#a good tag to track my responses

[docholligay]

So for all of you who think nothing matters:

We have a local, I guess I'll call it an events complex. It's where concerts and the fair go. It's owned by the city.

When Trump started the whole ICE thing, our commissioner sent a letter to the local representatives, telling them they could use it as a detention center for illegal immigrants. Our event center. Where the 4H kids show their fuckin' lambs.

"The fuck you will" was the resounding reply.

So, when I talk about coalition-building, and working with people you do not agree with or maybe even like, this is what I'm talking about. There was an immediate and vocal show of disapproval, from all sides. We all contacted people we knew would dislike this, REGARDLESS OF HOW THEY FELT ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. The meeting was packed with people yelling at the commissioners. Of all political stripes. Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Prairie Populist, Independent.

Some were, of course, the tumblr-style arguments about inherent humanity, but--I think more compellingly if you're actually trying to put the pressure on--there were questions of, 'How are we gonna get paid?" "Are you aware of how, as the only event center for more than two hours, much fuckin money this brings into the community? ANd that immigrants of all types make up less than 2% of the population of the entire state?(my argument), "Do we trust the government to pay us?", "Isn't there a fuckin' empty prison in [town about an hour from here]? Are you just being a kiss-ass?' (offered up by a man I know to be very conservative indeed. BUT HE DID NOT WANT OUR SPACE USED FOR THIS) and, an argument that was so good I was infuriated I didn't come up with it, "DO you think the bank is gonna want to be known as the sponsor of "National bank Detention Center?" (Which caught on and the bank had to offer up a letter saying how they hoped the commissioners would use the event center as intended.)

They folded. A letter came out a few days ago from the manager of the event center, saying it was decided that the events center would rescind the offer, as "more acceptable alternatives could be found." They blinked.

That's the thing. All that happened is that a bunch of people got mad an went to ONE TWO HOUR MEETING. It changed everything.

SHOW. UP.

[apostle-therock-peter]

"welcome to america" by lecrae is the closest a mainstream christian musician can get to anarchist christian/socialist christian/communist christian without people noticing because they're just grooving to lecrae's masterful flows and the epic beats and "this couldn't happen to me" etc etc etc

[0rainy0muses0]

🐦︎ Noel Tag Drop 🐦︎

🐦︎ IC, 🐦︎ Pale Reflection: Noel, 🐦︎ Verse: Good For You ~ Main, 🐦︎ Verse: Lifeboat, 🐦︎ Verse: Don’t Lose Ur Head, 🐦︎ Verse: The Point of No Return, 🐦︎ Verse: In my Dreams, 🐦︎ Verse: My Shot

🐦︎ OOC, 🐦︎ Pale Reflection: Noel, 🐦︎ Aesthetic, 🐦︎ Asks, 🐦︎ Character Analysis, 🐦︎ Crack, 🐦︎ Dollmakers, 🐦︎ Headcanons, 🐦︎ Music, 🐦︎ Musings, 🐦︎ Visage

🐦︎ Oh Emperor My Emperor: Belos, 🐦︎ Abomination Coven Head: Darius, 🐦︎ The Owl Lady: Eda, 🐦︎ The Responsible Twin: Emira, 🐦︎ The Fun Twin: Edric, 🐦︎ Illusion Track: Gus, 🐦︎ House Demon: Hooty, 🐦︎ Nag Nag Nag: Kikimora, 🐦︎ Weirdly Endearing: King, 🐦︎ Traitor: Lilith, 🐦︎ That Strange Human: Luz

[unproduciblesmackdown]

payoff of being embedded in a unit of authoritarianism since birth is sure then being able to go like "wow this is just like dynamics & phenomena i experienced up close & personal, repeatedly, in many contexts & configurations in my first two decades of life" plus also beyond that in abuse culture world & the noncoincidence that even interactions beyond the confines of the home(tm) reinforced / did not contradict the hierarchy & concomitant abuse within....but then like hey yeah also the Larger Units of hierarchy & abuse / authoritarianism (ft. their logics & practices necessary for continuously & continually shoring up that hierarchy) can also make it like hey yeah the Two Parent abusive nuclear family more like the Two Party [the US is also a one party state but in typical american extravagance they have two] where right wingness is defined by the degree of directly embracing white supremacy & "left wing" is "anything else" hence like wow The Left is always infighting (everyone with any ideas besides "umm christofascist white ethnostate?" so like yeah there are many other ideas) vs The Right's admirable cohesion (simply re: the white supremacy idea which also necessarily embraces all other Out Group / Nonperson paradigms & practices b/c that's what all already has been necessary for shoring up the [when has the US been a nongenocidal non white supremacist non oligarchy])

like obviously individual experiences & contexts vary but like narrowing in on [the Family as immediate relations ideally cordoned off into nuclear households] ft. [Parental Authority the top priority of which is preserving that authority, ideally patriarchal, an abusive mother e.g.? hey, that ought to be the father] times it's like, think people tend to struggle re: having the "nicer" / "safer" parent who was also shitted on as well but also at the end of the day would always side with the "meaner" "more dangerous" parent, even in whatever terms most sympathetic to the abused parties, with the underlying logic that we're always just going to have to deal with them so some secret strategic mitigation is the best that can be done, perhaps the equivalent of being sent a ":(" after an Onslaught Of Expressed / Enforced Authority(tm) event....the tendency to see the best in any lack of actual intervention / protection on the assumption That Could Never Happen Anyway & forever At Least that the one parent isn't as bad as the other [the Not That Bad / Could've Been Worse infocation, like free bingo square in manifestations of minimization if not outright abuse denial] & all the sympathy for, you know, being human & doing their best(tm) &c which sure might all be true but the abused parties (oft children, more vulnerable than adults, by virtue of being children i.e. considered legal property of some specific adults & theoretical property of any adults in general (the paternal logic in any "protect [xyz]" like maintain one group's supposed ownership / control over [xyz] "for their sake" then? great) & also generally smaller & newer at being alive in this world) but who are liable to not extend that sympathy to themselves (or certainly not be extended that sympathy....when is "they're doing their best / they're only human / they mean well or whatever / they love you, they're family" successfully deployed the Thwart an abusive parent like it is to tell an abused child to not be too resentful of this situation, when is it actually deployed toward the abusive parent at all really. & again in the lack of boundary between the authoritarianism within many individual family households & that of the state they exist in (here re: the US) like that naturally one encounters the logic of abuse expressed just as "common knowledge" & the Assumptions of other people, e.g. the rejection of a parent having zero access to a child, the reinforcement of automatic apologia deployed for whatever a parent could possibly do, argued for "family", yet not deployed the same way to automatically defend anything thee child(tm) could do, thinking emoji lol....see: like the non boundary between [the Patriarchal home/family(tm)] & capitalism when uh oh capitalism the system of continuously maximizing exploitation Needs various forms of labor to be unpaid, uh oh another lack of boundary when white supremacy is used to also shore up the patriarchy that shores up the white supremacy, e.g. that even if in some "inferior" class it's treated as More Important that at least you're not that And black, the theoretical ideal/normal white man is a person while a white woman is a woman while a black woman is black, white women could have any legal property via chattel slavery which needed white women's participation to help enforce, the specter of sexual violence all coming from nonwhite & especially black men & it's up to the genteel white man to Protect Women (see prev, implicitly white or you'd have to specify otherwise)

anyway that is to get around to pointing to the Two Parent System wherein so shockingly the results are the same as the One Parent System re: abuse maintaining The Family (properly, i.e. unquestionable & certainly undeniable parental access to children, & "ideally" ofc again the patriarchal Father as ultimate authority w/ownership over the Mother, who in turn is theoretically honored for that motherhood (at least you own your children, insofar as it doesn't contradict w/what the father wants to do with his superior claim to ownership) & then finally all the obviously shittiness from being in that position in a patriarchy is in turn dumped on The Children who are ungrateful & owe the mother everything Because of what the broader society & immediate personal expressions of that abuse have done to her. see also ofc that two adults likely don't have the resources to raise a child in time or money or energy, maybe there's only one but also even an extended family's worth of adults aren't enough, is it enough when a child is sent to school for some other adults to be in charge most of the day, or even if someone is hired to look after them beyond that, all this ofc with the assumed premise that a child is always limited to the various Domains of The Adults In Charge, & from there i segue into how naturally being in gay baby jail unless & until adults are no longer recognized as Legally In Charge Of You (the grand like 5 minutes it's relatively been since the ideal timeline of a woman's life wasn't being legal property of her father until asap passed along to legal property of her husband. still considered ideal ofc but like with "maybe you can have a bank account" now & "maybe you can become 29 before you're in Old Maid danger" Maybe, i said, Maybe....anyway that obviously adults(tm) being divided up (atomised. spritz) into Households isn't even supposed to be enough to live on their own, re: necessitating Marriage, much less uh oh having kids who are stuck with their parents who are stuck with them, but then all the obvious actual problems & abuses inflicted on Adults to have to have their family households & exploited jobs are dumped on the children who Must appreciate & be loyal to the parents (i.e. never Deny Access) while yknow kids have Fake Problems they're whining about, the one Real Problem of having to pay a bill gets the payoff of leverage to tell your children to shut the fuck up or perhaps the more vulnerable spouse

hm didn't segue right into "so shoutout to like The Ratchet Effect diagrams lol, the "Two" Party System where its supposed left wing Blocks Movement To The Left, right wing Moves Everything To The Right" but even that is like, mm, conferring a passivity to what democrats do in the continual movement to the right (won an election? lost an election? the lesson either way is The Right Is Right; exact same logic as in "winning or losing" "the war on crime" like the collection & analysis of whatever statistics show the trend of some "crime" is increasing in frequency or magnitude? show that it's decreasing? the lesson either way is Cops Need More Power) like the institutional effort of democrats to push a candidate nobody wants through primaries (did we even do that this time around. oh great that the assumed candidate even graciously agreed to not force themself as The Candidate, & now like 5 min left with the Next In Line candidate dumped on everyone now with the lesson for the left(tm) to shut up already lol) & then it's up to Grassroots Voters. it's up to Unity & well we all Need to listen to the white supremacists, points were made, in the "elections" with voting as limited as possible & with the electoral college & supreme court as Safeguards against democracy & here's the senate, eternally thus, & again the conclusions will always manage to be moving To The Right, paraphrasing from twitter like democrats are about to be or already at the point of "in the name of unity we will no longer be running against republicans; it's too divisive :(" which yknow is already The Statements of all of yesterday from various like "i'm the republican official white supremacy agree-er now" after also the entire campaign of "no, I'm the fascist" where like wow shocking that the appeal to the fascists didn't win a) the fascists who will ofc want the even more overt fascism, why wouldn't they or b) the people who want antifascism actually, and do not want fascism; who could have foreseen? & it's always the fault of being Too Antifascist for the actions of the fascists or the Diplomatic Comprimises the other party makes with the fascists &/or their Failure to thwart them....the Nicer, Safer party in power is surely doing their best & at least they're not the Meaner, More Dangerous one but at the end of the day they'll always side with that party over america(tm) & those bearing the brunt of the actions of State Power can be told to keep their chin up or else to stop acting out b/c how do you expect that state power to respond, cmon, you bring it upon yourself, & you Have to work with them & understand all their feelings & your role in resolving those feelings by being lesser inferior property, you do Have to understand, b/c in the end this is All About Family, surely Good & Necessary, whoops i mean in the end this is All About America

anyway yeah i'm like damn my "nicer" (also shitty) father who was also the even more sexist & racist (& certainly no Less ableist, queerphobic) parent was basically the democratic party of the Two Parent System of Family Government lol. b/c we Need to perpetuate this Family, no other logics much less actions are acceptable....& people struggling with the Parent / Adults in their life like that who were the "safe" & "protective" ones who markedly failed to protect & minimized the harm afterwards but also in general, never to confront the reality of the situation, or do damage control like "aw some points were made at all :( ah i see you have Feelings about this :( hmm yes the Parental Power is gonna have to make some changes" & then as soon as possible (assuming reeling in the party who was deviating too much) these changes(tm) are already compromised or diminished if done at all, & then oops things incrementally might be right back to how they always were, no guarantees it won't be Worse b/c the Power is even more insecure / aware of weaknesses, & the only way this is thwarted is if the Wayward Parties can actually leverage new boundaries / less vulnerability, not b/c the supposedly sympathetic parties, who never came through where it counts & likely would also become overt antagonizers / wielders of whatever power within the Family hierarchy / turn on the more vulnerable parties to Get Them In Line, actually came through. movement Away (more disruptive to the maintenance of The Family, The State) is blocked, incrementally only ever moving everything back, & then Further....& despite this being what the power structures are, & do, the Disruptive parties liable to be scapegoated lol, can't believe the scapegoat child is ruining everything for everyone, this Family would totally improve & start being everything it could be otherwise & we ignore who actually has the power & is actually enforcing the hierarchy harming everyone to point to that scapegoat; can't believe thee left is destroying america (republican voice) can't believe the left is destroying america (democrat voice) So You See? The Undeniable Consensus. just like how i believe it was my fault my family unit was Like That & i had those experiences, according to the vast majority of Input from that family & even others who, knowing nothing, would say how Lucky i was to be relatively close to home, or just of course that oh well parents love their children & mean well & try their best. just like how i believe that being treated like i've been generally as a neurononconforming person, i.e. hated & the interpersonal abuse & bullying & ostracization & [attention possibilities: ignored, responded to but negatively, interacted with to get something from] & actually rewarding interactions or just actions being liable to get Deluxe authority responses as disruptive(tm) & ofc disobedient(tm) like hell fuckin yeah lol. just as i don't think that other people who have similar experiences or ones i don't have, i.e. assessed race being automatically seen as wrong / inferior, being isolated & undermined from all around? well gotta be their fault then, cmon lol....Abuse is actually normative, not extraordinary, in every Arena of interactions, & so are the logics / apologia / assumptions

anyway lol re: like yeah people struggling with the like betrayal of the "nooo i'm on your side, i sympathize, i'm the one who's nicer & you Need so that things aren't even worse" party, not even One Big Novel betrayal, but rather that that's what's Been done the whole time & doesn't stop. that supposedly if you have Any sympathy for that party you have to be like aw :( keep doing your thing (necessarily reining everyone in) or if you have Any sympathy for the people who also want things to improve but blame & take it out on the more disruptive parties (more disruptive to an abusive family e.g., btw. & not like i see Cohesion as necessarily some Good rather than neutral? when i'm autistic / my existence is supposedly antithetical to this? or when i'm able to look at a zillion hypothetical or actual situations & recognize how "cohesion" isn't the best goal / a destructive one / a vague concept anyways like cohesion Between Whom? on what basis? recognized & pursued how? why? up next: same as vague shit like "family" or "community" &c) then it's like yep gotta be Responsible for their feelings too if you're at all sympathetic & capitulate, The Only Possible Action, vs the idea of those in power actually making things shit stopping, much less being stopped / having to stop in the various ways that can happen....one way being "oh no, adult children who choose to be no-contact with parents" which is seen as A Tragedy, & sign of a Deteriorating Society, take me back. ah jeez oh no, look at the divorce raaates....Oh No, twentysomething women aren't pursuing marriage enoughhhh....again the undetectably identical echo when people peak vaguely talk about "conflicts" that thwart "community" or whatever, ugh nobody will date anymore, commit anymore, be friends anymore, hang out as coworkers anymore, talk to me if i want to talk to them anymore, &ccccc....

the real tl;dr is like wait ""two party"" (one party) US electoral system, just like ""two parent"" maintenance of thee family lol. ratchet effect raise your hand if you've only ever experienced Movement Away from the abusive family blocked, forever incrementally ratcheted back in to the desires & pursuits of those most in power / top of the hierarchy / thus of course most invested in the abuse, that's what the power & hierarchy is made of, sustained by, perpetuates....sorry doing our best :( sorry that's just all that's realistic, no other choice Really. cmon. kind of Your Fault if you don't agree to that & whoops now Everything is the fault of whoever doesn't agree & cooperate enough :( now look what you've done & brought upon yourself :( & we'll just forget the eruption of violence suppression happened & will happen again & be the overhanging threat all in the meantime

[valyvinny]

╰┈➤ ❝ Love and deepspace boys *:･ﾟ✧*: Losing control ❞

PAIRING : Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader and Xavier x reader GENRE : Soft smut WORD COUNT : 2.6k TAGS : MDNI 18+ NSFW, kissing, making out, grinding, dry humping, allusions to sex, rafayel is implied to be in heat, back scratching (only is sylus') A/N : PHEWW, I know I said that the next piece of writing may take a while but I also have no self control lol. Though this time I promise its gonna take a hot minute cause final year med school exams are kicking my asssss. Also, I didn't expect my previous piece to do as well as it did. Thank you all so so much for reading it and I hope you enjoy this one :)

The lads boys can't help but lose control around you

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Caleb

Caleb is addicted to your lips. It’s almost like he’s making up for the years he’s spent abstaining from you, littering fleeting pecks throughout the day. 

Caleb just can’t seem to help himself. He’d always kiss you hello and goodbye. He’d kiss you good morning and good night. 

He was always so gentle with it, tucking strands of your hair behind your ears before cupping your face in his palms, holding you like you’re made of glass. Afraid that with one wrong move, you’d break. 

He’d take his time to admire your features. Features that he’s cherished and adored his whole life, that he can probably draw out from memory. Your expressive eyes gazing at him in anticipation, the plush of your inviting lips, the dusty pink hue that’s settled on your cheeks.  

You were his entire world and he could only hope you’d be able to feel at least a fraction of what he felt for you and how much he treasured you in the way he kissed you. Soft and tender. Pouring all the passion he could as he moved his lips against yours. 

But perhaps most infuriatingly (not really, you secretly loved it), he’d often kiss you mid conversation. A light peck to stop you in your tracks. It was his trump card, especially when you were scolding him for something. And it worked every time, it always seemed to melt you into a puddle 

“You just look so adorable when you’re talking to me pip-squeak” he’d say, laughing at your display of annoyance. But the fact that you we’re fighting off a smile said you felt otherwise. 

But when he had the time to indulge himself in you, it was an entirely different experience. An entirely different Caleb. The duality of your childhood friend always gave you a whiplash. 

He’s pulling you close to him, savoring the feeling of your body against his. You’re caged against his imposing form and whatever surface he’s crowding you against this time. You’re pinned, completely at the mercy of the man that’s yearning for your touch. 

Caleb kisses you with the hunger of a thousand men. His kisses are feverish, demanding, ravishing every corner of your mouth like it’s the first time. He bites down on the plush of your bottom lip, taking you by surprise. 

“Sorry”, he breathes. But he isn’t really. Not when the sound of your wanton moans sends tingles down his spine. God, how did he get so fucking lucky. Having you here like this, so pliant and needy in his arms is his version of heaven. 

The feeling of you carding your fingers through the strands of his hair, tugging at the roots makes a filthy groan escape from his lips. You’re going to be the death of him. 

You’re impatiently pulling his lips towards you again, and it only spurs him on further, pressing one bruising kiss after another, leaving your lips swollen. All the while his hand is sneaking up your shirt to feel the intoxicating warmth of your body. 

You rarely ever stop him when he gets like this. You know he needs it, needs you. And you want him too. Desperately. So you take a hold of his hand and guide it lower, Caleb’s eyes darkening in response. It’s safe to say that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Sylus

Sylus is subtle with his affections, it reflects in his gentle and otherwise discrete mannerisms. 

The silver haired man has made a habit of kissing your hand in greeting.

“My lady”, he’s tease, smirking at the your cheeks tinged pink and your defiant pout. 

Occasionally, he’d press a kiss on the top of your head and interlace his fingers with yours. Other times, he’d wrap your hands around your waist, guiding you through noisy crowds. 

However, behind closed doors, your proximity was a drug to him. 

He’d rarely, if ever, be apart from you and your lips. Once he had you against him on his bed, perched on his lap, you’d be better off clearing your schedule. 

Sylus could spend hours savoring the touch of your lips against his. He’s a sensual kisser. Taking his time to draw out every moan, every whimper he can draw from you. 

He’s slow, concentrating first on your upper, then your lower lip, your mouth moving against his in tandem with a rhythm that comes with practiced ease. He’s thoroughly infatuated with the way you move against him, seeking more of his touch. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, before entangling his fingers in your hair, angling your face just right for him to kiss you deeper, while his other hand is wrapped against your waist leaning you against the headboard. 

It’s intoxicating. You’re drowning in the presence of this man, and with each kiss, you only want to sink deeper and deeper. 

His kisses are numbing. Your lips tingling with how much they’re being ravaged by his, but you don’t want it to stop. In fact, you want to break his resolve further. 

So you pull out his shirt that’s tucked neatly in his pants, your hand snaking up his back, feeling the muscles flex underneath your fingertips. 

You rake your nails across his back, the sting making the silver haired male shudder in response, satisfied at his break in composure. 

“You sly minx” he chides, black tendrils of his Evol emerging to bind your wrists over your head, freeing him to continue his offense. 

Each press of his lips steals your breath away, leaving you completely drunk with need, until the only thought consuming you was the man in front of you. 

As the minutes tick by, Sylus is emboldened with a new sense of ferocity and intensity as you find yourself grinding against his thigh, desperate to ease the growing warmth in between your thighs. 

And if you were willing to, he’d be very happy to indulge you, give you everything you want and more. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Zayne

Zayne is a sensible man. His logical reasoning and quick thinking, even in the most critical situations, is what makes him the most sought after Cardiothoracic Surgeon in Linkon. 

He’s very rarely swayed by his emotions. But that also means he comes off as cold and unfeeling to the people around him. 

Not to you though. Never to you. Zayne is the warmest presence in your life.

In the midst of all his responsibilities, you are his reprieve, a breath of fresh air. When he has you to himself, the doctor throws all sense and reason out the window. You are his ultimate weakness. 

You are his to worship. The need he feels for you is indescribable. It consumes him, swallows him whole, until he starts to let lose any remaining restraint that holds him back from you. 

The way Zayne kisses you can only be described as reverent. He takes his time with you. Worshipping you. 

Kissing featherlight kisses up your jaw, his lips just barely brushing your skin, trailing them to just beneath your ear, before tugging at your earlobe with his teeth. 

You shiver in response, angling yourself towards him, trying to press more of yourself to him in hopes that he will relent. 

But Zayne is in no hurry. Not at all. He wants to watch you unravel under him. Bit my bit until you’re completely pliant. 

