#confessions of a broken mind

[zhoras-bitch]

Love this new RC story

Angelik Lovers

[bylrndgm]

heartstopper did it again. healed a part of me that was never healed, that i didn't manage to heal. i feel at peace now.

[tonycries]

Care For You!

Synopsis. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer” they say, right? But you don’t think they meant close enough to be in their bed.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, enemies to lovers, hate/ angry séx, spítting, light exhíbitionism (Nanami’s), mentions of kníves (Sukuna’s and Geto’s), chokíng, degradatíon, cúmplay, squírting, overstím, jealousy (Toji’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.7k

A/N. Woahhh I got carried away and this got long, HAHAH.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - F*ck the divorce! (And you)

“What were you sayin’, doll?”

Of course, the only response Toji gets is a wet, pathetic little murmur of something - maybe a curse, probably a plea for more more more-

Something that has his swollen cock twitching so wildly inside your snug cunt - barley even halfway in but still stretched so obscenely around him. Something that had him letting out a low chuckle at how fucked-out his poor wife already sounds.

“What? Can’t talk anymore?” He coos, relishing in the way your nails rake furiously down his sculpted back in reply - a warning. “Drunk on m’cock already?”

But Toji doesn’t stop, not even close. Only slamming faster, deeper into your snug cunt, quick, maddening grinds just to squeeze inside. “How cute. And you were so keen to run your mouth about divorce earlier, you little bitch.”

Fuck.

And then you spit. Hitting right there on the edge of Toji’s pissed off smirk, splattering against that little scar you loved and hated so much.

As if that wasn’t enough insult to injury, your mouth is moving so stupidly before your mind. Ignoring how your pussy was desperately sucking his throbbing cock to look him right in the eyes. Babbling out a broken, yet determined, “Fuck you.”

At this, Toji has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. More to infuriate you than anything as he presses such a deceivingly tender little peck on your mouth. And you know it’s on purpose the way he lets your saliva smear all over both your lips.

“No.” He whispers against your lips, amused, like a little confession. “I’m fucking you.” 

God, and it works. You’re all but seething. Fighting the urge to smack his pretty face as he drags his aching cock all against your plushy walls. Back, back, back till his weeping tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “And m’gonna fuck all thoughts of that divorce right outta ya, doll.”

It’s all that’s said before Toji’s finally bottoming out in one, harsh thrust. Rough enough that you’re sure it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his back.

Not even giving you the time to adjust - why would he? He’s got his pretty wife all splayed out and needy for him, what more could he wait for? Ramming his swollen cock into you like he hated you. Like he hated all thoughts of that stupid little idea you brought up, and was well and fully intent on fucking it out of you.

And if that wasn’t enough, he’s wrestling you to face him. Squeezing your cheeks together into such an embarrassing little pout that forces you to look into his darkened eyes. “Open that fucking mouth.”

You just hated how your jaw drops slack as if on instinct. Hated how you can do nothing but moan deliriously as he spits right into your open mouth. Hated the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, plushy walls squeezing him to insanity till you can feel the rapid bump! bump! bump! of his prominent veins. Messy. 

“I’m the only one that gets to do this.” 

God, it was too much for him too. 

“Think y’can divorce me?” He’s rutting into you so animalistically, hips stuttering and sloppy. Like he couldn’t decide between hitting that sweet spot he knew so well and abusing your poor cervix. “Think anyone else can make you get off this good?”

“I- Hngh- fuck fuck fuck, Toji-”

“Answer me.” he gasps, strained. Angry. Desperate. Breath hot against your face as he pulls and tugs on your lower lip - like a little punishment, as if his throbbing cock wasn’t enough. “Tell me. You think any other loser is gonna fuck you till they can shut up that bitchy mouth of yours?”

And God it was so maddening how he was right - how you knew no one could have you all breathless and cockdrunk like this.

But you couldn’t go down without a fight.

“M-maybe.” you spit, sounding a bit more whiny than you intended. “Maybe some other guy is gonna fuck me better, n’ have a hngh- b-bigger dick too.” 

And Toji notices - of course, he does. Because he’s reaching down to toy with your swollen clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers as if to say “Really?”

He knew you too well. Well enough that he’s only fucking you harder into the mattress, like it hurt to hear any nonsense of some other guy falling from your pretty lips. Like he was taking it out on your ravaged pussy, sliding in and out of your sloppy cunt with reckless abandon. 

“Shut up.” he groans, glancing down at how sinfully you were milking the fucking soul out of him. Hips hitting yours so bruisingly with each word- “Shut up- shut up shut, you little slut.”

“Ngh- Toji. S’too much. Sh-shit.”

“Shut up and take it.” And you can’t escape his unforgiving thrusts even if you wanted to. “No one knows this cute cunt like this. You like this.” Unable to run away with the arm around your hip, the fingers relentless on your puffy clit. “Because this sloppy pussy is mine, I’m the only one fuckin’ her like this.” Teeth latching onto any inch of skin he could reach, rock-hard cock sliding in and out in and- Like he wanted you to stay. Needed you to stay. 

“And m’gonna fuck you till there’s no divorce in that pretty lil’ mind.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Gentleman?

“You think you deserve respect?”

Whoever told you that Nanami was perfect - the epitome of a gentleman - was the biggest liar you’ve ever encountered. Because they’ve clearly never had to work together with that uptight, scrutinizing, overly-strict son of a-

“Yes, I fuckin’ deserve respect.” you spit, the words coming out a bit more breathless than you wanted. Nanami’s office desk cool against your cheek, ass grinding traitorously into his throbbing erection. “Not that you’d know anything about it.”

He’s leaning down to whisper hotly against your ear, “I do. But-” And oh Nanami’s gripping your waist like it was the only thing keeping his sanity tethered to him. Pulling your sloppy pussy closer to him. “-you really think you deserve respect even when you’re being such a slut f’me?”

And maybe you’re an idiot - maybe you’re a mastermind. 

Because in one, fluid motion you’re gripping his silk tie to pull Nanami impossibly closer. That low, throaty groan going straight to your quivering cunt as you grit out, “Yes, sir.”

Several things happen at once - the first being that you learn that Nanami’s ties are soft. Comfortable, even, as he hastily pulls off the damn things, wrapping it around your wrists. Tight. 

You gasp at the realization that you’re now bound and completely vulnerable, pinned to the desk by his weight. Exactly where he wanted you. 

“This,” he huffs, amusement bleeding into his words. “-is more like it.”

God, you hated him. You hated his rubbing up against your back through that sinfully tight shirt as he pools your sweet juices on his fat head. You hated the way he was dragging it lazily, up and down up and down. Teasing. Calculated. Watching all your cute reactions. 

Fuck, you needed him.

“Are you just fucking talk-”

You barely get to finish the sentence before he’s ramming his aching cock inside your sopping pussy. Not even moments later, as he fucks you into the desk. Like he was trying to break it. Break you. 

Hips colliding with yours over and over and over, you were only thankful that these walls were sound-proofed. Because otherwise, the entire office building would be hearing all your delirious moans. Breath ragged, mind spinning, only babbling out, “Fuck fuck fuck- s’deep. Can feel you so- hngh- good-”

“Yeah? S’good.” Nanami huffs out a laugh at how perfect you were for him. Pussy sucking him up so well that it was impossible to tear his eyes from the sinful sight. “And you still expect me to treat you like a lady?”

Making you wish more and more that the people who always tittered in the coffee room about Nanami being the “perfect gentleman” could see this right now. How he was talking to you so fucking mean and splitting you apart on his cock even meaner.

“Hah- f-fuck you.” And the only thing you can do is pull uselessly at the restraint around your wrist, knowing it’s a pathetic attempt. As if to drive the point deeper, Nanami purposefully pulls you up by the tie, using it as leverage to bounce you back into his thrusts like some fucktoy - his favorite one, of course.

You yelp at the change in angle, his swollen cock dragging so dizzyingly against all the right spots. Pounding into you, deep. Disrespectful - like he promised.

“Fuck me?” he clicks his tongue and scoffs so uncharacteristically. Then again, Nanami was always out of character with you. “Last time I checked, I-” One, harsh thrust. “-was the one fucking you. Like a slut.”

“At least this ‘slut’,” it’s hard to speak with the way he was fucking pushing into your lungs. “Can do a better job than you.” You crane your neck to glare at him as best you could. “You call this fucking?”

Then it’s like something snapped. Several somethings, in fact.

Nanami’s tie, his sanity, you by the end of this.

And before you know it, you’re on your back, splayed out sinfully on top of the desk. Nanami’s heavy cock pulling out just to throw you around how he pleased, immediately burying back into your sloppy pussy like it killed him to stay apart. 

“Little bitch. Always testin’ me.” he’s grunting, drawing urgent, frenzied little patterns on your clit - not even circles because for once in his life, Nanami was too impatient. Too depraved. “Always fuckin’ getting on my nerves with your smart mouth and-” Hips getting so filthy, a rough, maddening tandem. “Slutty lil’ skirts.”

Once he started, Nanami couldn’t stop - he couldn’t stop his movements, so desperate to get you off. And he couldn’t stop his words either.

“Wan’ed this so bad. So fucking bad.” Words slurring. Maddening - like a man possessed. “Cos’ you’re such a fucking bitch n’ I wanted to bend you over and shut you up at every meeting we had. Didn’t care for an audience.”

He’s milking himself on your dripping cunt with reckless abandon, groaning at the way you’re taking each slam of his hips so well. Bruising on your ass, your swollen clit, your mouth as Nanami hisses out little profanities into it. Like a mantra. 

“Mmpf- fuck, K-Ken. S’too much oh my god. Feels so-.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hey there, Mr. Nanami. M’just here to confirm that the team meeting will be here in five?” A voice, unassuming from outside the door. “Yeah. Jus’ come in then, we’ll be ready in five.” You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the looming interruption or Nanami’s next words. Cock still unforgiving. Disrespectful. Turning to you as he whispers against your lips, “Better get done, you little slut. Before HR finds out why we have so many debriefs here.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - To kill? To ruin.

“So, you couldn’t kill me. Now what, pretty?”

Your eyes stay locked on the cult leader sat in front of you. The way his inky hair framed that relaxed smile - too relaxed. His arm bruising around your waist, tight to keep you from escaping. Long lashes fluttering so enticingly as he waited for your answer. 

Your target. 

Unfairly beautiful - even with the knife at his throat, his own just inches away from your neck. 

And you don’t know if you’re even breathing - or if he is either. Waiting to see how one word could change everything. How you’d end up killing each other, a bloodbath. Or-

Or how you’d end up spread so shamefully on Geto’s tatami floors, legs dangling off his strong shoulders. Poor pussy so bloated with his cum already. Hands scrambling to grip onto the floor - his biceps - his hair - just anything to keep yourself from losing your fucking sanity while he fucks you like he’s lost his. 

Over and over and- You’ve lost track of time now, it’s been hours, both of you barely lucid at this point. 

“Awww, what happened? Shy?” he’s tutting mockingly in your ear, acting as if you’ve got the capability to form any coherent sentences right now. “N’ you were so feisty earlier.”

“F-fuck ah- you.” you manage to choke out, teary and barely coherent with the hand wrapped around your throat. Only growing tighter with each cute lil’ whine leaving your swollen lips. 

“Ha! Guess you’re still feisty.” Geto lets out a breathy laugh, unsure where to look at - how you were staring up at him with such sultry, defiant eyes or the way your heavenly cunt was sucking him like anything but. Puffy folds bulging obscenely around him. So messy and wet, painted white with this cum. “Feisty enough to gimme another one?”

Hell, Geto doesn’t even know if he can cum again - but that sinful little pool of cum spreading on the floor makes some primal, raw part of himself think he just might will it out of himself. Or die trying. 

Messy. So messy. 

“D-die trying?” you repeat breathlessly, more to yourself than Geto. Oops- had he said that out loud? 

Oh, Geto was having way too much fun with this. Way too much fun with how you were so overstimulated and fucked dumb. Watching as you wonder how you were the one supposed to assassinate him, but might just not make it out alive yourself.  

“Mhm.” he grins, at how cockdrunk you were, squeezing your throat tighter. Blood roaring in your eyes, vision spotty now. “Die trying, or cum f’me first. Your choice.”

He’s fucking you so mean. So hard that you were sure the creases of the tatami mat would be there on your back even tomorrow. Geto’s warm cum dribbling down your legs, nothing but rough, lewd squelches from below. Sloppy and addicting. 

“I- don’t-”

“I d-don’t.” he mocks your delirious little stammers. Biting down on your neck, hard. “Shut up.” Thrusts only getting sharper, more calculated - like it personally offended him you were even able to talk this much. Hand squeezing tighter and tighter- “Jus’ cum if you wanna breathe, pretty.”

“But I don’t think I hngh- can!” you sob, nails clawing at his wrist pathetically. Vision blanking, dripping pussy only sucking him more desperately. 

And Geto really can’t help but spread your swollen folds apart with his thumb, watching the way his seed oozes out of your fluttering hole. A lewd ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips each time he fucks it deeper and deeper. Fingers barely grazing your throbbing clit, so sensitive that even that was too much. 

Cunt so embarrassingly needy that it was almost difficult for Geto to move inside you, milking his cock too well. Too overstimulated. He didn’t care of course - it just made it all the more fun - but oh it made his dick twitch so wildly inside your gummy walls. Balls squeezing painfully as he snaps his hips faster. More purposeful.

Fuck. He’s strong. 

“But-”

 “Just shut up and cum.”

And then you can’t help it - you are. 

Creaming all over Geto’s cock, his unforgiving unforgiving cock. Body moving before your mind as a hand shoots out to grab his pale neck. Dangerous. Wrapping so deliciously as you pull him down, nails digging into skin so hard it could draw blood. 

You didn’t care if you did - would’ve enjoyed it even. Enjoyed it more as you kissed him, hard. 

“Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you, I should kill you.” you wheeze into his open mouth. All tongue and tears, and thick, hot ropes of Geto’s cum. Painting your already-overfilled pussy white, like he’s cumming harder than he has his entire life. Like he hadn’t been pumping your poor cunt full of his seed all these past hours. “I should kill you.”

And you can only take it. 

Only keen at the way his nails leave neat little crescents on your neck, breath coming in short gasps. Geto pushing all the air out of your lungs with each thrust. Each ram of his thick, relentless cock. 

“Yeah. Kill me.” Smirking, voice shot and just dripping with such danger - one that didn’t bode well for your poor cunt. “But only if you aren’t able to cum f’me one more time.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “You seriously like this?”

Those were the first words out of your mouth - bewildered ones, at that. 

Because, sat on top of the fidgeting special grade, pinning him to the ground with your weight, the last thing you expected was to feel his achingly hard erection. Already so damp, and hot against your ass - drawing a sinful little hiss from Choso’s pretty lips as you grinded experimentally against it. 

He liked this.

And you did, too. 

And you certainly didn’t expect to find yourself mere moments later, panties just pushed to the side so you can be split apart on his aching cock. Hands gripping his chest, your hips rocking down against his like such a slut.

“H-hah- fuck fuck fuck, you’re so fucking messy, baby.” Choso lets out a guttural groan, jaw dropping into a soft little oh! at the heavenly sight of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt. In and out in and out in and-

Cunt clenching at how beautiful he was underneath you - cheeks flushed, dark hair undone, sticking to his forehead as Choso bucks his hips wildly to meet yours. Absolutely wrecked. “Yeah? Look who’s ngh- talking.” you smirk. 

“F-fuck you.”

“Oh?” you taunt. “Last time I checked, I’m hah- the one riding you.”

At your words, he’s huffing softly - so different from how he fucking up into your ravaged cunt a jagged, sharp thrust. Eyes twinkling at the way he knocks all the air out of your lungs with the sheer stretch. Somehow, you have a distinct feeling that if this was his way to shut you up then you really didn’t mind.

“So what?” he spits. Fingers reaching across to roll against your throbbing clit, over and over in hasty little circles. “So what if you’re riding me like a cute lil’ whore? I’m the one oh fuck- messing up your insides.”

And then he’s bucking his wildly up into yours like he’s trying to prove something. Toned pelvis bruising on your own, breath ragged and you’re wondering whether Choso can even remember to breathe. Too focused on marking you up from the inside, feeling the way your plushy cunt squeezes and milks him dry. 

“I could f-flip us over so ngh- fucking easily.” he grunts, breathing ragged. “Take over s-so easily. Take this pretty pussy all I want. But no, y’look too pretty like this, baby.” 

You knew he could. Without even breaking a sweat, in fact, if his iron-hold grip on your hips told you anything. 

Strong - he was so strong. 

“Then why- ah! don’t you?”

You had half the mind to wonder whether Choso let you pin him down just because he wanted to- but you don’t get to ponder about it for too long. Because no sooner has the thought entered your mind before he’s running his mouth. 

“Shit, because I could cum from jus’ this sight.” Talking, like he couldn’t stop. In awe. “Oh? You hah- like being praised, no? Can feel you squeezing the fuckin’ life outta me. Hell, I can ngh- see you.”

And God, it’s so embarrassing the way he could read you so well. Immediately babbling out little praises about how good your gummy walls felt and how pretty you were. How he didn’t give a fuck if this was breaching your regulations as a sorcerer, he could do this forever and ever and-

“Shit!” it’s all you can do to keen and buck desperately as he easily finds that one spot that has you seeing stars. Alternating between hitting that spot with each and every rough thrust, and toying with your swollen clit. “Shut up- shut up shut up-”

You didn’t want him to - and Choso knew that, of course.

He chuckles, “Aww, shy, baby? You don’t have to be.” 

“Fuck you,” you manage to grit out, despite your burning face. Your steadily dwindling sanity. “M’not shy”

He gives your ass a quick smack! before speeding up. You shiver and he thinks you look so pretty, gasping for air as he pushes into your lungs. So pretty that Choso can’t help but pull you into a kiss. 

“Then just let me ruin you. Please, wan’ it so bad. So badly, fuck-” Relentless - barely even a kiss, like he was continuing the fight from before. Teeth and desperation and cries of the other’s name. Looping an arm around your waist to keep you from running - because this might just be the only fight you didn’t want to escape from. “Fuckin’ use me. Just use me.”

It’s like magnetism, not even a hair’s breadth between you two. You don’t know who’s getting filthier - you or Choso. Your hips are stuttering and sloppy, and so are his own. 

Nails raking down his chest, leaving deep, red marks. And he’s marking you in his own way - a little revenge - sharp canines biting down your neck. Intoxicating. Both of you barely even lucid as you chase the other’s high, trying to get them to break first. 

This fight, however, you lose.

Because it only takes one, two harsh thrusts before you’re covering Choso in all your sweet sweet juices. The realization that he looks so pretty with your slick glistening on his abs hitting you before the fact that you squirted. Covering him, dripping off his milky skin. So fucking filthy that it made you feel so sinfully dirty to do something like this on a mission.

And you still are - using him over and over to chase peak after peak on his cock. His thick, relentless cock. One that only twitches dangerously at the sight, a fucked-out little giggle leaving him. 

“Got hngh- o-one win under my belt. Shit, yer’ so pretty, now show me what you can do, lil’ sorcerer.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Unforgiving

“Why should I?” You blink up tearily at the towering monster in front of you - or rather, your king, you should say. Big arms crossed, bare legs spread, his cock buried deep in your dripping pussy, so so hard and angry even after all these hours. Unmoving. “I’m not a toy.”

Not that he’d ever be the king of you. 

But it’s times like this - when he’s looking at you like you’re more a plaything than human, cum dribbling down your legs, poor cunt so overfilled, - is when you think, shit, you might just not make it out alive.

Sukuna grins, “It’s either you do it yourself or nothing. M’not gonna help such a disobedient slut.” 

The only response you give him is such a heated glare, one that does nothing but make his smirk grow wider - cock twitching so ferally inside you. Teasing you for so long before telling you to do it yourself. He liked this.

“Oh but,” he pauses. Looking you right in the eyes as he spits on your pussy once. Twice. Adding to the mess of cum and slick down below, barely giving a fuck about the expensive sheets.

And you didn’t want to like it - you refused to like it. But shit, the way Sukuna smeared his saliva all over your sloppy pussy, stuffed and bulging around his thick cock, had you squirming like such a slut. “I’ll give ya a little help.”

Yeah, he liked this. Loved it, even.

Loved this familiar little song and dance - the way his prettiest lil’ consort was more bark than bite, snapping at him. But so so pliant when you’re split apart on his massive cock, jaw slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head, cunt sucking him up so maddeningly good. Needy for more of his cum. Loved how you don’t even register it - the way you’re grinding and dragging your pussy on his dick. Deeper. Harder. 

Loved how your eyes snap open when you realize, giving him that beautiful stare that told him to “fuck off” a thousand times over.

“Awww, n’ you were having so much fun.” he coos, shutting up whatever insult was on the tip of your tongue with a quick smack! to your ass. “Time f’me to teach you a lil’ lesson, brat.”

And then he’s pounding into you like a madman - heavy balls smacking your skin. Wrapping his big arms around your waist to keep you still, because God he was so mean. So rough. Enough to bruise.

Warm, you were already so warm with his seed, the feeling so addictive that Sukuna can’t help but fuck it deeper and deeper into you. Wanting - needing - nothing more than to give you more. 

“Fuck you.” Is all you can manage to get out. Sukuna’s swollen cock too big, the stretch too sinful, his hips so unforgiving. He always made you feel like such a cumslut. “I d-don’t need to hngh- be taught anything.” 

It’s all that takes for his hands to wrap around your throat, like something snapped. Fingernails sharp, right over your racing pulse. He could kill you. And oh it was like you were asking for it, too - but he wouldn’t. Can’t. Instead crashing his lips onto yours, shutting you up before you dug your grave even deeper.

“So mouthy. Such a shame this heavenly pussy is on such a fucking bitch.” he nips at your bottom lip, teasing. Dangerous. “I should kill you right now for your disrespect.” Suddenly so much meaner with his thrusts, so calculated and controlled. Bucking his hips up wildly to hit that one spot he knew too well. Over and over and- “But I won’t.”

Shing! 

You never dared to come to the king’s chambers unprepared, of course.

“Then I will.” you held that sharpened comb to his neck. Sharp, digging ever-so-slightly into this skin. Pathetic in comparison to his nails, you knew, but something - anything - to keep this monster in check. 

