and catches you by the arm, halting your momentum with a tug that turns into a hug. a tight one. a grounding one. his arms loop around your waist, chin on your shoulder, and he pulls you into the kind of embrace that slows time. you pretend to protest—hands flailing against his chest, muttering about how tight your schedule is—but you don’t mean it. you never do. you fold into him like you were made to, nose pressed to his neck, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. he loves that he’s the only one who can get you to pause like this. that he can bring you down to earth with a single pull.

eventually, though, the moment passes. you straighten up, clear your throat, and suddenly you’re back in motion. back to telling him he cannot be late again today, nanami’s going to have his head if he strolls in like last time, and he better not forget his water bottle again either. you’re pulling his usual shirt out of the drawer—wrinkled, because it’s his, and he doesn’t fold things—and his boots are already waiting at the door. you’ve done half his prep without thinking, and he’s already halfway in love with you for the thousandth time that morning.

he gets dressed with practiced ease, catching up to your pace as best he can. you’re at the mirror now, checking your planner while sipping from your water bottle. he leans in the doorway for a moment, just watching. you’re organized in a way he’s never been, maybe never will be. and still, you’ve never tried to fix him. never tried to change the way he exists in the world. instead, you’ve just carved out space for him inside your calm, careful life. you’ve made room for his clutter, and he’s tried—quietly, earnestly—to keep from taking up too much of it.

breakfast is a shared effort. some days, you’re up earlier and you’ve already got eggs on the stove. other days, he insists on doing it, even if that just means microwaving rice and scrambling some eggs while you’re tightening your laces. there’s something primal in him—some quiet need to provide for you in any small way he can. he knows you don’t need him to, not with the way you handle yourself and the world like it’s second nature. but he wants to. just like he wants to be the one to bring you your coffee, even if you’re always the one who remembers to buy the coffee grounds. and you let him. that’s the part that gets him. you let him be messy. be flawed. be himself. you don’t organize his chaos—you just wrap your order around it. and he does the same. a little give, a little take. a quiet rhythm. a partnership.

by the time you’re both slipping into your shoes, double-checking your gear and grabbing your phones, he’s alert enough to match your stride. a little disheveled. a little behind. but not by much. just enough to still be ino. just enough to remind you that no matter how different your approaches may be, you fit together. somehow. and every time you open the door to leave, his hand finds yours. because while you’re ready for the day, he’s only ready if he’s walking into it beside you.

choso has never been a morning person. not even close. alarms were things to be ignored—suggestions at best, insults at worst. he’d been infamous for burrowing deeper into bed, refusing to get up until the last possible second. if yuuji wasn’t banging on his door, he wasn’t moving. but that was before you.

now, you sleep in his bed—your side always tucked, your phone charging at the exact same spot on the nightstand every night, your alarm set to go off at a reasonable time (not three snoozes past). and for reasons choso doesn’t fully understand but absolutely cherishes, your presence has shifted something in him. that piercing morning ringtone no longer signals agony—it signals that you’re awake. that you’re there. and that’s enough for him to stretch, groan a little, and roll out of bed.

he still isn’t graceful about it. you are. always have been. the type to wake up and start—quick to stand, quick to brush your teeth, quick to open the blinds and let the light in without mercy. at first, it threw him. you were so... together. your skincare routine looked like a ritual. your outfits were folded. you ate real breakfast and made to-do lists that had subcategories and little stars. and you loved him, this walking heap of tangled hair and forgotten socks, who lived out of a laundry basket and called cold pizza a food group.

in the beginning, it was rough. his mess got under your skin. the sheer entropy of his life felt like a direct attack on your peace. but somewhere between his sleepy mumblings and the way he always remembered your coffee just the way you liked it—even if he couldn’t remember where he put his own shoes—you adapted. you didn’t give in, didn’t lose your order, but you started distinguishing the kinds of messes. the ones that could stay. the ones that made you smile a little, because they were his. and choso, to his credit, learned too. learned which of his disasters stressed you out and which made you mutter under your breath before softening at the sight of him trying to fix it. now, mornings look different.

when the alarm rings, he’s still not thrilled—but he gets up. because you do. because he likes following you. there’s something sacred about being just one step behind you in the morning, watching you go through your routine like clockwork. he showers first, picking up the shirt you laid out for him the night before. notices how you’ve stacked his vitamins by the sink, folded a small towel just for him. he brushes his teeth lazily behind you as you do your hair, your reflection focused, brows slightly furrowed.