He wants to be selfish with you. So he continues his ministrations, peppering kisses down your throat, feeling the vibrations of your hums and huffs with his lips. 

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open now, Zayne’s gentle but lethal movements sending a flush of warmth down your body. You need his lips on yours, you need it like you need air. 

“Please Zayne…kiss me” 

How could he deny you when you begged him so sweetly? 

The sight of you so debauched with just a few simple touches sends Zayne into a frenzy. It pleases him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you. 

So he relents, giving you what you want and kissing your lips, while you sigh in relief. Finally. 

Zayne kisses you with intent. His hands are at your hips, squeezing slightly as he devours the moans that leave your lips.

He moves his hand to touch your face, earning a surprised gasp from you, your eyes shooting open. His fingertips are icy cold. Only then do you notice, there’s frost creeping up his neck and hands. His Evol is responding to you. 

But Zayne pays it no mind, he’d die before ever causing you harm. So he grazes your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, gazing into your eyes while nodding reassuringly. 

“I’m okay” he’d confirm before he captures your lips again, this time with renewed vigor, determined to finish what he started. 

He’s everywhere all at once, and you find comfort in each other’s kisses, touches and presence. Allowing yourselves to get lost in each other further into the night. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Xavier

Xavier is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His unsuspecting and otherwise modest appearance only serves as a facade, concealing his genuine desires. 

While he comes off as quiet and unassuming, the truth is far from it. 

He can’t help himself. You’re his. The hunter wants you next to him at all times, kissing him, touching him, loving him. He wants your undivided attention on him, selfishly so. 

It always starts out so innocent. He’s pulling you into his embrace, kissing the tip of your nose in greeting. 

“Hello my star” he says, as you giggle under his affection. And God his heart clenches at the sound. It’s music to his ears. 

He repeats the action, then tenderly peppering kisses all over your face. Your forehead, the apple of your cheeks, the dip of your chin and the corner of your lips. Over and over again until you’re reduced into a fit of laughter. 

“Xavier, it tickles” you whine, with no real complaint in your tone. 

He ceases his playful gesture, only to wrap his hands around your waist, picking you up and placing you on the dining table with practiced ease. 

You often find yourself in this position. Perched on a surface with Xavier spreading your thighs, finding his rightful place between them. 

He’s burying his face in your neck, brushing his lips against your thrumming pulse. The sound of your breath hitching in response makes Xavier smile against your skin. He’s got you exactly where he wants you. 

“My light, can I please?” He asks, pleading for your permission to spoil you.  

You find it very hard to deny the hunter, especially when you know what usually comes next. And you want it so bad. Want him to come undone and take you for himself. You’ve never stopped him before and you’re most definitely not going to stop him now. 

The breathy ‘please’ that leaves your lips is all the confirmation he needs as he dives to nip at the nape of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm as he swipes his tongue along the line of your pulse. You throw your head back in response, inviting him to take more of you. 

Xavier worries the skin in between his teeth, sucking and tonguing at the spot until he’s satisfied with the dark splotch that blooms in its place. 

He continues a similar onslaught across your collarbone and throat, leaving you hissing at the delicious sting. 

The hunter trails his lips up your throat, finally connecting his lips with yours. He kisses you like a man starved, encouraged by the sight of the dark purple marks he’s left decorating your skin. 

It satisfies a primal part of him, knowing in a way, he’s claimed you for himself. 

He’s greedy for you, and isn’t ashamed to show it. Pressing chaste kisses one after the other, barely giving you a second to catch your breath, swallowing the lustful moans that threaten that leave your lips. 

And as his hand squeezes the fat of your thighs, edging his fingertips higher to the warmth that sits between your legs, you know that you’re not leaving his apartment until you’re absolutely ruined. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Rafayel

There’s only two things that Rafayel needs to survive in this world. One is his art, the second is you. The merman is needy and he isn’t ashamed to show it. 

Sometimes, it’s difficult to get anything done when the Lemurian is around. He’s practically glued to your side, sneaking kisses to your cheek, wrapping his hand around your waist and nuzzling into the nape of your neck.  

You aren’t complaining though, you find it endearing when he’s all pouty and clingy.

And then there’s Rafayel when there’s an insatiable need growing under his skin that he just can’t seem to itch.   

When he gets like this, you’ve learned to surrender to his mercy. That’s how you find yourself currently perched on his lap. 

His gaze is intense, half lidded eyes staring you down like you’re his prey. He’s breathing heavier than usual, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. 

“Raf, are you okay?” You question worryingly. He’s burning up, you can practically feel the heat emanating from his skin. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel takes a hold of your hand, placing it on his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. It’s not enough though, he’s growing more restless. He needs more of you touching him. 

On instinct, the merman turn his face to bite at the fat of your palm, laving his tongue over the skin. When he hears your breath hitch, he breaks. 

With all semblance of reason now completely disregarded, Rafayel grasps at your neck, pressing your body into his eliminating any space between the two of you. 

His lips are on yours in an instant, and your hands are in his hair, tugging at his waves as he nips and sucks at your lips, bruising them. 

“Y/n…” he groans. His voice dripping with lust, brows knitted as he struggles to catch his breath. 

You look up at the merman. He looks positively ruined. His shirt is in disarray, hair standing up in a hundred different directions, lips swollen. And his eyes, there’s a storm brewing behind them, having darkened considerably. 

You’ve never seen him like this. Rafayel’s always been playful, using his humor as a front to his true feelings, always keeping you at arms length. 

But right now, he feels so raw. Trusting you with his deepest desires as they erupt to the surface. 

Seeing him like this, so open, so vulnerable makes heat pool between your legs. You want him, God no you need him. So you crash your lips onto his with fervor, matching his frenzy with new determination. 

Rafayel is loud. He doesn’t hold back, reacting to every press of lips, every pull of hair, grinding himself against you to relieve at least some of the tension built up in his pants. 

His tongue is swiping at your bottom lip, begging for permission which you grant without hesitation. It’s wet and messy, one hand kneading your thigh, the other playing with the button of your jeans. 

It’s all a well choreographed dance then, motions you’ve been through many times. But somehow this moment feels different, a tangible electricity in the air. You have a feeling the Lemurian isn’t going to let you go until he’s had his fill of you. 

© valyvinny. All right reserved. Do not steal, copy, translate, repost or reupload any of my works. Do not use my work for AI

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Max's ducklings

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot with the rookies. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The first time you jokingly referred to the rookies as yours and Max’s ‘kids,’ it had been just that—a joke. A harmless, offhand comment made while watching Kimi tail Max through the paddock like a lost puppy. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but then Gabriel had started tagging along too, and soon, Oliver was trailing after them both.

It became a running gag between you and Max. Every time you saw one of them lingering near your boyfriend, you’d nudge him and whisper, “Your sons are waiting for you.” Max would roll his eyes, grumble something in Dutch under his breath, and pretend not to care. But over time, the joke started feeling a little too real.

You were the one who noticed it first. Max would casually check on them in the garage, making sure they had everything they needed. He’d offer Kimi a few words of advice about tyre management, remind Gabriel to stay out of trouble on the track, and even critique Isack’s qualifying performance like a strict but well-meaning father. And it wasn’t just them—Liam, Oliver, and Jack, who had already taken their first steps in F1, had somehow joined the ever-growing group.

“They’re not my kids,” Max insisted one evening after a race, arms crossed as you teased him about it. “They’re grown men. They don’t need parents.”

You smirked, sipping from your drink. “Oh, really? Then why did you tell Kimi not to overwork his tires like that again? And why did you give Gabriel that pep talk about confidence? And why did you tell Isack to ignore the media when they criticized him?”

Max scowled, grumbling into his beer. “They’re just young. They need guidance.”

“They need parents,” you corrected playfully. “And, like it or not, you’ve become a dad.”

Max groaned dramatically, but he didn’t argue.

The paddock caught on quickly. Social media was soon flooded with memes about ‘Papa Max’ and his ‘ducklings.’ A particularly viral post had an edited picture of Max and you, your faces photoshopped onto a mother and father goose, with Kimi, Gabriel, Isack, Liam, Oliver, and Jack waddling behind you. Even Christian Horner joined in on the joke one day, patting Max on the back and saying, “How’s fatherhood treating you?”

You expected Max to brush it off, maybe even get annoyed. Instead, he just sighed and muttered, “Exhausting.”

The real shift came after a particularly rough race weekend for Isack. He had made a mistake during the race and spun out, leading to a wave of criticism online. Pundits started questioning if he was even good enough for F1, and some of the comments were downright cruel. Normally, Max stayed out of these things. He rarely engaged in media debates that didn’t involve him directly. But that day, in the middle of a press conference, a journalist brought up Isack’s struggles, asking Max if he thought the young driver was cut out for the sport.

Max’s response was immediate. “Isack is a talented driver. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. It’s easy to sit behind a screen and criticize, but racing at this level is incredibly difficult. He’s learning, like all of us did when we started.” He leaned forward slightly, gaze sharp. “Maybe people should stop expecting rookies to be perfect and let them grow.”

Your phone buzzed almost instantly with messages. ‘DAD MODE ACTIVATED’ read one from Lando. Another from Liam simply had a bunch of crying emojis.

When you saw Max later that evening, you couldn’t help but tease him. “I think that was the most dad-like thing you’ve ever done.”

Max groaned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You defended him like a protective father.” You wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I think deep down, you love your little ducklings.”

He huffed, but there was no real irritation in it. “I just don’t like seeing young drivers get ripped apart when they’re trying their best.”

You grinned. “Uh-huh. Sure. And next, you’ll be giving them bedtime stories.”

“If they stop making stupid mistakes, maybe.”

From that moment on, Max stopped fighting the joke. He still pretended to be exasperated when the rookies stuck to him like glue, but he never turned them away. When Liam had a tough weekend, Max was the first to check in on him. When Kimi finally had a strong race, Max clapped him on the back and muttered, “See? Told you it’d come.”

One day, as you watched the six young drivers standing around Max, hanging onto his every word as he gestured animatedly about car setups, you smiled to yourself. He’d never admit it, but Max had fully embraced the role.

Later that evening, as you two walked back to the motorhome, you leaned into him with a grin. “So, how does it feel to be a dad?”

Max groaned, shaking his head. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder toward where the rookies still lingered in the paddock. “Fine. Maybe… maybe it’s not so bad.”

You grinned, slipping your hand into his. “Our little family.”

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor!Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 , Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Angst, Fluff, & Eventual Smut

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost, who won’t admit it, gets a dog because when he’s not on assignments he gets lonely. His home feels terribly empty all by himself; the silence deafening, borderline painful. Adopted him from the local shelter, a German shepherd who he names Riley. Tells everyone that he needed a guard dog to protect his belongings when he’s not home, but everyone knows his prized possessions are far and few in between. Could hold all of them in his palms, carries them with him all the time anyways.

He trained Riley rigorously just like he did in the military. Treated him just as he did his trainees. Until he was obedient and well-behaved, listened to his every command. A perfect sidekick for him. Kept him company in his home that felt too large to be alone in. Always at his feet or curled into his side on the couch. A couch he probably shouldn’t let him on or bed sheets he shouldn’t be tangled in, but Ghost had a soft spot for him. Broke the rules for him because he was his dog after all, made the silence and loneliness a little bearable. Made his home a little more warm.

Riley who seemed to take a liking to you— the pretty bird who lived across the street. Made him think that maybe Riley was more like him than he realized; his own eyes had been drawn to you multiple times. He was usually well-behaved, didn’t approach strangers or jump on them for their attention. Ghost had trained him better than that. However, the first time he crossed your path on a walk, he pulled Simon by the leash, pressed his nose against your calf eagerly in interest.

You stopped in your tracks with a soft noise of surprise, “Oh! Well, hi there!” Your focus shifted to Simon, “Is it okay if I pet him?”

Simon hummed nodding his head in response. You gave him a small smile before squatting down eye level to Riley. Pet down his back and scratched behind his ears, Riley wagging his tail swiftly behind him, would probably purr if he was a cat. Dog hair covered your black shirt as he snuggled into your touch, but you didn’t seem to mind too much.

Cooed baby voiced praises to him that had him whining happily, “What’s your name, sweet boy?”

“Riley.”

“Riley,” You repeated softly, caused him to bark loudly in response. Snickered quietly at the noise, “Nice to meet you too, Riley.”

“Sorry, he doesn’t usually bug people like this,” Simon apologized, tugging on his leash lightly to pull him away.

You stood up at that, shaking your head, “Don’t worry. I don’t mind at all he’s a sweetheart.”

“Got dog hair all over ya now.” Gestured to the hair decorated on your clothing.

You exhaled a chuckle, brushing the fur off as best you could, “No worries, I live up the block. On my way home, anyways, just on a run.”

“Think I might live across from you. Moved in a couple months ago, but haven’t really been around.”

“Oh, yes! Wondered who lived there for a while now,” Held your hand out for him to take, “Nice to finally meet you.”

Riley whined when Simon pulled him away, tried to follow after you when you continued your jog. Sat and watched you run away despite Simon’s tugging or lack there of.

After that there wasn’t a day they didn’t run into you. Simon always woke up too early, military sleeping schedule beat into his mind. Didn’t have pleasant enough dreams to keep sleeping most nights anyways. At least that was the excuse he created in his mind to validate his actions.

Maybe Riley was his wingman, pressed his nose against your calf every time he passed you. Caused you to stop and greet them both, gave Riley endless pets and scratches before you turned your attention to Simon with a pretty smile. Drenched in sweat and frizzy hair from running, but each look from you had his mouth drying. Didn’t care that he wore a balaclava, didn’t even ask, chose to focus on his eyes instead.

It became his favorite part of his days, looking forward to the small interaction he would have with you. No matter how insignificant it was, but nothing seemed to be that way with you. Asked how he was, how did his day go yesterday, and how was Riley doing? How was work? Tiring, of course. Maybe you should sleep more instead of waking up so early!

He would if he could, but then he wouldn’t get to see you. His pretty neighbor, too sweet for her own good.

The only other time he got to see you was through your windows in the evening. It’s not like he was watching you, really, he wasn’t a stalker. He just so happened to be by his living room window everytime you came home from work. 6 o’clock on the dot, 5 on Fridays, started your weekends early.

Watched you slip out of your car, different sundress every time, dressed just like a pretty doll. Flowy and ruffled, hid your figure well enough. Didn’t flaunt it, but he knew what was underneath it all. He had seen your silhouette through the dimly lit curtains, shadows of you peeling layers off to shower.

Simon wasn’t a pervert, he wasn’t desperate for these small glimpses every night. But didn’t you know you should be more careful sweetheart? There were perverts out there, you were lucky he wasn’t one. He only kept looking to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

The evils of other men that you never brought home. No boyfriend in sight. Never stayed out late, even on weekends. Stayed snuggled on your couch or cooked for most of your free time. A proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy.

Cooking he wanted desperately to try, spent hours in your kitchen preparing god knows what. It’s not like Simon would even know what you were making, his countless store bought meals buried in his trash were evident enough. Hoped he might get a taste one day, melt on his tongue because he knew it would be delicious.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar rather than enjoying the warmth of your home and cooking. So he cherished what he could get, the small greetings every morning, and the clockwork of watching you every night. Even if Riley wanted more.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation wc: 17k spotify playlist series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“What do you mean you’re just ‘giving up’?”

“Satoru, calm down.”

“Oh, calm down? You expect me to calm down when you’re just letting whoever threw all this shit on Y/N, my son just…free? You’re really not going to look harder?”

Satoru huffs in a frustrated manner, rubbing his hands through his hair, and messing up the silver locks. When he was called by his parents so early in the morning to come to their place, he thought he would’ve been greeted with good news. Any news. Not this. He not only feels immensely annoyed, but also thrown under the bus. But what else was supposed to expect from them? He’s pacing the living room, his parents standing off to the side and watching their only child try not to lose his shit. 

“Satoru, we’ve all looked into this. But whoever took that picture was smart, they knew how to stay hidden. We’ve done everything in power, son.” His mother tries to placate him, holding her hand out in an attempt to gently plant it on his forearm. 

He promptly pulls away before she makes contact, fixing his mother with an icy look, lip curled up slightly.

“How convenient,” Satoru snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The all-powerful Gojo family, with all its influence, resources, and connections, suddenly can’t find one person? Spare me.” His pacing becomes more erratic, his steps heavy as if each one is an outlet for his frustration. 

His father finally speaks, his tone sharp and commanding, “Enough, Satoru. You’re not the only one affected by this. We’ve handled the situation as best as we could without escalating it further. Do you even understand the damage control we’ve had to do?” 

“Damage control?” Satoru lets out a bitter laugh, stopping dead in his tracks to glare at his father. “You’re more worried about your reputation than your grandson’s safety, aren’t you? Or Y/N’s for that matter?” 

His father narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously. “Watch your tone. You think we don’t care? Everything we’ve done has been to protect this family.” 

“Family?” Satoru scoffs, gesturing wildly. “If you cared so much about family, you wouldn’t just let this slide. You’d help me hunt them down, no matter what. But no, you’re just sweeping it under the rug like everything else, aren’t you?” 

His mother’s voice trembles slightly, though she tries to keep her composure. “Satoru, please try to understand—there’s only so much we can do without creating more chaos. We can’t act recklessly.”

“You mean I can’t act recklessly,” he mutters darkly, taking a step back from both of them. His jaw tightens as he looks between his parents, disgust and disappointment etched into his face. “You don’t get it. None of this is just about me anymore. It’s about Y/N and Koji. They didn’t ask for any of this, and now they’re the ones dealing with it.” 

His father sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want us to do, Satoru? Tell me, what more can be done that hasn’t already been tried?” 

“I’ll handle it myself,” Satoru growls, the fire in his eyes blazing. “You won’t. Fine. But I will.” Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and storms toward the door. 

Yamato’s hand shoots out, gripping his son by the elbow and effectively holding him in place. Satoru turns his head over his shoulder, matching his father’s death glare with one of his own—only it looks…scarier. 

The silence is palpable—disturbing. Akane stands half way in the middle, unsure if she should stop this now or let Yamato deal with it—deal with their son. She worries her lip between her teeth, brows furrowed together. 

“Satoru,” Yamato’s voice is low, firm, but the underlying tension cuts through the room like a blade. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a cold smirk, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t pull away, but his entire posture radiates defiance. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m talking to. The man who taught me that family comes second to pride. Let me go, Dad, before this gets uglier than it already is.”

Akane takes a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches out. “Yamato, please. Let him go. This isn’t the time to—”

“Stay out of this, Akane,” Yamato interrupts sharply, his focus never wavering from Satoru.

Satoru scoffs, the sound filled with disdain. “Of course. Can’t let Mom get in the way of the big, bad Gojo men, can we?” His tone drips with mockery, but his glare burns with genuine anger.

Yamato’s grip tightens, his knuckles white. “You think this is about me? About my pride? This is about you—your recklessness, your inability to see the bigger picture. You can’t solve everything with brute force, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smirk fades, replaced by a steely resolve. “And you can’t solve anything by sitting back and doing nothing.” He yanks his arm free with a sharp motion, the force of it making Yamato take a half-step back. “You’ve made it clear where your priorities lie. Don’t worry—I won’t let this ‘family legacy’ get in the way of protecting my family.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens, his expression unreadable. “Satoru, the boy is your family but not that woma—”

“Address her by name, Yamato.” Satoru steps closer to his father, the two at towering heights. Truly a frightening sight to an outsider’s perspective. “Or you and I are going to start having some serious problems.”

Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his stoic demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. “You think threats will get you anywhere with me, boy?” His voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s a distinct edge that betrays his frustration. “She’s the reason this mess even exists. She’s—”

“Enough.” Satoru’s tone drops to something cold, lethal. His cerulean eyes blaze with an intensity that could freeze anyone in their tracks. “You don’t get to disrespect her. Not when you’ve done nothing to fix this so-called ‘mess.’ Not when she’s been doing everything she can to protect my son—your grandson.”

Yamato stiffens, his brows furrowing. “Watch your tone.”

“I’ve been watching my tone my whole damn life,” Satoru snaps, his composure finally breaking. “But not anymore. You don’t get to sit on your throne and act like you care about this family when all you care about is the Gojo name. Koji and Y/N are my family now. Whether you like it or not.”

“You two aren’t married,” Yamato reminds his son, for what must be the thousandth time now. 

Really, Satoru’s losing his mind here. He knows that. He knows you two aren’t married. But he still feels an obligation towards you—the magnetic pull to protect you from outside scrutiny that could potentially harm you and Koji. So sure, you guys aren’t married. But that doesn’t change the matter of fact here. “And what if we were?”

Akane gasps, Yamato’s eyes visibly widening in surprise before lowering down to their normal state. His jaw ticks. “Stop, don’t make jokes like that. You’ve been promised to Himari for a while now.”

Satoru’s laugh is sharp, humorless, slicing through the tense air. “Promised? What century are you living in? I’m not some pawn for you to move around, Yamato.” His tone drips with disdain as he steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over his father. “You think a promise to Himari means a damn thing to me? I’ll marry who I want, when I want.”

Yamato’s composure wavers for the briefest moment before he narrows his eyes. “You don’t understand the importance of this arrangement, Satoru. It’s not just about you—it’s about securing alliances, protecting the legacy—”

“Legacy, legacy, legacy,” Satoru mocks, rolling his eyes. “Is that all you care about? Your ‘legacy’? Not your grandson, not the fact that your son is trying to do what you never could—actually be there for his family?”

Akane’s hands tremble at her sides as she steps forward, voice tentative but pleading. “Satoru, please. We only want what’s best for you—”

“No,” Satoru interrupts sharply, turning his icy gaze to his mother. “You want what’s best for you. Don’t twist it.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off their words. “Koji doesn’t need your ‘legacy.’ He doesn’t need your politics or your alliances. He needs a father who puts him first.”

“And Y/N?” Yamato retorts, his tone scathing. “Do you think she’s above this? She could be using you, Satoru. She’s a liability, dragging you—us into scandal after scandal. And now, with the boy—”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, cutting through the room like a clap of thunder. He steps even closer to his father, their faces mere inches apart. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s the mother of my child. She’s family. And I’ll defend her with everything I’ve got.” His voice drops, low and cold. “So go ahead. Keep pushing me. See what happens when I stop giving a damn about your ‘legacy.’”