But Sukuna saw - he saw that little wobble in your lips, the way your hands falter minutely when he laughs. Laughs like he didn’t have an impromptu knife to his neck right now, like this cute lil’ human wasn’t the first one in eons to pose a threat to his life. 

Because he knew.

He could feel it - the way your dripping cunt squeezing his achig cock, rocking to meet his merciless cadence. Eyes glassy, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, so fucking needy and on the edge. And he wondered if you knew - what a perfect little slut you were being for him. Exactly what he’s been looking for. 

“Oh shut up.” Sukuna murmurs, hot against ear. “You can’t kill me, you pathetic little human.”

“I can.”

And because you don’t know what’s good for you, you’re holding the knife tighter to his neck, wondering how the hell you haven’t drawn blood yet. Close. Just one flick of the wrist. So close.

His fingers snake down to your swollen clit, pressing down. Hard. 

“Stop actin’ up n’ just cum f’me.”

And it was so embarrassing. Embarrassing the way he couldn’t bat a lash at your pathetic attempt to take down the king of curses. Embarrassing how that’s all it takes for you to see stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears as you cum so desperately around his cock. 

You all but scream Sukuna’s name - just a strangled, breathy mess of moans and tears. So fucking overstimulated that it hurt so good. 

Sukuna wasn’t any better - though, he’d never admit it. But you were so pretty for him, all teary whines and your tight pussy trying so greedily to milk the soul out of him, that he just can’t help but cum. 

“Fuck fuck fuck. Take it.” Balls squeezing painfully, dick twitching wildly. Again and again, sloppily pumping thick, hot ropes into your quivering pussy. “You don’t fuckin’ deserve it- but hah- take it-”

And you’re so cockdrunk and dizzy with the feeling of him filling you up - dripping down your legs, pooling in a sinful little patch underneath you - that you barely even feel the nails tightening around your throat. Knife knocked to the ground. Though, you think you’re so delirious that you might not have minded either way.

“Tried to kill your lord, huh?” Sharp. Dangerous. “I think you need more than jus’ one lesson, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Liar liar

Now, Gojo loved your smart mouth. 

Ever since those glory days from high school - he always has. He loved how it was always ready with a bitchy comment about his blindfold and an even bitchier smirk afterward. Always so hot-headed, always so fucking gorgeous. 

But Gojo loved your mouth even more when it was just inches away from his, telling him to just shut the fuck up before “Yaga hears and realizes that two of his teachers have gone missing.”

Oh, you looked so pretty for him all splayed out over your desk, papers askew, office door just closed - but not locked. Your pretty cunt so messy and just dripping through your panties already. He just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. 

“Does it matter?” he hums, pulling the drenched fabric aside just enough to drag his leaking tip up and down your puffy cunt. Barely teasing your sloppy slit. Hands just everywhere, goosebumps racing down where your skirt was flipped up.

“Of course it fucking-”

“Ah ah.” he interrupts your little rant. Breath hot against your mouth, “Someone might hear.”

God you could fucking smack him right now - not that it would be of any use, of course, with limitless. But you had a nagging little feeling that Gojo would turn it off for the moment, just to feel that cute smack against his face anyway. “Fuck you, Satoru.”

Instead, you’re crashing your lips onto his. So filthy with the way it’s just a mess of teeth and saliva - seething. Barely even noticing the way you’re pulling his angry, throbbing cock closer, heels digging into his slutty waist. 

“You’re all big talk but you’re just a-” he’s reeling his hips back, so filthy on purpose with the way he’s letting his weeping head smear precum all over your hips. “-desperate little-” Fat cock surging forward to stretch at your swollen folds. “-slut.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, m’fucking you.”

Nothing more is said before Gojo’s bullying his massive cock into your tight pussy. Head falling into the crook of your neck with a low groan as he ruts into you in jagged, tight little thrusts.

Like he wanted to tear you apart. Like he was holding back. 

“F-fuck. M’not a fucking-” you moan at the burning stretch. So delicious with the way he was drawing quick, methodical little circles on  your throbbing clit. “Slut.”

Because of course you couldn’t keep your mouth shut - not even when Gojo was fucking you dumb on his cock. 

And it’s all you can do to just sit there and take it as he thrusts his hips harder. It almost felt like he’d deemed you unworthy of allowing you to adjust. Hands locking around your hips to sit you all pretty on the desk while he slides his cock in and out in and out in and-

“Fucking liar.” 

“Wh-what?”

“This one-” Gojo draws his hand back ever-so-slightly from your poor, abused clit. Palm facing your sloppy pussy like he was going to-

Smack!

“-is honest with me.”

You don’t even know if you’re in the proper state of mind to respond to that - and you don’t even want to try. To embarrass yourself. As if the way you were letting out strangled gasps of Gojo’s name, hips bucking wildly, wasn’t pathetic enough. 

“God, you love this, huh?” he’s panting, like the way your gummy walls were squeezing the ever-loving life out of his thick cock had broken open some dam. “Shit. Do you even realize how much you love this?” he glances down at your messy pussy. Your sweet sweet juices smearing and spreading in a lewd little pool on the table below. “Sweetheart, you’re just drooling everywhere.”

And as if that wasn’t unfair enough, Gojo goes suspiciously quiet for a beat. One. Two. 

Before spitting a steady stream of saliva to the mess down below, awestruck at the way your cunt clenches and quivers like such a slut. 

“Hngh- oh my god. T-Toru. Fuck!”

“See? Ya love it.” he’s speeding up. And you don’t know what’s more erratic - his fingers on your swollen cunt, so frenzied they were like a blur, or his hips. Leaving marks with how mean he was being. Merciless. Fucking merciless. Massaging all the right spots inside, no reason or rhyme. “Fucking liar, so pretty takin’ all of me. Can’t even handle me properly.” Running on just the thought of you and getting you off and you you you-

Smack!

“Did ya know you try to squeeze the soul out of me every time I smack this cute lil’ pussy?” he chuckles, the complete opposite of how his cock was so mean. “She can’t get enough of me. Really love this cock, huh?”

You grit out, “I fuckin’ hate you-”

And as if to prove something, he’s giving your swollen pussy another smack! Right over where your clit was so pulsing and angry. White-hot shocks of pleasure going all the way from Gojo’s fingertips to your hazy mind. 

“She might just love me as much as you do.”

And when you cum, you’re cumming so hard you didn’t know whether you’d make it out alive. Riding your high on Gojo’s unforgiving cock. Wave after wave that have you so cockdrunk and delirious that you’re worried that someone could-

Click! “Is anyone-”

Your back hits the mattress before you can react - before you even think to wonder what the fuck just happened. Before the smell of pine and candy hits your senses and it hits you that shit those navy blankets look too familiar. 

“Satoru…” you glance up from Gojo’s bed at the man himself looming over you. Cock still buried so deep in your cunt, rocking so hard into you that the mattress creaks in protest. You can barely choke out, “D-did you just hah- teleport us-”

“Yeah.” he sounded so infuriatingly smug. “Decided m’not letting you go till you start being as honest as this cute pussy.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[khioneee]

caleb won't ever let you go.

‘here’s what you don’t understand,’ caleb said, his voice low and steady as he stepped closer. his gaze bore into yours, unflinching, filled with an intensity that made your heart stutter. ‘i would live a thousand lives just to get to you.’

caleb’s hand came up, and he rested it against one of your cheeks, his thumb catching your lip. you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat, but he wasn’t done.

‘i would die time and time again, dig out my own grave if it means i can come home to you,’ he said, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his confession.

you just witnessed your heartbreaker break into a thousand pieces, the vulnerable side of him slowly unmasked, and you saw it. he looked so, so tired. he was all pale skin contrasted with harsh colours; his eyes were bruised violet underneath, his lips were chapped to a raw red, and his usual glowing irises were a dull, cold black.

his lips were so close to yours now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. you wanted to push him away, wanted to move out of his grasp, but you weren’t strong enough for any of it.

‘if i can’t have you in this universe,’ he murmured, his voice barely audible, ‘i’ll make sure i’ll be there in the next.’

it felt like surrender to close your eyes, to let caleb touch his lips where he wanted, to let his mouth ghost your cheek, but you were tired of the battle. he must have felt the resistance give away, because he cupped his hand purposefully around your jaw and tipped your mouth up with a finger on your chin.

he paused, his breath hitching, before backing away just enough to meet your eyes fully. his gaze softened but remained resolute, holding a depth that made you shiver.

‘you belong with me,’ he said firmly.

your unsteady heart was about to detonate. you opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat as he added, softer now, gentler, as if he were speaking a truth only he could see.

‘you just can’t see it… yet.’

his words lingered, weaving into the air around you like a thread that couldn’t be broken. you wanted to fight it, wanted to deny him, but the conviction in his voice planted a seed of doubt in the walls you’d built to keep him out. and that terrified you more than anything.

caleb blinked at you. the storm had cleared in his eyes. he almost looked surprised to see you standing there. he put his cap on, his movements slow, deliberate, as if bracing himself to leave.

‘you’re not the same person i knew,’ you said suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper. the words spilled out before you could stop them, heavy and trembling with unspoken pain.

caleb met your torn stare as you observed him closely, trying to detect what it was that was currently going through his mind.

‘not the same,’ he repeated, shaking his head with a quiet, bitter laugh. he looked at you then, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. ‘i still love you, don’t i?’

the words hung in the air, raw and piercing, cutting through whatever resolve you thought you had left. he turned slightly, as if to leave, but hesitated, his shoulders stiff, waiting for a response you weren’t sure you could give.

but he stepped away, disheveled and breathing hard, staring harshly at you. the look in his eyes was terrible. terrifying. then, as if the silence itself pushed him to speak again, his voice low but steady.

‘i’m the same person,’ he said, his gaze locking onto yours. ‘i’m just not willing to let you go this time.’

[madamechrissy]

𖢔 Duvet Days and Vanilla Ice Cream 𖢔

𖢔The five times Satoru tried to confess his feelings, and the one that worked𖢔

𖢔Pairings: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

𖢔Summary: Satoru Gojo was your best friend in the world, you'd long since had it bad for him, over the many years, but of course he's so popular and handsome, star basketball player, you think you have no chance. Satoru however, has tried five different times over the many years to tell you he loves you, but the words just never came out right, and you would never believe it to be possible. So, you both grow distant, as life takes over, until in your last year of college you end up at a Christmas party with him, where both of you are dealing with fresh breakups, and Suguru Geto is hanging mistletoe over your heads. Drinks pour, and so do Satoru's feelings he's kept inside. Have you both been in love with each other this whole time!?

𖢔CW: MDNI- Will be showing elementary, middle, high school and college missed confessions with Satoru and you! Lots of fluff ! Smut in current time (hints of it in early college) Friends/idiots to lovers, Toru is an idiot as a teenager lol, and they're bad at feelings, Christmas themed, emotional- light angst to fluffy smut. Explicit sexual content, fingering, cunnilingus. blow jobs, sexual tension, rough sex etc. 𖢔 Word Count- 15k words (holy fk lol)

𖢔Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one!!𖢔

Christmas Eve, Last year of College

There is Christmas music playing as you enter the party, thrumming softly as you smile at so many of your friends, many you have barely seen in months. With being in the last year of college, many of you all had separate classes in separate buildings, and getting together was rarer and rarer. They wave at you while you take off your heavy winter coat.

It was freezing outside, and there was a faint dusting of snow, perfect for a Christmas Eve you muse. Little droplets melt on your hair as you shake your head to get them off, the warmth of the party and the sea of bodies enwrapping you. You see him then, right next to all of your friends, the man that never seems to leave your mind, Satoru Gojo.

God you’ve been friends forever, literally since you were ten years old, and running around in a playground at elementary school during recess, about Christmas time you’d met him in school and you’ll never forget him throwing snowballs so damn mean at you. You’d cried that day and somehow that had been the catalyst for your friendship.

But also your feelings.

You feel his blue eyes on you, eyes that you never got used to even after knowing him like the back of your hand, bright and piercing across the room, framed by a fringe of snow white lashes. He’s got a soft smile playing on his lips, waving a long arm at you, shouting your name. You hate that after all these years he still has such a damn effect, butterflies that never really left.

You’ve always tried to keep them pushed down, not get your hopes up ever, the few times you thought maybe Satoru could be available, had ended with him getting some new girlfriend. You had jokingly called them his flavors of the month, this month’s you’d called her an advent calendar jokingly over text, texting is mostly how you all talk now.

Satoru’s a star college basketball player and you’ve chosen to start a writing major, he’d be practicing basketball and you’d watch him in between typing up stories. He’d wave and smile at you as you sat on the bleachers to support him, though of course that was some time ago, when you both got significant others the friendship had gotten more distant.

You’d gotten broken up with literally last night, you were sure that your friends wondered why you were alone, but when you walk up to them, they just greet you. Suguru Geto, Satoru’s best friend and one of your good friends, hugs you first, in a warm embrace with his strong arms. You hug him back and smile up at him.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Suguru!”

“Of course, love, we miss you. We all miss each other.”

“Me too! Hey Shoko!” Shoko hugs you now too, pulling back to look at your pretty dark red dress.

“You look so hot!”

“Aw, thank you, you do!” You now look at Nanami, who’s all decked out in a full three piece suit, you remember his emo days and it always surprises you how much he’s grown up. “Nanami!”

“Hello, darling.” He hugs you now as well, leaving you face to face with Satoru, who stands now, towering over damn near everyone, even taller than Nanami. Suguru is the only one in the room as tall as he is.

You crank your neck back to look up at him as he gently places his hands on your face, kissing your forehead sweetly. You grip his wrists gently and melt at the gesture, it’s a gesture of friendship deep and important. It’s one you haven’t felt in such a long time, you get so emotional from it you gulp, swallowing. You realize you’ll probably never really get over him.

But he’s just your friend.

A friend that looks sexy as fuck-

Stop that!

“I missed you, sweets. Mwah!” You giggle now as he smacks another kiss on your head and pulls you against his strong chest.

“Ugh, I miss you! But… maybe not so friendly, your-”

“I’m a free man so I can hug my friend again.” He teases, then pulls back and winks at the three of your other friends. “All my friends.”

“Don’t hug me, disgusting.” Nanami says with a shiver, earning Satoru’s huge, wolfy grin, big bright white teeth shining and reflecting the twinkling lights hanging on the ceiling above you.

“Well, that makes two of us.” You say softly, and Satoru’s eyes lock on you then, blue storms unreadable, a little lock of his soft white hair falling over a brow. Your eyes lower, taking in the white dress shirt and dress pants he’s wearing, worth more than you make in months easily. God he looks good.

Don’t think that way, it’ll always fuck you up.

“What happened?” Suguru asks softly, and you sigh, looking up at the dark haired man and smiling a bit.

“He wanted to go separate ways, I’m in college and he’s not anymore, I guess he felt we were too distant and separated because of it.”

“He didn’t wanna buy you a Christmas gift, cheap ass.” Satoru says with a huff, and you all laugh then.

“So we’re broken hearted for Christmas hmm?” You tease him now, taking his hand and squeezing gently, he pauses then, usually humorous face so serious, it makes you falter a bit, you ease your hand off, just when Suguru clears his throat.

“Ahem. Well then.” He holds up a thing of fake mistletoe now, right above Satoru’s white head and you, and you giggle a bit, but something in Satoru’s face shifts, his pretty pink lips part just a bit, eyes getting lidded.

“Well, there’s mistletoe, it’s a tradition.” He says, voice a little husky, you try to laugh it off, but quiet when he leans down a bit, hands in his pockets.

“Oh stop being silly you all.” You say, tempted by those glossy lips, but you don’t trust yourself not to lose it if you cross that line. Vivid images of straddling this man fill your mind just thinking of kissing him, you can’t go that far.

“It’s just a kiss, silly. C’mon, smooch me.” He puckers his lips all silly, Nanami and Suguru snort in laughter, and Shoko rolls her eyes. You sigh then, remembering, it’s just silly Satoru, your best friend. No big deal for him to have a kiss, especially as you both had shared a few kisses, one in middle, one in high school… and one drunken college encounter.

You may or may not have them written in a diary somewhere.

There may BE a Gojo diary.

“Okay, fine, tradition is tradition.” You say, he smirks now, hands out of his pockets to rest gently on your shoulders, so big he overtakes them. You exhale and your eyes flutter shut, as Satoru Gojo’s lips descend.

Fuck it feels so good to kiss him, it’s like you become boneless in his goddamn hold, it’s not just the pressure of some plush lips, it’s so much more, you are sure he probably doesn’t feel this, but you can’t help but lean up on your tip toes, even in your high heels, hands trailing up that stark shirt. He exhales and deepens the kiss, hands pulling you even closer.

You’ve never felt anything as sweet as his lips.

Satoru has never felt anything as sweet as your lips.

Fuck he knew it would feel this way, but it takes everything in him not to drag you upstairs and kiss every inch of your body. And fuck your body looks so good in that tiny little formfitting red dress, like a present just for him to unwrap. Satoru feels your skin heat up as he presses his lips on yours once more, in sweet little pecks, drinking in your breathless sounds.

He looks down at you, your eyes have dilated so much they’re almost black, just a ring of your pretty eye color left. Your lips are just slightly reddened from his kisses, parted just so, looking dazed. If you look like this from a kiss, he has to wonder how you look when he’d kiss you everywhere, every inch of your smooth skin, so bare in that dress he’s mad anyone even gets to see you.

You flush now, and he sees it, sees how flustered you get, biting your lower lip, lashes trembling just so over your eyes. Your hands are clutching his chest, his heart races under your palm, he wonders… Do you feel it? Do you feel even a bit of what he’s felt so long for you?

He longs to kiss you again, as his friends and yours all laugh softly, making little ‘ooooh’ noises, which you giggle at, but you don’t step back or step away, no you stay there, in front of him. He can feel your body heat, entrancing him, when you finally ease away you’re smiling so cute and shy at him, tearing his heart apart.

Satoru has to remember you’re just a friend, but it’s awfully difficult right now, especially since he knows you’re single. He knew the guy wasn’t good enough for you, but as your best friend he tried to be respectful, but he’d just tasted your sweet lips, like cherries, and now he’s imagining tasting your other lips. He’s a horrible friend, isn’t he, but…

Satoru’s been in love since he met you.

He knows you have no clue of it, the few times he’s tried he’s covered it up completely, much to your never ending confusion. Suguru, Nanami and Shoko all knew how bad he had it, even now, girls were placeholders, things to try to cope with the fact that he was too scared to share his feelings. He was nervous, Satoru Gojo, the man that could score under any pressure.

He scores in games, in life, with women. You were his weakness, breaking through this barrier he had, some invisible barrier that just a touch from you could destroy, a happy little smile on your perfect lips. Lips that are quirked up, you run your hand through your silky hair, hair he wonders what it would feel like in his fingers, pulling it as he…

Shit.

“Should we catch up a bit?” You ask softly.

“Miss me sweets?” He teases, and you roll your eyes, laughing.

“A bit.”

Fuck his heart stops. “Let me get you a drink?”

You nod and smile at his friends, who give him a sly little nod. They have made tonight their mission to try to get Satoru to express his feelings, finally and once and for all, before he went to play professionally, and before he maybe didn’t get a chance. He’d tried before, but something always holds him back, some fear of rejection, your rejection that sinks into him.

“I missed you, Toru.” You say softly, and the nickname hits him in the gut, the nickname you have called him for so long. He grabs a vodka bottle and smiles over at you, mixing you the drink he knows you love so much.

“Of course you missed me.” You laugh softly, Satoru always makes jokes, because he’s so scared to truly be vulnerable. You shove at him a little playfully, tiny little hand on one of his shoulders.

“You didn’t miss me, hotshot?” You tease.

“Miss you every day.” He says softly. You pause now, hands over his as he hands you the little cup, feeling yours get sweaty, as you tremble just a bit.

Are you as affected as him?

You can barely focus when Satoru’s long fingers brush against yours, you clear your throat and smile tremulously, taking the drink and sipping. “I wish we had more time to… hang out.” You say, cursing yourself internally.

“Hang out hmm?” He leans back on the counter, as the partygoers walk in and out of the kitchen.

“Yes, hang out. We used to all the time. I guess life happened?”

“Jealous boyfriend, jealous girlfriend happened.” He sips his drink, a little droplet falls, urging you to wipe it with your thumb, he catches your wrist in his big grip, tense, you both stare at each other quietly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets your hand down gently.

“Satoru I… do you think… you’d ever…”

“Ever what, sweets?”

“Ever…” You’re a blushing mess now, wondering at yourself, but it’s been forever, your boyfriend and you had not slept together, and before that it’s been almost a year since you last slept with someone. And fuck Satoru looks so good your mouth is just watering.

“You can ask me anything.” He says, so soft, and you take a breath.

“Have you ever thought of um… hooking up?” You whisper the words, earning his huge eyes getting even bigger, mouth wide with shock. “Oh god of course you haven’t! I just thought since we… almost back in the day? Also, it’s been a while and I trust you, and… oh god forget it so embarrassing!” You slam your hands on your face now, feeling your ears even overheating.

“Wh-what!?” He demands, leaning down and taking your hands off, you can’t even meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry that was so off base. You’re probably hurt! I’m a little hurt too. I just… fuck I need to go.”

“What!? No no no.” Satoru stops you now, exhaling as he studies you carefully. “Like just a hookup? You don’t think it’ll ruin…”

“It wouldn’t ruin anything for me. I’ve always… I’ve always wanted to.” You admit, earning more of a blatant look of shock. “I know I was a little too… I don’t know, romantic back when we were younger? But I thought of it.”

“Yeah? Shit… Yeah?” You giggle now, nervously.

“Yeah I’ve always thought about it. I know… but do you think of me that way? If not it’s fine, no pressure really.”

He scoffs now, shaking his head. “Never thought of you that way?”

“Well you’ve been picking on me since you were ten, throwing snowballs at me, little shit.” You poke his chest, ignoring the hammering of your heart, and Satoru takes you by your arm, long fingers wrapping it entirely.

“Christmas Story time young lady.” You giggle and let him lead you out of the lively party, out to some of the quieter rooms, and he snatches you in one quickly, locking the door behind you both. He sits down in a huge leather seat in the quiet room, tapping one of his long thighs.

You suddenly get even more shy, and he notices, leaning forward. “I am not very experienced at being casual, Toru, give me a minute.”