you’re talking. you always are in the mornings. half to him, half to yourself. running through everything you both have to do: meet with some jujutsu higher-ups, check in with yaga, lead the first years through drills, and then later, he has a solo mission. you make him swear, hand on heart and soul, that he’ll keep in touch during it—text you updates or you’ll kill him—and he nods solemnly, the toothbrush still in his mouth. you’re already scribbling the grocery list on the fridge notepad while flipping the eggs you’re somehow managing not to burn. he doesn’t understand how you do it all. how you can look so put-together with your morning voice and bedhead, still blinking the sleep out of your eyes. but he sees the details—the little imperfections that most would miss. the way you leaned into him before the sun came up, drooling a bit on his shirt (which he’d never bring up—maybe). the way you secretly liked his warmth, even if you always said you had things to do. you act like you’re immune to his mess, but he’s caught you smiling at it more than once.

he loves that. loves that his sharp-as-a-tack, painfully organized girlfriend makes time to cook him a full breakfast even when she has ten places to be. loves that you care. that your chaos isn’t external like his—it’s controlled, carefully hidden, but he knows where to look for it. and he cherishes every moment you let it show. by the time he’s dressed and ready, you’re already packing your bags. he kisses your temple, mumbles something low and grateful, something that sounds a lot like I don’t know how I got this lucky. and you roll your eyes, smack his shoulder, and tell him to hurry up, or we’ll be late again. choso is still chaos. still half a storm. but now, his favorite part of the day is waking up and realizing he gets to weather it with you.

kento isn’t really a morning person. not in the usual sense—not because he dislikes them, but because his nights are always far too long. between missions, paperwork, and the ever-looming weight of responsibility, sleep is often a luxury. still, the second his alarm so much as whispers, he’s up. responsible to a fault. you, however, are already stirring beside him.

you don’t need to be up yet. you could easily steal another hour or two. but there you are, yawning like a sleepy kitten, soft-eyed and blinking at the too-bright room. a drowsy smile pulls at your lips, and nanami covers it with his own in a kiss that lingers longer than it should, considering his schedule. “go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your cheek. but you never do.

he knows why. time with him is precious—rare, rationed like sunlight in a long winter. if it were up to you, you’d follow him around all day, clinging to his side like a koala. and if it were up to him? he’d let you. he’d carry you through the dullest meetings, the longest train rides, the most irritating bureaucracy, if it meant keeping you close.

mornings are slow, quiet things in your shared home. you pad into the bathroom after him, still half-asleep, rubbing your eyes and bumping gently into his side as you lean on him. he steadies you with a hand at your waist, fondness blooming in his chest at the sight of you so undone by sleep. it’s a side of you few people ever see. but he sees it every day, and it never fails to make him ache with how much he loves you.

you don’t talk much this early. mostly just let him murmur about the day ahead—checking in with gojo, supervising the first years, writing up reports that he knows no one will read. the mention of missions makes your body tense ever so slightly. he notices. he always notices. so he pauses. turns to you. brushes a hand along your jaw and swears, like he always does: “I’m always safe. I’ll always come home to you.” your brow relaxes. you nod, brushing your teeth with half-hearted effort, still swaying slightly with the weight of sleep. you lean against him, and he lets you, anchoring you with an arm around your shoulders as you both move to the closet. he lets you pick his suit, because he knows it perks you up. you take it seriously, even in your pajama shorts and socks with the little frills. he watches you squint at ties like you’re choosing between life and death. he says nothing, lets you have this moment, this ritual, this say in his day.

“you know,” he says, just like always, buttoning the shirt you chose, “you can sleep in. you don’t have to wake up just for me.” but you wave him off, as always. and secretly? he’s glad you don’t listen. he likes seeing you like this—sweet and docile, blinking up at him with half-lidded eyes, still caught between dreams and reality. it does something to him, knowing that he is the one you choose to wake up early for.

he watches you zone out in front of the coffee pot, you nearly nod off while washing your face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, steadying you with a low chuckle. some mornings, when time permits, he tucks you back into bed. presses kisses into your hair. tells you he’ll be back before dinner.

and then, hours later, when the chaos of the day tries to wear him thin, he opens his lunch and finds your note. scrawled in sleepy handwriting, letters just a little crooked, maybe even a smear of peanut butter at the corner.