Akane’s quiet, labored breathing breaks the tension, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she looks between the two men. The silence that follows feels deafening, and for a moment, Yamato looks like he might lash out—but then he takes a breath, regaining his composure.

“Fine, you’ve made your point clear,” Yamato finally says, his voice low and measured. “But don’t expect me to clean up the fallout when this all collapses around you.”

Satoru huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I won’t. I’ve learned not to expect much from you anyway. A man who cares more about sealing business deals than the own well-being of his family.”

Yamato glares, his jaw tightening once more, but he doesn’t respond. The tension in the room is suffocating, a silent battle of wills playing out between father and son.

Satoru doesn’t wait for his father to break. Instead, he turns sharply, heading for the door. Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder, his eyes steely. “You can take your promises, your alliances, and your legacy—and shove them. I’ll protect my family, with or without you.”

And with that, he slams the door behind him, leaving Akane and Yamato in stunned silence. The house rattles with Satoru’s exit. Akane slowly turns her head towards her husband, who is still staring at the spot their son once stood in. Her jaw clenches, French-tipped nails digging into her aged palms. “You…you’re breaking this family apart, Yamato.”

“It was already apart.”

That’s it. Nostrils flaring as she hastily stomps up to her husband and delivers a slap to his right cheek. His head shoots toward his left, unflinching. He doesn’t face his wife, even after he hears the sniffling come from her. 

The room hangs heavy with silence after the sharp crack of Akane’s hand meeting Yamato’s cheek. She stands there, trembling, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Tears well in her eyes, blurring the sight of her husband—unmoved, unshaken, and cold as stone. 

“You’re so blind,” Akane whispers, her voice quivering. “Blind to what really matters. Satoru…he’s slipping away from us, and you can’t see it because you’re too damn proud to admit you’ve failed him.”

Yamato remains still, his head turned, staring at nothing. “I’ve done what I had to do,” he replies, his voice devoid of emotion. “For this family. For its survival.”

“No,” Akane counters, her voice growing louder, cutting through the tense air like a blade. “You did it for yourself. You’ve always done it for yourself. The name, the power, the control—it’s all you care about. You don’t care about Satoru. You don’t care about Koji. And now…” Her voice cracks, and tears spill over her cheeks. “Now, you don’t even care about me.”

Finally, Yamato turns to face her. His expression is unreadable, a mask of stoicism, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of something in his eyes. Regret? Doubt? It’s gone before she can be sure.

“I care about this family,” he says, the words sounding rehearsed, hollow. “I’ve always cared.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Akane snaps, taking a step closer, her fists clenching at her sides. “If you cared, you’d see what you’re doing. You’d see that you’re driving Satoru away, driving us all away. You’d see that the ‘legacy’ you’re so desperate to protect isn’t worth a damn if there’s no one left to carry it. Aren’t you tired of this all?”

Yamato opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he simply stands there, his towering frame somehow diminished by the weight of her words.

“You’ve lost him,” Akane whispers, her voice breaking. “And if you keep this up…you’ll lose me too.”

She turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she retreats, leaving Yamato alone in the echoing silence of the living room. He doesn’t call after her. Instead, he stands there, the faint sting of her slap lingering on his cheek, and for the first time in a long time, Yamato feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him.

Satoru’s driving faster than he should back home, inhaling deeply then letting it go. He stops at a red light, too close to the white line of pedestrians. His phone sits in the cup holder before being picked up once more, eyes narrowing at the article he was looking at before he stormed on the pedal home. 

“Satoru Gojo and girlfriend Himari Nakamura spotted with Y/N L/N! Trouble in Paradise? Is this an end to Hitoru?!”

He bitterly scoffs once more when he sees the idiotic title to the even more idiotic article. Once again, an intrusive element to his already asphyxiating life. He knew meeting up with you to drop off Koji’s jacket might have been pushing it already, but for some reason…he found himself wanting to see your face and hear your voice. Even if it was just for a few short minutes. He hadn’t expected Himari to find him so soon, which was why he knew he needed to cut it short and keep his cool before anything unsavory happened. 

Because of shit like this. 

Satoru’s grip tightens on the wheel as he glares at the screen, the words blurring as his anger mounts. His chest feels tight, like the very air around him is too thick to breathe. The headline taunts him—Hitoru—the mockery of it all, the never-ending reminders of the mess he’s in. Himari’s name keeps appearing in connection with his, like some knot he can’t untangle.

Hitoru—the name they gave him and Himari when they were pushed together by their families, the perfect picture of a relationship built on top of strict obligation, not love. His fingers tighten around his phone, the familiar buzzing of frustration building in his throat.

He snaps the phone shut with a sharp motion, tossing it back into the cupholder. But the damage is done. The images of you, of Himari, of the scrutiny that surrounds them, keep circling his mind. It’s suffocating. He doesn’t even want to think about it anymore—about how you’ve been dragged into this mess.

The light changes, and he slams his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring as he speeds toward home. But even as he drives, his mind races—faster than the car, faster than his thoughts can keep up. He can’t shake the image of his parents, the look in their eyes, the silence that followed his exit. And now this—this new intrusion. It’s like he’s always on the edge of losing something, something he can’t even define anymore.

He turns off the road onto a quieter street, his heart hammering in his chest as he parks in front of the familiar house. The world feels too loud, the air too thick, and all he wants is for it to stop—for it all to just stop.

He grabs his phone again, his thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. He pauses, staring at it, then pulls his hand away, staring at the water in front of him instead.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself. There’s so much to fix, so many wrongs to right, but he doesn’t know where to start anymore. Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he knocks his forehead into the leather wheel. 

He wonders if you saw it already. Maybe you did, but maybe you didn’t. There’s a part of him that wants to text you to ask, and maybe even apologize. However, he’s not sure if that would be a good choice right now. He recognizes every little bit of you so easily, it’s startling. Maybe concerning?

The small downturn to your lips as you held back a frown and formed a smile, the pitch of your voice lowering in disappointment. The look in your eyes that glazed over with nothing but…betrayal? He cursed himself, eyes squeezing shut. 

You probably hate him even more now for not standing up for you as you would’ve liked—as he would’ve liked.  He’s starting to feel like his older self again, and he absolutely despises that. Fucking up and knowing it, but not fixing it up afterwards. He should’ve followed you back into your workplace and apologized for what Himari said to you, but he didn’t. He froze like a fucking idiot and in the end—chose another woman. 

Satoru’s forehead remains pressed against the steering wheel, the heat of it grounding him in the overwhelming rush of guilt and frustration. His thoughts swirl in chaos, a vortex of what-ifs and should-haves. Every moment he’d spent ignoring your pain, every opportunity to protect you he let slip by—it feels like he’s suffocating on the weight of it all. The truth is, he knows you too well. Better than anyone else ever could. And that makes it worse.

He can picture it so clearly: the way your lips had almost quivered before you plastered that smile, the way your eyes shifted, too tired to pretend anymore. He’s seen that look before, way more times than he’d like to admit. And it terrifies him now. Betrayal. Is that what he’d done? It was almost like he had carved a bigger wedge between you without realizing it, all because he couldn’t act fast enough, couldn’t be the man you needed. 

Did you still need him?

He slams his hand against the wheel in frustration, the sharp sound echoing in the otherwise quiet car. 

His phone buzzes on the seat beside him with a random notification, and instinctively, he grabs it, his thumb hovering over your name again. But no—he can’t. Not like this. Not when he’s this tangled up in his own mess.

What could he possibly say? 

He drags his hand over his face, muttering to himself. "God, what are you doing to yourself?"

Every time he tries to piece it together, another fragment of reality shatters in his mind. You’ve always been strong. You never asked for him to do more than what he could handle. But you’d been forced to handle so much already, and he... he’d let it all slip away.

Maybe you actually do hate me now.

He leans back against the seat, closing his eyes again, hoping for a moment of clarity. But the only thing he can hear now is the ringing silence in his head.

“Do you still love me?”

“…of course I do. I’d never stop.”

“Then why…why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“No, really. I’m—”

“Let’s go to sleep now.”

He actually feels like he’s going crazy. Snapping his eyes open. He’d never thought he’d be the person to hear voices from the past in his head, but now he’s starting to understand. His heart is beating faster than it should, mouth drying like the Sahara desert and his fingers are starting to feel fidgety. With a shaky, labored breath inward, he reaches for his glove compartment. Opening it and bringing out the picture frame you gifted him. 

It’s only been a few days, but Satoru has discovered that not just staring at his son, but at you, has calmed him down in his hardest of moments. 

Satoru’s fingers tremble as he holds the picture frame, his eyes drawn to the image of you. It’s a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of a time when everything was different. Your smile, your eyes full of a younger warmth and something more—something he wishes he could’ve seen in person. That smile, the one that always made his heart flutter despite the chaos surrounding them. 

It was just a small moment, a simple gesture—no grand speeches or dramatic declarations—but to him, it meant the world. And now, in the silence of his car, surrounded by the weight of everything he’d failed to protect, it’s the only thing that feels real.

He runs his thumb along the edge of the glass, his mind replaying the words from before—your words. His chest tightens.

“Why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

It’s a question he still can’t answer. How could he? He was so far from being the man you needed him to be. He thought the love you shared was enough, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d let it wither, neglected it in favor of his own responsibilities, his own distractions, until it had slipped through his fingers like sand. But in a way, he saw the neglect. And again, he froze. And again, he chose to turn away from you, letting you walk away. 

“Satoru... I know you are.”

He flinches at the memory of your voice, still so clear, still so piercing in its sadness. He'd heard the pain in your words that night. The resignation. He should’ve comforted you more—should’ve tried harder to. It was your own understanding that whatever you two had left, he wasn’t offering it in a way that could keep you whole.

The picture frame shakes slightly in his grasp. The noise of it is almost deafening, drowning out the chaotic swirl of his thoughts. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of guilt settle deep within his chest, heavier than anything he’s ever felt before.

I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.

His breath hitches. Maybe he wasn’t entirely lost. Maybe he could still fix this. 

With a shaky exhale, he sets the frame back on the seat, staring at it for just a second longer before slowly closing his eyes, and leaning back against the headrest, allowing the overwhelming weight of it all to settle over him. His heart rate evens out, his hands no longer jittering. His sweat has dried down and his shoulders feel lighter. 

Maybe he should apologize. For anything at this point, so long you know he’s regretful. 

He gets a ping at his phone again, one that has him reaching for it and unlocking it with quick ease. He’s set up a different notification sound for whenever you text him or call him—it separates you from the rest of the contacts. Also, it lets him know that your message or phone call is actually worth replying to. 

Y/N:

Can you watch Koji tonight, please? I’m going out with a friend. 

He hesitates, a wave of curiosity passing through him. What friend? Going where? He wants to ask, and he almost does. But logic wins over and he finds himself having better restraint than he would’ve expected. So, with a big inhale, he types back a simple ‘sure’. 

He blames it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you dressed up in a while. That’s why his mind has suddenly gone foggy, lips parted and eyebrows raised as if he’s on the very verge of saying something. “You look…” Edible. 

Clearing your throat, you stuff your hands into the pockets of the small black jacket you adorn to keep you semi-warm throughout the night. But it probably won’t do much considering your legs are on full display for everyone to see. Your white-painted toes peeking out from the black heels you wear. And not to mention, the red dress you’re wearing that’s almost too tight and short for his liking. You’re wearing a glossy red lip to match, hair down, and jewelry that stands out perfectly against your skin. If he inhales hard enough, he’ll smell the sweet scent of your floral, strawberry fragrance that always leaves him wanting—feining for more. 

“…nice.”

Nice? That’s all he could come up with? He mentally berates himself, though he’s not entirely sure if he wants to give you the satisfaction of knowing just how good you look. It’s not just the dress or the heels—it’s your unknowing confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. It’s infuriatingly captivating. 

“Thanks,” you reply, not meeting his gaze as you adjust the strap of your small purse. You’re not oblivious to the way his eyes linger, but you refuse to let it affect you. Not tonight, not anymore. “Koji’s already asleep, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Satoru nods, leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he finally asks, his tone deliberately casual.

You pause mid-motion, glancing back at him with a raised brow. “Why does it matter?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Just curious. I mean, you haven't gone out much, so…”

“It’s a friend,” you say firmly, cutting him off before he can push further. “That’s all you need to know.”

His lips thin, looking briefly at his son’s closed door before back at your figure; watching you grab your keys. “Well…how are you getting there?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“My friend and the guy she’s talking to are picking me up. We were going to meet him there, but he said he could pick us up instead.”

“What guy?” He can’t help but ask. “Is he a good driver? Do you know him well? Do I—”

“They’re picking me up,” you reiterate, cutting him off. Looking back at him, a plain emotion on your face. “I have it situated. Just worry about watching Koji, okay?”

The words sting more than he expects them to. He watches as you step out the door, your heels clicking against the pavement. “Please be safe,” he calls after you, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

You turn briefly, offering a small, polite smile. “I will.”

And just like that, you’re gone, leaving Satoru standing in the apartment, staring after you with a sinking feeling in his chest. The thought of you out there, dressed like that, with someone else—some other guy—makes his blood simmer. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but it doesn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him.

A few minutes and he decides to be nosy. Peeking out the window, looking down at the parking lot of the complex. He sees you getting into a car. Now, it’s not the fact that the entire car is blacked out so he can’t even see who’s in the car with you, or the fact that it has obnoxious lights on the rims. But solely the fact that it’s a Maybach. 

Since when do you know anyone who drives a Maybach?

Not that he’s trying to diss you or anything, but so far, he has no knowledge of you coming across any people who could afford that kind of car. Up until now. And that thought alone has him on edge. 

Or maybe it’s the signature, golden ‘Z’ emblem above the back license plate that he spots as the car drives off. His stomach turns. No. No. No. That couldn’t be. He’s just imagining that. 

No way you’re in a car with a Zenin right now. 

There’s just no way. 

“You look cute,” Hana comments, turning around in her seat. Smiling as she gives you a once-over. “Is that the dress we bought together that one time at the mall?”

“Yeah. You look great too,” you chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You glance over at Naoya who’s currently fixated on the road. “Thanks for the ride, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Naoya replies without taking his eyes off the road, his tone neutral but polite. “Hana insisted we pick you up anyway.”  

Hana grins, turning her attention back to you. “Of course I did! It’s been forever since we had a proper night out. You’ve been cooped up for too long, Y/N.” She gestures dramatically, earning a small laugh from you.  

“I guess I have,” you admit, glancing out the window as the city lights blur past. “It’s just been… a lot lately.”  

Hana’s smile softens, and she reaches back to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Well, tonight’s about letting go of all that. We’ll have fun, I promise.”  

Naoya glances at you in the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze lingering for a moment before he focuses back on the road. “Just make sure you don’t let loose too much,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smirk.  

You look over, seeing the corner of his lips upturned into what must be his permanent grin. You catch his eyes meeting you through the rearview mirror for a minute and it makes you feel naked. Clearing your throat and looking back at your window with an awkward chuckle. 

“Naoya, the overprotective chauffeur,” Hana jokes, earning a laugh from Naoya as he puts his hand on her thigh.  

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two,” Naoya quips, his smirk widening as his fingers give Hana’s leg a light squeeze. “Especially when you’re dragging her along into whatever chaos you’ve planned.”

Hana rolls her eyes, brushing his hand off playfully. “Relax, Dad. We’re just going out for a few drinks and some dancing. Nothing too wild.” She winks at you. “Right, Y/N?”

You nod. “Right. I’m not exactly a party animal.”

Naoya hums, clearly unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Hana waves him off.  He chortles a low, smooth sound that vibrates through the car. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just here to make sure my ladies get home in one piece.”

Your lips part in confusion, brows knitting together. You glance at him, but he doesn’t elaborate. Hana, ever the chatterbox, quickly fills the silence. “Well, lucky us, then! Who else gets a chauffeur who also cares about their well-being?” She leans over and plants a dramatic kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

Naoya laughs, but he subtly turns his head to the side and grimaces, wiping his cheek as if offended. You notice. 

The dynamic between them is easy and light, and though you try to relax, you can’t shake the feeling of Naoya’s lingering gaze every time he catches your eye in the mirror. There’s something unnerving about the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t. 

For now, though, you push it aside. Tonight isn’t about overthinking—it’s about having a moment to breathe.

But you shake it off, plastering a smile on your face as the car pulls up to the club. Hana claps her hands excitedly, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Alright, let’s get this night started!”

Naoya puts it in park and rounds over to the other side of the car, opening Hana’s far and surprisingly yours as well. Giving him a small nod in thanks, you go to loop arms with Hana, but she’s already doing that with Naoya. 

You falter for a moment, your arm awkwardly dropping back to your side. Hana is too busy chatting animatedly with Naoya to notice, her laugh ringing out as they start walking ahead. You follow a step behind, trying not to feel out of place.

The entrance to the club glows with neon lights, and the steady thrum of bass greets you as you approach. Hana bounces on her heels, her excitement contagious as she tugs on Naoya’s arm. “Hurry up! We don’t want to miss the good music!”

Naoya glances back at you, his sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You good back there?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Hana beams at you over her shoulder, oblivious to the moment. “Don’t let us leave you behind, Y/N! Tonight’s about you having fun too!”

“Right,” you murmur, falling into step beside them as the bouncer waves you three in instantly as soon as he sees Naoya’s with you. 

Inside, the club is alive with energy—flashing lights, pulsing music, and a crowd already losing themselves on the dance floor. 

In other words, it’s a sensory overload. The air is thick with the smell of perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and the floor vibrates underfoot with the heavy bass of the music that pulses from every corner. The dim, moody lighting casts long shadows across the room, but flashes of neon blues, purples, and pinks blink and fade in time with the beats, giving the space an electric, otherworldly glow.

To your left, a long, sleek bar stretches the length of the room, illuminated by LED lights embedded beneath the counter, giving it a cool, almost ethereal glow. Behind the bar, bartenders move with practiced efficiency, mixing colorful drinks, occasionally tossing bottles into the air as part of a flashy show to catch the attention of the crowd. The shelves of liquor gleam under the shifting lights, every bottle begging to be chosen.

The dance floor is alive with movement—a sea of people in various states of abandon, swaying, grinding, and throwing themselves into the beat. The DJ booth is elevated at the far end of the room, with an impressive setup of turntables, flashing screens, and a bright spotlight that shines down on the DJ as they command the crowd. Their hands are a blur as they adjust the controls, sending waves of sound crashing through the speakers, making the room feel alive with every drop.

Above, the ceiling is dark but dotted with small, moving lights that give the illusion of stars or distant galaxies, adding to the club’s otherworldly atmosphere. A few scattered tables sit around the edges of the room, reserved for VIP guests, and each one is surrounded by plush, velvet chairs and bottles of expensive liquor.

As you move through the crowd, you catch glimpses of people laughing, chatting, and flirting, but it all feels distant—like you’re part of the scene but not entirely involved. The club is packed, but there’s a strange sense of intimacy in the chaos as if everyone is trying to escape their real lives, if only for a few hours. The energy is intoxicating, but beneath it all, you can feel the weight of your own thoughts creeping back in, no matter how hard you try to let the music wash them away.

Naoya guides you two upstairs, which shocks you because you weren’t aware this spot has more than one floor. “C’mon, upstairs is where all the important people stay.” He says, his head tilting in the direction of where he’s referring. 

Hana giggles and practically bubbles with excitement. You on the other hand, not so much. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’re a very analytical person at heart, constantly checking and being sure of your surroundings. Of course, a few men pass you and Hana lingering stares, but none of them approach you. 

Naoya walks over to a small VIP booth that’s been blocked off, sitting leisurely down on the couch and bringing Hana down to his lap; her arms around his neck. You sit beside them, hands in your lap. Looking around, and yep, it definitely is a different vibe than downstairs. 

As you settle into the plush, velvet booth, the vibe upstairs feels even more exclusive. The lighting here is more subdued, with golden accents and low-hanging chandeliers casting a warm, luxurious glow over the space. The music from downstairs is muffled, replaced by a mix of smooth beats and more chill, electronic sounds, making the atmosphere feel like a blend of relaxation and quiet intensity. The view from the booth offers a perfect vantage point, allowing you to overlook the main floor, but with a sense of separation from the chaos. The air smells richer up here too—expensive cologne and the faint scent of cigars from the few people who seem to want a more private retreat from the crowd below. Glasses of wine and crystal-clear cocktails sit on the tables, adding to the upscale feel.

“All rounds on me. Let’s enjoy the night,” Naoya announces. 

“Thank you, babe!” Hana exclaims, nuzzling into his neck.  

Your eyes flicker to the other patrons in the booth with you. Some are laughing softly, holding drinks, while others sit in hushed conversations, the dim lighting making everything feel secretive and intimate. You can’t help but wonder if this is how the elite live all the time—an almost curated existence, designed for maximum enjoyment and minimal disruption.

A waitress arrives with a tray of drinks—various cocktails with elaborate garnishes, the scent of alcohol mingling with the floral air in the room. Naoya takes one without hesitation, handing it to Hana, who beams in delight. He looks over as if waiting for you to take one as well. You glance down at the assortment of drinks before finally picking up a glass, the amber liquid gleaming in the dim light. You take a small sip, the sharpness of the alcohol hitting your tongue as you try to keep your focus on the present moment, not letting your mind wander too far.

Naoya watches you with a raised brow, then leans back in his seat, his arm casually draped around Hana’s waist. He seems to enjoy the fact that you’re more reserved than the others. He chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be the type to go for the fancy drinks,” he remarks, his voice light but piercing as he studies your expression.

You give him a dry smile, shifting your attention toward the music pulsing through the speakers. “I’m not, but I figured it’s a good way to blend in,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation flowing without delving into anything personal.

Hana, always the life of the group, doesn’t seem to notice the tension hanging in the air. She’s already lost in the rhythm of the night, swaying her body slightly as she sips her drink. You, on the other hand, are a stranger in it all, unsure of your place here.

You’re don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s probably sooner than later when you’re nudging Hana over as Naoya is engaged in conversation with another man. “Hey, I thought we were going for the more…you know. Lively kind of night. Not a sit down and whiskey type.” You lace your words with a chuckle, though you speak the truth. You’d much rather be on the first floor, drinking expensive, but poorly made drinks and shaking your ass off on the dance floor with a bunch of strangers. 