“We’re not doing anything yet anyway, sit on Santa’s lap.” You snort, shaking your head, and he narrows those blue eyes, before leaning over and snatching up a santa hat and grinning. “Now, come here, be a good girl.”

“Good girl!?” You’re wet, great. You nervously shuffle to his thigh now, sitting and hoping he can’t feel your heat.

“You’re all talk hmm?” You sigh.

“I can’t believe I said all of that, I’m so sorry. I’ve always… Well, I’ve always had a crush on you. It sounds silly.” You look away, only for Satoru to cup your face, turning you to him carefully, your breath catches when you see how serious his pretty face is under that silly hat.

“Are you ready for story time?” He asks softly. You nod then, leaning closer in his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck, the other hand resting on his hard chest.

“I’m ready, Santa Toru.” He smiles just a bit, then he remembers.

*****

The First time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Fifth Grade- Age 10

“Oh my gosh! Ugh!” You’re shivering now, Satoru has thrown two giant snowballs at the prettiest girl he’d seen, wearing a wicked grin as they both hit your sweater, soaking wet with them now.

You turn and glare at him, and gosh, Satoru really thinks you’re cute, your face is all scrunched up in a glare, a face he frequently stared at in class. You were so, so pretty, and you always had your head in a book, where most classmates fawned over Satoru, laughed at his jokes, you just…

Were you.

Satoru wanted some attention, so this seemed like a great way to try, until he walks over and sees your face, tears in your eyes, your lips trembling. He pauses then, blinking his snowy lashes, worrying now, as he’s not ever seen you upset, and now he feels it like a hit on his chest.

“You’re crying?” He asks, and then remembers people around you are watching, and he doesn’t want to seem too soft. “Why are you crying? Just snowballs.”

“I’m soaking wet and cold now, Gojo!” You stomp a foot, shivering, Satoru suddenly feels awful.

“I… oh… um…” He takes off his jacket then, shivering just a bit in the chilled air, so cold he could see puffs of your breath as you sigh.

“No, no you’ll be cold. I’ll be fine. I’ve just had… um a bad day.” You whisper, looking down and hugging yourself.

It’s then, Satoru realizes…

He thinks he likes you…

A lot.

He eases off your soppy sweater, throwing his jacket over your shoulders, and you look up at him and keep crying. “I’m sorry, okay!?”

“N-no. You’re just sweet, Gojo. Thank you.” You swipe at your eyes with your gloved hands as he clutches your sweater, he brings it to his nose for a moment, inhaling you. “Are you… smelling it? Do I smell bad!?”

“No, no! You smell sweet.” You raise your brows, color on your cheeks, on your cold little nose. “I mean… you… I��”

“Thank-”

“I mean whatever. Bring that back tomorrow.” You blink in surprise as he shoves your sweater in your hands, and he doesn’t like how excited he is when your fingers brush against his, he doesn’t like how your face in tears made him feel.

He was the head of the Gojo clan, he had to be strong, not a mess for some sad little girl in his class. He turns away and you call out his name softly. He tilts his head, blue eyes glinting at you. “Thank you!”

“Yeah.” He throws a peace sign at you, and Suguru runs up to him now.

“You like her!”

“Do not.”

He did not like you, no… 

Ten year old Satoru was surely falling in love already.

*****

Present Day

“You liked me then!?” You ask incredulously, remembering the look on his big blue eyes as he’d left you with his coat. “I thought you were picking on me?”

“I was… but I wanted your attention.” You exhale now, brushing his hair back gently, his eyes flutter shut. “I still want your attention. I just don’t throw snowballs at you anymore.”

“I mean, it kind of worked?” He laughs now, hot breath against your cheek as you pull back just a bit, cupping his face carefully. “You don’t need to throw snowballs anymore, I threw myself at you just now.”

“Nah, you didn’t. You just brought up something I’ve been dying to do, but too fucking afraid.”

“Afraid of me, you’re Satoru Gojo.” His hand feels so good up and down your back you damn near purr like a cat. “Popular, gorgeous, a sports star.”

“Well I don’t feel like any of that around you. I get… stupid and tongue tied. And say all the wrong shit.” You tilt your head, feeling the energy shift.

“You really liked me, Satoru?”

He sighs, thumb brushing across your lower lip, sending shivers of pleasure from just that down your spine. “Like… That’s not really the word.”

“No?” You whisper.

“No…” Satoru’s lips press against yours once more, and you let out a soft cry from the back of your throat, your hands entangling in his hair, body arching just so, earning his soft moan as he pulls back, your noses touching. “I didn’t just sleep with you before, back at the beginning of college, remember?”

“Oh I remember… somehow, despite the beer.”

“I didn’t because… it would be more.”

You shift just a bit, earning his breath catching, feeling the pressure between your thighs. “Is this too much?”

“No, no. Not enough.” You moan now, as his tongue slips past your lips, swiping in and swirling with yours, you drink up his every breath, as he sips up your cries. “Fuck, feel how hot you are.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s sexy. You’re sexy.” Satoru eases back now, a pink blush on his high cheekbones. “Story time, ready for more? If you listen good, Santa will take good care of you.” He teases, brushing thumbs over your nipples.

“Of course, Santa Toru. Carry on.”

Satoru smirks, looking so charming, you feel your blood rushing through your veins, struggling to calm as he speaks. “Remember eighth grade well?”

“Of course, you were already a little wise guy.” You earn his serious look, and he is shaking his head. And then it hits, that memory, of your first kiss ever with anyone, with Satoru Gojo. “You mean our kiss?”

“Yeah, our kiss.”

*****

The Second time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Eighth Grade- Age 14

Satoru was extremely popular, especially with the girls in school, he had several of them all over him even though he came on a date with one of your pretty classmates. You at this point have the biggest crush on him, though you certainly wouldn’t tell him, and he wouldn’t look at you that way, surely. You’re sipping on punch as you sit on one of the bleachers, watching everyone dance.

Little do you know, Satoru is watching you, his blue eyes keep peering your way over and over, looking at how cute you are in this pink, floofy little dress, one he didn’t expect to see you in. You’re nervously fidgeting with your little red solo plastic cup, smiling and waving a bit at him, as girls keep asking him questions, and one is dragging him out to the dance floor.

You watch Satoru with his hands on her waist, the thoughts of that alone make you feel sick for some reason, you’re not sure why. Suguru Geto comes up to you now with a smile, long hair pulled half up off his head, holding a hand out, you look around. “You sure? Me?”

“Yes you silly, you look pretty tonight.” You can’t stop the shy smile on your face as he stands you up, taking you to the floor for your first dance with someone.

“Thanks Suguru.” You say, he puts his hands on your waist as you both sway side to side, and you feel Satoru’s eyes burning holes as you both do, as he spins around the dance floor.

“Do you like him?”

“Like who?”

“Satoru.” Suguru tilts his head, and you want to sink into the floor, exhaling and shaking your head. Suguru smiles. “Not at all?”

“As a friend um… even if so, he’s too busy with his fan club.” Suguru chuckles at that, spinning you now.

“You think he doesn’t like you?”

“No way he does.” Suddenly Satoru’s standing between you both, arms crossed, his face just gets prettier every year, it’s really not fair you think.

“My turn.” He says, and Suguru gives a little mock bow, winking at you and dancing with another girl, Satoru’s hands tremble when they hit your waist, fingertips brushing over the mesh of your skirt. Something about the contact makes you gasp, your eyes flying to him when your hands rest on his shoulders, feeling how broad they’ve gotten.

“You don’t have to dance with me, Satoru. Suguru was already being nice.” You look down nervously, afraid to misstep, to accidentally stomp on his foot.

“Why do you think I don’t want to?”

“You have so many pretty girls, but you are a sweet friend. Thank you.” He pauses now, and you pause with him, his blue eyes glinting as there are lights flashing all around you all, in the middle of the dance floor. “What’s wrong, Satoru?”

What’s wrong is how he wants to kiss you, to kiss his best friend, he wonders if your lip gloss tastes yummy, and he shouldn’t wonder. He’s kissed girls, but he has never wanted to kiss anyone like he does you, you’re looking up at him curiously, his hand on the small of your back now. You’re always so shy and insecure, and Satoru doesn’t know why.

You’re so beautiful.

He should tell you.

Instead however, he opens his mouth, then closes it, to open it again, finally he just leaves you. You’re trembling in embarrassment, scowling now and following him out of the throngs of people as people are watching and whispering. You stomp out into the hallway, he even walks right out of the double doors. You follow him and are shouting his name.

“You’re so rude sometimes! You shouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t want to!” You shout, feeling tears pricking your eyes, and Satoru turns around then, tears glistening in his own eyes, making you pause.

“Why can’t you understand?” He asks, cupping your face with a cool hand, and it feels far too good on your overheated cheeks.

“Understand what, that my best friend is being mean?”

“I’m not being mean. I can’t… I can’t…” He exhales now, hormonal brain whirling, why can’t he think of anything good to say!? Why can’t he tell you he’s got it so bad for you, that you’re all he thinks of sometimes? But he’s so scared because you’re so close to him, such a good friend. What if you don’t feel the same?

“You can tell me anything. Always.” You cup his hand on your cheek, he feels how warm it is under his touch, leaning down now, your eyes dart to his lips, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks. “What are you…”

Satoru presses his lips against yours, your first kiss ever, you pause as your heart is pounding in your chest, unsure of what to do. Where do you put your hands!? Where do you… stand? You step back and look at him with shock, he’s so serious which is nothing like the Satoru you know, a goofy silly boy who’s always bright and smiling.

“You just kissed me.” You whisper, unable to say what you want to, that you have never felt your heart beat so fast, that you have never imagined a kiss from the boy you have it so bad for. That you’re so happy you could spin.

“I did.” Is all he manages, it sounds choked out, as he leans close again, the wind fluttering leaves around your feet, in uncomfortable platform heels you’ve stolen from your mother’s closet.

“But don’t you have a date tonight?” You touch your lips, still tingling with him, and Satoru gulps now, visible, leaning in close again. “Don’t confuse me, please, you would never be interested in me.”

“Why do you think that way? Why can’t you see that I-”

“Satoru!” Satoru’s date comes out now, and you feel terrible, you feel so embarrassed, especially when he shoots her a smile, and then a sullen look at you as she grabs his arm. “Oh it’s Satoru’s little friend. You’re like a little sister, right?”

You glare hurt eyes at Satoru now, and he feels himself closing right back up, knowing how bad those words hurt you, how confused you must be. “A little sister? Is that what you call me?” You ask, quietly, hiding your every feeling.

“I said we were really close like family, yes, but…” You laugh just a bit, blinking back tears, looking at his date now.

“He’s definitely just like family. Have fun you two.” You stomp off then, and Satoru wants to stop you, wants to say something, but he thinks he’ll just make it worse. You left right after, he didn’t see you the rest of the dance, and the next week at school you were back to normal, his sweet friend, you both didn’t bring it up, what happened.

Satoru knew he hurt your feelings, and he didn’t know how to apologize, or how to tell you how much the kiss meant, and how badly during every school project, every study session, that he wanted to do it again. So instead, he just stays your friend, wondering if you forgot it all.

*****

Present Day

You feel pesky tears prick the back of your eyes, sighing shakily now as Satoru’s lips pout just a bit, his brows drawn together. “You felt something for me? Then?”

“Yes, I wanted to tell you, but I fucked it all up.” You remember how hurt you were, to be called that, after your first kiss, remember rushing home and crying in your bed all night.

“I thought it was some dare or something.” You admit, and he leans forward, shaking his head, pulling you more firmly against his hard body, a body you’ve dreamt of being pressed against this way more than once.

“No, not at all. You looked pretty in that dress, I remember it like it was yesterday, exactly what you wore.” Satoru’s voice gets husky as his gaze lowers, to your breasts that are showcased in black and red lace over your dress, you feel it like a caress, filling you with longing.

“You were my first kiss.” You say now, his eyes widen in surprise.

“I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked. You never brought it up again.” You swipe at an errant tear as Satoru cups your face gently.

“I was a shithead.” You giggle now, nodding. “You’re not supposed to agree!”

“Well you were. Why’d you kiss me, Satoru?” You lean in close, lips just a breath from him now, tasting his sweetness on his lips, tantalizing you.

“I thought it would be my epic moment. You rushed after me, thought I’d tell you how I feel, finally. But then…”

“How did you feel?” He sighs now, kissing your lips once more.

“You listened to story number two, I said I’d treat you for being so good. On the nice list, hmm?” You giggle again, as he kisses down your chest.

“You’re avoiding the question… mmm… not complaining.” You gasp when he reveals one of the peaks of your breasts now, he lets out a soft moan.

“You’re so pretty.” His lips are descending on it, latching on a nipple and sucking. You enwrap your hands in his hair, pulling it while he sucks on it with his hot mouth.

Desire shoots down your body, making you tremble, Satoru’s hand presses against your tummy, fingers slipping against the soft velvet of your dress, your eyes roll back at how good it feels when his teeth nip at the peak. He pulls back, strings of saliva dripping from his lips, then he’s pulling your other one out, shifting you to straddle his lap, and you feel him.

Fuck he feels so good against you, when you sink down on his lap, and he’s got another peak in his mouth, his hand squishing the other, lips trailing back up, looking at you under those snowy lashes. You’re trembling now, thighs tense as you feel his length under those slacks, pressing against soaked panties. His head falls back as he sinks your hips lower.

“Oh my god.” He murmurs. “You’re so wet from just that? You’re so desperate for me, hmm?”

“Oh fuck you.” You glare, he laughs softly as you try to back up, yanking you back down.

“I like you so needy. It’s cute.” Your eyes are just narrowed now, and you slide your hips down his length, earning him tensing, sucking in a breath.

“You’re needy. It’s so cute.”

“Brat.” He brings your lips back down to his, and relishes in the feel of you, the taste of you. God he’s wanted this for so long, but he has to tell you, he has to tell you what’s in his heart, even if he is currently thinking of sinking into the heat that’s grinding on his cock. He pulls away, physically painful, looking into your dazed eyes.

“More stories!? We’re gonna need a break, I won’t be able to focus.” Your hair is falling softly against his chest as you roll your hips again, and he presses up, feeling the slick heat even through the barriers.

“For every story you listen to, I’ll make you cum.” He watches the mess that makes you with a satisfied grin.

“But I’ve already listened to two!”

“There are three more.”

“You can’t cum five times in one…”

“You’re doubting me, hmm?” Your lips press his again, and he hoists you up, holding you effortlessly in strong arms, pressing you against the wall now, the coolness on your back doing nothing to cool down your body.

“Maybe you’re all talk, all star.” He snorts now, easing you down, pressing his arms on either side of you.

“Then a little demonstration, before the next story.” His hand slips up your dress by the hem, baring your thighs, you tremble as your eyes lock, and he finds you over your panties, dripping and sticky. “Fuck, these are ruined.”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You whine out as he presses against your clothed clit, moaning as he does, pressing his finger up higher, you’re whimpering, slick coating his fingers. “Please…”

“Please what, sweet girl?” Satoru murmurs softly, and you’re trembling, hand gripping his wrist, feeling the strong muscles on his arm.

“Touch me.” He slips his fingertips under your panties now, finding your aching clit and rubbing in circles, making you throb around nothing, head slamming back into the wall as his lips capture yours again. He moves in tantalizing circles, quicker and quicker, working you up, making you want more and more. “Ngh!”

“Those sounds you make, fuck.” He huffs, pressing his finger up more, blue eyes flicking over your face, free hand cupping your chin. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

He starts pressing up more, your cunt soaking his fingers as he works your clit so good, you’re gasping when it hits you, the orgasm from Satoru’s long fingers that keep slipping to tease your entrance. You’re dying for more, but he pulls his finger away, your hands are clinging to his shirt, crumpling the fancy fabric, Satoru slips his finger to his lips now, moaning.

“You’re so sweet tasting. Mmm.” He kisses you again, coating your lips with your own slick, you’re grinding up against his thigh that’s now slotted between yours. “Can’t wait to drink you up.”

“Drink me, I… Toru, the things you’re saying…” He’s kissing down your cheek, down your neck, before he pulls back with a smile. “Let me…”

Your hand slips down his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under your touches. “Not yet, horny little nerd.”

“Oh whatever!” You shove at him now, as he doesn’t allow you to touch his cock whatsoever yet, gripping your wrist above your head.

“That’s one, I’ll give you four more, but I need you to listen.”

“Or what, I’m on the naughty list?” You tease, tugging on his hat, he fixes it back on his head with a smirk. “Who knew you even remembered little things like that about me.”

“Little things? That kiss wasn’t a little thing.” You melt at his words.

Words Satoru has longed to tell you.

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I tried. A couple more times. Now… Come on, we’ll make an appearance, and continue this soon. Don’t you pout, can’t just use me for my body.”

“Oh god.” You breathlessly giggle as you all get back to the party, and Satoru’s snatching you up in his arms for a dance, you feel your friends gazing upon you both, sharing knowing looks. “You sure can dance, Satoru.”

“Of course I can.” He spins you now, bringing your back against him, you feel his strong chest on your back, your ass pressed against his hard thighs. His hands guide your hips as the music plays, soft and sweet like his caresses.

“So what’s next, Santa Toru? On the cringy memory train of me.”

“Cringy of you? Nah. Well, the next trip of Christmas past would be… Sophomore year of high school. Remember that bowling night?”

“Bowling night, which one?” You’re turning your head to look up at him, his santa hat is falling just so, as you sway with him, and remember.

*****

The Third Time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Sophomore Year of High School- age 16

Satoru and you had fallen back into an easy friendship, you all were going bowling, Suguru, Shoko, Nanami, you and Satoru. You all were always together, along with a couple other close friends, and Satoru’s new girlfriend, she was very pretty and very clingy, all over him to the point Suguru was laughing at it. Satoru could barely get a moment to breathe.

Nanami is showing you how to bowl, and something in Satoru tenses, as you’re giggling up at him and grinning, and he sees Nanami is blushing. He’s mentioned a few times he thinks you’re sweet and pretty, and Satoru supposes no one else he knows would be good enough for you, aside from his friends. But it hurts, to see his hand on your shoulders, on your back.

Satoru’s girlfriend is kissing all on his neck, irritatingly, she’s gorgeous and a star cheerleader, who should be with the star player, right? Satoru supposes that’s what is done, and he loves making out with her and more… but… something about you is addling his psyche, constantly. Every time you laugh it’s like his heart tightens, every brush of your skin against his makes him weak.

Even hugging you was hard now, so he’d backed off a bit, you’re too pretty, you smell too good, you look so pretty in those little school uniforms. He can’t even stand to see you in those skirts. Thankfully you’re just wearing blue jeans, so that he didn’t have to stress even more about you and Nanami.

Why can’t he just tell you!?

He gets so tongue tied around you, Satoru Gojo, the boy who can’t ever shut up, but with you he stutters, he stammers, he blushes. And ever clueless, you have no idea what your effects are on him, on anyone. Still so insecure, but Satoru really does not know why or how, can’t you tell that you alone make him go crazy? That all these girls are just not you.

You smile at him now, a little sad he notices, waving, and only serving to make his girlfriend clingier. You walk up now, looking at him for a moment, before looking at the group. “Does anyone want pizza? I’m so hungry, I’ll buy.”

“I’ll come with you.” Satoru stands now, his girlfriend huffs.

“Don’t leave me, Gojo.”

“Just gonna get food, you want something baby?” Baby, the little term crushes your damn teenage heart, as Satoru pecks a kiss on his girlfriend’s lips, and you can’t get over Satoru enough to even have a dating life. You compare any man to him, to this ever taller, lanky best friend of yours.

Satoru’s gotten six feet tall now, towering over everyone, and the basketball has only served to enhance every muscle. Just being at his game yesterday, seeing his muscles in his jersey had been too much to handle, you’d had to jot it all down in your diary, fast becoming a Satoru Gojo diary. Not that you could say anything, he’s always got a girl on his arm.

You remember that kiss so well, what had he been thinking? Sometimes you worry it was some dare, some joke or something. It’s the only kiss you’ve had still, though you think if you had another you could maybe start pushing that back, maybe realize it wasn’t so amazing, right?

Satoru comes with you now, walking beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, you all are walking toward the food court. “Missed ya short stuff.”

“Missed you, tall ass.” You giggle now as he grins down at you, nudging you. “Everyone’s short compared to you. What are you even eating!?”

“Lots of candy and cookies.”

“Ah, that’s the secret. I’ll grab you something sweet.” You order pizza for everyone, then you order churros, one of Satoru’s favorites. He moans when he sees it, hugging and picking you up, you try to ignore how the casual touch gets you.

“Thank you, sweets.” He smacks a kiss on your cheek, you cup your face carefully, looking down at your tennis shoes.

“No biggie. Gotta feed you, growing boy and all.” He starts nibbling as you all wait for the pizza to finish, sitting at a little booth now, his thighs are spread and they’re so long they’re pressing against your thighs, making you so flustered, but you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

He does notice though, he notices everything about you, he wants to tell you then, to stop this facade of friendship. But he’s on a date, and you’re both with friends in a crowded bowling alley. It doesn’t seem the right moment, but he’s carefully watching you while you are taking a little sip of your drink.

“Have a bite.” He says, and you freeze.

An indirect kiss!?

You are thinking too much!

You lean forward and take a nibble, he watches as you do, little crystals of sugar on your lips. “Yummy.”

An indirect kiss!

Satoru thinks with a smile, wiping the little bit of sugar dust off you, and then freezing. You both freeze, your eyes locked on each other, Satoru’s thumb lingers on your lower lip, eyes lowering to stare at it, your chest rises and falls with your breaths, his attention now on your collarbone, where you still wear that necklace he got you forever ago.

A friendship necklace.

“You still wear that, huh?” He asks quietly now, you touch it as is a habit, it’s a long faded half of a yin yang.

“Of course I do. Do you have yours?”

“I still have it.” You smile, brightening his heart then, and he opens his mouth, he has to just say it, to say he has that necklace dangling off a picture frame, and the picture is of you and him. A polaroid you all took together on a field trip, that he looks at it every night.

“That makes me unreasonably happy. I was sure you tossed it.”

Satoru blinks. “Tossed it?”

“Well yeah, we’re older now, and I know Suguru is your real best friend. I’m like secondary, honorary.” You playfully mess up his perfect silky locks, but he doesn’t laugh, no he’s serious again, as serious as that eighth grade dance.