I love you. be safe. come home to me. he reads it twice. tucks it into his jacket pocket like a sacred artifact. it stays there all day. tired or not, mornings have become nanami’s favorite, despite how he used to hate them. because you're there.

yuuji has always been a morning disaster.. in a “toothbrush hanging out of his mouth while he drools into the sink, one eye open, pants backwards, tripping over his own feet” kind of way. megumi was always the gold standard of functioning morning people. yuuji remembers those old sleepovers vividly—megumi, freshly showered and dressed, out the door by 6:45; and yuuji, still horizontal, trying to figure out how to open both eyes at the same time. they weren’t even in the same time zone. he used to think that’s just how mornings were. a battlefield. a struggle. something to survive, not enjoy.

the first time he stayed over, it was innocent—too many movies, too many snacks, both of you too tired to do anything but collapse into your bed, limbs tangled. he woke up expecting to panic, expecting the usual mad rush, the existential dread of being late.

but instead, he woke up to you. still half-asleep, your face smushed against your pillow, hair everywhere, wearing his oversized hoodie with the sleeves bunched around your hands, looking soft and warm and so painfully pretty it made his chest hurt. the sun spilled across the sheets in lazy ribbons and for the first time in his life, yuuji didn’t mind being awake too early. 

now, your room feels like a second home. maybe even his first. every inch of it is you—from the polaroids strung across your wall (many of them of the two of you, caught in grinning, blurry moments), to the sketches you doodled in class and couldn't bear to throw away if they were of him. there's the stuffed bear he won you at that fair when he definitely cheated at ring toss but still swears he didn’t. there’s the faint scent of your perfume on his old hoodie that you “borrowed” months ago and never gave back. it’s messy, but intentional. soft, but lived-in. like a physical manifestation of how he feels when you hold his hand in public—completely, irrevocably wanted. and the mornings? absolute chaos.

yuuji snoozes the alarm three times because being the big spoon is a full-time job. he likes to pretend he’s shielding you from the cruel, cold world outside the covers. it’s not heroism—it’s self-indulgent comfort.

eventually, you groan, stretch, and whine about being late. but it’s not angry. it’s not urgent. it’s familiar and funny and lazy in a way that makes yuuji smile into your shoulder. you're no better in the mornings than he is, most of the time. your hair is a battlefield, you accidentally wear yesterday’s socks more than you’ll admit, and you forget what day it is at least twice a week before your first sip of tea. but it’s all endearing. you’re endearing. especially when you make an attempt to pull it all together.

you’re both stuffing things into your backpacks, grabbing half-packed snacks, checking to make sure you didn’t your notes again. you both try to tame your appearances just enough to not look like complete disasters in front of yaga—though that never stops him from lecturing you both about punctuality like it’s a religion and you’ve committed high blasphemy.

but the chaos is beautiful. you are beautiful. and this morning mess you’ve made together? it’s everything to yuuji. he watches you comb your hair with exactly one functioning brain cell, still half in dreamland. sometimes you accidentally drinking out of his water bottle instead of your own, and when you sheepishly apologize, he just shrugs and says, “you literally used my toothbrush on accident last week, babe. we’re past the point of no return.” and you know he means it—yuuji doesn’t care about any of that. he cares about you.

every morning, without fail, he kisses you. sometimes it’s quick, sometimes it’s deep and syrupy and a little over-the-top. either way, it gets nobara groaning, waving her hands in front of her face like she’s trying to physically block out the pda. “save it for after missions,” she grumbles, bonking yuuji on the head with a textbook. but he doesn’t care. he never cares.

because there was a time, not too long ago, when he didn’t have this. when mornings were lonely and frantic and nothing special. but now he gets to wake up late and warm and in love, with someone who understands him, matches his chaos, and still somehow makes him feel like the luckiest idiot alive. you’ve integrated him into your life so effortlessly it makes his heart ache. you’re wrapped around every corner of his day. he sees you in his notes, hears you in his music, tastes you in every sweet bite you sneak into his lunchbox. and in the mornings—when he’s drowsy and soft and honest—he thinks, I never want to wake up without her again. and that thought alone? that’s enough to get him out of bed.