“What’s wrong with being up here? Naoya said all the important people stay here.” She tilts her head, sipping from what must be her fifth drink already. She’s drunk, obviously. 

You’re teetering the line of tipsy and drunk. 

“Well, yeah, sure. But don’t you want to dance or something?” You ask back. 

Hana looks at you for a moment, her eyes softening with a thoughtful expression. She tilts her head, the buzz of the alcohol making her seem a little more carefree. “I mean, I guess, but I like the vibe up here more. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Her words are a little slow.

You glance down at your feet for a moment, debating your options. The temptation to be more carefree is there, gnawing at the edges of your mind. But as the music and voices continue to swirl around you, you feel more and more out of place in this sterile, high-class VIP area. You can practically feel the weight of the high-heeled shoes digging into your feet, the tightness of your dress that’s become slightly uncomfortable as the night wears on.

You shoot a glance toward Naoya, who's deep in conversation with some well-dressed man. His posture is perfect, the kind of poised confidence only someone like him could exude, while you and Hana are caught up in your own corner of the booth, the alcohol clouding your judgment but not your awareness. It’s strange to be so close to people who are so at home here but yet feel so far away.

“I think I’m gonna go dance,” you say, suddenly making up your mind. “You don’t have to join me if you’re not feeling it.” You stand, brushing your dress down as you do. Your legs feel a little unsteady, but it’s manageable. You’re not a newbie to drinking, after all. 

Hana looks at you, her gaze blurry but her smile still wide. “Go for it, girl! I’m fine here.” She gives you a thumbs up, though she seems too drunk to be fully aware of what’s going on around her.

You nod, and make your way down the stairs back toward the first floor. The music is louder here, the bass thumping through your chest as you walk toward the crowd of people already dancing. Normally, Hana would never shy away from dancing with you—or straying away from you during a night out. So the fact that she’s suddenly willing to tonight makes you feel weird. But it’s probably just the alcohol. 

You shake off the momentary discomfort, the need to blend into this world of expensive drinks and quiet conversations. This is what you came for.

The crowd is exactly as you expected—a mixture of sweaty bodies, neon lights, and the pulsating energy of a hundred people trying to escape their realities, if only for a few hours. You take a deep breath, letting the beat of the music invade your senses. For a second, you feel a bit more free.

You grab a drink from one of the servers, not caring much about what it is, and make your way into the center of the dance floor. The drink is cool in your hand as you take a sip, feeling the sharp burn of the alcohol before you set it aside, letting yourself be carried away by the rhythm.

The night is finally starting to feel a bit more like it should.

As you lose yourself in the music, the bass vibrating through your bones, you feel the tension in your body start to melt away. For the first time tonight, you're not thinking about the drama, the men, or the uncomfortable constraints of the VIP booth. The club is full of people, all dancing, laughing, and letting go of whatever worries they might have had earlier. You let yourself blend into the crowd, moving fluidly to the beat, forgetting about everything except the thrum of the music and the freedom in the space around you.

It feels nice. Very nice, in fact. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been to a club, let alone go dancing. You forgot how freeing it feels. Of course, the alcohol plays a role in the freeing sensation, but it’s also the fact that you can let loose. You don’t have to think of anyone else but yourself at this moment. That realization makes your lips upturn, hips swaying and eyes closing in a euphoric blissfulness. 

You can tell it’s been a while since you’ve been down here by the way sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck. You don’t wipe it off, however. That’s the whole point. 

But as you move, you can suddenly feel eyes on you. At first, it's easy to dismiss the sensation, assuming it’s just the way the lights play across the room, making everyone appear to be watching. But the longer you dance, the more you realize that someone is actually watching, their gaze sharp and unwavering. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Naoya.

His presence is unmistakable. Even amidst the blur of strangers, you can feel him like a weight in the air, his energy standing out amongst the crowd. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, his arms folded, his expression unreadable but clearly intent on you. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. Something about the way he’s staring makes your stomach flip, though you can’t quite tell whether it’s from excitement or unease.

You try to ignore it, but the discomfort lingers. You dance a little harder, moving to the rhythm, hoping the feeling will pass. But Naoya doesn’t look away. In fact, his posture shifts slightly, and the subtle smirk that plays on his lips only deepens. 

At that moment, you feel an unexpected shift in the crowd around you. You glance over, expecting to see some stranger encroaching on your space, but instead, it’s just the pulse of the music getting more intense. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that Naoya is watching you with something more than curiosity. His gaze is intense, too intense for a simple night out. 

The realization starts to gnaw at you. He’s waiting for something. And it’s not just the usual flirtatious attention. There’s a deliberate energy in the air, a challenge almost. 

You swallow thickly, trying to push the tension away. But it’s getting harder to pretend like you’re not aware of him, especially as you move.

“Having fun?” Naoya’s voice cuts through the noise as he approaches you, standing dangerously close, almost too close. You freeze momentarily, caught off guard by his forced proximity. He towers over you, the heat from his body radiating towards you, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s studying you, dissecting you. 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out, your mind scrambling for something to say, anything to break the intensity of the moment. Instead, your eyes dart toward the exit of the dance floor. You need space. But Naoya doesn’t give you the chance to retreat.

“You seem a little distracted tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as if they’re the only two people in the room.

You know he’s not just talking about the music. A part of you wants to pull away, to tell him you’re fine, but another part feels caught in his web. 

He leans in slightly, his voice nearly lost in the music. “I thought you’d be enjoying yourself up there. Why the sudden change of heart?”

You tilt your head, forcing yourself to stay grounded. “I just needed a change of pace, that’s all.”

Naoya looks you over with a raised eyebrow, his posture leaning just a bit closer. “I see.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “You’re not trying to forget anything, are you?”

You glance at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air for a second. Instead, he moves closer, his hand brushing against the small of your back. His touch is light, but there’s an intensity behind it, a pull that almost makes you lose focus. The air around you thickens, the moment stretching out longer than necessary.

“I’m just wondering how long you’re going to keep running away from what’s really bothering you,” Naoya murmurs, his smirk never faltering.

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His words—casual, yet somehow pointed—cut through the haze of alcohol in your mind. It’s strange how Naoya can make you feel uncomfortably exposed even when he’s doing the least. That’s not normal. 

“I’m not running from anything,” you say, your voice steady but your heart suddenly a little heavier. “Just enjoying the night, like you said.”

Naoya chuckles softly, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Sure, just enjoying the night. You do that.” He leans in closer, almost too close now, his breath brushing your ear. “But you should know, sometimes the thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you, no matter how far you run.”

You tense, your pulse racing, and for a moment, you wonder if he knows something—something about you, about Satoru, or maybe even about your own deepest fears. His hands are on your hips before you know it, moving your body in a swaying motion to the beat of the music. 

And for some reason, you let him. Feeling the weight of his ominous words stay heavy on your mind, fixating on a random tile of the floor. You feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, unmoving. For a second, you feel yourself give in. Placing your hands atop his in a hesitant manner—testing out the waters. 

And instantly, you’re met with your answer, a nauseating pit forming in your gut. Lip curling into a tiny sneer. 

“W-where’s Hana?” You blurt out, pushing his hands away from you and turning around to face him. 

There’s a momentary look of shock on his face before he pulls it back down into his usual Cheshire grin, though you can tell it looks more forced than usual this time. His eyes narrowed. “Oh, Hana? She’s still upstairs.”

“And you left her there?” You huff with disbelief, your head shaking. You attempt to side-step past him, but he’s putting an arm around your shoulder before you can go. 

“Don’t worry, pretty. I can lead you to her.”

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clouding your judgment or the lingering discomfort from his presence, but you find yourself stopping. His touch, warm but unnerving, keeps you in place as his arm wraps around you. His grip feels possessive in a way that makes your skin crawl, and for the briefest second, you almost feel trapped.

You glance up at him, his grin too wide, too knowing. There’s something in his eyes—something that doesn’t sit right with you. His words float in your mind like smoke: “The thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you tilt your head toward the stairs, where you know Hana must be waiting. “I think I’ll find her myself,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, and detached, though your pulse quickens.

Naoya’s eyes glint with something unreadable, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tightens his arm around your shoulder, his touch more possessive than before, making it hard to breathe. “I’m just trying to help, sweetheart. What’s the harm in me escorting you?” His voice is low, almost coaxing like he’s trying to pull you into his orbit.

Before you know it, he’s taking you upstairs. All the while keeping his arm around you. You gulp down the lump in your throat, unsure if you should push him off and let him take you to your friend. Maybe you’re overthinking—overreacting. Once you two are upstairs, he’s walking past the booths. You glance at the booth you were once at, seeing no sight of your friend. 

Panic trickles in slowly as he takes you down a small hallway, turning to his right and opening the last door. 

You’re taking in everything. Women, men, glasses of alcohol. Some make out and others getting frisky with each other. The room feels even more suffocating than the second floor itself. But your eyes don’t just widen at what the others are doing, but what your friend is doing. 

She’s sitting beside some guys you don’t even know, white snowy lines laid out in front of them on the glass table. She’s leaning down, holding a finger to her nostril and just about to partake in the activity when you snatch her up by her arm. “Hana! W-what the hell are you doing?!”

Hana looks up at you, her face slightly flushed and her eyes glazed over, an uncharacteristic haze of confusion settling over her expression as she blinks a few times. The room is full of murmurs, laughter, and the sharp scent of something far stronger than alcohol. For a moment, Hana doesn’t seem to recognize you at all, or perhaps she’s just too far gone to care. The men around her don’t react immediately, their attention is divided between each other and whatever else is happening in the room.

“Hana!” you repeat, voice rising in panic, shaking her arm a little more forcefully. Your grip is tight, and you can feel the tremor in your hand as the weight of the situation starts to sink in.

She blinks again, then her gaze clears just enough to focus on you. “Y/N?” she slurs, a small frown forming as she rubs her nose absentmindedly. “What’s up? I was just… having fun.”

“This isn’t fun, Hana!” You pull her up from her seat, your voice trembling as you yank her away from the men. “This is dangerous—what are you thinking?”

Hana stumbles a little, her movements sluggish, and she doesn’t seem to fully grasp the seriousness of the moment. She laughs softly, her words laced with a slur that makes it hard for you to hear her clearly. “Come on, Y/N, chill out. It’s just a little fun. You’ve been so uptight lately... you need to loosen up, too.”

Your heart races as you glance back at Naoya, still standing in the doorway, his hand resting casually on the frame. His grin is gone, replaced by a coldness that seems to make the room feel even more stifling. You’re left standing there, breath shallow, with Hana still swaying slightly in your grip. You don’t know how long it takes for the fog of confusion to lift from her eyes, but when it does, her face falls.

Your stomach twists, both from the overwhelming sense of protectiveness and the lingering disgust at what she’d been about to do. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You’ve been friends for too long to just let this go. You can’t leave her here like this—not with those people, not in this situation.

You pull her closer, your voice softening. “We’re leaving, Hana. Now.”

A beat of silence hangs between you, and for a moment, you think she might actually listen, but then she looks at you with frustration, and then back at Naoya, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“Why are you always trying to control everything, Y/N?” she snaps, and it feels like a slap to the face. “I’m fine. Just let me do what I want for once.”

It’s the final straw. You can’t stand it anymore. You’re about to pull her out of the room, about to drag her away from this mess, but Naoya steps forward, a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop. “Maybe you should let her be, Y/N,” he says, voice calm but his grip tightening on you. “She’s not your responsibility tonight.”

Your anger flares, but your mind is spinning too fast to catch up. You want to scream. You want to slap him across the face, but you know better. You can feel the weight of the situation settling in, and something about being in this room with him, watching everything around you spiral out of control, is making you lose your footing.

And Hana—she’s still there, looking so lost, so far gone.

You feel the pressure of Naoya’s touch on your shoulder, almost like an invisible barrier, stopping you from moving. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air heavy and thick with tension.

“Did you bring her in here? Did you force her to do things she couldn’t consent to?” You ask, forcing your drunken mess away for just a moment to deal with the situation at hand. 

His head tilts in faux innocence. “What? No. She said she wanted to meet my friends so I let her. I said I’d be back in a few minutes, I didn’t know she’d be doing anything like that.”

“But you still left her alone.” You grit. 

“So? She’s a grown woman. Besides, she’s not alone.” He gestures to the people inside. 

You can feel your heart racing, each word hanging in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating you more than the dense atmosphere of the room. Your chest tightens with anger and concern for your friend. The nerve of him—standing there, acting like he didn’t know what was happening. He knows exactly what’s going on, and now he’s just playing it off like it’s nothing.

“You still left her alone,” you repeat, voice sharper this time, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though every instinct tells you to look away. “If you had any decency at all, you wouldn’t have let her get to this point.” 

Naoya shrugs, an almost bored expression on his face, like he’s done this too many times to count and knows exactly how to make people like you back down. “Decency? You want me to babysit her?” His lips curl into that smirk again, the one that sends a chill down your spine. “I’m not her keeper, Y/N. She made her own choices.”

Your hands shake, but you force them to remain steady. You glance at Hana again, who’s swaying, her mind clearly lost in whatever she was about to do, her gaze vacant. The sight makes your stomach churn, the reality of how deep she’s gotten into all this hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“Then why did you bring her here?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. “Why even let her near this place if you knew what was going on?”

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you might have actually caught him off guard. But then his expression hardens, and the slight tension in his jaw gives way to a shrug. “Because she wanted to be here. She asked to come. I didn’t make her.” His tone is colder now, more dismissive. “You know, Y/N, sometimes people just want to let loose. You can’t control everything. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

You flinch at his words, and that’s when you know—you’re not going to get anything else from him. He’s already too far gone into his own ego, into this sick game he’s playing. But you won’t stop. Not when Hana’s here, not when she’s clearly in over her head.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, putting yourself between Naoya and Hana, your voice unwavering. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Naoya opens his mouth as if to argue, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab Hana’s arm again, more forcefully this time, pulling her away from the table. She resists at first, confused, but your grip is unyielding.

“Come on, Hana. We’re going.” You almost want to shout it, to get her out of there before anything else can happen, but instead, you keep your voice steady, calm, for her.

She blinks at you, her vision blurry. “But... Y/N... I... I’m fine, I just... I just wanted to try it...”

“No, Hana,” you snap, cutting her off before she can finish her sentence. “This is not you. You’re not fine.” 

The words hit her hard. You can see it in her eyes—the brief flash of clarity before the fog comes back over them. She sways, but you manage to keep her steady as you drag her out of the room, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people inside.

Naoya doesn’t try to stop you. He stands there, arms crossed, watching you leave with that same smirk plastered across his face.

You can hear him mutter under his breath. And you find that being your final straw again. 

You stop in your tracks, holding your friend to your side by her waist. Debating. “Hey.”

He barely has time to look over his shoulder before your fist makes contact with his cheek. He audibly yelps in a feminine manner, instantly holding the injured area. “Ow! W—hey!” 

His mouth is agape, eyebrows furrowed and glaring at you with looks to kill. You wring out your fist, glad you wore your favorite ring today. You can’t punch for shit, yet he’s acting like…

“You crazy woman!” He huffs out, the room going silent as he has his breakdown. Rushing over and pushing a couple of women out of the way to cheek his face in the mirror. He sees the red area, and his lip is busted. Whipping his head back over to you. “How dare you?! I’ll fucking sue you for this, you know?”

“Go ahead, I have nothing to give you.” You reply back, turning on your heel and walking out. Footsteps quick from the sheer adrenaline and small amount of fear that he’ll try to grab you from behind. He doesn’t, luckily. 

All that matters now is getting Hana out of this hellhole. As you make your way to the exit, you finally feel like you can breathe again. But just barely.

Once you’re outside, the cold air hits your skin, grounding you. Hana stumbles beside you, still out of it, but you’ve done what you came to do. You’ve pulled her from the edge.

But as you both stand there, the reality of what just happened settles in. You’ve confronted Naoya, punched him, and you’ve dragged your friend out of a situation she was too far gone to see. But now, as the adrenaline begins to fade, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not done yet.

You look down at your shaky fist, seeing the red knuckles. “…shit…” you mumble under your breath, chest heaving up and down. You gasp and catch yourself on a light pole when Hana suddenly goes dead weight and almost brings you down to the concrete with her. It takes everything in you to hold her up.

Your vision feels wavy, feeling your feet stumble a bit to the right from your own inebriation before catching yourself mid-haze. “Okay, okay.” 

You’re bear-hugging her to your chest, holding your bodies up against the light pole. Breathing in and out heavily, eyes closing as you try to figure out a situation for this all. Your ride, gone. You didn’t even bring money for a taxi. And your friend is passed out drunk. You do a mental checklist of people who can haul you and Hana’s drunk asses back home. Only coming out with two viable options. And one of those is currently watching your son at home. 

Leaving only one other person. 

Satoru has been lounging around your place for a few hours now, bored out of his mind. He switches from laying on the couch, to rummaging through your cabinets and reading the expiration date on everything, to checking on his son. 

He sighs heavily, staring down at the familiar key he had gifted you that lies on the kitchen counter. Untouched. He still hasn’t asked about your confirmation of the place he bought for you two, he figures he can do that tomorrow. But the fact that you haven’t seemed to put much regard into it feels like a small dig to him, his frown deepening. Did you not care for it? Do you not like it? The fact that he went out of his way to buy you and his son a better place to live??

He needs to clear his mind. 

Walking over to Koji’s room, peeking in once more, everything is the same. His son still sleeps peacefully, snoring lightly and holding his Spider-Man close to his chest with his blankets thrown over him. The Spider-Man makes Satoru scowl again, forcing his eyes away and to the small hamper in the corner. 

He might as well do something productive now. 

Carefully, he walks in and grabs the hamper, walking back out with effortless silence. Going over to your washer and dryer, opening the two doors to reveal them. He already sees a full hamper on top of the washer and sighs. “C’mon, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. 

Flipping the light switch on, he puts both hampers on the ground and it takes him a while to figure out how to work your washer. Afterward, he opens the lid and tosses on Koji’s small load, then yours. He tries not to hold onto your panties and bras for too long, not trying to be a perv. But he’s a man, after all. A man who may still have feelings for his ex. 

So when he sees a pair of blue, lace panties, he thinks he might get a hard on right then and there. You creep! He’s holding it in front of his face, admiring the dangling fabric. He’s surprised you still have this. He remembers the…day you got it, after all. Yep, he feels his pants tighten. 

The sick, twisted part of him tells him to give the panties a small sniff. What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

No, no. That’s disgusting of you, Satoru. 

He shakes his head, reminding himself that he can’t do this and that he has a girlfriend. And by the gods above, he quickly tosses it into the washer before he loses control. The rest of your clothes consist of pants, sweats, a jacket, a few shirts, and a….wait. 

…what’s this?

Getting to the bottom of your hamper, he comes across a shirt. One that’s too oversized to fit you. One that’s cotton. One that smells faintly like someone else he knows. One that he bought for his best friend two Christmases ago. 

Satoru stares at the shirt in his hands, his eyes narrowing as the realization hits him like a cold slap to the face. The fabric feels heavier in his grip than it should, and the faint scent clings to it—the unmistakable scent of someone else. Someone he knows. Someone who's apparently been a part of your life in ways that make him uncomfortable to even consider.

His stomach twists, a mix of anger and confusion flooding his thoughts. The shirt feels like a thread unraveling everything he’s been trying to convince himself of. He knows it’s irrational to feel the way he does, but in that moment, all he can think of is him. His best friend. The one who’s always been there. The one who seems too close to you. His grip tightens around the fabric, his stomach dropping. Gulping hard and forcing himself not to jump to conclusions. 

But that’s pretty fucking hard. 

Why the fuck do you have Suguru’s shirt? Why is it in your dirty clothes? Did he just put it there? Did he spend the night? Did you and him—

He tosses the shirt back into the hamper with more force than necessary, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. It’s his.  

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. What is he supposed to do with this? He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but everything about this feels wrong. He glances over at the pile of clothes—your clothes. He sees everything but that damn shirt. But it's there now, in his mind, looming like a specter. 

Satoru grabs the rest of the clothes, hastily tossing them into the washer, but it’s hard to focus. His mind keeps returning to that one question. That one shirt. And the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, there's something he's been missing.

He almost feels like gagging as he closes the two doors and turns the light off, head spinning. He places a hand to his forehead, blinking hard. 

His head whips over to the front door when he hears muffled chatter from outside. 

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” you mumble in embarrassment, focusing your eyes on your fiddling hands in your lap. 

“Don’t thank me, Y/N. I would’ve come either way.” Suguru responds, smiling briefly at you before focusing back on the road. 

You’re just dropped Hana off. The trip felt way easier since Suguru opted to carry her in and to her bed, with you grabbing her keys and unlocking her door. When you left, you made sure everything else was locked. He didn’t even question anything, simply doing as you asked. 

Of course his gaze is riddled with concern, confusion, and skepticism. You don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at your red knuckles that you hide, but with the way you haven’t mentioned anything about the night, he figures you won’t talk about it. 

“How much did you drink? I brought some water, it’s on the door.” He juts his head in your direction. 

You glance down and grab the bottle, thanking him as you down it. “Um…just a few drinks. I’m not entirely sober right now, still.”

Suguru nods slowly, not saying anything for a moment as the car hums along the quiet road. He doesn’t push you to talk, but he knows something’s off. You’ve been quieter than usual, and the tension in the air is palpable. He’s been around you long enough to sense when something isn’t right, but he’s trying not to pry—especially when you’re clearly trying to avoid the topic.

When you finish the water, he glances over at you, eyes softening. “I know you’re not ready to talk, Y/N. But you know I’m here, right? If you ever want to—”

You nod quickly, cutting him off, but not in a way that’s dismissive. It’s more like you’re trying to assure him. “I know. Thanks, Suguru.” The words hang between you both, neither of you fully comfortable in the silence. Guilt hits you, so you continue. “I just…tonight didn’t go as planned.”

He nods, stopping at a red light. Finally taking the chance to look at you fully once more. His lips thin in displeasure when he sees your current state. Shivering, flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, hair messy. He sighs and reaches in the backseat and brings out a warm, thick black jacket. Putting it over your shoulders. “Put that on, okay? Keep yourself warm and hydrated.”

Your lips part, but you nod and smile slightly. “…thank you,” you murmur, holding the jacket closer. 

“And don’t thank me anymore, okay?” He replies, hints of playfulness in his voice like he’s trying to ease the mood. When the light turns green, the car moves forward again and gets closer to your apartment complex. 