“Do you like Nanami?” He asks suddenly, surprising you.

“He is sweet and so handsome, yeah. I do like emo boys a bit. Why?” You ask curiously, pretending to like Nanami, would it make it less painfully obvious that you’re in love with Satoru?

He frowns now. “I didn’t like seeing you two-”

“Pizza’s up.” Satoru uses the moment, hopping up, leaving you confused, but he doesn’t even acknowledge any of it, just grabbing the pizza boxes and smiling down at you casually.

“Satoru, what did you mean? Do you think I wouldn’t be good for Nanami?” You ask, insecurities wracking you. He shakes his head as you both head toward your friends again, through the busy room.

“No, I didn’t say that, not at all.”

“So what do you mean?” He opens his mouth again, just as his girlfriend bounces up and smiles at him, and you realize how foolish you are to think he meant that.

You all go back to being more separated, Nanami has gotten you a slice of pizza and you’re both sitting together and smiling, but your eyes keep going to Satoru, hurt in them when his clingy ass girlfriend practically drapes herself on him. Satoru needs to let these feelings go, he’s doing nothing but hurting and confusing you. So he decides the best thing to do?

A little bit of distance.

*****

Present Day

“Is that why you basically ignored me for like months?” You ask curiously, Satoru spins and dips you, bending you back over his arm in a move that would make anyone swoon, and of course you do, his lips hovering over yours.

He brings you back up, making you dizzy and breathless. “I thought I was hurting you, confusing you.”

“You definitely were confusing. But I missed you when you didn’t spend any time with me at all. That hurt.” He nods just a bit, the song is ending, and you’re still pressed so close against him.

“I wanted to say that I didn’t like Nanami with you, because I wanted to be with you. But how could I say that?”

“I don’t know… you could have tried to?”

“Stop being all logical.” You snort now. “Another orgasm on the list.” He whispers against your ear, you tremble now.

“Are you all finally going to get this tension taken care of?” Shoko asks, and you gasp, realizing they’re all watching you two.

“Tension?”

“Since high school.” Shoko says.

“Nah, Middle School.” Nanami counters.

“Even younger.” Suguru chimes in, and you watch Gojo’s cute little blush overtake his perfect pale skin.

“Seems like you all planned this.” You admonish, and they whistle, looking every which way, but Satoru looks right at you still.

“Think you’re invited to the afterparty, my place?” He says softly, unlike most of the people in dorms or frat houses, Satoru has his own place, beautiful too. You look at your friends now.

“Are they invited?”

“Nah, exclusive.”

“Oh just go, dear god. I’m so tired of the pining.” Shoko says, shoving at Satoru and handing you your coat.

“You kicking us out!?” You demand playfully, only being shooed right out, into the cold snowy night with Satoru. His hands come to warm your cheeks, as you stare at him with glittery eyes, eyes that make his heart falter every time. “Satoru I really… I’ve been… for so long…”

“Ah-ah. You have two more Christmas stories. C’mon, I’ll tell you one on the way.” You follow him breathlessly to his fancy black sports car, he turns on the heat after he starts the car, a hand pressing on your thigh. You lean close to his side, cuddling against him for warmth like a cat. “Remind me to get you cold more often.”

“I hate the cold, ugh. You’re warm though.” You snuggle closer, shutting your eyes and inhaling the scent of his cologne. “Feels so natural.”

“I know, it always scared me.”

“Did it? Wait, are we transitioning to another teen Gojo tale!?”

He chuckles now, one hand brushing against your thigh, you’re wrapped around his arm, his other hand guiding the steering wheel, the lights scattering across the dark night, reflecting his perfect profile. You feel the heat building and building, even worse by the orgasm he’d brought you, planting a little kiss on his neck.

Your lips on his neck drive him so crazy, as does your sweet little body against him, he inhales that scent he’s always loved, this vanilla cupcake scent that makes his mouth water. How do you still smell just like that? How do your lips still taste so sweet, burned in memories.

“I really should tell you how I feel too.” You say softly, and his heart pounds in his ears as he tries to focus on the road. “After your two last stories, Santa.”

“Ah, yes. Be good and listen.” His hand now wraps your waist, making your thoughts anything but nice, but you nod against his neck, holding him close. “We’re up to Senior year, are you ready for the trip?”

“Ready. What part of Senior year, spirit guide?”

“That closet.” His voice gets husky.

“Oh… oh shit.”

*****

The fourth time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

Senior Year of High School- age 18

“I can’t believe they put us in here.” You whisper, trapped in the closet with Satoru Gojo, just last week he was proclaimed prom King, and he’s as popular as ever, somehow taller too.

Satoru’s mind is foggy as he stands in the little closet with you, he’s so close he can inhale that scent, he can feel you against him. He feels his body react, god if he just brushes against you it does. And you’re both just not as close as you once were, since the awkwardness of watching you with Nanami, who you even dated for a few months, much to his displeasure to see.

You’re both single now, something that hasn’t happened in some time, it seems Satoru always has arm candy, and you always were left to wonder if he’d ever notice you. Even in a closet, you imagine his mind is far away, perhaps on his ex-girlfriend, the prom queen and cheer captain. You couldn’t even do a somersault without getting injured, a clumsy mess.

You hate comparing yourself, but you can’t help it with Satoru, you’ve had boyfriends now, you’ve had kisses. A little more experience. But something keeps drawing you back to all the what ifs, of how someone can be so close to you, yet so distant, just out of reach, as if you couldn’t touch him like you wanted… some barrier he has.

“They’re just always thinking you have a crush on me.” Satoru says teasingly, cocky as hell. You snort, rolling your eyes.

“Uh huh. Well I don’t.”

“I don’t either.”

For some reason his words hurt you, and deeply.

Just like your errant words hurt him.

Both of you lying, both of you hurting, and for what? Well, because you still can’t picture a world where Satoru likes you, and he can’t manage to open up, to be honest with you. He’s right behind your back, you feel his breaths against your neck, blowing and tickling your hair now, making you tremble.

“Good, wouldn’t wanna break your nerdy heart.” He whispers, hands on your waist, taking it over, long fingers sinking into the jut of your hips. Your breath comes even quicker in the dark, quiet room now.

“You’re mean lately, your head’s so big I don’t know how it fits through doors.” Satoru laughs, meanly, pressing harder against you.

“Not the only thing that’s big.” He whispers, you tremble now, looking back nervously, eyes adjusting in the dark.

“W-well I won’t find out. Not your type.”

“Says who?”

“Says your very long list of girls. And that’s cool, but don’t confuse me.” You turn to him now, pressed against him intimately in the closet, and suddenly everything stops, the world stops, as he holds you in his arms. As he feels your bare skin from your crop top, so sexy he wishes no one else could see you. “Satoru…”

“You’re beautiful.” Your breath stops in your lungs, when he leans in so close, god it’s been four years since middle school, but you can still feel it lingering, that kiss all those years ago. His words muddle your mind.

“What?”

“Beautiful. You always have been, okay? Stop thinking that you’re not.” Your tears hit your eyes, while you tremble in his strong hold, fire coursing through your veins, mind whirling.

“Oh, thank you Satoru. That’s sweet.”

“Sweet? Nah.”

“It is. Thank you.” You lean up now, kissing his cheek, he shuts his eyes at how good you feel, your every curve pressed against him, his hands slipping down your hips now, you gasp, a little breathy, sexy sound. He turns his head now, lips brushing yours for just a moment.

Just a moment and then he’s devouring your mouth, tongue slipping in, taking over everything you are, and you melt with him, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, as he presses you further against him. His hand pulls at your hair, making pain hit your scalp, but it feels so good. You moan, a sound you’ve not made with a guy, and he practically growls now.

Satoru presses you against the wall, the clothes on either side of you separating, dresses on either side of your skin when he lifts you, and your legs wrap around his hips. You pull back to suck in a breath, looking at Satoru with wide eyes, and he glints even in the dark, his lips glossy, he’s breathing as heavy as you. His strong hands grip your thighs, you feel how excited you are then.

“Satoru, what are we doing?” You ask carefully, and he wants to finally say it, in this closet, at some dumb party. He wants to say it, that he’s in love, that kissing you is better than anything he could imagine.

The door knocks now. “Seven minutes over!” You both separate quickly, you adjust your skirt, embarrassed at how you reacted, your nipples tight against your top, clearly visible, judging by his bright blue eyes that are glaring at them.

“What was that!?” You demand in a hushed whisper, and he opens his mouth, as the door keeps knocking. He glares now, opening it, and seeing it’s his ex, prom queen herself, she looks at you both and laughs now.

“Well that was probably a boring seven minutes.” You feel the words crush you, making you feel sick, you can feel you’re literally on fire from him. What is this, is this just what he does!?

Satoru sees you rushing away, and he follows you, ignoring his ex, trailing you and shouting your name. It was your turn to run from him, he supposes, usually it’s him running. He finally catches you, you’re shivering as the chill of autumn is hitting, and you’re barely wearing anything.

“You’re gonna get sick in that, wearing nothing!”

“You’re not my big brother. Certainly not right now after… what even was that!?” You demand, turning to him, eyes glistening with tears.

He feels it like a punch to the gut.

“You can’t just kiss me when you’re bored and date everyone else, everyone in your league.” Tears are falling, you’re shivering, Satoru gulps, shaking his head now.

“No, it’s not that. You’re in anyone’s league, fuck you’re out of anyone’s. I didn’t kiss you because of that.”

“Then why? Don’t you know, it means a lot to me?”

“I…”

“I’m not like you, I don't just sleep around.”

Satoru glares now. “And who says I do?”

“The entire school! And I don’t care as a friend, but I do care if you think I’m available like that.”

“You think I want to fuck you?” He asks, raising a brow, and your heart sinks in your stomach. “I didn’t try to fuck you, did I?”

“Then what…”

“Kissing, in a closet. You think that means sex? You’re cute, little virgin.” He pats your head and you smack at his hand, glaring, hurt written all over your face. Satoru hates himself so much, but he can’t say it, especially now. How can he even begin to tell you the truth!?

“I know what sex is.” Satoru glares. “I’m not an amusement, I’m your friend, you can’t act like that.”

“Fine then I won’t kiss you again, ya happy?”

“No!”

“No?” You shake your head, stomping away now, he grabs your wrist, making you glare at it. “Please, I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what!?” Your face is covered with tears. “Just go get your prom queen, and leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I… I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have kissed me?” You whisper, he just gulps, aching to tell you how badly he wants you, to tell you he is in love with you. But he just stands there, like a damn idiot, as you continue to cry, yanking your hand away. “Don’t worry, we’ll just forget it.”

“What!? I didn’t-”

“Good bye.”

*****

Present Day

“Damn this place is beautiful, Satoru.” You murmur as you walk in after riding the elevator up, lingering memories of high school still in the air, creating tension.

His loft is sleek and gorgeous, an expansive open space with high ceilings, windows that overlook the night, you exhale at the view. It’s illuminating the modern room softly, a mix of lights in the buildings and moonlight seeping in. Sleek paintings of all kinds decorate his walls, it’s cozy and inviting, you’ve been here before, but something is different.

Everything is different.

“You want a drink, Sweets?” He murmurs softly, his hands slipping up and down your back, creating a network of goosebumps everywhere he touches.

“Am I staying the night Toru?” You tease. He smiles so big now, illuminating the room.

“Of course you are. You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.” Your breath catches at his tone, he casually smirks and saunters off to his kitchen, leaving you pulsing, as if your pussy has a goddamn heartbeat. “Aw, shy now?”

“N-no. I’ll take one.” You follow him into the pretty, sleek kitchen, Satoru has cookies he’s made earlier sitting on the stove, he pulls out bottles from his bar, mixing you up a drink, you take it and eye the cookies. “Are you baking for Santa?”

“I’m interested in your cookie.”

“Oh stop!” You snort in laughter, he does too, finally taking the santa hat off, popping it right on your head carefully. You lean up, slicking back his hair into place, feeling it like silk under your touch.

“You’re getting minimum four orgasms tonight. But I’ll give you a fifth if you can guess the next time I fucked up.”

“Guess? Shit… I think it was the night we both fucked up.”

“Ding-ding-ding.” He taps your nose, you smile at it, then he sips his drink as you do, now leaning back against the counter, looking up at him. “You’ve been so good though, I think I’ll give you another right now.”

“Oh yeah? I’m on the nice list?” You gasp when he’s bending low, sinking two fingers under your panties and inside your eager cunt, he moans out loud with you when you cling to him. “Oh f-fuck…”

“S’tight, s’wet…” He’s pressing that spongy spot in your gummy little walls now, your head falls back, leg wrapped on his, he’s kissing down your neck as he presses over and over, making you see stars. “There’s that spot. Good girl.”

“Toru!” You cry out as he fingers you with his stupidly long fingers, longer than the one guy you’ve been with, longer than his entire cock. You’re sure he didn’t hit as deep as Satoru’s fingers, and he surely didn’t finger you like that. You’re overtaken, cunt dripping down his hand, down to his silver rolex and dress sleeves.

“Hear yourself, huh sweetheart? How fuckin wet you are.” His low tone just edges you further, now he’s pulling back to look at you, and you’re closer and closer.

“Fuck me, please.” You beg, he moans, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

“Oh fuck your santa stories, and fuck me-” He slams his lips on yours, pumping his fingers in and out of your soppy little cunt now, and you hear it squishing lewdly in the quiet loft, he presses other fingers against your breast, squishing as he pumps them, until you fall over the edge now, cumming so hard you can’t see.

“There it is, you’re taking them so good.” He cooes those words, you’re already fucked out and you haven’t even been fucked by him yet. You blink and struggle to make him come into focus, gasping for stuttering breaths.

“Oh my… oh my… I…” The room is spinning, he takes his fingers, dripping wet with your arousal, shoving them into your mouth now.

“Taste how sweet you are.” He orders, and you do just that, sucking on his fingers, tongue swirling around them, your pussy is pulsing more and more wetness out, as you crave more of him. “God you’re sexy.”

“Please…” You pull him down by his collar, kissing him, swapping the taste of you, only making Satoru harder. He can’t wait to bury his face in your plump little cunt, god it’s all he can think of.

“Patience. You came twice already, look at me.” You grab him then, and he about dies, nearly cumming from your touch, gasping.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Fuck you’re a little horny brat. You have one more story.” You sigh then, head falling back, for more of Satoru’s kisses and bites, he wants to fuck you senseless, but he also wants to savor this, to make this perfect for you.

“Oh fine but I’m aching.”

Well so is he, precum making a wet spot in his boxers, straining against the fabric of his jeans, just from the smallest little touch. You’re so wet and hot there, so greedily your cunt sucked up his fingers, he can only hope he can last, if you touch him at all it will probably end him. He’s been waiting for this moment for so long.

“One more story, can you last?” He challenges. You giggle then, nodding.

“I can make it.” He studies you, bright eyed in that damn santa hat, imagining how beautiful your body must look while he gently strokes your shoulders, you bite your lip, eyes lidded with desire.

He hopes he can make it too.

*****

The Fifth time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings

College- Sophomore year- age 20

Everyone was celebrating the ball game, they had won nationals, and everyone was praising the all stars, Suguru and Satoru. They also were top of the fraternity, none of this was really your style, you were focused a little more on academics, though you helped Satoru study a ton to keep his high GPA, he was as smart as could be and still could accomplish so much.

You had been so proud of him, cheering him on from the stands eagerly. You all had taken some time to make up after that high school party, but truly you couldn’t be mad at him for long. You equated it to some strong spiked punch and being shoved in a closet together, close proximity. It certainly couldn’t be anything else.

Satoru comes up to you now with a big wide grin on his face, picking you up and spinning you, donned only in a Toga, showing far too much of his chiseled body. “Missed you short stuff!”

“Missed you too, Toru.” He hugs you so tight you hear your damn ribs creak, before he finally sets you down.

“You at a Frat Party!?”

“Yes, I had to celebrate the victory with you. So I make an appearance.”

“Elusive.” Suguru comes up and says, you hug him tightly.

“I miss you too!”

“You should hang out more.” He looks at Satoru. “Way more, shouldn’t she?”

“Um what? Sure.” He shrugs, looking away, as his friend calls him the fuck out, but luckily you’re oblivious, still a little shy, insecure thing.

If you were his you’d never feel that way.

But could you ever be? Or was Satoru stuck in this friend zone with you, until you move on, get married, have kids… go be a writer, he’s sure you’ll be famous, you’re so talented. And he’ll marry who he’s supposed to, who his parents pressure him to, and have a career with basketball, soon what would you all be, memories of each other?

But then why do you still wear it?

It’s a charm on your bracelet now, he imagines the little rope it was on broke long ago with all the wear it got, but you have his little yin charm right there, along with more charms you’ve added over the years. His gaze darts up your body, you’re wearing a sexy little grecian gown to go with the theme, with a golden crown in your hair of fake leaves.

You’ve even got glitter all over your skin, you’re so damn beautiful, like an actual goddess. So effortlessly pretty you take his breath away, he feels the effects of studying your curves right on his cock, he shifts then, hoping you can’t see it. But your eyes remain on his, as Suguru hands you a beer.

“Thanks Suguru. You all know I don’t drink these though.”

“Oh don’t be a baby, do it.” Satoru teases, you snort, and Satoru’s watching hungrily as you sip it. “What a baby sip.”

“I’m not chugging it!”

“Well I’m doing a keg stand.” Suguru gives you a little peck on the cheek, smirking as he earns Satoru’s ire. He knows more than anyone how long Satoru has been pathetic for you.

How do you not know?

“Go have fun, crazy.” You step a little closer to Satoru now, looking at the loud game of beer pong.

“Wanna play?”

“Oh god no, I’ll suck so bad.”

“Nah, c’mon.” Satoru drags you over by your hand, wondering if tonight could be the night. He’s coming off this high of winning that championship, you’re standing here looking like Venus herself, surely he can do it.

Why is he so afraid to tell you?

Soon you all are competitive, but he’s winning, annihilating you honestly, smacking every bounce you attempt, throwing and sinking endless pong balls into those solo cups. You pout now, earning his laughter as you keep sipping on your beer, until you end up with another. You finally sink one and bounce up and down, arms in the air, so fucking cute.

“Haha- take that, Toru!” You place your hands on your hips, sticking your tongue out, he’s reminded of the day he met you, the day he thought you were so cute he needed to yank your pigtails, and you’d stuck out a tongue.

“One hit and you’re claiming victory? What are you, the goddess of war?”

“Goddess of nothing, silly. You’re the one looking like a god.” You flush so damn cute now, looking down shyly at your words.

“A god hmm? Fits me.”

“Oh you’re so conceited.” You roll your eyes at him, but he does look like one, his strong, long, chiseled frame. He’s so gorgeous it makes you ache, he always has been, but it’s like every time you see him it’s worse, this need, this desire.

To be with him in so many ways.

Ways you haven’t yet, ways you shouldn’t want him.

“Finish the game, brat.” He tosses a ball your way, you laugh now, sinking another one and cheering, and soon you’re both a little tipsy, and playing together against Shoko and Suguru.

You both kick their asses, much to their dismay, Shoko opts for vodka shots like a classy bitch, Suguru is on another keg stand, and you and Satoru are giggling and dancing around to the music. It’s so loud you feel it thrumming through your entire body, Satoru’s so easy to fall into, you keep trying to hold back, but how can you? When he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

And how can Satoru ever hold back with you? He’s tried, four different times, to tell you how much he loves you, yet… How can he? As he’s grabbing your hip, pulling you against him, your head falling on his chest, as you’re grinning so big, he just… has to say it.

He has to.

“I need to say something…” He murmurs then, you can barely hear him, leaning up closer.

“Hmm? What Toru?”

Someone bumps into you then, knocking you against Gojo, and he glares now, shoving at the drunk frat brother. You wave your arms to stop him. “What the fuck man, watch it.”

“Shit, my bad Gojo, chill.” He then grins all big as he looks at you, where your toga is now falling, revealing far too much of your breast. You squeak, quickly trying to pin it up, and now Gojo’s torn between wanting to see you, and anger at this asshole. Gojo shoves him into a wall then.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at her.” He says through his teeth, surprising you then.

“What, she's your girl? Weren’t you just banging a girl out last night?” He says with a laugh, and Satoru pauses, but you hear it.

You feel sick then, stepping back, how can you be so dumb, to think Satoru would want you, or choose you!? He’s never going to be interested, the only times he’s kissed you he was… why had he kissed you!? What was this friendship? Was it a friendship at all or you holding on to the idea of hope with him.

You’re blinking back stupid tears as you run off to a room, sobbing as you struggle to fix your toga, only for Satoru to walk in. You glare now.

“Go!”

“We’re not together, why are you mad if I fuck someone?” He demands, and you sputter, shaking your head, tears hot and sticky as they fall.

“I shouldn’t be upset.”

“Then why?” He’s right against you, big hands on your shoulders, you look up at him now, mascara streaking down your cheeks, his stomach drops at it.

“Because I’ll never be… I’ll never be…”

“Be what?”

“Yours.”

“Wh-what!?” You shake your head now, running out of the room, Satoru’s chasing you, reminiscent of two years ago, fuck it’s always a chase, a push and pull. “Come here! Stop it!”

“No, I’m done with this, with you giving me bits of affection, only to ruin them.” You shove at him now, he’s grabbing you, pulling you against him. “Don’t you kiss me, don’t you dare tease me.”

“I don’t kiss you to tease you, I kiss you-”

“For a game!”

“Shut your mouth.”

You scowl. “You shut your mouth.” Satoru shuts both your mouths, as you’re outside the insane frat house, pressing you against the brick wall of the dormitory, smothering your lips with his. You bite his lower lip, glaring as he pulls back.

“Stop running from me, stop hiding.” He begs, and you sigh.

“Why should I? I won’t be a notch on your bedpost.”

“You think-” Several people start filing out now, and Satoru’s got you pressed right on that wall, his chest heaving as he hovers, as the chaos ensues all around you both. “You think you’re that to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you. A friend you kiss every two fucking years or so?” You say with an angry glare, and he cups your waist, burning your bare skin with his touch, shooting desire straight through you.

“You’re so much more than that. If you’d just let me show you.” He whispers, but you’re so scared then, of letting go, your breathing gets erratic, as you feel his thigh pressing between yours, moving on it, earning his soft moan, vibrating his chest as your hands slip up it. “I have to tell you something, please.”