You let out a quiet breath, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you as you pull it tighter around your shoulders. The night feels like a blur now, too many conflicting emotions tangled together. Suguru’s steady presence is a welcome relief, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost control in some way. Tonight wasn’t just a mess—it was a wake-up call.

As he makes the final turn toward your apartment, you glance at him, still holding the jacket close. His eyes are on the road, but you can tell he’s trying to read you without being too obvious. There’s concern in the way his brows are furrowed, even though he’s doing his best to keep things light.

“I didn’t expect the night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice quieter than before. “I thought it’d just be a fun time with Hana, but… everything kind of spiraled.”

Suguru’s expression softens, though his gaze doesn’t stray from the road. “I know you wanted to have a good time, Y/N. Sometimes things just… happen. Doesn’t mean you can’t recover from it.”

You glance out the window, trying to focus on the passing scenery. The bright lights of the city feel like a distant memory compared to the emotional chaos inside your head. You force your stomach not to start twisting. “I know. It’s just hard. I never thought I’d have to deal with something like this.”

Suguru reaches for the wheel a bit tighter, but his voice is gentle as ever. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone, you know? Not everything is on your shoulders. Let yourself breathe a little.”

You bite your lip. I tried doing that tonight, look where that got me. You stay silent as he finds a space and parks, deciding he’s dealt with enough of your burdens. 

“I’ll walk you up,” he mutters, unbuckling and getting out of the car to come to your side. He helps you out wordlessly, closing the door behind you and locking his car. 

Your footsteps falter for a moment. “I-is it okay if I lean—”

“Of course,” he cuts you off, holding a steady arm around your waist and allowing you to use him as grounding for your leaning weight. He’s practically leading you, but you have no problem with it. Even as you two enter the elevator, the silence doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, you’re leaning more into him, the side of your head against his chest. 

He glances down at the top of your head, pulling you just a tad bit closer and twisting the urge to plant a kiss to your hair. His thumb rubs small, soothing circles around your hip, feeling you lean more and more against him. 

The doors open and he’s slowing his movements for you. “Still with me?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He smiles and looks forward. “Good, don’t go falling asleep. Get some water in you, maybe some bread.”

You can’t help but softly chuckle. “You know, you’ve been really nice to me, Suguru. Nicer than anyone else.”

Your words are getting quiet and more mumbled—slurred. But he can still faintly piece your words together. You feel the rumble in his chest from his coaxing laugh. “Yeah? I think I’m just acting how any other man would.”

“Not any other man.” You reply.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, getting a tiny idea of who you may be referring to. But he doesn’t want to ruin your night even more by saying his name. 

The quiet hum of the building is a comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier. You’re not sure how much of your surroundings you’re taking in; your thoughts are still clouded from the night’s events. The warmth of Suguru’s presence, his steady support, makes it easier to keep going. When you reach your door, he stops, giving you the space to find your keys in your pocket. You fumble a little, but Suguru doesn’t rush you. He stands patiently, his thumb still grazing the side of your hip. He’s careful not to crowd you too much, but there’s an undeniable sense of protectiveness in the way he stands close.

Finally, you manage to find your key. You glance up at Suguru, your eyes a little foggy. “Thank you… for everything.”

He smiles down at you, the warmth in his expression making your chest tighten a little. “It’s nothing, really. Just doing what’s right.”

You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen slightly but his smile softenn. His hand traveling up to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always be around when you need me.”

There’s a quiet beat between you two, the silence saying more than words ever could. You swallow down the lump in your throat, trying to keep the emotions from overwhelming you. You gently bite your bottom lip, the action causing his eyes to flicker down towards it. “I just…I feel like I haven’t been having anyone on my side lately. I’m…I’m glad I have you.” 

His insides practically melt at your soft, drunken tone of voice and the way you’re gazing up at him. Suguru feels his heart shift, warmth pooling in his chest at your vulnerability. He’s never seen you quite like this, so open and raw, and it makes him want to protect you in a way that’s deeper than he expected. The softness in your voice, the way you lean into him—it all pulls him in closer, making his resolve weaken just a bit. He swallows hard, stepping a little closer to you, but trying to keep his distance, knowing that you’re vulnerable right now, not fully in control of your emotions.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your hands, lifting them from where you were gripping the door, and holds them softly in his. “I'm not the only one, I promise. But I’m always going to have your back. You never have to feel alone, okay? We all go through tough times, but you’re not carrying it on your own.”

You nod slowly, eyes glimmering with a mix of gratitude and something else he can’t quite place. Your fingers curl around his as if you’re grounding yourself in his touch, a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty.

“You’re not like the others, Suguru,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… safe.”

The words hang in the air, delicate and full of meaning. Suguru’s chest tightens again, but this time it’s not from concern or pity—it’s from something else. Something warm, something that feels a little dangerous, but right. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing, as he registers the way you’re looking at him.

“You’re safe with me,” he says softly, his voice almost a promise. “You always will be.”

You both stand there in the quiet, the weight of everything between you—everything unsaid—lingering. Suguru’s hand reaches up, brushing your hair away from your face again, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, like he’s trying to convey something in that simple touch. 

You blink, breaking the moment just enough to step back. “I should go inside.”

Suguru nods, not forcing anything further. He understands. “Yeah, go get some rest. Drink that water, and don’t forget about the bread.”

You tiredly smile, looking back at your door and putting the key in its hole. But, you find yourself hesitating. Movements stilling as thoughts overwhelmed your already vulnerable brain. You’re looking back at him before you know it. 

His eyebrows raise. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head in response, your heart beating faster. He says nothing, just allowing the little staring contest to continue on. For some reason, it’s making you not want to face your reality. God, it’s the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing to him. How stuck he feels, how guilty he feels and how perfect it all feels at the same time. It’s almost not fair.

Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve experienced more shit than you would’ve wanted to tonight—and of course, you’re a lightweight. Hence why you don’t really like drinking in the first place. But you’ve needed one recently. 

So yeah, your balance is not very steady, your head feels light but heavy at the same time, your lips are curved up into a smile on their own and your calculations are a little miscalculated. 

Because you could swear that with the way he’s looking at you now, his lids the slightest bit hooded that one could miss it, his tilted head, and the way he’s leaned in close enough that you can smell his intoxicating cologne…he’s looking tempted. 

And to be honest, so are you. 

The night air is suddenly quiet, you’ve been staring into his eyes for who knows how long now and your breathing feels shallower. It feels like a sappy romance movie you watched when you were a tween and wished upon a star that one day it would happen to you. Except it’s not the person you would’ve exactly wanted. But your body is still reacting all the same. 

What does that mean for you?

Your key is still lodged in the hole of your door, seemingly frozen—but awaiting. He leans in and your eyelids flutter. “I’m sorry.”

“F-for what…?”

“For being such a selfish man right now.” He places a steady hand to your waist as your body swayed backwards again. 

It’s just the alcohol talking. “I-it’s okay…”

“Is it?” He mutters, breath fanning your face. 

This time, you lean closer, practically moving up to your tip-toes. You notice the way his eyes have darkened, glancing down at your pink, parted lips. “Yeah, I think…I want to be selfish too.”

He smiles, matching your drunken one. Your right hand raises to his cheek, admiring the heat that wavers off of it. You think you want more of his magnetic heat. He doesn’t move, allowing you to do the work. Maneuvering your head up to close the rest of the distance. And you’re so close, so very close that you could practically lick his lips if you wanted.

His lips part, making space for your own to slot between them. Just when you’re about to—

Your door yanks open from the inside, jolting you back to reality. Eyes wide and looking over at the culprit.

Oh, fuck.

Satoru stands in your doorway, hair poking up at all different angles, jaw clenched and saccharine eyes darting around at the sight in front of him, of what he just interrupted. And it feels like you’ve just been burned, pulling back and away from Suguru like you’ve been caught cheating. Suguru matches your actions, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “S-Satoru…” you mutter, swallowing. 

“What’s this?” He asks, looking between you and his best friend. “He brought you home?”

“I—”

“She called me to pick her and her friend up, Satoru.” Suguru interrupts, meeting his friend with undeterred eye contact. 

However, that seems to be just the icing on top for Satoru. Turning his gaze towards you, looking up and down quickly. “…So…I’m watching our son while you go ahead and get yourself shitfaced, you’re gone for hours without any call or text to let me know you’re okay, and when you come back… you’re about to…kiss my fucking best friend?”

“Sato—”

“Shut the fuck up, Suguru.” He gives his friend a death glare, taking a step outside and forcing you to take a wobbly one back. Suguru doesn’t move. “Tell me, huh. You think I’m an idiot?”

“Satoru,” you reach out for his arm, but promptly pull back when he looks back at you. 

“And to think,” he scoffs, regarding you with an icy coldness that feels completely foreign to you. “I thought we had it okay for once. And now you’re fucking my best friend behind my back?”

“No! N-no, Suguru and I aren’t doing that.” You quickly protest. 

He simply scoffs and Suguru steps back in between you two. “Satoru, calm down, okay? We weren’t doing anything. Y/N’s been having a tough time and I’m just here to help her through that.”

“By what? Forcing yourself into her life? Into my son’s life? Who the hell do you think you are, Suguru?” He pushes the other man by his shoulder, to which Suguru does not fight back. 

You grimace, pulling back on his shirt. “Satoru, stop it, please. We aren’t doing anything like that.”

“Bullshit!” He snaps, throwing his arms up. “He gives you and Koji a present. I find his fucking shirt in your hamper, and now I just caught you two about to kiss. Did you fucking forget I was inside? Were you going to bring him inside and let him fuck you?”

Your mouth is agape, eyes blown wide at the accusations. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and unable to form a coherent thought. Satoru’s accusations sting, each one harsher than the last. His anger is palpable, the venom in his voice making it hard to breathe, and yet all you can do is stand there in stunned silence, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

“No... Satoru, I—I didn’t—” You struggle to find the words, but nothing seems to come out right. How do you explain something that’s so far from the truth but also so complicated in its own way? 

Suguru, his expression tight with frustration, steps forward, clearly trying to keep the situation from spiraling even further. "Satoru, this isn’t the way to handle it. Y/N’s been through a lot, and I'm just trying to be there for her. That’s all it is."

“You think that makes a difference?” Satoru spits, turning back to Suguru with a glare that could burn. “You think you can just waltz in, playing hero, and it’s all fine? You don’t get to play the martyr here. Not with my family.”

You flinch at the mention of Koji, feeling the sting of his words even more sharply now. "Satoru, please," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Don’t talk about him like that. You know I would never—" 

But Satoru cuts you off with a sharp gesture, his eyes dark with fury. "No, you don’t get to explain yourself anymore. I saw it. I know what was happening."

Your heart races as the silence hangs heavy between you, Suguru and Satoru locked in a tense standoff. You can feel the weight of the accusations pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you manage, the words coming out in a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry. But I swear, nothing was going to happen. Nothing. I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”

Satoru doesn’t respond, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. Suguru looks between you both, his eyes softening just a fraction, but there’s nothing left to say. You’re standing at the edge of everything, and you don’t know how to fix this, how to make Satoru believe you.

“Satoru, Y/N’a a grown woman.” Suguru says. 

“Yeah? And what, that makes you a grown man?” 

Once more, Suguru is pushed by Satoru. You can see the growing irritability in Suguru’s expression, the way he’s doing his best to not give in and fight with his best friend. You’re torn, unsure of how you can stop this. Sure, you punched a man today, but he was a bitch. That doesn’t mean you can stop a possible  fight between two other men. “Please, don’t raise your voice, Satoru. I don’t want to wake Koji.”

“Oh, now you fucking care?” He huffs out. And that sentence alone puts a halt to you. Your mind momentarily freezes, going silent. He almost looks like he regrets the words as soon as they’re uttered, but it’s drowned out by his look of anger. 

Soon…you’re mirroring his fury. 

“What?” You quietly ask, letting out a deep huff. “What? What the fuck did you just say to me?”

This time, it’s you who pushes the pusher. He stumbles back barely, caught off guard by your suddenness before he’s planting himself in place. “Don’t touch me, Y/N.”

“Then don’t you ever say something like that! I’ve done everything I could for Koji and more. You had no idea what kind of shit I went through alone.” You grit out. 

“Because of you! Because of your own stupid decision to not let me in, let me help you!” He argues back. He's right. He's always right. And that’s why you two could never work together because while Satoru was always right, you were always wrong. They say opposites attract, when actually, opposites do nothing prove what the other could never be.

And after the events of tonight, you’re growing tired of holding back your explosion. Your drunken brain is telling you to fight fire with fire. 

“Because you were a fucking shitty person!” You shout back, aware of the fact that your loud voice may cause some of your neighbors to wake up. Koji to wake up. “And now you’re getting mad at me for trying to move on? For trying to live my life? Fuck you! You have a fucking girlfriend who treats me like shit and you let it happen!”

“You want to play that game, Y/N? Really?” Satoru replies, a dead firmness in his tone. 

Before you can respond, Suguru, ever the peacemaker, is cutting in again. “Y/N, stop it, okay? Go inside, you’re drunk. Satoru, don’t—”

He’s cut off by another push from Satoru. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Suguru. You’re trying to get with my ex behind my back, is that how low you’ve become?”

“Satoru,” he slowly exhales out, trying to calm himself. “I’m not doing that. Y/N and I aren’t getting together. I’m just being here for her.”

“By trying to get in bed with her?”

Suguru has begun to have enough. “Stop speaking like that, Satoru.” He gruffs out.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, and your pulse races as Satoru’s words hit harder than before, each one a slap in the face. You can feel the anger bubbling up inside you, pushing you past the point of control, past the point of regret. This argument feels like it’s never going to end—like it’s been building for years, simmering beneath the surface, only now it’s boiling over in a mess of accusations and past hurts.

Satoru’s sneer deepens as he stares you down. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? I’m not stupid, Y/N. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes now. You think you’re going to move on with him after everything?”

You step closer to him, barely noticing the way your hands are trembling, your heart pounding in your chest and tears prickling at your eyes. “I’m not moving on with anyone. Not like you think. But you—” You pause, trying to steady your breath. “You’ve had no idea what I’ve been through. You’ve walked away at times when I needed you the most, Satoru. Don’t fucking act like I owe you anything now.”

Satoru’s expression darkens, his hands balling into fists, but you don’t flinch. “I’m sorry if you think I don’t care, but I’ve been in the fucking trenches with you, Y/N. Do you think it was easy for me too? To watch you shut me out? To watch you fucking struggle with everything while I—while I—tried to be there for you? But I was never enough, was I?” His voice cracks with a mix of frustration and disbelief, but it’s too much. It’s too late for apologies and explanations. You feel your vision blur with tears, and for a brief moment, you almost crumble under the weight of the argument, the hurt, the feeling of being misunderstood.

“You knew you could’ve tried hard enough. You knew that, you know that.” You argue, despite your shaky voice. 

His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Suguru steps forward, intervening again, his voice low and firm, but there’s a warning in it. “Enough, Satoru. You’re not hearing her. This isn’t about you anymore.”

Satoru’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with frustration. “It’s always been about me, Suguru. It’s always been about what I need, what I want. And now you want to play the hero? To take my place in my own fucking life?”

Suguru shakes his head, his expression hardening. “No, I’m not trying to take your place. But you’re blind if you don’t see how much she’s suffered. How much she’s going through. And how much you’re still hurting her by dragging all this up now.”

“Shut up,” Satoru snaps, and his voice is harsh enough to make you flinch. “I don’t need a lecture from you, not now.”

Suguru doesn’t back down, his eyes never leaving Satoru’s. “Then maybe you should take a fucking look at yourself first.”

For a moment, the three of you stand there in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning with a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. The words you’ve been holding back for so long feel too much to bear, too raw to say out loud, but now they’re there, sitting on your tongue, threatening to spill.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of everything is overwhelming. Your hands tremble as you press them against your sides, eyes focusing on the ground to keep from breaking down. But the words, the truth you’ve been holding inside for so long, feel like they’re going to suffocate you if you don’t let them out.

“I didn’t mean for this, Satoru. I didn’t mean for any of it,” you finally say, your voice thick with emotion. Your chest tightens, your breath shaky as you look at him, the tears threatening to fall. “But now you’re standing here, making it worse, blaming me for everything. I’m always getting blamed, no matter what. For trying to find happiness. For surviving.” You swallow hard, your voice quieter but still filled with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “But you don’t get to make me feel bad about trying to heal, Satoru. You don’t get to make me feel like I’m the one who ruined everything when you were the one who stopped trying.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers to you, a flicker of concern flashing across his face, but it’s Satoru who you focus on. The silence stretches, suffocating, before he speaks again, his tone hard, bitter, but with a hint of something deeper—something vulnerable. “I never wanted to leave you,” he mutters, almost too quietly. “But you shut me out. You kept pushing me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t try hard enough to matter,” you shoot back, your voice a little stronger now. “You didn’t try to understand. You didn’t try to see me. You only saw what you wanted, what fit into your world. And I couldn’t do that anymore. I couldn’t just keep being this thing that existed to meet your needs, while I fell apart. I couldn’t.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker, and for a moment, you swear you see something break in him. But it’s gone just as quickly as it appears, replaced by the cold, hardened exterior he’s been wearing for so long. “You think this is easy for me?” he spits, voice laced with something that could be self-loathing. “You think it’s easy watching you—watching him—take over everything I thought was mine? That’s not fair either, Y/N.”

“You don’t own me, Satoru,” you whisper, the words coming out stronger than you expect. “You never did.”

Suguru steps forward again, his voice steady but firm. “Enough. This isn’t going anywhere. It’s just going to keep hurting both of you.”

But Satoru isn’t listening. His fists clench again, his jaw tight as he shakes his head, the hurt flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this, Y/N. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I ever could.”

The rawness in his voice catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. The anger and resentment still burn in your chest, but beneath it all, you realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left. Something that isn’t as broken as you thought.

But it’s too late for that. It’s too late for him.

With a shaky breath, you look away, your heart heavy in your chest, and turn toward the door. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Satoru. It’s done.”

Suguru’s hand rests gently on your shoulder as you walk past, his silent support a comfort, even though the pain doesn’t fade. And Satoru stays there, his fists trembling at his sides, caught between regret and anger, as you step back into your home and shut the door behind you.

The tears overcoming your being once you’re locked inside, taking the jackets off haphazardly and tossing your purse onto the sofa. Holding a hand to your mouth to muffle your cries as you walk past Koji’s door and to your own room, silently shutting and locking it. 

You crumble into your bed, holding your pillow close, and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Letting your warm tears wash your makeup away and stain your white pillow. Feeling your body trembling from every sensation flowing through it right now. You feel your heart pick up way too fast for your liking and you’re almost sure you’re breathing at an erratic pace right now. 

You feel like no matter what, you can never do good in your life. You fucked up tonight by trying to kiss Suguru, you fucked up by keeping Koji a secret, you fucked up by even going out in the first place. 

Everything is crumbling down at you all at once and you think it’s about time you toss the rag in. Because everyone has their breaking point, you’re not sure if you hit yours yet, but it damn well feels like you have. And now you’ve probably broken up a years long friendship due to your own selfishness, to your own stupid intoxication. You’re wrong in every aspect. Everything is eating you alive right now, leaving just a hollow suit in its place. 

You wonder how things will look going forward. 

And you wonder if you’ve ruined any little chance at possibly having Satoru in your grasp again. 

A small knock pulls your attention, shifting your eyes open and looking over to the small head that peeks through. Oh god, this is the last thing you wanted. 

“Mama…” Koji’s small voice utters, slipping inside and coming over to your curled up form on the bed. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You wish you had it in you to put on a poker face and dry your tears, giving him the usual lie. But tonight, you can’t. “…mama’s sad.” You whisper. 

His eyes widen, lip quivering down into a pout. Eyes glistening with his own onset of tears and he’s diving into your bed, scrambling up to your chest. Wrapping his tiny arms around your neck in such a fast way that it leaves you momentarily speechless. When he looks at you, you almost feel yourself wanting to cry harder at the sole fact that your son is seeing you like this, that he’s almost crying now too. “Please don’t cry, Mama. I don’t like you being sad.”

“I…I know.” You croak out, holding him close. “I know, Koji. And I’m…I’m so sorry. I can’t be strong today.”

He shakes his head furiously. “It’s okay! Because Papa told me that when I grow up, I’ll protect you. I’ll be strong and big like him. So…so maybe I can be strong today for you, Mama.”

Your heart shatters at his words, and despite the weight of everything that’s been crushing you, you hold him even tighter. The fragile little boy who’s trying so desperately to comfort you when he should be the one you’re protecting—it’s too much. You can’t hold back the flood of emotions anymore. You pull him into you, your arms trembling, but all you can do is let him in, letting his warmth and innocence wrap around your heart like a fragile balm.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to be strong for me. You’re so strong already just by being you.” You bury your face in his hair, feeling his small body pressing against yours, his little heartbeat steady and comforting in a way nothing else can be. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, Koji. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Koji’s small hands rub at your back, and his voice, though still a little quivery, carries the same hope and determination he always carries. “I’m gonna help you, Mama. I’ll make you smile again, okay? I promise.” His words, simple as they are, strike a chord deep inside, reminding you of everything you’ve fought for. You’ve fought to protect him, to give him a better life, to shield him from all the pain and hurt that came with being tied to Satoru, and now you’re breaking down in front of him. It feels so pathetic. 

But maybe you need to be broken in order to rebuild. Maybe it’s okay to let him see your fragility, so he knows it’s okay to feel and not bottle everything up. 

You breathe out a shaky laugh, lifting him slightly to kiss his forehead. “You’re my little hero, Koji. I’m so proud of you. I don’t deserve you.”

Koji, however, just shakes his head again, his small face scrunching up in determination. “No, Mama. I’m not a hero. You’re my hero. You always are.”

And somehow, in the midst of the mess you’ve found yourself in, his innocent words are the only thing grounding you. You’re not alone. You’re not broken beyond repair. You still have him. You still have him to fight for, to love, and to protect.

And right now, that’s all that matters. 

You hold him close, sinking deeper into your bed, feeling his small body curl up against you. The weight of the world still feels heavy on your shoulders, but for a brief moment, with Koji’s warmth surrounding you, you feel the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe you’ll figure things out. 

But for now, you let yourself cry. You let yourself grieve. Because tomorrow is another day.

a/n: soo many things happeneddddd. hoped u all enjoyed :)

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[tojirights]

❛ you taste like heaven. ❜

Alastor with angel!reader omg. I imagine that reader was Alastor's wife back when they were alive, but didn't see eachother again after death because Alastor is in hell and reader is in heaven. I imagine that after Sir Pentious got redeemed, Sera sent reader (because she has experience with demons(? Ur choice) and Sera trusts her a lot) down to hell to investigate this 'hazbin hotel'.

a/n: AHHHH i almost didnt want to write smut into this because it was so precious 😭 ooc alastor again but its so CUTE. i added my "alastor speaks french" agenda to this as well lol.

buy me a coffee? 😇

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, fem! receiving oral

heaven was in shambles after the last extermination, no one knew what would happen next now that souls could be redeemed from hell. it was then that sera approached you in private, all but begging you to go be an "ambassador." you were hesistant at first, not only thinking that this was a lot of responsibility, but also that your... husband had to be down there. he wasn't a "good man" after all, but your heart still fluttered at the thought of seeing him once more. with a sigh, you accept sera's plea and prepare for your trip down to the hazbin hotel.

there to greet you, was charlie morningstar herself, bright eyed and bubbly just like you heard all about. she leads you into the foyer of the hotel before you stop dead in your tracks. charlie is still speaking a mile a minute in your ear, trying to welcome you as best she can, but you're not listening. your eyes meet alastor's, immediately recognizing him even in this new form of his. and when his smile almost fades, you know he recognizes you too.

there's another brief pause before you're running towards him, your wings unfurling on their own as you're quickly wrapped up in his embrace. the other inhabitants of the hotel watch, confused, seeing as alastor hasn't really let anyone but niffty get close enough to touch him, let alone embrace him. your wings fluff up and cover your faces as you lean up to kiss your estranged partner. "oohh, sweetheart.." he sighs against your lips. "its been..."

you smile between kisses, your heart racing in your chest. "too long." you finish his sentence, earning a chuckle from the demon. his lips kiss a trail to your ear, a low growl to his voice as he whispers to you. "you taste like heaven, darling." your cheeks go red, not quite prepared for such a comment, especially in front of company. "alastor!" you hiss, hitting his chest gently but he just pulls you closer in response.

finally, he addresses the group behind you who are all standing with their jaws hanging open. "now, if you're all done gawking, i believe my wife needs to be shown around..."

husk spits out his drink as alastor speaks, covering angel in alcohol. "your WHAT!?" you hide your face as calamity ensues, everyone trying to speak over eachother at the insane news. "your wife... is an angel?" charlie asks gently, trying to get to the bottom of this. "well, i couldn't have known for sure but she was always more a saint than i." alastor hums, running his hand down your back. you shudder when he touches your wings, to which he notes in his head for later.

"o-oh! well then! i guess you should show her around, yeah?" she smiles bashfully, still taken aback by everything happening since your arrival just a few minutes ago. you look up at alastor, your cheeks aching from smiling so wide. "i think i'd like that." you whisper to him, enjoying the way he pulls you closer to him. "hold on tight then, my love."

you're not sure what he means by that until you're slipping into the shadows with him. its an odd feeling, but you don't think much of it until you're reappearing in what you assume is his bedroom. alastor is careful with you, like he's afraid the wrong touch will burn you, but he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his hands more than he can admit. you smile, reaching your hands up to cup his face. "touch me, al. i'm not fragile..."

your words light a spark deep within him, forcing him to restrain himself from ripping your pretty clothes into tatters. he groans inwardly, large hands reaching around to pick you up before fumbling his way to the bed. "corrupting an angel wasn't on my bucket list until seeing you again, my dear." his tone, its not what you're used to hearing, but that gravelly undertone shoots straight through you. "oh please, you can't corrupt me more than you already have." alastor's lips find the sensitive skin of your neck and you feel him smirk.

"i hope that's not a challenge." he tests, tugging at the hem of your dress. you all but giggle, lifting up so alastor can free your body of clothes. "and what if is it?" you challenge, knowing full well that alastor wouldn't let your teasing continue without proper punishment. his eyes darken red, and there's a tinge of fear in your gut. because this may still be alastor, but its been quite a while, you don't know how he's changed.

but as he kisses down your stomach, you're reassured that the man you married is still there somewhere, underneath this 'radio demon' persona. "your lips tasted of heaven, mon amour, does this taste so sweet as well?" alastor's words alone are enough are enough to make you whimper, then the feeling of his hot breath against your clothed cunt makes your core pulse.

your hands naturally fall to the top of his head, feeling the softness of his ears and the rough points of his antlers. "c-can i..?" you start, timidly holding onto the horns. alastor's body shudders as he shoves his face into your thigh. "yes, ma chérie. please do." he breathes, tugging on the thin fabric of your panties until they rip in half.

alastor wants to be patient, wants to treat you like the angel you are, but he is a demon after all. and he hasn't gotten such a delicious meal in far too long. after he feels your grip tighten on his antlers, he lets loose his self control. his first taste of your sweet pussy sends him into a frenzy, eating you like a man starving. his tongue swipes up your slit before circling your clit in quick flicks. your legs are shaking already, breathy moans leaving your lips with reckless abandon.

there's a part of you that is concerned to be getting your cunt ate by a demon, but this demon was your husband, after all. sera made you come down here and you might as well enjoy yourself, right?

your hips arch up, craving more and more, and alastor is happy to oblige. "this is heaven, my dear. not some palace in the sky, but here, between your legs." your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed in more ways than one. every pass of his tongue has your release teetering on the edge while his sweet words make your heart flutter. its almost too much, and when alastor sucks on your clit, your walls burst.

"a-alastor i'm..." you mewl, every nerve on your body screaming as your orgasm rolls over you. you're almost sure you're hurting him by how hard you tug at his hair, but alastor doesn't stop. the intensity is something you've not experienced in many, many years, and the tears stream down your cheeks. alastor coaxes you through it, licking slow and soft circles around your sensitive bud until your shaking stops.

he's quick to climb up, wiping the tears from your puffy eyes. "such a good girl, mon amour. there's plenty more where that came from."

[lovscb97]

— STEP OUT ! ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

❛ 八命合一心 ; eight lives united as one heart ❜

about: welcome to step out! this is an ot8 stray kids series containing solo fics for all members based off of their respective songs from the newest album "合". here, you'll be able to choose and explore from a variety of themes and universes, and each world is handcrafted to revolve around one out of the eight, whether the inspiration for it came from the lyrics, melody, concept or more. though the stories are not directly connected with one another, each of them has its own flair. with any hope, they'll be to your liking, so do stick around to find out & enjoy your stay!

status: ONGOING.

pairing(s): ot8!stray kids x fem!reader

disclaimer: all fics contain MATURE content along with smut which is not appropriate for minors. viewer discretion is advised & you are the only one responsible for the content you consume.

add. notes: hello n welcome 2 lovscb97 first series debut ... this idea came to me on a whim when i was listening to seungmin solo on a walk n i was like "yk what would be cool ? ot8 fics based off their solo songs. Yea." n boom! step out was born. special thanks to jamsie n nico for their help n i hope u guys enjoy it loads!!! plz mind the tags for each specific fic before reading (more detailed ones will come with each chapter so as to not spoil much about the stories) but other than that have a great time n lmk what u think if u wish <3 details for specific fics are under the cut btw!

last updated: 01/01/2025.

TAGLIST: OPEN!

. . .

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 001.

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 002.

title: railway

featuring: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader

word count: 7.85k

tags: angst, forbidden romance, toxic relationship, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 003.

title: youth

featuring: camp counsellor!lee minho x fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: strangers to ???, some angst, summer fling, found family, protected sex, bittersweet, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 004.

title: ultra

featuring: roommate!bff!seo changbin x fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, heavy tension, dry humping, rough sex, unprotected sex, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 005.

title: so good

featuring: tour guide!hwang hyunjin x singer!fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: black cat x golden retriever, family trauma, confessions, protected sex, angst, open ending, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 006.

title: hold my hand

featuring: guardian angel!han jisung x fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: 'she fell first but he fell harder' trope, kissing, sweet lovemaking, some religious undertones, character death, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 007.

title: unfair

featuring: beast!lee felix x princess!fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: royalty au, premodern timeline, shapeshifting, fairytale-esque romance, monster-fucking, breeding kink, etc

READ HERE.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 008.

title: as we are

featuring: baseball player!kim seungmin x fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: childhood best friends to lovers, first love, sports injury, grief, healing, slowburn, protected sex, etc

READ HERE.

. . .

title: hallucination

featuring: church boy!yang jeongin x delinquent!fem!reader

word count: n/a.

tags: good boy x bad girl, religious guilt, blasphemy, unprotected sex, corruption kink, etc

© all rights reserved to @/lovscb97, do not plagiarise, translate, re-upload, etc

[i73mj]

spoiled!

pairings: sugar-mommy!karina x college-student!yn

warnings: kitten kitten kitten, rough sex, use of strap, bulge?, sex in bathtub

a/n: gosh i should really keep track of what i wrote for the warnings😓 also not proofread but there'll be part 2 after i finished my exams🤟😎 special tag btw!! @intermixforyou

the door clicks shut gently—well past midnight—karina went straight to her room with her body ached from back-to-back meetings. the only thing she wants to do is run a warm bath and change into a more comfortable clothes after running on caffeine and impatience.

she took off her coat and throws it somewhere, did the same with her heels. she reaches for the beer in her fridge while unbuttoning her crinkled shirt. she took a deep breath and releases it full of stress as she walk towards her room when she find a pleasant surprise on her bed.

you, all dolled up in one of her lingerie (that's a little too big for you, especially the chest area), snoring softly. you were waiting for her to come home but sleep got the best of you. still, karina chuckled as she made her way to kneel beside the bed you are sleeping on.

”kitten, wake up,” she puts down her beer on the nightstand and tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear to expose the soft line of your cleavage. no answer. you are still snoring softly and only snuggles to karina's cold hands as a response. karina lets out a low hum, lips twitching into a fond, amused smile.

”mm, look at you,” she murmurs, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth. ”you really put this on for me, didn't you, baby?”

you haven't yet respond, of course, still lost in a dream. you just breathe deeper, lashes fluttering a little as her cold fingers trace down your jaw, then lower—skimming down your neck and over the silk strap that's fallen off your shoulder.

”you’re such a good girl,” she whispers, voice just above a breath now. ”waiting for mommy like this... in my favorite set, no less.”

her hand slides under the loose cup of the lingerie, cupping your breast, thumb stroking slow circles around your nipple. your body shivers, but you’re still not awake—not really.

karina leans in, kissing just below your ear. ”don't worry, kitten. i'll be gentle—just enough to take the edge off... for both of us.” her other hand trails down your stomach, slipping past the hem of the lace.

”you're warm,” she mutters against your skin, eyes dark with something feral. ”so soft, so ready for me even in your sleep.” she flips you gently to lay on your back, uncovering your thighs and slowly trails kisses from your ankle to your inner thigh.

”mmh...” you let out a soft whimper, slowly waking up when karina finally kisses the top of your mound, ”m-mommy?” karina lets out a soft sigh.

”aww, i was just having fun,” she coos, gently helps you to sit, ”had a nice nap?”

”mmhm… missed you…” you mumble, voice hoarse and small. cheeks still flushed, eyes barely open as you lean into her touch like a kitten seeking warmth.

karina smiles, brushing your hair back and kissing your temple. ”i missed you too, baby. you looked so pretty—how could i not touch you a little?”

you squirm in her lap, immediately getting sensitive from her teasing earlier, your thighs pressing together instinctively. she notices, of course.

”shh,” she soothes, cupping your cheek, ”want to join me in the bath?” before you can answer, she's already picking you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. you hide your face in her shoulder, letting her carry you like you weigh nothing.

***

the bathroom is warm with steam, lit only by the soft golden glow of the vanity light. the tub is being filled, karina sets you down on the bath mat and strips what little is left between you two, eyes never leaving your flushed face.

”get in first, sweetheart,” she murmurs, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, ”i'll join you in a sec,” you step in, the water hugging your skin like silk. when she finally sinks in behind you, her short hair dampening at the tips, you instinctively scoot back to her, letting her craddle you.

for a while, it's quiet—her hands rubbing innocent circles on your hips underwater, her lips brushing your shoulder as the scent of lavender swirls around you both.

then she sits up slightly, handing you a soft sponge.

”baby,” she says softly, ”be good and help mommy wash her back?” you blink up at her, dazed and pliant, ”okay...” you shift behind her as she leans forward, baring the elegant curve of her back to you. you run the sponge along her spine, slowly—up, then down again—watching the way her muscles move beneath her skin. her sighs are soft, content.

but your hands get greedy. they stray lower, from her waist to the side of her ribs... then forward—just a little. you glance at her face in the mirror. she doesn't stop you.

so you keep going.

your hands sneak over her stomach, then up to cup her breasts under the water, the sponge floats, long forgotten. her breath hitches.

”kitten,” she warns gently, a teasing note in her voice, ”that's not my back.”

”but you feel so good...” you murmur, fingers brushing over her nipples, watching them harden under your touch. ”wanna make mommy feel good.” she chuckles, low and dangerous, tilting her head to the side.

”such a naughty little thing, i was trying to behave tonight. you got classes tomorrow right?” instead of nodding, you lean in, kissing the nape of her neck.

”you started it.” you whisper, getting more and more brazen, as your hands knead softly at her chest, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over her nipples until she exhales a shaky breath.

karina chuckles, head falling back slightly to rest against your shoulder, ”God, you're such a little brat.” but she doesn't stop you.

the water sloshes quietly as you shift closer behind her, pressing soft kisses down her neck, your bare chest flush against her slick back. you can feel her heartbeat—steady, strong—but quickening under your touch.

”does it feel good, mommy?” you ask, voice syrupy and teasing.

”mmh,” she hums, rolling her hips just slightly under the water, ”feels like my baby's trying to take care of me.”

your hands slide lower, ghosting down her stomach until your fingertips slip between her legs. she parts them for you without a word.

”just like that,” she whispers, breath catching as your fingers explore slow, gentle circles against her folds.

”fuck, kitten...” you smile into her skin. she's so warm, so soft, so wet—maybe not just from the bath.

”want you to relax,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside her, earning a low, chocked moan, ”mommy worked so hard today... let me help.”

she turns her face slightly, just enough to capture your lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss—messy and deep like she's trying to breathe you in.

”don't stop,” she pants against your mouth, ”don't you dare stop.” she breathes, voice already threadbare—but you don't respon. just give her that soft, sinful smirk and dip under the water, letting it rise over your shoulders as you sink between her thighs.

karina lets out a breath, chest rising with a gasp as your tongue drags slow and deliberate up her folds. you taste her—really taste her—and fuck, it's addicting. sweet and heavy on your tongue, warm even through the bathwater.

you grip her thighs tighter after lifting karina up to make her sit at the edge of the tub, spreading her just enough to bury your mouth deeper, and that's when karina loses it.

”fuck—baby—” her voice breaks, eyes fluttering shut as her hips jerk up, trying to chase the pressure of your mouth. ”just like that, yes—right there, oh god—”

you moan into her, the sound vibrating against her clit. she feelts it, sharp and electric, and you feel her clench around nothing. she's trying so hard to hold still, but her thighs tremble as you suck her swollen clit into your mouth and roll your tongue around it in tight, wet circles.

her hand slaps weakly against the side of the tub, ”you're gonna—fuck—make me come, baby, you want that? want mommy to come all over that pretty mouth?”

you hum again, hungrier now, tilting your head to get even closer—diving in like you've been starving for days, tongue lapping at her with an obscene slurp. she tastes like salt and lavender and her, and you want every last drop.

karina tries to move herself, but your grip pins her down.

”oh my god,” she whispers, her whole body shaking, ”you're fucking insatiable—”

then she breaks.

her thighs clamps around your head, a chocked sob tearing from her throat as her hips grind helplessly into your face. her orgasm crashes down hard and fast, her body shuddering as her slick coats your tongue, thick and hot, mixing with bathwater as she writhes against you.

you stay kneeling, licking her through it—slow, worshipful strokes, like you're savoring dessert. only when she slips back inside the tub, twitching and breathless, do you finally let her go, lips swollen and chin dripping with her.

she stares at you with glassy eyes, cheeks flushed, breath still shallow.

”you—” her voice cracks, ”you filthy, perfect little thing.”

you blink up at her, eyes innocent and lips parted, ”did i do good, mommy?”

she just laughs—wrecked, loving, feral.

”get over here, mommy's not done with you.”

***

oh, and she really mean it.

”c'mere,” she murmurs, tugging you into her lap. the water sloshes as you straddle her thighs, hands pressed to her chest for balance. her skin is flushed and warm, breast slick and rising with each breath.

”sit still,” she whispers, and you do. obediently. perfectly. thighs parted just enough as her hands slips between them. the first touch of her fingers against your folds makes you whimper. your hips jerk, eyes fluttering shut. she chuckles darkly and kisses your neck.

”so soaked...” her fingers slip through your folds again, slow and teasing, parting you open. your breath catches as one finger dips inside, then two—pressing in with that practiced curl that has your thighs quacking.

”shhh,” she coos against your shoulder. ”let mommy take care of you. just sit there and feel me, okay?” you choke on a moan when she starts moving—slow but deep, knuckles brushing your walls, palm nudging your clit with every stroke.

”such a needy little thing,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ears as her fingers thrust deeper.

”look at you, grinding on my hand like a slutty little doll.” you can't help it—your hips move on their own, chasing the pressure, chasing the edge. her other hand grips your waist, keeping you grounded while she fucks you open.

”mmph—m-mommy, please—” you cry, burying your face in her neck.

”please what, baby?” ”please don't stop. need it. wanna cum for you—wanna make you proud—”

karina moans softly at that, her own thighs clenching, ”you always make me proud, kitten,” and just like that—she speeds up. fingers pumping fast, slick and loud in the water, your moans echoing against the bathroom tiles. her thumb finds your clit and rubs tight circles, fast and relentless. your body arches. toes curling, mouth falling open, voice breaking.

”m-mommy—i'm—i'm gonna—” ”cum for me.” she growls against your throat, ”be good, cum all over mommy's fingers.”

and you do—shattering in her arms, body jerking and crying out as your orgasm crashes down hard and wet. her hand never stops moving until you're twitching and boneless, clinging to her like a lifeline.

”good girl, my perfect little angel,” after your orgasm, karina lifts you out of the tub with steady arms, wrapping you in one of her plush towels. your body's limp against her chest—shaky and warm, cheeks flushed, eyes barely open. she kisses your temple as she carries you out, water dripping down both your bodies.

”you did so well,” she lays you down gently on the bed and kneels beside you, drying your skin with slow, careful hands. you hum sleepily, nuzzling into her touch. your lashes flutter, barely awake, and you reach out—fingers curling around her wrist like you don't want her to leave.

”mommy,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

”m'sorry...” ”sorry for what, kitten?” karina stills. your eyes blink open, watery and hazy, lips trembling, ”for making you tired. you had a long day and i—i wanted to make you feel good but i... i'm so selfish-”

”hey, no,” she cuts in softly, brushing damp hair from your face, ”you made me feel amazing. don't ever say that.” you nod, but your hips roll-just a little—just enough to press yourself against her palm as she cups your cheek.

”baby...” she warns, though her voice is more fond than firm.

”i can't help it,” you breathe, rubbing your thighs together, desperate but still sleepy ”i'm still... still so empty, mommy. want you again, but you're tired. i'm sorry, i'll be good-just a little, please?” and before she can answer, your body moves on instinct—grinding into her hand like a kitten in heat. soft little whines escape your lips with every rut, your face scrunched with guilt and need and desperation.

karina watches you, entranced. you're warm and flushed, pupils blown, still glistening between your thighs. even like this—fuzzy and limp in her arms—you're insatiable.

”fuck, baby...” she groans, gently pushing your legs apart with her knee. ”you're gonna be the death of me.”

”want mommy to use me. just use me until you're not tired anymore,” you nod eagerly, barely catching her words. karina slides her fingers back between your folds, feeling just how wet you still are. your hips jolt. your lips part with a needy moan.

”you wanna make it up to me?” she purrs leaning down until her breath fans across your lips.

”then lie back and let mommy fuck the apology out of you.” your breath hitches as she rises off the bed, towel slipping from her hips. she walks—slow, deliberate—to the drawer by the closet. you watch her through half-lidded eyes, dazed and soaked, thighs clenching at the anticipation.

when she turns around, she's holding it—the strap. black. thick. intimidating. the one she rarely uses. the one that leaves you wrecked for days. your lips part, a soft gasp catching in your throat. ”m-mommy..”

karina smiles, slow and sinful. ”what? too much?” she climbs back onto the bed, looming over you like a god.

”but i thought you wanted to make mommy feel better. don't tell me you're backing out now, kitten.” you shake your head, biting your lip as you spread your legs wider.

”want it. want all of you, mommy. please...” she growls-low and approving—and presses a knee between your thighs dragging the tip of the strap through your folds. your whole body twitches, breath caught, hands fisting the sheets.

”so fucking wet already,” she huffs, lining up with your entrance. ”all that whining and grinding—this what you were begging for, hm? to be split open on mommy's biggest cock like a needy little toy?”

you let out a broken moan, head tossing back.

”use me mommy. please.. want to feel full. want you to ruin me...” ”atta girl.”

and then she pushes in.

inch by inch, slow and relentless. the stretch burns—delicious, overwhelming, perfect. your mouth falls open, eyes wide and glassy as she fills you up, deeper than ever before.

”that's it,” karina breathes, gripping your thighs, and forcing them wider. ”take it all, i know you can—my greedy baby, always begging for more.”

your back arches. your nails dig into her arms. every breath you take is a whimper, a sob, a plea. once she's fully inside, she pauses—just to watch you tremble around her, cunt clenching, mouth babbling nonsense.

”look at you,” she murmurs, brushing your tears away with her thumb. ”already crying and i haven't even fucked you yet.”

”f-fuck me, mommy,” you gasp, ”need it so bad—need you to break me, please...”