“I’m listening, mmm.” You arch again, craving him so badly, nothing like you’ve felt with anyone, it’s so maddening.

“I really… I really…” Satoru’s pausing now, stuttering, you make him a mess, he’s resting his head on yours, feeling your heat, thinking of sinking into it. Sure he had girls, only because he couldn’t have you. You were his all consuming thoughts, but how does he put it to words?

“Really…” You urge him on, and he gulps then, panicking. What if you don’t feel the same!? What if he ruins this…

“I really… you’re really…”

“Satoru! Satoru!” They all start cheering then, a whole group of his frat brothers, fists pumping in the air, and he lets you go, leaving you aching with need, he looks at you so longingly, you’re dying to know just what he wanted to say, but he smiles then, kissing your cheek, shaking his head.

“Come on.” He yanks you with him, as everyone starts chanting for Satoru, and you try to pretend you are okay, as Satoru hides his feelings yet again, and as you think maybe you should give up on it happening.

You’re in love with him, and it hurts.

How can you let him go finally?

*****

Present Day

“You were trying to tell me something. Important.” You say softly now, in Satoru’s cozy kitchen, and he nods then, gulping, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I was. I was trying to confess… that I love you.” You blink once, twice, three times. Surely you’re dreaming. Surely he can’t…

“You love me?” You whisper back, and he nods, so beautiful as he cups your face in his big hands.

“So you see, baby… I can’t just hook up.” Satoru’s words bring you to the present, his eyes are glossy, mirroring the deep emotions you both feel, your breaths come faster, as he lifts you up, placing you on his counter.

“All this time… you felt the same?” You whisper, he swipes at your tears now, smiling.

“You crying?” He asks, and you just nod, remembering that day. “I’ve loved you since I threw those snowballs at you. So, so long ago, I knew it, that I was in love with this pretty, sweet girl.”

“Satoru…” You snatch him to you, kissing him through your falling tears, salty against your sweet lips. Satoru’s heart feels so achingly full, his hands shake as he slips them up your thighs, he’s never been nervous until now. Never felt anything like this, like your thighs around his narrow hips, pressing his fingers into the plush of them.

“There can be no hook up, pretty. I need you to be mine if you want this, I need you to be only mine.” Satoru says softly, possessive now, you feel yourself melting more and more, feel the insane need build inside of you.

“Satoru, I’m in love with you too. I have been, since you gave me your jacket after plowing me with giant snowballs, you mean little shit.” He laughs now, through his own tears, that you swipe with trembling fingers, exhaling. “Oh Satoru, I’ve always been yours.”

He slams his lips on you now, picking you up in his arms, you cling to him as he clumsily navigates you to his room, your tongues not stopping, teeth clicking together with the force of your kisses. You’re drinking every bit of him in, as he’s drinking you in, barely coming up for air, in gasps. Your kisses get hungrier, messier, sloppier than anything you’ve ever known.

Satoru’s hands are all over you as he lays you down on his bed, pressing you into his soft, plush mattress, leaning up to study you, carefully, brushing his fingers across your cheeks, wiping the last of your tears. “All mine?”

“All yours.” He moans again, kissing you deeply, hands slipping up your dress, you’re arching up for more of his touch, his kisses, hands hastily unbuttoning his dress shirt, kissing each piece of revealed skin.

“Baby… I need to see you. Now. Please.” He says softly, giving you puppy dog eyes, you nod, so nervous, when he pulls back, pulling you to sit, and slipping your dress up over your head, the santa hat falling with it. When you’re bare to him aside from your damn panties and lacy little bra, he groans. “Oh my god.”

You are so beautiful his heart pounds in his chest, Satoru drinks you in, your every perfect curve and line, every inch of your silky smooth skin on display. He unlatches your bra with a quick flick, revealing those perfect tits he’d sucked on earlier, god you make his mouth salivate. He’s literally drooling when he gets to your panties now, a soaking mess.

“You got so wet.” He cooes, enjoying your reaction, your hips shifting, thighs pressing together, as he eases them off you, finally seeing your pussy for the first time. “Fuck it’s perfect.”

“Th-thank you… Toru!” He’s lost it now, hungrily staring at your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal, lips all puffy from his edging. He exhales, just his breath making you shiver, crying out.

“So easy, hmm?”

“Oh you… ah!” Satoru breathes against you again, grinning as you jerk, as much as he wants to make love love to you, god he also wants to fuck you senseless.

“Imma ruin you for anyone.” His insane words versus the sweetness wreck you already, you’re screaming out when he flicks his tongue up your slit, looking down into his bright blue eyes, seeing the shift. Satoru is going feral as he inhales you, pressing his face against you, nose bumping your engorged clit, kissing at your entrance.

“Toru!” Your hands are gripping his hair so tightly you’re pulling it, as you feel him against you, as he tastes you there. Then he’s devouring your pussy, spreading the lips wide, tongue sliding into your velvety walls, fucking you with it, making you start to gush all over his pretty face, moaning as your back arches.

Satoru’s lapping up all your honeyed arousal, as you start dripping everywhere, and your walls are fluttering around that wet muscle. “F-fuck, taste s’good… god could do this forever.”

“Ngh!” Is all you manage, incoherent at the pleasure his mouth is giving you, feeling your peak coming as he slips two fingers back in you, pulling back and looking up at you, face glittering in your slick. The sight of it edges you on, as he finally licks your clitoris, just one flick and you shatter.

“That’s it, good girl… s’good f’me.” He whispers, as you’re pulsing around his thick fingers, and he laps up more of your cum. “You’re so messy.”

“M-messy…” You can’t function, you’re trembling with aftershocks, he grins at you, an insane feral fucking grin, his silky white locks falling just so. “Please, lemme see you.” You manage, and he gulps now, blushing pink, shocking you since he’d just been so cocky. “Satoru, lemme touch you.”

“Not too much, I won’t last.” He admits, and leans back off the bed standing, you watch him, raising up on your elbows, hair falling down behind you softly like a curtain. He starts to get undressed, and you drink every inch he bares in slowly, his hard, chiseled body, all the lean muscles, abs cut within an inch of your life. Your eyes go lower now as he unbuckles his belt.

You bite your lip, cunt still aching from his play, from the pleasure he has brought you, but when he gets to his boxers, and your eyes trail down the white hair below his belly button you gasp. His cock slaps that belly button when he takes off his boxers, and Satoru Gojo is huge, thick, long with a curved pink tip, beading with pearly white precum already.

“Oh my god… you’re so beautiful, Satoru.” You say softly, coming to your knees on the bed, he exhales nervously, he has always known he looks good, but hearing you say it meant everything. Seeing the desire makes your eyes dilate and glitter, as your eyes worship him.

“You’re beautiful, especially on your knees.” You kiss down his abdomen, then you kill him, when you grip his cock with your tiny little hand, that friendship charm still dangling from your wrist, and God Satoru cannot wait to buy you real jewelry, a ring to glitter as you stroke him.

His hands enwrap in your hair, pulling it into a ponytail as you lap at his tip with a kitten flick, making his eyes roll back, he can tell you’re maybe not experienced as you try to suck, making out with his tip, but he loves it, he loves you. Anything you’re doing to him, your soft strokes and you sucking more and more, until you’re drooling all over his cock.

“I need to be inside you, now baby. Sorry, I can't take this.” He has you back on your back so quick you barely blink, and then you feel him, stroking his thick tip on your slick cunt, you’re shaking, arching up, so ready.

“Will it fit though?” You ask, and he chuckles, blushing more now.

“As wet as this pussy is? Fuck yeah it will.” You whimper as he’s kissing you, pushing your legs apart with his knee, and aligning his cock with your soaking entrance. “You ready?”

You nod, breath shaky, and Satoru pushes in, so slowly, letting you feel every inch of his thickness filling you up, stretching you. You feel so full, so complete with him inside you, he gasps as he sinks deeper, stretching and burning your skin, but you crave it, you want more, more, more.

He grips your hands, entwining them above your head, so intimate and beautiful you want to cry. “God, baby, you’re so tight. So wet. Fuck… look at you.” He sinks in deeper, lifting a thigh now, releasing a hand, eyes studying every bit of your face as you take more of him. “So pretty.”

“Satoru!” You’re whining out, your nails digging into his back as his cock sliding deeper, deeper still, so many inches you can’t comprehend, until he’s shoved so deep you feel him against your cervix. “Oh my god…”

“Oh my god…” He moans right with you, your pussy clenching him so tight, he can feel your walls gripping him like a vise, but you take him, fuck you take him, so greedy your slick little cunt, pushing him over the edge. “Fuck.. that’s it… slutty little cunt loves it, hmm?”

“Slutty, I- you- ah! There, there!” You scream out when he hits that spot with his tip, dragging on it inside your walls, and you’re pouring so much wetness you can hear it, as the gentle slap slap slap of his pelvis on your ass hits, as his balls are smacking your little ass hole, and his white hair is grinding on your clit when he bottoms out, you’re soaking his veiny length, dripping onto his fancy covers.

“That’s it, baby, s’good. Taking this dick like it’s made for you.” He huffs, fucking you harder now, faster, making you shudder as he slips his hand between you both, pressing a thumb against your clit, making you cum so hard all you see is stars, glittery fucking darkness.

Is this what you’ve been missing!?

“L-love you…. L-love - ah!” You’re brokenly confessing as he lifts a thigh, pressing it high, yanking your hips down more on his length, fucking you harder and harder with every thrust.

“You’re m-mine now, baby. All - f-fuck- mine, to fuck whenever I want, however I want. Got me baby?” He whispers, losing it over you, you’re so perfect, so wet, so pretty under him, he’s imagining every position he wants you in, every place he wants to fuck you in, how he wants to cum in your perfect little cunt, fill you. “Answer me baby, answer me.”

His voice is whiny, pleading, you’re barely able to take a breath or function, damn near falling off the earth, clinging to his perfect skin for any stability, as he starts to pound mercilessly into your pussy. Sweat drips down his nose onto one of your breasts, which he squishes with his hand, pinching your nipple and twisting as he fucks so hard it hurts.

“Too much, too much.” You manage, and he smiles now, that cocky Satoru you’ve known your whole life, leaning down and rolling his hips just so, grinding that leaky tip against your cervix, pushing you to cum again, this time you’re drooling, mouth wide open.

“Aw you’re s’cute like this… look at you. Drooling. Dumb fucked out look.” You can’t even be mad, you want him to keep going, so you whine, nodding just a bit, earning his grin. “And you like it, being so slutty just for me. Only me.”

“Y-you.” Is all you manage, but it’s enough to send him over the fucking edge, pressing your thighs up high, smushing your breasts, now he’s so deep you feel him everywhere, your stomach, your entire body, he’s moaning as he watches your tummy bulge between your thighs.

“Feel me, everywhere, fucking up your guts… huh?” You just weakly nod, whining as you’re so embarrassingly wet, you hear every slutty sound of his cock wrecking you. “Made f’me, s-say it again.”

“Made for ah- y-you! Satoru!” He’s groaning, leaning his heavy weight on you, pelvis smacking hard as he stuffs you so full, too fucking full, and now he’s cupping your face, insane swirling blue eyes drinking you in.

“Anyone fill you yet, baby?” You shake your head, and he grins even more psychotically. “Good, Imma fill you up, gonna be d-dripping me for days.”

“C-cum in me, cum in me. D-do it, please.” You beg, you don’t fucking care, you want it, you need it. His hips stutter, mouth dropped open as his cock thrusts harder and harder in your now sloppy pussy, so wet and needy she’s sucking him up.

“Cum in you? F-fill you baby?” He’s so sweet now, a psychotic contradiction that you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of. “Put a baby in you?”

“Baby!? I… fuck it… yes! Put one in me, please.” You’re pathetic for him, and he relishes in it, starting to thicken, as your cunt milks him.

“Gonna breed you, f-fuck you feel so- ah - gonna breed your pussy, every fucking day, got me? Say yes baby.”

“Y-yes, please…” He whimpers then, Satoru Gojo, all star, prom king, the strongest man you know, whimpers as he begins to cum inside you so deep, coating your walls with his hot white ropes. You cum just from that, clinging to him, he slams his lips on yours over and over in messy kisses.

“Never felt this, oh my god… your pussy what the… yes baby take it all… f-fuck please…” He’s whining as he pushes his cum deeper inside you, stuffing you so full, still pressing you up, folding you. You’re sobbing now, overwhelmed, pussy so sore but she’s milking him more, even as he’s dripping down his cock and your ass, mixed with your glistening cum.

He’s exhaling now, easing your thighs down, kissing you deeply, over and over, you’re clinging to him, trembling legs so sore, still full of him. He leans up and takes a deep breath, looking at you with those endless blue eyes, eyes that you adore, that face you adore. You get choked up now, tears falling, tears that he gently wipes, like he wasn’t just pounding your cunt.

He’s looking at how beautiful you are under him, the girl he’s loved for as long as he’s even known, tears glittering pretty on your cheeks. “You’re pretty crying, y’know that?”

“Sadistic ass. That’s why you threw the snowballs.” He smiles down at you, so handsome your heart aches.

“You’re mine now. Mine forever.” His words should be crazy, but as you look at the little charm glittering in the night, cupping his face, his words aren’t crazy at all.

“I want to be yours forever. Satoru, I have for so long. I’ve been so scared when you leave…”

“You’re coming with me. Yeah? Basketball wife?” He says with a grin, and you nod then, through your tears, through your smile, a myriad of emotions.

When he’s cleaned you up, and it’s slowly falling snow outside, Satoru has you in his lap once more, his Santa hat on, as you sip cocoa. “Are there more stories I need to know about, Santa Toru?” You ask teasingly, lapping a little whipped cream from your steaming hot mug.

“There is the time I saw you in the girls locker room.”

You glare. “What now!?”

“On accident!”

“Oh this better be good.” You snatch his cocoa up with a scowl.

“Don’t take my cocoa baby, you’ll get on the naughty list.” He says with a glare, and you’re glaring right back.

“Oh, I’m so scared Santa!” He bends you over the chair now, slipping his hand up under the dress shirt of his you’re wearing, with nothing else. You gasp when his hand smacks your ass cheek, making you jolt, desire pooling in your tummy all over again, when he leans forward over you.

“Merry Christmas. It’s midnight.” He says, you peek at that watch, as he smacks your other ass cheek, and you’re moaning, head falling back. “Looks like you’re not gonna be able to sit for Christmas dinner.”

And that was the final time Satoru tried to tell you his feelings, and this time it worked, and you felt the same the entire time <3

I hope you all enjoyed the cuteness and idiots in love, it was a request for a 5+1 that FLEW off the handle. Ty for readingggg

Gen Masterlist here

Geto’s 5+1 HERE

[majinbangus]

Your man coming home from a particularly tough deployment to find you nursing a concussion with a black eye and broken arm, looking a little worse for wear. His mind immediately assumes the worst, and when he asks darkly, "who did this to you?" ready to raise hell upon who dared hurt his love, you grin sheepishly at him and confess, "I slipped in the tub."

He stares blankly at you for a solid ten seconds before dropping his chin to his chest, shaking his head in fond exasperation before looking back up at you, sighing with a hint of judgey adoration, "Bloody hell, dove, I'm gone for one month and you're gettin' up to all sorts of trouble."

You try to protest only for him to smother it with his lips, chuckling into your mouth, "You just wanted an excuse for me to take care of you, is that it? Don't deny it, you've always been a crafty one, mischief."

You crinkle your nose at the nickname, which he kisses in response, making your cheeks heat. He's probably gonna 'punish' you when you're better for your 'devious plan', but that's okay because he'll take good care to nurse you back to health (with a good dose of ribbing for slipping in the tub because come on. Of course, you'd injure yourself that way, he's not gonna let you live this down. He's got himself a clumsy one, huh?

... however, despite all the teasing and goodnatured jabs, you notice the antislip mat placed in the tub a day later, a warmth blooming in your chest.

You got yourself a good one, huh?)

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[carnalcrows]

LOLLIPOP - CHO SANGWOO

pairing: dad's best friend!cho sang-woo x trans male reader

synopsis: When your dad’s hot best friend crashes at your place for a week, things heat up faster than the broken AC—throw in drunken confessions, lollipops, and a whole lot of unresolved tension, and you’ve got a summer break you’ll never forget.

content warnings: 18+, reader definitely has an oral fixation, too much plot, mentions of a transphobic mother, (GI HUN IS READER'S DAD), age gap (reader is 19 and sang-woo is in his 40's), unprotected sex, P in V, back-scratching? fingering, lots of unspoken tension.

word count: - 4.3k

A/N: ty to @art-gang-money , their request was what made me go on a spiral w this fic 🙏🏼🫡

Summer in your dad’s apartment always smelled like kimchi stew and stale cigarettes, a combination you’d grown weirdly fond of since moving back in after you started uni. The ceiling fan wobbled as it turned, and the couch sagged just enough to remind you how old it was. You were sprawled out on it lazily sucking on a cranberry lollipop and scrolling through your phone, when your dad cleared his throat dramatically.

“You’ll never guess who’s coming over,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he was delivering some kind of life-altering news.

“Let me guess,” you deadpanned. “The landlord? Because I think the AC’s about to give out.”

He waved you off, grinning. “No, you brat. Cho Sangwoo. You’ve heard me talk about him, right?”

Heard? More like endured. Sangwoo was the mythical figure your dad brought up at every family gathering, a symbol of everything Seong Gi-hun wanted you to be: successful, hardworking, and an SNU graduate. You’d rolled your eyes through countless retellings of his achievements, imagining some stiff, balding guy in glasses who probably spoke in lectures.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, not looking up.

“He’s staying here for a week,” your dad added, oblivious to your lack of enthusiasm. “He’s got a client nearby, and I told him he could crash here. You’ll like him. He’s... cool.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Coming from you, that doesn’t mean much.”

Your dad ignored the jab, already walking toward the door. “He should be here any minute!”

When the door opened a few minutes later, you barely glanced up—until you heard the deep, smooth voice that followed.

“Gi-hun,” the man said warmly, stepping inside. “It’s been too long.”

You looked up and your sucker almost fell out of your mouth.

This wasn’t the stiff, balding guy you’d imagined. Sangwoo was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than your dad’s entire wardrobe. His hair was styled just enough to look effortless, and the way he carried himself screamed confidence.

“Finally, you’re here!” your dad said, pulling him into a back-slapping hug. “Sangwoo, this is my son.”

“Nice to meet you kid,” Sangwoo said, extending a hand toward you.

You shook it, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. His grip was firm, and his eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“So you’re the famous Sangwoo,” you grinned, “Didn’t expect you to be so... old.”

Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Old?”

“Yeah,” you teased, leaning back against the couch. “Forty’s ancient.”

Your dad barked out a laugh. “Don’t mind him. He thinks anyone over twenty-five is ancient.”

Sangwoo didn’t reply, but the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach twist.

After dinner, the hum of the evening settled over the apartment. Gi-hun had retreated to the couch, already half-asleep with the TV droning in the background. You had volunteered—reluctantly—to wash the dishes, partly out of guilt for eating so much and partly to avoid sitting awkwardly in the living room while Sangwoo and your dad chatted about old times.

The warm water ran over your hands as you scrubbed a plate, the faint scent of dish soap filling the air. You had just started to lose yourself in the monotony when you felt it—the faint shift of the air behind you.

“Need help?” Sangwoo’s voice came, low and smooth, almost too close.

You froze for a split second, your grip tightening on the plate. “Uh... I’ve got it,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out tighter than you’d hoped.

He didn’t seem to care—or maybe he didn’t believe you. Instead of leaving, he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the sponge in your hand.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of amusement.

Before you could protest, he had already slid the sponge from your fingers, his other hand gently nudging you to the side—not enough to move you completely, but just enough so he could stand behind you, his chest brushing your back.

The countertop pressed against your hips, trapping you between the solid wood and Sangwoo. You swallowed hard, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a gust of wind.

His scent hit you first—clean and sharp, a mix of soap and something faintly musky, like fresh cedarwood. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower; his hair was still damp, and the faint warmth of his skin radiated against you.

“Just rinse them,” he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded dumbly, reaching for the faucet, but your hands felt clumsy, your fingers fumbling with the knobs. The sound of the water splashing into the sink seemed impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Sangwoo leaned forward slightly, his arm stretching past you to grab another plate. The movement brought him even closer, his chest pressing more firmly against your back. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, steady and unhurried, as if he weren’t fully aware of what he was doing—or maybe he was too aware.

“You’re tense,” he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be body-blocked while washing dishes.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You’re overthinking it. Just relax.”

Easier said than done, especially with him standing this close. Every time his arm brushed yours or his hand grazed yours as he passed a plate, it sent tiny jolts of electricity through you.

“You always make dishwashing this awkward?” you asked, your tone half-joking, half-desperate to diffuse the tension.

“Only when I’m working with someone as clumsy as you,” he shot back, his smirk practically audible.

You turned your head slightly to glare at him, but the motion brought your face dangerously close to his. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back to you, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

The air between you was heavy, charged with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. He was so close you could see the faint droplets of water still clinging to his hair, the curve of his mouth as he smiled faintly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Well,” you managed to say, your voice quieter now, “if you’re going to take over, at least let me get out of your way.”

“Who said I wanted you to move?” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But then he turned back to the sink, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he continued washing the dishes as if nothing had happened.

You stayed frozen in place, your mind racing and your pulse hammering in your ears. If this was some kind of game, Sangwoo was winning effortlessly.

On the third day of Sangwoo’s stay, your dad insisted on taking you both out for drinks, and Sangwoo agreed with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gi-hun, unsurprisingly, got wasted. You and Sangwoo ended up practically dragging him back to The humid summer night hung heavy as you and Sangwoo maneuvered your dad through the narrow streets, Gi-hun stumbling slightly with every step. He reeked of soju and cheap beer, his arm slung around Sangwoo’s shoulder while you tried to steady him from the other side.

“He’s heavy for someone who barely eats,” you grumbled, adjusting your grip.

“He’s always been like this,” Sangwoo said, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”

“Y’know,” Gi-hun suddenly slurred, his voice unusually loud in the stillness of the night, “I never thought I’d be one of those dads.”

“Which kind?” you asked, bracing yourself for whatever drunken confession was about to follow.

“The good ones!” he proclaimed, nearly tripping over his own feet. Sangwoo caught him effortlessly, his expression unreadable as Gi-hun continued. “Your mom… she didn’t think so. Thought I was crazy for defending you.”

“Dad,” you muttered, feeling the familiar prick of discomfort settle in your chest. “Maybe now’s not the time—”

“Why not?” Gi-hun cut you off, his eyes glassy but filled with a strange intensity. “Sangwoo doesn’t care. Do you, Sangwoo?”

Sangwoo hesitated, glancing at you before replying softly, “Not at all.”

Gi-hun nodded triumphantly, as if Sangwoo’s approval was all the validation he needed. “See? Told you. No shame in it. Not a damn bit.”

You didn’t reply, focusing instead on guiding him toward the apartment. But Gi-hun wasn’t done.

“Your mom…” His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. “She couldn’t handle it. Said it wasn’t natural. Like you weren’t her kid anymore, just because you stopped wearing dresses and started wearing ties.” He barked out a humorless laugh. “As if a piece of fabric could change the fact that you’re you.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up, but it still hit like a sucker punch every time.

“She wanted you to be her perfect little daughter,” Gi-hun continued, his words starting to blur together. “And when you wouldn’t… she packed up your sister and left. Going all the way to America like that would fix everything.”

He stumbled again, and this time Sangwoo steadied him with a firm grip. “America’s got more people like you anyway,” Gi-hun added, his tone lightening into something almost comedic. “She probably hates it there. Serves her right.”

You let out a soft, startled laugh despite yourself. The absurdity of it all—the drunken way he said it, the thought of your mother fuming in a country full of people who were allowed to be themselves (kinda)—was too ridiculous not to.

Gi-hun turned to look at you, his expression suddenly serious. “But you know… I’m glad you stayed with me. I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not for a wife, not for money, not for anything.”

Your throat tightened, and you could only nod, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Gi-hun leaned heavily against Sangwoo, his weight almost toppling both of them. “My kid’s a damn good man,” he declared, his voice wobbling with emotion. “Better than I’ll ever be.”

Sangwoo’s gaze flickered toward you, his dark eyes softening in understanding. He didn’t say anything, but the slight dip of his head felt like a silent acknowledgment—a recognition of everything unsaid.

When you finally got Gi-hun back to the apartment, he collapsed onto the couch, snoring almost instantly. You stood there for a moment, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to sort through.

Sangwoo broke the silence, his voice low. “He’s a good father.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his tone. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice softer than usual. “He is.”

When you finally got your dad into bed from the couch, you turned to Sangwoo, expecting some kind of witty remark.

Instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I don’t,” you replied, your tone defiant.

“Don’t play dumb.” He was close now, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You’ve been pushing me all week. Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “Maybe I do.”

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, heated, filled with all the tension that had been building between you.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands clutching at his shirt as he pressed you against the wall. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet gasp that only spurred him on.

The kiss had left you breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears as Sangwoo’s grip on the back of your neck softened just slightly. The wall at your back was cool, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His forehead rested against yours, and for a brief moment, neither of you spoke.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered again, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense.

“You’re the one kissing me,” you shot back, the words shaky but bold.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his fingers slid from your neck to trace the line of your jaw. The touch was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asked, his tone tinged with something between amusement and exasperation.

“Do you?” you countered, meeting his gaze.

His eyes darkened, and his hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I’m not scared of getting burned.”

That was all it took for him to lose the last thread of restraint. His lips were on yours again, fiercer this time, his hands gripping your waist as if anchoring himself. You clung to him just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

When he pulled back again, his lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yeah?” you whispered, a teasing edge creeping into your tone despite the way your heart was racing. “And here I thought you were just ignoring me.”

His laugh was soft, almost bitter. “Ignoring you? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

Your face heated at his words, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. “Sounds like a you problem, old man.”

His grip tightened on your waist, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of frustration and desire. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t give you the chance. His lips were on yours again, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you gasped softly against his mouth.

“Sangwoo—” you started, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulled away just slightly.

“Say my name again,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a thrill down your spine.

Your lips parted, but the sound of a door creaking down the hall snapped you both back to reality.

“Shit,” you whispered, your head jerking toward the noise.

He let out a soft curse, his hands slipping from your waist as he stepped back, putting just enough space between you to make it look like nothing had happened.

“Dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Probably,” Sangwoo replied, his tone clipped. He straightened his shirt, his expression already hardening back into the composed mask he’d worn all week.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed as you watched him pull himself together, but the heat in his gaze when he glanced back at you told you this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“Go to bed,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Promise?” you asked, your voice light but your heart still pounding.

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave you said enough.

Saturday had never felt so bittersweet. Usually, it was your favorite day of the week—a time to sleep in, lounge around, and revel in doing absolutely nothing. But this Saturday was different. Sangwoo’s stay was coming to an end, and the thought of him leaving left a knot in your stomach.

You hadn’t had the chance to talk about what had happened that night after the pub—or maybe you’d both avoided it. Every brush of his hand, every lingering look, had felt heavier in the days that followed. But neither of you had acknowledged it. Not once.

The tension in the apartment was unbearable, made worse by your dad’s cheery obliviousness. That morning, he announced he had to run out for work and wouldn’t be back until evening. He didn’t even glance up as he slipped on his shoes, leaving you alone with Sangwoo.

You sat at the kitchen table, absently swirling the stick of a grape lollipop between your lips as you scrolled through your phone. The candy clicked softly against your teeth, your thoughts miles away.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor snapped you back to reality. You glanced up to see Sangwoo sitting across from you, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Is it good?” he asked, nodding toward the lollipop.

You pulled it out of your mouth with a soft pop, tilting your head. “What, this?” You swirled the candy dramatically. “Amazing. Want a taste, old man?”

His lips quirked into that maddening smirk, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, moving toward you with deliberate slowness.

“Sangwoo,” you started, a warning in your tone.

He stopped right beside you, one hand braced on the table as he leaned down. His voice was low, a soft rumble that made your pulse quicken. “You’ve been driving me insane all week.”

You tried for a laugh, but it came out shaky. “Is this about the coffee thing again? (you had put salt in his coffee instead of sugar because you were so fixated on his face-) Because I already apologized—”

His hand reached out, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tilting your face toward him. The sudden proximity stole the words from your throat.

“Stop,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your heart was hammering now, the lollipop stick trembling slightly in your fingers. “Maybe I don’t,” you replied, though the smirk tugging at your lips said otherwise.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It was rough, messy, and desperate, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t stand it anymore. The lollipop tumbled from your hand, forgotten as you gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you out of the chair and into him. Your back hit the wall a second later, and you gasped, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands tangled in his hair, still faintly damp from his morning shower. He kissed you like he was starving, his lips hot and insistent against yours. One of his hands slid up, tangling in your hair, while the other gripped your hip, keeping you firmly in place.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You managed a breathless laugh, tilting your head to nip at his jaw. “Blame the lollipop.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heated. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“On the table,” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

With a low chuckle, he grabbed the discarded lollipop, holding it up as if examining it. Then, to your shock, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s mine,” you protested weakly, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not anymore,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, the faint sweetness of the candy mixing with the heat of his mouth. The combination was intoxicating, making your head spin.

His hands roamed, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to brush against your bare skin. Every touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your lips.

“Sangwoo,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Sangwoo,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. “You’ve been driving me crazy all week,” he said, his voice low and raw.

“Good,” you shot back, your smirk returning. “Serves you right, old man.”

His laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving, before his lips found yours again, pulling you into another dizzying kiss.

His hand was going lower and lower, first to your collarbone, then to your waist. It slowly inched the topband of your shorts, pulling it back and letting it slap onto your skip, making you yelp.

His other hand held you steady at the waist, while his dominant one went under your boxers.

You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your cunt, teasing one finger against your wet folds. It had been a solid minute since you even touched yourself down there. You were always too anxious that Sangwoo would be able to hear you (Dad was tone deaf) or he might come home earlier than expected from his business meetings.

And his fingers— God, his hands. So strong and thick. They linger over the soft pudge of your cunt, pressing into the warm skin and pulling apart each sticky fold to ghost over the quiver and throb of your acawaiting, needy clit. How overwhelming they were, using his thumb to rub smooth circles into it, eliciting a wet squelch as his fingers sunk into your hot, gummy walls.

You latched your hands on his shoulders, back arching into the wall with the sudden intrusion. You muffled any noise you made by hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

He propped you up higher on the wall, letting your head fall back, while his eyes never left yours.

“Sangwo–,” you were cut off by him suddenly sliding your shorts down. You remembered with embarrassment that you had worn–

“Huh. Hello Kitty.” the man stated while looking at your bright pink boxers. Your face flushed, turning to look away, while Sanwoo slid your boxers down and continued to have his way with your sopping cunt. 

You had no idea how long you had been in that position. He had taken your leg and placed it on your shoulder, making you somewhat balance on one leg, back resting on the wall and your hands on his shoulder.

Sangwoo on the other hand was obsessed with how his fingers were practically being devoured by your needy cunt, the slick making it easier to slide in every time.

He determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his belt, along with his pants and boxers, which were now pooling at his knees.

He used his toned arms to steadily lift both your legs up, making you squeak. Your knees were now at the same level of your shoulders. Before you could let out a remark, he had slid the tip of his length into your gummy walls, eyes going wide with how tight you were.

“Fuck…so tight f’me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement, and before you could respond, he had slid all the way in, making you gasp.

Using the opportunity, he captured your lips with his once more, muffling the sweet moans that came from you. He wanted to hear you, but your neighbours seemed to be quite…nosy.

When he had buried his cock all the way to the hilt, he stopped.

“Please…fuck, Sangwoo–,” you whined, feeling full but it just. wasn’t. enough.

“Please what doll? Use your words,” he teased, the smugness evident on his face.

“Fuck me till my legs are shaking. Please please plea–,” before you could finish, Sangwoo had slid out and he rammed into you once more, making you let out an almost pornographic moan.

He went at it like an animal, fucking into you with reckless abandon, as though he was in a rut. Your hands went from his shoulders to his back, your nails (whatever was left of them after you bit them off) scratched his back, leaving crescent shaped indents on his skin.

Your cunt clamped tightly around his cock, as you tried to babble something but only moans left your lips. He seemed so heavily into chasing his own orgasm at this point. 

“San..Sangwoo..I– ” You tried to say but could only cry out as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a rapid stream. Your fingers dug ineffectually into his back as a way of forgetting the overstimulation against the older man’s harsh thrusts.

He groaned, feeling the sting of your nails and how your cunt was clenching around his length with every thrust.

He continued going even after you came, his hips retracting at a fast pace. His grip on your waist tightened, pressing down onto your flesh.

“ I’m gonna-- “, he breathes out before (reluctantly) pulling out of your tight hole and climaxing all over your stomach. 

The warmth of the liquid seeped down your stomach, settling in your navel and even going further to your used cunt.

As he was staring at your hole, that was still clenching around nothing, you brought your shaky hand to his face and dived in for another kiss.

The sound of a key turning in the door was unheard. Your dad’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Forgot my wallet! Need to get the groceries– What the… CHO SANGWOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY SON–”

Shit.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[sunflowerwinds]

nobody but you | v.a

summary: you lost everyone close to you, including your best friend (and childhood crush) when you were fourteen years old and had to grow up on your own. seven years later, a ghost reappears, igniting those same feelings from all those years ago to come bubbling back up. bed-confessions lead to what you’ve wanted for years.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: reader is described to wear skirts and have longer curly hair, reader’s nickname is star, mature language, mentions of vi and reader being each other’s first kiss, caitlyn being a third wheel (i’m so sorry :/), mature content: dry humping & hickies (vi!receiving)

a/n: …. hey. arcane is a new fixation and i HAD to write for her. inbox is open for more vi ideas! (modern or not) <33 4 DAYS until arcane🙂‍↕️!!!

That night that the explosion happened, you were a wreck. You had lost so many people that you held near to your heart; Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi. As much as you hated to admit to yourself but losing her had the most impact on you.

Her body wasn’t found so everyone, including yourself, assumed that she was dead.

Powder, god, you couldn’t get to her before Silco did. When you arrived at the aftermath of the scene, she was gone and all that was left was a piece of a bomb that was undeniably Powder’s creation. Guilt settled within you at the rumors that spread of who Powder had become; Jinx.

It took years for you to become somewhat okay, falling into a new routine. With Silco running Zaun and dowsing the streets with shimmer, you had to watch people you knew become addicted and lose their minds over it.

You were alone.

It was a last resort but you took up a job at The Last Drop; as a barkeep. It was shitty pay but at least you had enough for food. It, of course, was nothing like when Vander owned the place. There was no family feeling or sense of comfort and unity.

You had accepted from that point on that this is how things were going to be. You live in the space above Benzo’s souvenir shop, making it your own home. Since his death, the space had been unoccupied. You took it upon yourself to make it yours.

It was decorated with remembrance of your late friends and knick-knacks you’ve collected from around the Lanes.

You had gotten off of your afternoon shift at the Last Drop, making your way back to the broken-down place you called home. You were ready to sit back and make dinner for yourself, sitting with your thoughts and silence. However as you approached the door to the shop, a weird sense settled into your gut.

The front door was open ever so slightly, barely noticeable at first glance. You usually would’ve dismissed it as a mistake on your part.

But this incident mixed with the weird feeling in your gut told you that this wasn’t just forgetting to close the door all the way. You hovered your hand over your leather holster that held your coins and a few ninja stars that you had been holding on to since you could hold one.

It was also helpful to hold up your extra layer of skirt.

Carefully, you peeked into the shop to see if you could see something or someone inside. From the small crevice, your sight was limited so you couldn’t confirm anything just yet. Lifting your left boot, you push the door open with the toe of your foot. You look into the shaded areas of the building, waiting for some form of movement.

Once you carefully step into the abandoned shop, you reach behind you to grab the doorknob to shut it closed. Your eyes flicker around the room, squinting in concentration as you continue to walk across the wooden floors.

A second passes and that’s when you hear a creak come from behind you. Reacting quickly, you grab a ninja star from the pocket of your belt and launch it into the darkness. The sound of the blade splitting into the wood and a grunt relax your worries somewhat.

Reaching for another star, you raise a hand to turn on the light to see who exactly made their way into the shop. Your face hardened as you lifted your arm once more, preparing to defend yourself.

The intruder stood against the shut door, eyes locked on the weapon in your hand.

“Star?”

They question you, stepping forward into the light.

You grip onto the ninja star tighter, confused as to how they know who you are. You suck in a deep breath, tilting your head as the strangers' features reveal themselves in the light. You squint for a moment before letting out a soft gasp, letting the bladed weapon slip from your fingers and onto the ground.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Were you hallucinating? Have you finally reached your breaking point?

The hair, the bandaged arms, the same slope of her nose.

“Vi?” You breathe out, your eyes welling up with tears.

The pink-haired girl nodded, letting out a shaky breath herself. She took a few more careful steps towards you. You take the same amount of steps to meet her in the middle, throwing your arms around her neck with desperation. You let out a sob as you bury your face into the crook of her neck.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me,” her voice was gentle in your ear, one of her bandaged palms cradling the back of your head while the other held you close by your torso.

Your eyes squint shut as you take in the fact that this is really happening. Vi was here; alive and so different. You pull away from her now-inked neck, brows furrowed from the questions rattling through your head.

“You… Where have you been?” You ask her softly.

“I got arrested and I’ve been in Stillwater since that night,” she explained carefully, one of her palms cradling your elbow.

“How are you here now? How did you get out?” Your eyes flicker to the ink on her cheek and the nose ring.

“I got released earlier today. I—I just had to see you. To make sure you were even…” Vi trailed off as she brushed a flyaway out of your face so she could really look at you.

The way you looked both so different and the same; how much you still look like that same girl that used to cut your fingers on your ninja stars. She remembers how you would try to hide the little slits on the tips of your fingers from her until you would physically wince from the cuts, forcing Vi to tend to the wounds.

You, unknowingly, did the same.

Too distracted just like how you would be all those years ago. Two teenage girls just trying to survive every day, secretly meeting up on the rooftops to snuggle dangerously close when everyone was asleep.

“When you said we were making a quick stop, I did assume it would be quick,” a posh English accent emerges from behind Vi, causing you to pull away from her comforting touch.

Vi let out a sigh before turning her head to peer at the tall woman standing in the doorway. You immediately recognize the attire underneath the small coat she was wearing and raise your hand to aim a ninja star at her. She was an enforcer.

Vi had an enforcer… get her out of prison?

“Who are you?” You snip, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” The dark blue-haired woman quipped back.

You hold back the scoff bubbling in your throat before Vi reaches forward to gently push your hand down. You hesitantly did so, still gripping onto the weapon between your fingers.

“I was thinking that maybe we could lay low here for a bit. Get some rest,” Vi attempts to ease your obvious tense figure.

“We?” You glance over at the woman watching her face soften.

“Yes. Just until tomorrow. Then we’ll be out of your hair to go to Babette’s.”

Voice still calm and gentle, Vi explained the situation at the moment. It turns out the tall woman’s name is Caitlyn, they’re looking for Powder Jinx because they believe she’s involved with an explosion that happened in Piltover.

You could see the desperation in Vi’s eyes when talking about her sister and your heart broke for her.

“Okay. I’m up top so,” you nod towards the door more into the shop that leads upstairs.

“Lead the way, Star,” Vi grinned, shoving her bandaged hands into her pockets.

You look over at Caitlyn who is standing right behind Vi, towering a bit over you both. You lead the pair to your living space, flicking on the light to reveal the new made up home. Vi whistled as she walked around the familiar space now made into more than just an attic.

“You did all of this?” She questioned with a smile as she walked over to the shelf of books and trinkets.

“Uh, yeah,” you feel a bit vulnerable knowing that both a stranger and past best friend who you thought was dead are in your home. “No rent, no roommates, just me.”

Your childhood friend traces the hanging lights from your ceiling, grinning for a moment when they make a soft twinkling noise. Being as nosy as she was, she made her way over to where you slept. Her eyes locked on the beaten-down table next to your table, focusing on the small ceramic bowl full of trinkets.

“Shit, you kept this?” Vi grabbed an item off the bedside table that was next to your bed that made your eyes widen with embarrassment.

It was a star ring that Vi had gotten (swiped from an antique shop) when you were thirteen. That day she gave it to you was also the day you brought up the idea of being each other’s first kiss to get it out of the way. Dating wasn’t a worry but you both agreed that you might as well ‘prepare for that day when you’d need to.’

It wasn’t the most amazing kiss, of course as you were preteens but you still became flustered the second you two made eye contact as you pulled away. You remember twiddling with the star ring after and how much you felt so cared for by someone.

“Oh yeah. It was to remember you by,” you sheepishly reply.

Vi hummed at your response, her smile creeping onto her lips as she set it down.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but is there someplace where I can rest?” Caitlyn questioned from behind you, seeming to be standing carefully near the door.

You glance over at Vi who had laid back on your bed, shutting her eyes with a sigh. One of her bandaged arms draped over her lower stomach while the other rested above her head on your flattened pillows.

“You can rest over here.”

You motioned for the tall woman to follow you. You walk around the wall, pushing back a curtain to a secret space where you usually allow some acquaintances from work or people in need to sleep, turning to Caitlyn with a friendlier grin.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn called after you as she sucked in a deep breath, looking around the small room. “For allowing me in your home.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me,” you nod.

Caitlyn nods in return, a small smile on her lips as she lowers herself on the dingy mattress.

“I know it’s not the ivory walls you’re used to but make yourself at home,” you notice the small, barely noticeable gap in between her front teeth as she smiles at you.

“It’s lovely,” her posh accent makes you chuckle.

You simply shake your head and shut the curtain to give Caitlyn some privacy. You recollect yourself as you think about Vi who is currently lying down on your bed. Vi perked up as she heard footsteps walking towards the bed, making eye contact with you as you rounded the bed to the other side.

“Hi,” you mutter as you lower yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, knee first.

“Hi,” Vi replied, her lips twitching into a small smile.

You can’t even hide the smitten smile on your face as you lay yourself down next to her, back on the mattress as well. Your palms rest above your navel as you try to act as normal as possible.

A tense silence filled the open room; the both of you not knowing what to say to one another. You could hear the shouting and loud music of the streets coming from your open window but all you could focus on was your own nervous breathing.

“I thought about you every day,” Vi’s the first to break the silence. “Every fucking day there, I thought about what it would be like coming back to you. I hoped you’d be here, Star. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone too.” Vi admitted as she shook her head, snuggling into your bed.

Your eyes bore into her side profile, admiring the slope of her nose and the ink etched into her cheek. You turn the rest of your body to match your head.

“You would’ve been okay,” you joke, weakly chuckling.

Vi blinks and looks over at you with a soft and meaningful gaze. She’s silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before she speaks.

“Do you remember when we would go up to the roof of the Last Drop and talk about what we would do if we ever got out of here?” Vi questions gently, facing you so that you are face to face.

“Yeah,” you mutter, not knowing where she was going with it.

“Every scenario we talked about whether it was taking over the streets or getting bucket loads of cash to build a new life there, I never imagined what it would be like without you by my side. You were always… right here.” Vi breathed out, her gaze avoiding your own. “Now that I know what it’s like to have that reality, I don’t want it to happen ever again.”

“Vi,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her eyes carefully lifted to meet yours, pupils dilated with vulnerability.

“I was so… scared you were gone too,” Vi whispered, hesitantly reaching for you but her hand retracted quickly.

You took the reins and carefully hooked your finger onto one of hers, sighing in relief at the touch. Vi stared at the courteous touch and wrapped her palm over your own, running her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you remember what happened after you gave me that ring?” You ask softly, using your free hand to brush a piece of her hair out of her face.

Vi wasn’t stupid. She knew you meant that kiss that put a pep in her step for a few weeks after; the girl that she had been crushing over since before she could remember. Not wanting to confront it head-on, she quickly stumbled out a little joke.

“I think I thought about doing that for months. Mylo wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it every time you came around, blowing kisses at me when you had your back turned.” Vi chuckled as she shook her head.

You smile at the mention of Mylo, not doubting it for a second. You, in a similar fashion, turned to Ekko for your little crush on Vi.

“You know, come to think of it,” you pretend to recall, “I remember you asking me an important question too.”