”then hold on, kitten.” she pulls back, slow and sinful—then slams back in, hard enough to make the headboard crack.

you scream.

and karina just laughs, low and breathless, already setting a brutal pace—fucking into you like it's the only thing keeping her sane, like you belong to her (which you do).

she fucks you into the mattress, her grip unrelenting—hands planted on either side of your head, driving her hips down into yours with brutal, punishing thrusts. the strap's so deep inside you, every stroke punching gasps out of your lungs, making your legs twitch and your stomach flutter.

you're not even forming real words anymore—just sobs, cries, moans of mommy and please and so good all tangled up in your throat.

”you wanted this, didn't you?” karina growls, lips grazing your ear. ”wanted mommy to ruin your cute little hole? stretch you out until you can't take anything else?”

you nod—frantic. tears spill from your lashes as you paw at her back, trying to pull her even closer, bury her deeper.

”yes, yes, yes—fuck, mommy—don't stop-i'm gonna—”

she doesn't slow. she can't. your body clings to her, soaking, sloppy, walls fluttering like you're seconds from snapping again. she leans back just enough to watch the strap disappear into you, your tummy bulging slightly from the pressure, her jaw tightening at the sight.

”look at you,” she pants, grabbing your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, folding you in half. ”taking me so fucking well. this hole was made for mommy's cock, wasn't it?”

”yes—yes, please—m'so close—mommy please let me-”

”then cum, baby,” she whispers, droppingher lips to yours in a bruising kiss. ”make a mess on mommy's cock. show me how much you love being used.”

and just like that—you break.

your back arches off the bed, a raw cry leaving your throat as you cum hard, soaking her, soaking the sheets, entire body trembling. karina doesn't stop—dragging it out, fucking you through every twitch and jolt until your limbs go limp, mouth parted, eyes glassy.

but even then-especially then—you keep whispering it, barely there, barely conscious: ”m'sorry, mommy... sorry for being needy... just love you so much... want to make you feel good...”

karina's heart aches.

she leans down, brushing hair from your sweat-slicked forehead, her thrusts finally slowing down.

”shh, baby. i know you do," she whispers, ”you're mommy's perfect little girl. and mommy's not done with you yet.”

[luvkinich]

my everything

warnings + notes: phainon x reader, fluff, 1,1k words, phainon is whipped for you, minor spoilers to his lore?? i think + my third fic on this account IM CRYING WTF how have i only made 3 fics here art by shenteita on twt

tags: @somniachant

Phainon's past haunts him like a ghost. Memories of losing his family, friends, and hometown keep coming back to him every night he sleeps. Perhaps that’s why he’s unwilling to forge new relationships with people.

However, despite his past haunting him, Phainon finds himself in a predicament. You, a flower shop owner in Amphoreus, catch his attention. You and your passion for flowers make Phainon feel safe and comfortable. Your flower shop isn’t huge like the other famous shops in the city, but it is cozy enough that you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

The flowers are also one unique aspect of your shop, being the only flower shop in the city. Though, you must say, not that many people like to buy flowers anymore (not even for courting someone, which shocks you to your core).

The door to your shop flings open just as the clock strikes 3 pm, and you see the familiar white-haired figure walk into your shop. It’s a routine for Phainon to visit your shop every evening. Sometimes, you wonder to yourself why a Chrysos Heir would make daily visits to your small flower shop without buying anything, but you can’t bring yourself to question him over something like that.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Phainon gives you a smile, one that melts your heart instantly. “How has your day been?” That’s another thing with Phainon - he always asks about how your day went, and to be honest? You don’t find it bothersome at all. Usually, you find it annoying when people pester you about your day every five minutes, but with Phainon, you find it endearing.

“Good evening, Phainon,” you greet him back. “My day has been… okay, I think? I didn’t have that many customers today, but it doesn’t really bother me that much. Business has been slow for a couple of weeks now that Valentine’s is over.” You look back at your notebook, one that you keep to track customers and sales. “But I still have my regular customers coming in to pick up their flowers. How about you? How’s it going with the Chrysos Heir?”

“Ah,” Phainon lets out a small laugh. “Never been better, I think? Mydei and I had a little sparring match this morning, and of course, I won.” You have a small inkling he might be lying, but you don’t comment on it. “And then I spent the rest of my day in my room. Boring, huh?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply. Phainon looks at you, confused. “I mean, ever since the disaster started, you barely got any sleep, right? So I think it’s good you were doing nothing today.”

“Huh,” Phainon says. “Never thought of it that way.” He smiles at you again. “Oh, right! Back to the matter at hand, I need some flowers.”

You blink, surprised. Phainon buying flowers? Now, that’s new. “Oh, what kind of flowers? Are you planning on confessing to someone today?” you tease, hoping it’s not true.

“Um, actually… yes.” Phainon’s response shatters your heart.

Oh… so you do have someone you like. You think to yourself, and you quickly mask your hurt with a shocked expression, not wanting Phainon to feel guilty. “That’s new! So, who’s this lucky person?”

Phainon blushes, and you can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. “You’ll see later. Now come on, what are some flowers I can buy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, flipping through your notebook containing flower meanings (yes, you still rely on notes; you have a terrible memory). “How about red tulips?” You walk over to the tulips, pick out a bouquet, and hand it to Phainon. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Phainon’s eyes shine with excitement. “Ah, they’re definitely gorgeous. What do they symbolize?”

“Endless love,” you state. “I think it’s perfect for you and that lucky person.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Phainon mutters, staring at the flowers as he envisions giving them to the person he loves. “How much are they?”

“They’re on the house,” you reply, and Phainon is about to protest, but you cut him off. “They’re on the house, Phainon. Don’t argue with me now,” you repeat, huffing to mask the hurt. “Now go and confess already!”

Phainon blinks a couple of times before smiling brightly. “Okay, thank you, Y/N. Truly.” He leaves, and as soon as he’s out of sight, you sigh. Another crush of yours failed.

The rest of your day passes more slowly than usual. As expected, no one else comes in after Phainon leaves, so you decide to close the shop early.

As soon as everything is locked up, you’re surprised to see Phainon standing behind you, still holding the red tulips you gave him. “...Phainon? What are you doing here? Oh no, did the confession not go well? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Um,” he starts a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t confess yet, actually.”

“Huh? Why?” you ask, confused. “Did they not show up?”

“No… they’re actually right here,” Phainon says, and when you don’t catch on, he lets out a small laugh. “Y/N, I’m saying I was waiting for you to close the shop so I could confess to you.”

“Oh,” you say, and then it hits you, causing you to gasp. Your cheeks turn red as you cover your mouth. “Wait- huh?!”

“I like you, Y/N-”

“No, wait, stop!” You turn around, covering your face. “I wasn’t- I thought-”

“Was this a bad time...?” Phainon asks innocently, making you turn back around. “Sorry-”

“No, don’t be sorry! I just- I wasn’t expecting this! I really thought you had a crush on someone else, so I felt hurt, and that’s why I gave you those flowers for free, so I wouldn’t have to see you all smiley about them!” you ramble, stopping only when Phainon bursts out laughing. “What’s so funny?!”

“You’re adorable, Y/N,” he says. “So that’s why you made me leave so quickly.” He stretches out his hand holding the flowers towards you. “So? Will you accept me as your boyfriend now that you know this is for you?”

“Phainon, you big dummy,” you sigh, laughing at your own foolishness. “Yes, yes I do.” Phainon smiles so brightly it almost blinds you. You take the flowers from his hands, and even though they're from your own shop and garden, you accept them as if they're from somewhere else. Aeons above, Phainon looks so cute smiling at you like that.

“Since you decided to close the shop early tonight, want to go on a mini-date? We can take a stroll around the city if you’d like,” Phainon suggests. Normally, if anyone else suggested this to you, you'd decline immediately, wanting to go home and tend to your growing plants. But this is Phainon, your boyfriend (you let out a giddy laugh in your head).

“Of course,” you agree. “Where do you want to take me?”

“Hmm, I think we can stop by your favorite restaurant first for some dinner, and then we can go to…” Phainon starts listing almost every date spot in Amphoreus, and you can only look at him with adoration in your eyes.

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[kissingmilfs]

⟢ 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 | 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 ⟢

18+ minors and men please dni

content warnings: alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, clitorial stimulation, sex w/a strap, light choking/biting

⋆˚✿˖°જ⁀➴⋆˚✿˖°જ⁀➴⋆˚✿˖°જ⁀➴⋆˚✿˖°જ⁀➴⋆˚✿˖°જ

you’d had such a wreck of a day at work. the files your boss spent all week waiting for never showed up. and naturally it became everyone’s problem. including yours. you don’t even work directly underneath her. but for the rest of the day you were somehow solving her problems while trying to get your own work done. overtime is generally something you avoid. yes, the extra few hundred dollars were nice but surely not at the expense of your sanity. thankfully tomorrow was saturday. thankfully you worked in a “swanky and up and coming” part of the city.

a bar, your co-workers recommended frequently, sat at the corner up the block from your office building. the sounds of your steps were swallowed by the traffic surrounding you and the other pedestrians having lively conversations. it took no effort to locate the bar. maneuvering through glass and gold trimmed swivel doors—your eyes were forced to adjust to the low lighting of the bar. it is not the usual dive bar of your somewhat forgotten college days. the bar glittered with gold and black accents. marble decorated the space tastefully and almost inconspicuously.

despite the upscale location and vibe, you prayed none of the white collar men would take it upon themselves to acquaint their cigarette breath with your personal space. the space was busy, but not crowded. you’d normally indulge in sitting at the far end of the bar. tonight such familiarity isn’t plausible.

you sling your coat over the back of chair before settling into it. your manicured clean cut nails tap idly on the bar top. most bars are sticky and smell painfully of beer. everything here is kept to fine precision. as you take in the rest of your surroundings, it’s clear the owner(s) took a keen attention to detail.

a voice breaks your train of thoughts and the silence. “anything to drink? or just looking?”

your eyes instinctively begin to roll but as you redirect your attention towards the voice—your innate reaction comes to a pause. if you lacked a little less decorum, your jaw might have hung open at the sheer amount of woman across from you. she absentmindedly polished wine glasses while awaiting your response. her grey eyes dont necessarily pierce into yours but she is carefully considering you.

the fingers tapping the bar top pause. “what’s good here?” it’s the only response you can muster.

the bartender laughs casually and effortlessly throws the drying rag across her shoulder. “everything and anything. i’m the best bartender in town.”

“not sporting that bourgeoisie, mixologist, tag then?”

she barks out another laughter. “no. i don’t need a fancy variation of bartender to prove myself. come on. what’s to drink?”

you sigh and shrug. “honestly i’m not sure. i’m a little exhausted making my own decisions. how about you surprise me?”

“surprise?” her eyes track your disposition and the pouty lips as your own eyes survey the entirety of the back wall of liquor. “any preference to our expanse of liquor?”

your index and middle finger wedge between your platinum black credit card and id in the chest pocket of your suit jacket. sliding the payment and identification across the bar smoothly until they’re grazing brown fingertips. “something strong. i’ve had a long day at work.”

the bartender is somewhat surprised by the confidence displayed. not that she had pegged you as a damsel in distress. a woman who confidently sports a tailored three piece suit with a complementary coat isn’t an unusual member of the bar. your air of nonchalantness and casual surveillance of your surroundings draws her in. and when you, oh so casually, mentioned zero interest in decision making…it was almost as if a trap was set. a game launched.

“one surprise me drink then.”

within seconds she has flourished away and her hands grab speedily at different shelves. your eyes remained intently focused on the blur of movements. you attempt to track the ingredients but it’s futile. after a few minutes, she pours a umber liquid into a whiskey glass. leaning over, you smell the notorious notes of expensive ass whiskey. and something sweet.

“what is it?” you inhale another whiff.

the bartender pours the rest of the contents into a shot glass and shrugs. “try it. see if you can guess.”

you lift your eyes through your eyelashes. “okay…” you cautiously wrap your fingers around the glass and take a diligent sip. the flavors tingle on your tongue. you were right about the subtle sweetness. the whiskey doesn’t have the usual warmth coating your throat. well, it’s not as noticeable. instead your skin intakes the warmth and the first sip is reminiscent of a rum cake.

“holy shit.” you exclaim with pure genuine awe. “okay, um, whiskey, yes?” the bartender smirks and nods. “okay…it’s kind of sweet. cinnamon maybe? or nutmeg?”

her smirk shifts into an authentic smile almost revealing one of her canines. “no, but close. we make our own vanilla extract. i might’ve indulged and scraped a tiny amount of the soaked bean into the shaker.”

your eyes widen with the revelation. authentic vanilla beans are expensive and hard to come across unless you know someone. “that’s…woah, okay. what else did you put in here?”

“a little of this and a little of that. continue sipping and think on it. i’ve got other customers.” she tips her head towards the end of the bar. you can tell her tone isn’t rude or one of dismissal. if anything you believe she’s almost overindulging you.

as you take deliberate sips of the drink, you find yourself unable to pull away from the sight of the bartender. your eyes drink in the way her muscles move as she tosses the ingredients in a shaker. they threaten to burst around the sleeve of her plain black t-shirt. she grips her instruments of choice with such suave and ease. using either elbow, flesh or prosthetic, to hit the edge of the shakers for that satisfying popped release.

by the time you’re finished with the drink—you’ve worked through countless cheesy pickup lines and flirty innuendos all in your head. but before you can grace your words on her ears—a woman—no a creation of the gods—commands the entire presence of the bar. she must stand far over six feet. her dark skin glistening with a sheen she must’ve taken precise effort to massage into her skin. her muscles are perfectly sculpted and crafted as if by a potter’s gentle touch. and the dress?

mothers above the dress. who was the lucky son of a bitch who wove that fabric around her shoulders and breasts? the deep red and luxurious cotton threatening to fuse with her radiant skin. she certainly is not a real woman. she must be an apparition of everyone’s mind. some ethereal being projecting an unattainable image for us. yet as she approaches the bar with almost a mission in mind—you come to the realization the only seats are opposite you. one drink of the glorious concoction isn’t enough to even allow yourself near her presence.

as you deliberate whether to flag the bartender down again, the goddess herself, encroaches on your space. her perfume twirls around your noise. the familiar scent of coco butter overwhelms yet comforts you. her hand on your shoulders almost produces an embarrassing moan.

“may i sit beside you, sweetheart?” her words are perfectly enunciated and in an unrecognizable accent. or maybe it’s simply the drawl of the words.

you nod without any hesitation. there’s no denying a woman such as herself. you could not fathom a world in which she’s ever heard the word, no. her smile is almost mischievous as she accepts the non-verbal response. you witness her dress move as second skin as she effervescently sits. her golden eyes meet yours with such intensity you hold a breath. her face spreads into such a wide grin. you hadn’t realized how audible your swallow was. you would not have caught on to it until much, much later in the future.

“ambessa. pleasure to meet you.” her golden bracelets jingle against each other as she extends her hand.

you stare dumbfounded at the hand before remembering. her name rings in your heard over and over. “pleasure is all mine. i’m y/n.”

ambessa regards you with a tilt of her head. you can feel each inch of your skin on fire where her eyes trail towards to then away. then she lets out a hum. a satisfied hum. “i see. i’ve yet to meet you before.”

“i’m usually more comfortable drinking a glass of wine at dinner than drinking at any sort of bar. but i must admit it…this isn’t your normal bar.”

“indeed it isn’t.”

your brain works far too hard to think of something else to say. instead you awkwardly sip the melted ice and last whispers of the drink. you cringe internally when it makes that god-awful sucking noise as it reaches the final drops. within seconds, the empty glass is swapped out with a new drink. two drink straws dangle from your lips as you look up at the hand replacing it. you manage a faint, thank you, smile.

without warning, the bartender’s fingers guide the straws out from the grasp of your lips. “i know we’re supposed to care about the environment. so i’ll let ya keep the straws if you’re feeling attached.”

your cheeks, without second thought, burn with the irresistible urge to break out into a smile and giggle helplessly. you’re not one to shy away from the advances of beautiful women. you’re confident in your abilities to flirt and flirt back. yet it’s something tonight…something you’re unable to place your fingers on.

“i’ll, uh, let you have it.” you shake your head instantly to take the words back. “throw it away, i mean.”

your bartender only graces you with a chuckle before departing again. the next thing she does—you are certain it’s a hallucination. without hesitation pops one of your used straws between her teeth. as if it’s a toothpick or piece of hay. your thoughts don’t have the opportunity to stray for long. ambessa’s bracelets summon you once again.

it’s not pathetic to mindlessly follow the sound of a gorgeously stunning woman’s bracelets. especially not when ambessa’s long finger is dancing along the rim of her glass.

“tell me…what exactly do you do for work? you surely do not seem like an investment banker.”

you crack a smile at the not-so joking remark as ambessa’s voice gains your full attention. “no, i am not. i’m essentially a glorified reader. i read all these grant proposals that come into our company. i select which ones are worth our time and money then i allocate the proposals to different teams within the company.”

“smart girl, i see.”

it’s the only note ambessa gives you but you cannot contain the growing smile at the genuine praise.

“thank you. i’d like to think so too. and how about you? what do you do for work?”

ambessa knows how to draw you in. there’s a twinge of a smile on her lips. instead of offering an immediate reply, she lifts her glass and swirls the contents around. “a little of everything, dear. one might call me greedy.”

“greedy? how so?” you find yourself inching towards ambessa. though it appears, or maybe it’s the trick of the light, ambessa is purposely drifting back to draw you close.

“how so…excellent question. i assume you’d know a little something about greediness though.”

you stiffen at those words. you’re usually quite adaptable in situations—never needing more than a few seconds to switch courses. yet ambessa’s words knocked your usual confidence out of you. greedy? of all the words and general assessments—greedy is never a first impression you’ve left. have you?

“i’m…unsure…of what you mean.”

ambessa’s laugh crackles in the air. the hairs on your arm react as if to electricity or physical touch. “ah. i see you’re not fully acquainted in the evident ways of your desires. both for myself and my lovely bartender, sevika.”

your throat shrivels up at ambessa’s blatant comments. it aches for an escape. or perhaps you need the quenching sacrament that is only offered after foolishly devoting your lust to ambessa. you force your gaze away from the trance held by golden embers sparked in ambessa’s eyes. it takes only one second to realize sevika’s paid close attention to the interaction at play.

the moment your eyes locked in with those glossy grey ones everything clicks in place. sevika cracks a smile around the straw, your used straw. ambessa’s finger never once stops moving around the glass. the condensation mimicked how you felt. slowly melting under the watchful gaze of two undeniably attractive women.

“you two know each other then?” the slight tremble in your tone is noticeable to you and ambessa.

ambessa, always cunning and quick wit, replies, “what do you think, sweetheart?”

with a pause, you let the interactions of the night wash over you. ambessa’s quick determination to touch you as she had approached. sevika spending a minute too long doting on you with the drink. offering a far too special creation. the sharpness of each of ambessa’s words towards you. both women had, not too discreetly, expressed their interest in you.

“what are you…to each other?” your eyes flicker between ambessa and sevika. sevika now closer. only a few feet at the sink idly washing her instruments.

ambessa scoffs. the sound makes you whip your head towards it. “what does it matter? i think it’s clear what we both desire.”

sevika chuckles at the subtle harshness in ambessa’s words. or maybe it’s lack of disinterest to further coax the truth into you. ambessa is patient but headstrong. flipping her shakers to dry, sevika closes the distance. creating a bubble between all three of you and the rest of the patrons.

“don’t make this difficult, doll.” sevika’s tone is much suave than before. “come home with us tonight. we’ll show you a good time.”

you cannot remember how or when you’d said yes to the proposition. it didn’t take a genius to jump on the opportunity either. all you could remember was sevika and ambessa sharing a grin. then with a snap of ambessa’s fingers—sevika switched spots with another bartender. another blur of time went on and were wedged between both women in the back of a black suv. sevika’s lips were attached to your neck while ambessa stroked her hand teasingly along your inner thigh.

ambessa cackled once you spread your legs open for more of her touch. it never came. it didn’t matter much to you in the moment. you were aware it wasn’t rejection from ambessa. the woman craved to have you all but salivating for her touch.

“you’ll beg us to stop touching you soon, darling.” ambessa purred near your ear before nipping at the soft flesh of the lobe.

no one said a peep as ambessa tugged you through the lobby of their penthouse suite. her fingers crushing the silk of your tie. the sight alone invoked a lowly moan in your throat. you were not embarrassed to admit, to yourself, you grew damper in your underwear.

nothing and absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the ways in which ambessa and sevika desired you. once your feet crossed the threshold of the elevator into the penthouse—sevika’s fingers worked in tandem to unbutton your dress shirt. it dawned you on far too late about your suit jacket discarded in the suv.

before you could even get a word in, sevika already sunk to her knees and maneuvered your pants and cotton underwear down to your ankles. it was a momentary lapse of awkwardness as you attempted to wiggle your feet out of both shoes and pants. within seconds of freedom, sevika’s face is buried between your legs. her tongue does not hesitate. an eager lick is taking of your folds—a warm tongue paired on your even warmer pussy.

“fuck…” you mutter with the sheer hunger and heat behind the first pass. you reach out for sevika’s hair to steady yourself from stumbling over.

sevika’s tongue moves with a messy yet deliberate rhythm. she moans into your cunt—savoring every last inch of you. you watch in awe as her eyes are closed and tongue exploring every nerve that makes you whine. her tongue delves lower—teasing your entrance only with the tip—before bringing it back to your swollen clit. you’re far too wet for sevika’s tongue to dissolve your juices rapidly. you feel her tongue spread your desire all over your clit before she sucks the bundle of nerves between her lips.

your nails scratch profusely at her scalp. any attempt from embarrassingly falling over as she eats you out. your moans turn more frantic and your whimpers more high pitched. before you can think to warn sevika—a commanding voice demands sevika stop. both sevika’s and your disappointment rings in the air. the woman on her knees grumbles into your cunt. you release a mewl of annoyance. sevika chastely adores your clit with a kiss before returning upright.

“don’t look too sad, buttercup.” sevika playfully nudges your chin.

before you allow yourself to respond, ambessa steps behind you and secures one arm around your waist. she molds your bodies together. the older woman is completely naked. her breasts press into your shoulders. her hips are positioned on your lower back. you tense momentarily feeling her breath on your skin but it dissolves immediately.

ambessa’s head dips to your neck and licks a strip of skin along the curve on your shoulder. “such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? so eager and willing for us.”

you forget almost instantaneously about your loss orgasm. sevika steps closer which graciously allows more support for your trembling body. both her hands grip into the ample, tender flesh of your hips. she smiles wickedly.