Vi wanted to punch herself in the jaw as you brought up another rather embarrassing moment. She could see it now; two teens sitting on a rooftop, shoulder to shoulder after sharing a quick peck and avoiding each other’s eyeline.

“We could be each other’s… back up when we get older, you know.” A fidgety thirteen-year-old Vi had proposed.

You remember glancing down at bright-colored streets and clouds that intoxicated the air of Zaun. Vi glanced over at you to see if you had even heard her as you had gone completely silent.

“Back up?” You questioned, your voice still going through the ups of puberty.

“Yeah, well, when we’re old, like, forty or something and have no one else, we could be each other’s.”

Vi didn’t really explain what that meant at the time but you agreed with ease. You knew how much you would do for Vi; maybe it was a little obsessive and unhealthy but she had a grip on you that you hoped never left.

Neither of you were near forty yet but there was a sliver of hope you could enact that pact today.

Something took over you after that confession and you scoot your body closer to hers. You reach your hand up to brush your hair out of her face, cupping the side of her face. Vi held onto your wrist as you began to lean into her.

Before you could even comprehend it, Vi pressed her lips to yours. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, releasing her face in shock. Her hand was still gripping onto your wrist as her lips moved against your own.

After the initial surprise of the kiss, you follow her rhythm. You place your hand back onto her cheek as you suck in a deep breath, letting yourself enjoy what you have been craving to redo after seven years.

The soft smack of your kisses and you and Violet humming against each other's lips silently drove you insane.

“I missed you so much,” Vi mutters against your lips.

You sigh at the confession, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Never thought I'd get to do this,” you confess. “To be with you like this, Vi.”

Vi’s palms move down your body, rubbing down your sides carefully like you were going to disappear at any moment. Years of confinement and getting into fights with inmates led her to this very moment; the only person in her life that was really here for her.

“And now that you are doing it?” Vi questions, her big rounded eyes boring into your own.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Vi beams at that and you dive back into her lips, humming against the gentle touch of her lips. This second time around was more hungry, eager for one another. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of her bandaged arms wrapped around your waist as you kissed like you needed her; craved her.

Oh, how needy you were at that moment: selfishly grabbing onto her like she could disappear at any moment. She wasn’t; at least you hoped not.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” you sighed out, tears welling up in your eyes.

Vi immediately notices your mood drop and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss your cheek and placing a few more gentle touches on your neck and jaw.

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart,” she murmured against your skin as she continued to carefully kiss your skin.

You suck in a deep breath as you cup either side of her face to pull her away from your flustered skin. Vi’s chest was heaving up and down from her own hunger for you becoming overwhelming.

“I want to make you feel good, Vi,” you admit, whispering just below normal speaking volume.

Vi stares and blinks, her breathing slowing down.

“Me?” She questions as if she misheard you.

“Yes, you. Please.”

You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment from your begging as you meant it more than anything. Vi, with not much more needed convincing, nodded frantically as she allowed you to take the reigns.

You pull away to sit upright and straddle her lap, your skirt lifting up your legs to rest on the highest part of your thigh. Vi’s eyes widened for a second at your position in your lap, her bandaged hands resting on the flat pillows as she stared up at your figure. Her eyes were rounded with admiration and lust.

“Is this okay?” You question, tucking some of your hair behind your ears.

“Yes. Yes, you’re… good.” Vi reassures you as you smittenly smile down at her.

She matches your smile as you lean down to reattach your lips, placing your hands on her collarbone. Vi’s hands grip gently at your upper thighs, frantically pulling you in closer to her. The strap of your shirt was slipping down your shoulder, resting on your triceps.

You allow yourself to be there in the moment with her. You had the tendency to think about the worst outcomes of every situation but right now as Vi’s palms move more up to your hips, you just feel her.

Not afraid, not depressed; just her.

Her touch was electric on your skin. Vi sits upright from her laid-back position, humming as you run one of your hands up the back of her head into her hair. Feeling her body running hot, she removes her hands from your body to shrug off her red jacket from her body.

You pull away to help her remove the jacket, throwing it to the side and hearing it hit the ground. You look down at her now-revealed arms and eyebrows raise up at the sight of her toned upper body.

You were gawking; you knew you were.

“What were you doing in there?” You shamelessly ran your hands down her firm biceps.

Vi lets you feel her up, watching your hungry eyes follow your hands on her body. She doesn’t answer your question but she does place her palms back at their rightful place on your hips.

You snap out of your daze as her hands squeeze your hips. Your cheeks lit aflame before focusing on the task at hand. Did you 100% know what you were doing? No, but you figured if you just do what you do to yourself to her, it was bound to make her feel good.

So you slowly began to grind your hips down onto her own. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a shaky breath.

That only fueled your keep your hips moving against her. Vi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, tilting her head back to huff out a soft moan. You let out your own noise at the feeling, leaning forward to attach your lips to the length of your neck.

Vi moaned your name at the feeling of you kissing the sensitive spot on her neck. Her grip only becomes tighter on your waist as you begin to suck and lick, creating a dark spot on her pale skin. You pull away after a few seconds to brush your finger over the mark, feeling disgustingly proud of yourself.

“What are you doing to me?” Vi whispered, groaning under her breath.

“I could say the same,” you quip with a cheeky smile, grinding down hard once.

The motion tugs out a moan from the both of you. The thinnest layer of sweat began to form on your neck and crevice of your hip and legs. Vi leans forward, panting into the crook of your neck. She attempts to hide her needy whimpers against your skin but you can’t miss the desperate sounds.

You were growing wetter by the second, aching to get her off.

“Vi—“ You gasp as her palms rest on your hips, helping you grind down onto her clothed crotch.

Your hands rest on the broad on her shoulders, feeling over the tight muscle. She was panting softly as she took in the sound of you asking for her; needing her like this. Her blue eyes admire the way your jaw was left open as you pant and whimper from the friction.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” she praises, a low moan leaving her own hips.

You almost shake your head at her words but you knew it would be a huge mistake to do so. You allow yourself to take in the words, not wanting to seem like you didn’t believe her. She drew the beautiful inside to the surface with ease.

Your hips stuttered, wondering if you were going to cum like this. It wouldn’t be the first time as you’ve shamefully done the same to your mattress.

“You’re perfect,” you tell her honestly, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

Vi wanted to tell you you were far from correct but you were persistent on the fact.

“You are. You are, Vi,” you cup her face as you weakly grind your crotch on hers.

Vi nods to show you she is listening, one of the few whimpers she’s made throughout the night bubbling in her throat. You place a few kisses over her face before placing the final one on her awaiting lips.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“

“Me too. Cum for me, please,” you encourage the pink-haired girl.

You watch as her muscles tighten, a vein popping out of the side of her neck. It beautifully highlighted the mark you’ve made on her.

With your grinds becoming sloppier and weaker, Vi assisted you by practically doing all the work. Your hips and inner thighs were growing more and more tired out by the second. Your will to make sure Vi came was the only thing keeping you going.

Your mouths were hovering over one another, whining and moaning onto each other’s lips. Your core tightened as you felt your orgasm approaching. Vi’s whispers of praise only drew you closer.

“Just like that,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Vi whines right back, kissing right above your chest near your collarbone.

You nod with a whimper, muttering ‘please’ and ‘right there’. The mix of your panting and hot moans drove you both to cumming against one another.

You were shaking at that point, arms now wrapping around her neck for stabilization. Vi, mimicking you, wrapped her arms around your torso, burying her face into your chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Your hair was now frizzy, your whole body aflame from the orgasm that tore through you. Vi’s lips were dragging on your heated skin causing you to shut your eyes as you, too, attempted to calm down.

The two of you sat there, matching each other's breathing patterns as you both came down from your highs. Your eyes before you knew it grew heavy with exhaustion. Vi noticed how slumped you were and cradled your body to maneuver you to lay back down. Your arms were still locked around her neck, refusing to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Vi asks after a few minutes of silence, licking her swollen lips.

You chuckle softly at her question, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.” You mutter before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vi nods at your words, rubbing her hands down your back. She traces the length of your spine, lulling you into the sleep that your body was asking for.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” Vi encourages when she notices you fighting your tired eyes.

Your heart sank at the word ‘leave’, brows knitting with betrayal. Your exhaustion left your body for a moment at her words.

“Leave?” You delicately whisper.

“No, no, not for good. I’m not doing that to you again,” Vi was quick to reassure your worries. “I just—I have to find Powder. I don’t know how long it will take but I will be back for you.”

You swallow your doubts that Vi will be able to change Jinx back into the girl she once was. You knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Vi into staying, especially with Caitlyn tagging along with her.

“Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you again,” you cup her face, running your thumb over the ink on her cheek. “You’re my backup, remember?”

Vi manages to chuckle at your words, shaking her head.

“I never should’ve asked you that. You were never going to be just a backup, Star,” Vi told you softly. “You were always going to be first for me.”

Your eyes rounded with admiration at her confession.

“We were kids when you asked me that, Vi. I’m glad you did. I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” you tell her with a smitten grin on your lips.

Vi presses a deep kiss onto your awaiting lips, nearing knocking your teeth against one another from her own smile. You lazily kissed her back until you physically couldn’t anymore. Sleep overtook you as you rested your head on her bicep that was acting as your pillow for the night. You felt one last kiss on your temple before you knocked out.

The next morning you awoke to the feeling of the bed shifting next to you. You slowly peek through squinted eyes to see Vi’s blurred figure sitting on the opposite side of the bed, quietly speaking with Caitlyn’s undeniable taller figure.

“I’m just pointing out how you completely disregarded the fact that I was in the room opposite of you. I had a curtain as a door,” Caitlyn quietly scolds the pink haired girl.

You try not to show any reaction but you were embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about Caitlyn resting just 10-15 feet away from you two.

“I’m not sorry for what I did but sorry you heard,” Vi snips, no doubt in your mind with raised brows.

Caitlyn sighed rather loudly before shaking her head, holding her hand up to Vi.

“Let’s just… get going, please. We haven’t got much time.”

Silence from Vi.

“Okay. Just give me two minutes. You can wait outside the door.”

You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep once again, listening for the receding footsteps. Vi spoke with care as she gently tapped your shoulder.

“Star, sweetheart?” She hummed, brushing your flyaways from your face.

“Hmmm?” You open your eyes, stretching one of your arms up.

“Hey. I’m gonna head out, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Vi traces the apple of your cheeks as she talks to you.

“Be careful. I mean it, Vi.”

The blue eyed girl nods at you, giving you one last meaningful kiss onto your lips.

“I will. In fact,” Vi pulls away to reach by the bedside table, grabbing the star ring she gave you. She slid it onto her middle finger, showing you the jewelry. “I’ll be back to give you this. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a soft laugh at her ridiculousness. You adored her more than anything and anyone.

“I’ll be waiting, Violet.”

TAGLIST: @kylorey25 @evermorewest @breezy-sapphic @auraclus @ichig0nn4 @thesevi0lentdelights @vincinnamontoast @onesockcat @sc0ttstre3ted @seolarsistem @kissyslut @pinkdaisys4u

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed. 

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off. 

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself.  Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of. 

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in. 

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting. 

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. 

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously. 

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator. 

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that. 

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now. 

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it. 

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out. 

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed. 

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that. 

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders. 

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom. 

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent. 

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape. 

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed. 

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14. 

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine. 

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered. 

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well. 

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual. 

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver. 

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called. 

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious. 

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that. 

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away. 

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around. 

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them. 

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving. 

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned. 

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet. 

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar. 

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky. 

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself. 

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better. 

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching. 

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication. 

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit. 

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself. 

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall. 

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate. 

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore. 

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready. 

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life. 

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not. 

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar. 

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar. 

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread. 

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with. 

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you. 

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work. 

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted. 

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly. 

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be. 

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell. 

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell. 

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name. 

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them. 

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray. 

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation. 

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads. 

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong. 

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face. 

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face. 

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state. 

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply. 

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious. 

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker. 

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone. 

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. 

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again. 

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out. 

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one. 

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it. 

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon. 

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table. 

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door. 

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time. 

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back. 

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling. 

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you. 

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. 

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap. 

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table. 

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street. 

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots. 

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep. 

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated. 

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad. 

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands. 

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off? 

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.” 

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself. 

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known. 

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave. 

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response. 

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained. 

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom. 

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements. 

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his. 

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly. 

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance. 

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young. 

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother. 

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked. 

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that. 

You never brought it up again. 

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since. 

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen. 

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup. 

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat. 

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands. 

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself. 

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light. 

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work. 

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. 

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?” 

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon. 

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms. 

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him. 

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor. 

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch. 

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen. 

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond. 

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved. 

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking. 

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things. 

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big. 

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built. 

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue. 

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred. 

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back. 

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing. 

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them. 

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken. 

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut. 

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up. 

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk. 

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it. 

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly. 

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you. 

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan. 

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place. 

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes. 

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that. 

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him. 

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed. 

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry. 

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day. 

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass. 

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry. 

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all. 

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you. 

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder. 

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much. 

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever. 

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse. 

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger. 

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there. 

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you. 

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life. 

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately. 

You wish that he loved you. 

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep. 

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you. 

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight. 

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there. 

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you. 

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him. 

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry. 

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts. 

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it. 

Then you do it again. And again. And again. 

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek. 

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise. 

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness. 

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room. 

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing. 

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping. 

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave. 

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him. 

God, you hate him. 

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway. 

He wanders further into the room before pausing. 

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you. 

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy. 

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like. 

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red. 

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you. 

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious. 

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him. 

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now. 

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable. 

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too. 

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room. 

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself. 

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck. 

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that. 

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door. 

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it. 

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit. 

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares. 

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you. 

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him. 

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls. 

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you. 

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise. 

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness. 

You cry all the time. Day and night. 

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him. 

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid. 

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on. 

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome. 

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again. 

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore. 

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month. 

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear. 

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to. 

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope. 

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar. 

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is. 

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back. 

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it. 

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.” 

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking. 

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself. 

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in. 

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel. 

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day. 

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold. 

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time. 

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left. 

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet. 

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself. 

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope. 

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep. 

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do. 

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake. 

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever. 

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it. 

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open. 

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else. 

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway. 

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat. 

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room. 

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was. 

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go. 

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed. 

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go. 

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds. 

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach. 

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed. 

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it. 

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat. 

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged. 

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done. 

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen. 

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well. 

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls. 

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone. 

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread. 

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over. 

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even. 

His words ring out through your head like a bell. 

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash. 

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again. 

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time. 

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away. 

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now. 

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on. 

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it. 

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is. 

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees. 

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly. 

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes. 

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you. 

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself. 

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place. 

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response. 

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again. 

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air. 

You love him, you really do. 

But you’re still so angry at him. 

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly. 

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?” 

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head. 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto. 

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place. 

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?” 

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated,  sad and utterly confused. 

You wished he would stop leaving. 

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait. 

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has. 

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep. 

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague. 

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

[hoshifighting]

"helloooo lyla!! ive been reading your fics for a long time and I love them sooo much your such a great writer!

I was wondering if I could request jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex?? ive been thinking about it for ages omg😭😭 (if your comfortable I’m not forcing!! <3)”

jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex

warnings: smut, penetrative sex, cockriding, crying, needy moans

it wasn’t like you ever imagined that jeonghan, of all people, would let that slip. not when he’s got you riding him like you’re racing to some invisible finish line, his hands gripping your hips so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you barely register the words at first, too caught up in the rhythm, in the filthy sounds coming out of both of your mouths, but then it hits you—

“marry me,” he breathes out, like a fucking confession, strangled and wrecked.

you freeze, body tensing. “wait, what?”

the room goes dead silent. the only sound left is your labored breathing. and his. and the stupid creaking bed under you both. you choke on your own spit, damn near swallow your tongue trying to process it, and jeonghan’s eyes are wide now, just as shocked as you. his face is this violent shade of red, cheeks flaming, and you swear you can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“i—” he stammers, looking away like that’ll save him from the mess he just made. “shit. i um—fuck.”

your brain’s doing cartwheels trying to catch up, but it doesn’t take long for the absurdity to hit you. you start laughing, like actual laughing, trying to hold it in but completely failing. you double over, one hand resting on his chest as he groans, embarrassment swallowing him whole.

“what the fuck did you just say?” you tease. “riding you so good you gotta wife me up, huh?”

“oh, shut up,” he groans, slapping your back in retaliation, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anything. his face is still red as hell, lips pressed together like he’s praying the earth’ll open up and swallow him whole. but the way he’s looking at you... that little crack in his usual cocky, rough persona has your heart doing this weird, fluttery thing in your chest.

“nah, nah, hold on,” you mock, starting to move your hips again, slow and teasing, feeling the way he twitches underneath you. “you really just—fuck—asked me to marry you?”

his hands snap back to your waist, that grip turning punishing. “i swear to god, don’t start.”

“why not?” you grin, feeling bold. “you mean it, hannie?”

“you want me to stop?” he asks, threatening, but you can hear the edge of it, the desperation he’s not quite able to mask. his hips buck up into you, almost instinctively, and you moan, losing some of your playful edge as your body melts back into his rhythm.

you bite your lip, trying to hold back another laugh. “didn’t say that.”

“good,” he hisses, grinding up into you harder, making sure you feel him. “then don’t fuckin’ tease me.”

but now, all you can think about is how real it feels, how intense his gaze is, and suddenly, his usual roughness feels... different. more desperate. he’s not just trying to make you moan, not just focused on his own pleasure—he’s unraveling, for you. “you didn’t answer me,” he mutters, words slurring together as you pick up speed again, each bounce making the bedframe shake. his hands are gripping your thighs now, pulling you down harder onto him, like he’s chasing something.

“huh?” you barely manage, mind spinning, trying to focus on anything besides the overwhelming feeling of him deep inside you.

he bites his lip, eyes glued to where you’re connected, his voice dropping to a low, shaky whisper. “say yes.”

you blink down at him, heart skipping a beat. he’s serious. fuck.

you’re not even thinking when you say it. “yes. i-i do.”

it’s like a switch flips. he lets out this sound—this needy, broken moan, and fuck, you’ve never heard him sound like that before. he sits up, practically yanking you down to meet his thrusts, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your neck. the pace is brutal, desperate, and you’re a mess of gasps and moans, every single one drawn out by the intensity of it all.

you don’t realize he’s crying until you feel it, those warm tears soaking your skin as he buries his face deeper against your shoulder. he’s shaking, breath hitching, but he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop giving it to you exactly how you need it.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wet, needy. “all mine.”

you can barely respond, every nerve in your body on fire, but you clutch him tighter, fingers digging into his back, matching his rhythm with everything you’ve got. “yours,” you choke out, and that’s all it takes for him to fall apart completely. he’s holding you so close it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, fucking you like he’s staking a claim, making sure you never forget this moment.

and then he cums, hard, dragging you over the edge with him, the two of you tangled in each other, breathless and whiny. jeonghan pulls back just enough to look at you, tears still clinging to his lashes, but he’s smiling now—the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“married to me, hm?” you tease heartily caressing his hair, panting, but your chest is warm, full.

“baby.” he groans, face contorting ready to cry again, making you chuckle, he pouts, burying his face in your neck again.

but you don’t miss the way his arms tighten around you. you don’t miss the way he holds you like he’s never letting go.

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Rhysand x fem!Reader (1/2)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of intimate scenes at the start but nothing explicit or smutty, clearly rhysand and feyre's whole mating plot was changed in some ways to suit the story

A/N: I'm back at doing what I am best at, which is making people cry lol. Please do consider the warnings mentioned before proceeding with the story. Thank you for reading<33

For fifty years, Velaris had been hers to protect.

Fifty years of waiting. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of ruling in his absence, of forcing herself to wake up every morning in an empty bed, of standing strong for a court that had been left bleeding in the wake of its High Lord’s capture. Of holding Mor, Azriel, and Cassian together, when they had lost the most important piece of their family.

Fifty years without him. Without Rhysand.

She had not always been a ruler, had never even imagined herself becoming one. She had once just been a child, born to a father who had been a decorated Illyrian general and a mother who had been little more than an offering—a female from a lesser noble family of the Night Court, forced into a marriage she had never wanted. She had inherited her father’s sharp instincts, his love for battle, his stubbornness. And she had inherited her mother’s mind, sharp as a blade, her ability to wield words like weapons.

Her childhood had been spent in the Illyrian war camps, a place where females were taught their place—to be weak, to be silent, to bow. But she had never bowed. Not when they sneered at her for trying to train, not when they mocked her for thinking she could ever be as strong as a male, not when her father had died on the battlefield and left her mother widowed, forced to return to her family’s estate.

And she had not been alone.

She had met Rhysand before he had become the feared High Lord of the Night Court. Before he had been anything other than a cocky, silver-tongued boy who had hated the camps just as much as she had. And with him had come Cassian—wild and brash and unbreakable, a bastard warrior who had nothing to his name but his own strength—and Azriel, silent and shadowed and broken in ways none of them had yet understood.

They had been inseparable. Training together. Fighting together. Growing up together.

And somehow, in the midst of all those years, she had fallen in love.

Rhysand had always been hers. Not in the way of mates, not in the way that fate had written in the stars, but in the way that mattered most. In the way of choice.

There had never been a confession, never been a grand moment of realization. It had been a slow, inevitable thing, woven between stolen glances and lingering touches, between the nights they had spent lying beside each other in the grass, staring up at the endless night sky. It had been in the moment they had first kissed, hesitant and unsure, before turning into something desperate and consuming. It had been in the way they had promised—young and foolish and certain—that even if they ever found their mates, it wouldn’t matter. That they would never leave each other.

And for nearly three hundred years, that promise had held true.

Until the moment Rhysand had been taken.

She had known it was coming. Had felt the sheer, unrelenting terror in his mind as Amarantha’s spell had wrapped around him like chains. Had heard his voice in her head—his final words before he had been utterly ripped away from her.

"I love you."

Then, silence.

And silence had been all she had known for the next fifty years.

She had ruled Velaris in his absence, had kept its people safe, had ensured that the city remained untouched while the rest of Prythian burned. She had fought for her court, for her friends, for the family they had built together. And yet—she had spent every night wondering if he was still alive. If he was suffering. If he still thought of her.