“come on, ambessa. you promised i’d have my fun with her.” sevika fakes a frown. despite her words directed to ambessa, her eyes remained on you.

ambessa chuckles lowly against your skin and her nose tickles as she nods. “very well. i’ll play nice for now.”

before you can catch the needy whine it slips out the second you’re deprived of ambessa’s warmth. she steps away with a pleased smile at your reaction. within a blink of an eye sevika’s scooped you into her arms bridal style and is following closely behind ambessa.

“i can walk, you know?” you mutter with a quiet tone as you position your arms around sevika’s neck.

“so? not enjoying the princess treatment?” sevika returns without missing a beat.

you scrunch your nose to starve off the blush threatening to bloom over your face. sevika only laughs knowingly. now as you’re in the bedroom—you don’t have much time to properly appreciate the deliberate decor and interior design. sevika carefully lowers you on the bed—treating you almost too delicately for your liking. ambessa situates her back flushed to the headboard.

ambessa spreads her legs a few inches wide and pats the space between them. “come, dear.”

with a deliberate nod, you crawl towards ambessa until you’re kneeling between her legs. she offers a genuine smile and a tilt of her head. a bashful feeling washes over you at her undivided attention. it takes a few seconds but then you understand the silent command. you sit between ambessa’s legs—your back leaned against her chest.

“i knew you were smart.” ambessa praises and her hands diligently part your legs until each one hangs over one of hers. “we like safe words around here, dear. as it is your first night we will start with the traffic light system. do you know what that is?”

“yes, ambessa.”

you cannot see it but you can sense another wide smile spreads across ambessa’s face. “delightful. let us put it to the test while sevika gets ready.”

one of ambessa’s hands cups your breasts and the other slides down your torso. fingers hovering over your mound before she speaks again. “what color, dearest?”

an immediate raspy whisper emits from you. “green.”

ambessa hums her acknowledgment then her fingers part your folds. the cool air tingles on your exposed cunt. you even hear the slickness as she spreads you apart. her hand on your breast gives a firm squeeze before palming at the flesh. your sharp breath causes ambessa to pause and you immediately reply with, “g-green…” her actions continue with the confirmation. ambessa rolls your nipple between two fingers as she ghosts the other fingers over your clit. your hips instinctively buck—feening for more friction. ambessa deviously chuckles near your ear. while twisting your nipple with a surprisingly delicate touch, ambessa’s middle finger draws circles over your clit. it takes almost nothing to tip your head back against her shoulder with a moan.

ambessa eagerly drinks in your approval and continues with the ministrations. the circles prove to only tease you and leave you leaking on the sheets. after a full minute passes, ambessa’s finger wanders lower. the same digit trails teasingly over your entrance.

“what color, sweetheart?”

you groan lowly. “green…please…green.”

as the last syllable leaves your lips, ambessa effortlessly drives two fingers into your waiting cunt. you both moan for the same yet different reasons. the two fingers curl expertly drawing another moan from you. it takes no effort for ambessa’s fingers to glide in and out of you without resistance. each movement filling your ears with the profane wetness between your legs. you whimper with your lips parted as she curls her fingers deeper and fucks you slowly yet deliberately. as if she’s waiting for something. or someone.

“she ready?”

sevika’s voice cuts into the sounds of your pleasure and ambessa’s fingers stretching you. with half lidded eyes you find sevika through the haze of lust glazed over them. on her hips hang a dildo of about six inches with healthy width of girth. the harness accentuates the dips and curves of her defined hips and legs. as you’re shamelessly checking sevika out—she is doing the same. her eyes trained on ambessa’s fingers expertly curling in and out of you.

your back arches as ambessa adds a third finger. ambessa drops her hand from your sensitive nipple and wraps her arm around your waist—pulling you back flushed against her body.

“she should be ready. are you, sweetheart?” ambessa lathers your neck with kisses after her question despite her fingers still moving steadily inside of you.

“yes…” your focus is split everywhere. unable to keep your eyes trained on sevika without moaning as ambessa stretches you further for what’s next.

nonetheless sevika finds herself in bed with you both. she inches forward on her knees until she’s in the space ambessa created between your legs. both her and ambessa exchange a look before the fingers inside of you slowly slide out. you whimper at the loss but know it’ll immediately be replaced with something bigger.

sevika’s hands soothingly massage the length of your thighs. her thumbs lightly digging into the flesh—easing any residual tension. you sigh out a moan as her thumbs move further up. they find themselves in the valley of your hips and legs working with more added pressure.

“please sevika…” you attempt to arch your back—desperate for more than teasing.

ambessa’s arm tighten its hold on your torso. “none of that, doll. you’ll stay still and wait for sevika.”

“ah, it’s okay, ambessa. she’s kinda cute like this.”

sevika positions her knees underneath ambessa’s thighs for leverage. her non prosthetic fingers dance and dip between your folds—ensuring you’re ready. she guides the head of the strap towards your hole. the tip nudges against your entrance. both you and sevika bite your lips in anticipation. ambessa’s hands are tenderly caressing your sides sending goosebumps everywhere.

with one swift yet deliberate thrust sevika has sunk the entirety of the strap inside of you. likewise a moan is buried in your throat wanting escape but unable to. you feel the roughness of ambessa’s hands settling into their positions. one hand returned to your breast and the other slithering down to locate your clit once again.

the moan finally releases once sevika cautiously grinds her hips down and ambessa applies a delicious pressure to your clit. you find yourself melting into ambessa’s arms as her lips idly kiss along your shoulder and neck.

“one last time dearest…what color?” ambessa mutters against your skin.

“green…fuck…green for the whole night…”

you hear both their pleased chuckles and a blush dusts on the apples of your cheek. the momentary embarrassment dissipates the second sevika lazily drags the strap out then thrusts it back inside of you. she repeats the action a few times—stretching you out before setting a pace. once sevika’s patience runs thin of the teasing, she grips your thighs and starts thrusting her hips. it’s a steady momentum and rhythm. you feel the veins of the fake cock sliding against your spongey walls. the slight curvature allows a pleasurable friction on your g-spot each time sevika drags the strap out.

your moans gradually grow more and more desperate the more sevika thrusts into you. ambessa’s firm circles on your clit accelerates the process of your orgasm. paired with the interchangeable stimulation of your nipples from talented fingers. sevika pants and occasionally grunts above you. she cannot decide whether to watch her cock disappear inside your cunt or the expressions on your face. her nails leave impressions of half crescent moons on your thighs.

“feels so fucking good, baby…shit…” sevika growls as she crouches forward. her forehead grazing only an inch above yours.

sevika’s hips begin to move with a little less grace. snapping into you with such an intensity you’re already preparing for the lingering soreness tomorrow. you cannot even get the noises of pleasure out from within. your head falls on ambessa’s shoulder—no longer able to support the weight. ambessa, always an opportunist, encircles your neck with her calloused fingers. the action draws a moan out of you and it’s immediately paired with ambessa adding more pressure to your clit.

“oh fuck…that’s…gonna make me…cum…”

ambessa’s squeezes the sides of your neck experimentally and the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around sevika’s strap. it produces a series of tiny whimpers as sevika’s thrusting is unrelenting and ambessa fingers never once pause their careful, pressured circles on your clit.

“come for us, baby. you’re so pretty like this…so perfect…” ambessa whispers softly near the shell of your air.

you’ve never once came on command. you figured it was a myth. that is before ambessa cuts off your air circulation. before sevika manages to spread your legs wider and somehow move even faster. the fingers on your clit match the speed in which you’re being fucked. ambessa tips your head backwards so sevika can crash your lips into a heated and passionate kiss.

within seconds everything comes crashing down. your legs tremble from the onslaught attention. tongues messily clashing as you both moan into each other. the blood gushes rapidly in your ears drowning out the squelching sounds of your cunt being filled. you’re not even sure if you moaned or if it was a silent one. neither of them relent until you’ve limply sunk into ambessa’s embrace.

sevika draws back from your lips. smiling proudly as a string of saliva connects you both. ambessa’s hand encroached around her neck drops and starts caressing your trembling form. her lips return with more intent kisses anywhere she can reach. sevika’s hands carefully lift your legs off of ambessa’s and settle them on the bed after she draws the strap out of you.

you whimper with the empty feeling. despite the emptiness, your cunt throbs achingly around nothing. you hear someone ask you a question but you cannot determine from whom.

“did you hear that?” the voice asks and you shake your head truthfully. you feel the laughter rumbling on ambessa’s skin—must’ve been her. “do you need a break? or are you ready for more?”

“m-more?” you whine out as you half heartedly watch sevika loosen then step out of the harness.

ambessa bites gently into your shoulder emitting a tiny yelp out of you. “yes, more. you think sevika is the only one with all the fun? oh darling…i myself need to taste you and feel you come around my tongue, my fingers…maybe i’ll bring out a bigger toy. would you like that?”

“yes, ambessa…” the prompt answer is without hesitation.

ambessa licks the bite mark embedded in your shoulder now. she words settled deep into your core. “oh…you’re too perfect. i think we’ll keep you, pet.”

[emilys-bangs]

hiiii this was under the hydrangea list and i thought it was cute but okay what if it was new agent reader and season 12 emily (maybe they arent super young but ykwim) and reader gets drunk for whatever reason, and emily has to take care of them. like take them back home or whatever and she said “you should get some rest kid” and then reader is like “pls dont call me that im so attracted to you and it makes it weird if you call me that” this is a mess of a sentence but im sleepy and i have read all of your work and im starving okay im done love u bye

This made me laugh, ty for requesting! I love love love it (and you). Join my celebration here <3

Tags: drunk!reader, bau!reader, flustered emily

Word count: 1.1k

Being Unit Chief comes with responsibilities. Taking drunk subordinates home is not one of them. 

And yet here she stands, stepping out of the rowdy bustle of the bar and hailing down a cab, half an eye on you and half on the car as it pulls up to the curb. 

Emily’s fingers curl around the handle. She pulls open the backseat door and nudges you in, cushioning the sharp carving above your head with her palm. And for good reason, because seconds later, your forehead bumps into the back of her hand.

“Emily, Ma’am,” you say politely when she gets in, your fingers fumbling with your seatbelt, “y’don’t have to take me home, you know.”

Emily ignores the Ma’am.

“It’s on the way to mine,” she replies, her eyes tracking your struggle with the seatbelt. She’s about to intervene when it slides home with a click.

“But it’s so early!” You huff, sinking back against the seat. “You can’t have wanted to leave yet. You like to party, I think. You look like a partier.” Your eyes lock with hers, serious despite the glazed shine to them. Still ever the profiler, even with alcohol humming in your blood.

Emily’s lips tingle with the need to smile. It’s nice to see you loose and easy; in the few months since you started at the BAU, you’ve been polite but detached, quiet unless it contributes to a case, and meticulous in your work. Emily saw the way you kept your distance, but she knew it’d fade with time.

Tonight is proof of that. A few drinks in, an hour or so of Garcia’s lively chatter, and you shed all professionalism off your shoulders. In the span of a few hours, the floodgates have opened wide. 

Emily isn’t sure she wants them to fall back closed.

“Y’know, you need a break from all that paperwork,” you say sagely. “Too much paperwork, and all of it’s on your plate.” 

It can’t be comfortable, the way you rest your head on the edge of the window. Your outline shudders with every bump in the road, but you seem perfectly content. Comfortable, even, your legs stretched out near hers and crossed at the ankles.

“Somebody’s gotta do it.” Emily murmurs. 

“Shame it’s you,” you say. The soft slide of your slur is strangely endearing. “You’re far too pretty to spend so much time in the office.”

Her brows arch in surprise. Emily lets out a short laugh, her neck growing hot, the strands of her hair suddenly poking into her skin. She doesn’t reply—can’t, really, because you go on a ramble, seemingly unbothered by the bomb you’ve dropped on her and turning your fleeting attention to some topic she isn’t really able to focus on.

Her cheeks are still warm as your voice fills the silence of the car. Soft and lilting in uneven slopes, your thoughts unwinding like pools of thread, trailing from one topic to another with hardly a pause. It’s nice, Emily thinks, to hear your tongue wrap around unmarred, bloodless words for once. Her ears hardly get reprieve from your rambling until the car stops and you once again fumble with the seatbelt. 

Streetlight pours in through the window. All at once, you’re gold. Your nails, the tips of your lashes, the frown you direct to the buckle.

Emily leans over, her own belt cutting across her chest, and undoes it for you.

You melt with relief. A beam lights up your face, lips stretched wide over your teeth. The sight is still unusual; she stares a little.

“Thanks.”

Emily swallows. Nods. 

“I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh no, no, it’s—”

“I’ll walk you up. C’mon.” Her voice falls softer than she wanted it to. Emily moves almost on autopilot: undoing her belt, getting out of the car, reaching for your elbow when you teeter above the sidewalk.

“You really are a top notch boss.” You mumble, pushing open the door of your apartment building.

Emily presses her lips against a smile. “Don’t expect this treatment every time. One time service only.”

“Part of the newbie package?”

She’d never walked anyone up to their door. A shared ride and a misspelled text minutes later was enough to make her rest easy. 

“Something like that.”

You hum and rub your eye, taking halting steps down the hallway. Emily’s eyes carefully watch for any stumbles, but you lead them safely to your door. 

The key is unsteady in your hand when you pull it out. She watches it thunk loudly against the lock as you try to slot it in, gives you three seconds, then gently takes it. Your mumbled protest goes ignored.

Emily undoes the lock and swings the door open into warm light. Her eyes instinctively flit over your home, inquisitive—nosy—before she catches herself and averts her gaze. She pulls the key out and places it in your palm, then gently nudges you in.

“C’mon. You should get some rest, kid.”

Emily doesn’t fully realize what she’s said until you pause over the threshold, a violent shudder rocking your shoulders. “God, please don’t call me that,” you grimace, face scrunched up with animated disgust. “’M so—god I’m so attracted to you, makes me feel weird to hear you call me that. Please don’t call me that.” You reiterate.

She can’t look away from the scrunch of your nose. The silence rings, and your face crumples into a frown.

“You don’t think of me as a kid, do you?”

Emily’s mouth is dry. 

“No, god no. You certainly aren’t…no, I don’t, I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. Her skin itches with embarrassment, flaming hot where your slow eyes track. “I see JJ’s kids a lot,” she blurts, “and, you know, take them out to parks and stuff…and sometimes with Reid—you know…” 

God, somebody shut her up.

“Force of habit. I promise. I don’t see you as a kid, far from it—”

“Oh, she’s a rambler,” you laugh, something airy and feather-light. “I believe you, Chief Prentiss. But only if you’ll call me something else.” You say, a touch coy.

“What do you want me to call you?” Her voice comes out breathless.

“My name.” Your blink is slow, lashes kissing your cheeks. “M’first name, not that…L/N bullshit.”

Before tonight, she would’ve thought you preferred it. 

Emily’s glad that’s not the case. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, yeah. Y/N.” She tests it out. Your face brightens; her lips curve up before she feels it. “Please get some sleep.”

Still spilling laughter, you touch two fingers to your temple. “Yes, Ma’am. G’night, bye.”

The door thuds closed.

“Emily.” She murmurs to it.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic@decadentcatcrusade @piiinco

[bunny-jpeg]

sundays off

toto wolff

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/50s), power dynamic, poorly translated german, lap sex/cowgirl position, oral sex (toto receives), couch sex, unprotected sex

a/n: *makes vague gestures* i wrote this in a back corner of a train heading to see my beloved <3

nothing felt better than a sunday night with no racing. at least that was what you told yourself. the season seemed to stretch on and ended in heartbreak as this was the final races with lewis. while the wound of departure still stung. you were happy for toto to be home.

the place you shared in monaco with your beloved partner. he wasn't your husband yet, and he was far too old to be your boyfriend. so, you were partners. it made you seem like you were crime fighters. but you were certain most crime fighting duos weren't doing this on a sunday night.

"that's it, geliebten. take me as good as you do." his voice tinged with a certain want that made you toes curl as your nose dug into his pelvic area in an attempt to deep-throat him.

you were toto's beloved, underneath all the pet names and heavy touches, you were the center of toto's universe. it was to such a degree that he couldn't have you on the track too often. it was fine at monaco or austria. that made sense, but if you lingered on the track for too long toto couldn't focus. but that meant the was pent up by the end of the season.

and when toto came home, he wanted to make up for lost time. and that usually started with re-training your throat. between his legs, your mouth around his cock as you pleasured him. eyes fluttered shut as you took him as deep as you could. you could feel the pleasure thump in the back of your head as your spit clung to your chin.

toto held your hair in his hand and his other hand on his thigh as he leaned back into the couch. he admired how you look as the pleasure coursed through his body. the feeling was something else, he could feel the thump of his heart in his ears as your nose rubbed up against his trimmed pubic hair. he was impressed with himself after all the time he could still keep up with a young thing like you. he said in that low voice of his, his accent heavier with lust, "was für eine wunderschöne prinzessin." the words burned in your brain and soaked your core as you continued to orally pleasure him.

you'd get yours soon enough, toto wasn't the type of man was satisfied with one round. a man like him only reached the heights he did because of an insatiable greed.

you continued to orally pleasure him and the pleasure grew with a fire in his gut. he shifted a little on the couch and held onto your head a little tighter. his grip could be so hard it could bruise, but he'd never hurt you like that (unless you begged very nicely).

"a beauty." he said lowly, "i missed you every weekend. the photos and videos don't do your beauty justice, prinzessin. i did like the one with you on our bed, you in my shirts and trying so hard to get yourself off... but it's impossible without me, right?" he heard you moan in response at his question.

he guided your head a little faster and he could feel you choke a little bit at the feeling of his cock intruding further down your throat and it made something race through him. double header after triple header, race after race, he yearned for the softness of his lover. he wished you didn't blind his focus so much or else you'd be in his lap during the race. but it would be hard to direct the likes of russell or lewis with a hard-on.

your throat tightened around his cock as he gave the back of your throat a few more thrusts before he came inside of your mouth. he groaned under his breath was he let go of your head and relaxed against the couch. the white leather was a place of such debauchery when the older man got his hands on you.

you swallowed dutifully and took your mouth off of his still hard cock. you looked up at him with a needy look in your eyes. you needed your pleasure met too. it was hard to give head and not get so sexually wound up. and toto was more than happy to give his princess everything she so desired.

he stroked his hard cock lazily, it slick with your spit. heat in his cheeks and his dark eyes took in the sight of you before he said, "if you want it, geliebten. you're going to have to work for it. i work hard to give you everything you want, but this, you're going to have to actually work for." then smiled like a mad-man when you scrambled up on shaky legs and got into his lap. your wet cunt took him beautifully.

he tensed up for a moment and swallowed from the feeling on his already overstimulated cock. he placed both of his large hands on your hips and guided your down. his cock nudged against what felt like your womb and toto loved the feeling. your warm walls made him feel the sharp feeling of pleasure in his body. and then when you started to move up and down his cock.

"oh, geliebten." he purred, "i see you haven't forgotten the lessons i've taught you. how to please a man." you barley had given a blow-job by the time you met. toto spent a summer break making sure you understood how to drive a man wild.

"how could i forget, toto." your hands were across his clothed chest. he was still mostly clothed while you were naked. save for the anklet on your left leg with toto's name on it. you giggled, heat risen in your cheeks, "i think you fucked all my university knowledge to make room for what you taught me."

he chuckled lowly as his hands roamed your hips and a little more north, his eyes trained on the jiggle of your breasts, "well, a lover can be a good teacher. especially when the student is so eager to please." his voice was like honey in your brain and it made you only more needy for him. he kissed at your breasts and held the fat flesh in his hands and dragged his teeth and tongue across it.

you continued to move against him. you felt the excitement run through you. his sole attention on you made your body heated. there was a fire in your core that yearned for him. you wanted him, you needed him. you were his world and he expected nothing but loyalty.

"please, toto. fuck, it feels good. it left impossible to cum when i was home alone. nothing beats you." and then yelped when toto slapped you on the ass which only made you tighten around him.

"i know, prinzessin. i think i may have broken your brain with sex... my apologies. but, don't worry, i won't even make you go without." he chuckled lowly as he continued to meet your pace. he watched your body move with each heavy thrust and he felt the excitement in his bones. weeks apart, the rush of the race. despite it all, toto thought of you. he loved you. he adored you in ways that he could never put into proper words. how could he? if one met an angel, they couldn't simply put the experience into words. it was the same with you.

his voice was heavy as the words tumbled out, there was a slight ache in his hip from your movements and the position. but that could be dealt with after, you cunt was soaked for him. he even slipped out a few times, but with a little help you managed to sink yourself back down onto him. he let out a groan and you arched your back a little.

"you feel so good, geliebten." he said with a heated lust in his tone as he gripped onto you a little tighter. you felt good, your cunt was perfect around him. the fire only grew in his core as you continued to fuck him feverishly.

there was a pain in your hips as you rode him, but it was overwhelmed by the feeling of pleasure in your body which kept you moving against him. the thump of your heart could be felt in the back of your mind with a heat in your cheeks. you loved him, you loved him so deeply. you missed him, the weeks apart made it hard for you to deny yourself him. to let yourself fuck him with wild abandon. it was hot. you knew you wouldn't last much longer, not while you were riding him so well that it short circuited your brain.

your pants were heavy, your tone low as you said to him, "toto, please, honey. i'm close." the thump in your soul was a raging fire as you continued to move your hips against him. you felt the fire through your blood as you kept your pace. you fucked him through your climax, you tensed around him which only made him more turned on.

"cum for me, angel." he said lowly, "cum like you've been meaning to." then kissed at your jaw as you gave it a few more heavy thrusts before he finished inside of you. he tensed up as he held you close and let you work his body through his climax.

eventually you slowed to a stop and you slumped against him. you wrapped your arms and held onto the soft material of his t-shirt. you knew he could keep going, but you were spent. surprising that even at his age he could happily keep going like a real stallion. you held onto him and kissed him until your lips were raw. it felt amazing, good in a way that made you excited all over. it was heated, a sense of euphoria rushed through you.

"got your fill, geliebten?" he asked softly, "i see that you missed me."

"i always miss you, honey." you exhaled deeply, "missing you is like missing a part of my soul. i always need it."

he kissed the side of your head as he held you. maybe next season you could visit a little more. it would be good for the team, bring up the morale. toto just had to think of a way to keep himself from getting distracted, but he had an entire off season to come up with a plan <3