Now, after five decades of waiting, of hoping, of wondering if she would ever see him again—he was finally coming home.

She stood on the balcony of the townhouse, staring out at the city below.

The Sidra was quiet, its waters gleaming under the light of the stars. The city still hummed with life, filled with people who had no idea that their High Lord was finally returning after half a century of being held captive under a tyrant’s rule.

Mor stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“He’ll be here soon,” Mor said softly, though her voice was strained, as if she barely believed it herself.

She swallowed, gripping the stone railing. “I still don’t know if this is real.”

Mor reached over, squeezing her hand. “It is.”

And then—she felt it.

The familiar pulse of power in the air, the sudden, breathless pull in her chest.

And before she could even take a step forward, the night itself seemed to shift, the world bending—

And then he was there.

Rhysand.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He was real. He was here.

And then she was running.

He caught her in his arms the moment she crashed into him, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking violently. She was crying, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him, as if he might disappear all over again.

His hands trembled as he cupped her face, as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath ragged and uneven.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

She kissed him. Hard and desperate and aching, pouring every ounce of longing, of love, of grief into it.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

Mor was crying. Azriel and Cassian had appeared, standing frozen in the doorway, their own faces filled with raw, unfiltered relief.

But all she could focus on was him. The male she had spent fifty years waiting for.

Rhysand was finally home.

And yet, she had no idea that this was only the beginning of everything that would break her.

That night, neither of them could bear to be apart.

After fifty years of longing, of aching, of waiting for this moment—she couldn’t let go of him. And he didn’t let go of her either.

He had carried her inside, through the halls of the townhouse, past the murmured voices of their family who knew, who understood, and who let them go without a word. They had disappeared into their room, the door shutting softly behind them, and then—

Then she had kissed him again, with all the desperation that had been building in her for five decades, all the grief and rage and sorrow and love she had bottled up in his absence.

Rhysand kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands shaking as they skimmed over her body, as he memorized her again, piece by piece, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear.

She should have noticed it then.

The slight hesitation in his touch. The way his body tensed in certain moments, as if something inside him was resisting, as if he was fighting some invisible battle.

But she had ignored it. Had convinced herself it was just the weight of what he had endured, the lingering ghosts of his time Under the Mountain clinging to him like a curse.

She had whispered his name, had pulled him closer, had kissed away his pain. And for that night, and the nights that followed, she had let herself believe that love was enough to banish the shadows that haunted him.

The days blurred together in a haze of passion and tenderness, of stolen touches and whispered confessions.

She and Rhys could not keep their hands off each other. Every moment was filled with longing, with the desperate need to make up for lost time.

He had barely left their bed that first night, had spent hours worshiping her like she was the only thing that could tether him back to reality. His lips traced every inch of her skin, his hands roaming over her as if trying to prove to himself that she was real, that she was still his.

And she had taken him apart just as much, had kissed away the pain in his eyes, had murmured how much she loved him, how much she had missed him.

It didn’t stop after that first night.

They could hardly go an hour without touching—without pressing against each other in dark hallways, without his hands finding her waist as she stood by the window, without her lips brushing against his neck when he passed by. They were insatiable, consumed by each other, as if making up for every second of those fifty years apart.

But she noticed it.

Even in their most intimate moments, she felt it—that lingering hesitation in him.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight pause before he kissed her. The way his grip sometimes faltered. The distant, lost look in his violet eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And through the bond, she could feel it—the echoes of something unspoken, something buried deep within him.

Regret. Shame. Guilt.

She had asked him about it once, had touched his face in the quiet of the night and whispered, What’s wrong?

He had only shaken his head, had kissed her slowly, deeply, as if trying to erase the question from existence.

And she had let him.

She had told herself that he just needed time. That whatever haunted him, whatever had broken him, he would tell her when he was ready.

She didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers.

Because the thought of losing him again, of disrupting the fragile peace they had rebuilt—it was too terrifying to face.

So she convinced herself that love was enough.

That if she just held him closer, if she just kissed him harder, if she just loved him more—then whatever was haunting him would fade away.

But then, everything changed.

It started with the exhaustion.

At first, she had brushed it off as nothing. After all, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel drained after everything that had happened.

She had been running on adrenaline since Rhys’s return, had barely given herself a moment to rest, too consumed by the need to be with him, to make up for lost time.

But then, the exhaustion turned into something else.

Dizziness.

Moments where the world tilted around her, where she had to steady herself against a wall, gripping the edge of a table as she tried to catch her breath.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, rolling sickness that crept up on her at the most unexpected moments, that had her pressing a hand to her stomach as if she could will it away.

The realization should have come sooner.

But she had been so caught up in Rhys, in the way they couldn’t seem to stay apart, that she hadn’t let herself think about it. Hadn’t let herself believe it was possible.

It wasn’t until Mor had walked in on her one morning, pale and weak and barely able to stand, that she had been forced to acknowledge the truth.

“You need to see Madja,” Mor had insisted, her voice laced with worry.

She had tried to argue, had tried to wave it off as simple exhaustion, but Mor wouldn’t hear it.

So she had gone.

And when the healer had placed a gentle hand over her stomach, when she had closed her eyes and let her magic sweep over her body—

The words that followed shattered her entire world.

“You are with child.”

Silence.

She had just stared at Madja, her mind unable to process the words.

With child.

She was pregnant.

She barely remembered leaving the healer’s chambers. Barely remembered making it back home.

The moment she stepped into the townhouse, everything hit her at once.

A child.

She was going to have Rhys’s child.

A shaky breath left her lips as she pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, as if she could already feel the life growing inside her. A laugh—disbelieving, breathless—escaped her.

She was pregnant.

With Rhys’s baby.

And for that moment, nothing else mattered.

The doubts, the hesitations, the unspoken fears—she shoved them aside, blinded by the sheer joy that swelled in her chest.

She imagined Rhys’s reaction, the way his eyes would widen in shock before softening with love, imagined the way he would drop to his knees and press his hands to her stomach, imagined the way he would whisper in awe about their future, about the family they were about to have.

She thought about telling Mor, about seeing Cassian and Azriel’s faces when they found out. She thought about the child itself—what they would look like, what kind of power they would have, what kind of life they would give them.

She was foolishly blind.

So utterly oblivious.

So caught up in her happiness, in the overwhelming joy of this moment, that she didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to question.

Didn’t realize—

That Rhys might not react the way she expected.

That this child, this beautiful, miraculous child, might not fill him with the same joy it filled her with.

That the shadows in his eyes, the ghosts that haunted him, the things he had kept buried since the moment he had returned—

They weren’t just going to disappear.

The moment she found him—standing by the window, looking out over the city she had known, the city they had fought for, the city they had built together—she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice warm, her smile bright.

He turned, his gaze lighting up when he saw her, but something in his eyes—something flickered. Just a moment, barely noticeable. He covered it quickly, replaced it with the mask he had become so skilled at wearing.

“YN,” he said, his voice warm but not quite as soft as she remembered. “You’re home.”

She approached him slowly, the news she was about to share making her pulse quicken with excitement. She stopped a few feet away, pressing her hand to her stomach as if to still the fluttering sensation there.

“I have something to tell you,” she began, watching the way his eyes followed her every movement. He seemed alert, even eager, but there was something else—a tension, barely concealed behind the polite smile he wore.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. She almost wanted to laugh at how simple it sounded, how easy it was to finally say it aloud. “We’re going to have a child, Rhys.”

The room fell quiet.

For a brief moment, she swore she saw something in his eyes—something like disbelief, or maybe even fear—but it was gone before she could truly register it.

Then, he smiled. It was a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s... wonderful,” he said, his words too rehearsed, too empty. “I’m so happy for you, YN.”

But it didn’t sound like he was happy.

It sounded hollow.

For you. Not for us but....for you.

She felt the bond between them—felt the way it seemed to shudder in response to his words. There was something off, something wrong. But she couldn’t place it, not in that moment, and not with the whirlwind of excitement that was consuming her.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m feeling? Not going to pick me up and twirl me around like we used to do when we had good news?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just processing the exciting news,” he said again, though his words seemed forced, like he was trying to convince both of them.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of doubt creeping into her chest.

He wasn’t happy. Not in the way she expected.

She could feel it—through the bond, through the way his aura flickered with shadows of guilt and hesitation. But she pushed it aside, thinking that perhaps he just needed time to process. Perhaps he was still adjusting to everything that had changed, everything that had happened in the last few days.

“I know this is a lot,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice gentle, “but I know we can do this together. We’ve always been a team, Rhys.”

He nodded, but his gaze flickered away from hers, his eyes focusing on the farthest corner of the room.

“Of course,” he replied, but the words were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he wasn’t fully hearing them himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, “it’s a gift. A miracle. And I know... I know we’ve been through so much. But now we have a chance to build something beautiful together. You and me. A family.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was better now, more convincing. But to her, it felt like a mask—a fragile mask that threatened to crack at the smallest touch.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, but still... empty.

She watched him for a long moment, her heart thundering in her chest. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to demand to know why he wasn’t truly happy, why he wasn’t sharing in her excitement. But something inside her—some small part of her—whispered that it wasn’t the time.

He had just returned from being gone for so long, from everything they had fought for. He would come around.

She would make sure of it.

So, instead of confronting him, instead of asking the questions that were starting to swirl in her mind, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“I know you’re still processing everything,” she said, her hand resting gently on his arm, “but we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And though a small voice in her mind screamed that she was being foolishly blind, that she was ignoring the cracks in his facade, she smiled up at him, brushing the doubt aside once more.

For the moment, she was content to pretend that everything was perfect.

The evening air in Dawn Court was crisp, filled with a gentle hum of conversation. YN stood at the balcony, gazing out over the land. Her pregnancy, now just over two months along, was starting to show. Her once slender figure had softened, the slight curve of her bump a reminder of the life she was carrying, but there was something else—an unease. Rhysand hadn’t been the same lately.

It was almost as if he was a ghost, always present but never truly there. For weeks, his absences had become longer, his late-night disappearances even more frequent. She would lie in their shared bed at night, waiting for him to return, only to find him standing at the edge of their balcony, staring into the distance as if lost in his thoughts. His gaze was distant, unseeing, and every time she tried to reach for him, to pull him back into the present, he would retreat even further.

And then, when he would return, it was as if nothing had happened. He would smile, hold her close, kiss her forehead—but the bond felt... strained. It wasn’t the same. She could feel him slipping away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t want to admit it. She had tried to tell herself it was just the weight of the recent events, that he needed space to adjust to his newfound freedom—but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the only thing eating at him.

Tonight, however, was different. The High Lords had gathered in Dawn Court for the first time since the defeat of Amarantha, and there was an air of relief in the room, mingling with the light buzz of excitement. Rhysand had promised that they would attend together, but as the evening wore on, he had yet to appear at her side.

“YN,” Mor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Rhys will be here.”

YN smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. He’s just... busy, I suppose.”

Mor didn’t buy it, but she said nothing more. Instead, she looped her arm through YN’s and led her back to the table. Most of the High Lords were mingling, some enjoying the informal dinner gathering, others discussing more pressing matters. Cassian and Azriel stood near the corner, deep in conversation with a few of the other soldiers. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, stood off to the side, talking with Helion, but his gaze kept returning to YN. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest when their eyes met.

Her bump was noticeable now, and the looks of congratulations and smiles from the lords were a welcome distraction from the silence between her and Rhys. Baron, of course, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, as usual, but the others were kind.

“You look radiant tonight, YN,” Kallias said, stepping toward her with a warm smile. He had always been one of the more reserved High Lords, his icy demeanor a product of his powers and his personality, but tonight, there was something in his eyes—gentleness, kindness. He reached out, carefully taking her hand in his, and she was surprised by how warm it felt, how soft his touch was. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, smiling at him, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach at his concern. “It’s been a long couple of months. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re carrying something precious,” Kallias said quietly, glancing down at her bump before his eyes returned to hers. “I can only imagine the strength it takes to bear such a responsibility.”

YN didn’t know why, but his words hit her in a way that made her feel seen. So often, Rhysand’s attention had been diverted, and it felt as if she was carrying this burden alone. But Kallias... Kallias made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. Like she was more than just the woman carrying Rhysand’s child. She was YN, strong, capable, and worthy of attention, of affection.

She had never spoken much with Kallias beyond the formalities of the courts, but there was something about him tonight—something different. He was engaging with her, making her feel important, something that Rhys had failed to do in the last few weeks.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. “That means more than you know.”

Kallias gave her a smile—gentle, understanding, and somehow... safe. “You deserve to be treated with kindness, YN. You’ve been through so much.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth of his words melting some of the icy isolation she’d been feeling.

“YN, there you are,” Rhysand’s voice broke into the moment, and she froze. He had arrived, but there was something about his tone that immediately made her stomach tighten. He was smiling, but it was tight, forced.

His gaze flickered briefly to Kallias before locking onto her, and the change in his demeanor was subtle, but YN noticed it all the same. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened just a fraction, how his jaw tightened. But when he smiled again, it was almost too wide, too practiced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gesture that felt more for show than genuine affection. His touch was tight, as if he was trying to hold her in place, but there was no warmth in it.

Kallias, ever perceptive, caught the slight shift in the atmosphere. “It seems like you’ve found her,” he said with a polite smile, but there was something in his voice that held a hint of challenge.

YN tried not to let the tension in the air affect her, but it was hard to ignore. Rhysand didn’t seem happy, and Kallias—despite his icy demeanor—had made her feel something Rhys hadn’t in weeks: seen. Rhys, however, took a step closer, his voice turning more possessive. “YN, you look stunning tonight. But if you’re done here, I think we should head back.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. She had expected joy, happiness—maybe even a little pride in his eyes, but all she saw was discomfort, an undercurrent of guilt. She could feel the hesitation through their bond, like he was holding something back from her, something important.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” YN said quietly, her tone firm but gentle. She looked back at Kallias, who nodded his understanding, and for a moment, she felt like she was stepping into unknown territory, like the simple act of asserting herself was both thrilling and terrifying.

Rhysand’s smile faltered just slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time, YN. We’ve been here long enough.”

YN didn’t answer him immediately. She knew what she felt, what she had felt for months now. Rhysand wasn’t the same, and no amount of pretending could make her blind to it any longer. But as she turned back to Kallias, she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he watched her with a sense of admiration that was foreign in Rhysand’s presence. It made her feel seen, and it was like a balm to a wound she didn’t even realize had been open for so long.

Finally, she nodded, but not to Rhysand. She nodded to Kallias.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, before turning back to Rhysand. “Let’s go.”

But even as they left, Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, his silence growing heavier. And YN could only wonder what was truly going on behind his eyes.

It was a quiet evening in the House of Wind, the air crisp and fresh as the last remnants of daylight slipped behind the mountains. YN was curled up on one of the many plush armchairs in the sitting room, her hands resting gently on her slightly visible bump, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.

But there was a coldness in the air tonight. A quiet tension that had settled in the room, and it was growing.

YN had been lost in thought when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence as commanding as always, but tonight there was something off. His face, usually open and warm when he looked at her, was guarded. There was no smile, no greeting. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her before he stepped further into the room.

But then, as quickly as he entered, he froze.

It was like the world itself stopped. His eyes went unfocused, his shoulders tensed, and before she could ask what was wrong, he disappeared—winnowed—with such suddenness that it took YN a moment to even comprehend what had happened.

She sat there, stunned, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. What had just happened? What could have caused him to leave without a word? Without a single explanation?

She rose from the chair, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

“Rhysand?” she called softly into the silence, but there was no answer. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Her mind raced as she tried to understand what was going on.

She could feel it now more than ever—his discomfort, his uncertainty—but it was more than that. There was something else. She just didn’t know what.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before Rhysand reappeared, winnowing back into the room. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes, though, were what struck her the most—they were shadowed with something unfamiliar, something that made her stomach twist in apprehension.

“Rhys, what happened? Where did you go?” She couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. The distance in the bond was suffocating, and she needed to understand.

He barely looked at her. “I—had something to take care of. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was short, dismissive, and it stung more than she expected. Before she could respond, Cassian’s voice broke in, cool and calm, though his eyes were filled with something darker, like he could sense the tension in the room.

“Rhys,” Cassian said, standing up from his spot near Y/N. “You alright?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to his brother briefly, then away. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence grew thick, almost suffocating. Finally, with a flick of his hand, Rhys spoke again, but his voice was still clipped, irritated. “I’m fine, Cassian. Just... some things to sort through. I’ll be back later.”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rhys was already striding toward the door, his back to them. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his words a little too sharp.

Cassian watched him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to YN. There was a look in his eyes, one that was almost apologetic, but his words were kind. He moved closer, resting his hand gently on her bump.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “Rhys is... he’s just got a lot on his mind. But you—” He looked down at her belly and then met her eyes. “You’re not alone. None of us are, alright?”

YN nodded, though the confusion and worry gnawed at her. “I just don’t understand. He’s been distant lately. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ll figure it out, YN,” Cassian said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a stubborn one. But you know Rhys—when it’s important, he’ll come to you. Just give him time.”

But time had already passed. And the longer it stretched, the more YN wondered if the distance between them was something that could be repaired—or if it was already too late.

The next day, the atmosphere in the House of Wind was strangely subdued, everyone waiting for Rhysand’s announcement. Mor and Azriel had come by earlier, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Even Cassian seemed to be on edge, though he hid it well.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when the Inner Circle was gathered around the table, that Rhysand finally spoke.

“I have a special guest joining us for dinner tomorrow,” Rhysand said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, though there was a hint of something... genuine in his smile. “Feyre will be joining us.”

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted into murmurs of surprise. Feyre, the mortal-turned-Fae, the one who had helped free them all, the one who had played a key role in the downfall of Amarantha. YN felt a sudden lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

The room filled with questions, comments, congratulations—though most of the attention was on Rhysand.

“So, Feyre’s finally coming to Velaris?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral, though there was a certain curiosity in his eyes.

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Yes, she’s been through so much, and I thought it was time she saw the city. I can’t think of a better place for her.”

There was genuine warmth in his tone when he spoke of Feyre, and it hit YN harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much he had changed since their first meeting, how much he admired Feyre.

“You must be excited,” Mor said, her smile both kind and knowing. “I’m sure Feyre will love it here.”

YN forced a smile, but it felt hollow. She felt as though the room had shifted, as if Rhysand was now fully enveloped in the idea of Feyre’s arrival. She hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until that moment. How much he had changed.

She glanced down at her hands, the light from the candles flickering in her vision. Feyre—the girl who had saved them all. The girl who had freed Rhysand from Amarantha’s cruel reign.

The girl who had, it seemed, somehow taken her place. But at the time Y/N was too oblivious to notice that.

The night carried on, with Rhysand now more animated than ever, speaking freely of Feyre’s arrival and plans for their dinner. But YN couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to come between them in ways she never expected. She had been blind, so foolishly blind to the changes in Rhysand. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront what had been lingering beneath the surface for far too long.

The evening had come, but Rhysand still wasn’t home. The rest of the Inner Circle was gathered around the fireplace in the House of Wind, the warmth of the flames not quite enough to chase away the coldness that seemed to settle in YN’s chest. She was perched on a plush sofa, her hands once again resting on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The rest of them—Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian—were scattered around the room, engaged in light conversation, but YN couldn’t bring herself to join in.

She felt the space between her and Rhys more keenly than ever.

Azriel, ever perceptive, moved closer to her. He sat down beside her, his posture gentle as he placed a hand on her back, his touch comforting but not invasive.

"You've been quiet tonight," Azriel said softly, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves.

YN sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I don't know, Az. Something’s wrong. Rhys… he’s so distant. It’s like I’m not even here for him anymore."

Cassian, who had been perched by the fireplace, took a step forward, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. His eyes softened with concern as he noticed the way YN was slumped into the cushions, her shoulders tense.

“He’ll come around,” Cassian said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice lacked the usual certainty. He knew Rhysand better than anyone, and even he couldn’t deny the shift that had been happening.

But YN just shook her head, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “It’s more than that. I’ve seen him these last few days, Cass. He’s not just distracted. He’s hesitant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely, even when he’s standing right in front of me. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the words she had been trying to ignore, trying to pretend weren’t happening. “I try to soothe him, I try to be there for him, but I can feel the distance growing.”

Mor, who had been listening quietly, crossed the room and sat next to YN, her arm wrapping around her in a rare show of tenderness.

“I know it's hard,” Mor said softly, her tone filled with understanding. “But Rhys is... he's always had a lot on his shoulders. You know that. He’s the High Lord. And even when he has us around, some things he keeps locked up.”

“But this?” YN asked, her eyes wide with hurt. “It’s more than just the weight of the throne, Mor. He’s gone, even when he’s here. I feel it in the bond. It’s like he’s slipping away.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s not slipping away, YN. Rhysand is just… processing something. There are things he needs to work through. It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, feeling a knot of doubt twist in her stomach. “I’ve seen him shut down before, Az. But this time? It’s different. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure if he wants me to fix it.”

Cassian’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring as he moved closer to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice stern as he looked at YN. “Listen to me, YN. You’re doing everything you can. And you’re not alone in this. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. None of us are.” He shifted his gaze to her stomach. “You’re carrying something precious, and I’ll be damned if I let anything—” he stopped himself and softened, “I’ll be damned if you don’t get the care you deserve.”

YN blinked at him, the unspoken concern for her growing more tangible with every word.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Cassian asked, his tone turning gentle but insistent. “When did you last sleep through the night?”

YN faltered, looking down at her lap. “I... I’m fine, Cassian. It’s just... I’m not hungry, that’s all. Rhys—”

“No.” Cassian’s voice cut through her words. “You’re not fine. You’re carrying Rhysand’s child, and he’s not here right now. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to eat, you need to sleep. And we’re all here to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his hand still resting lightly on her back. “Cassian’s right, YN. We’re not going to stand by and watch you push yourself too hard. If Rhys doesn’t notice, we do. And we’ll make sure you’re okay. We’ll talk to him, too.”

YN swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had no business being there. “It’s just hard,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s not the male I knew anymore. And I’m scared, Az. Scared that maybe... maybe he never really was the male I thought he was.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of wings flapping loudly outside interrupted the conversation. The group turned, and in the blink of an eye, Rhysand landed gracefully on the balcony, holding Feyre in his arms.

YN’s heart clenched at the sight of them, her thoughts a storm of confusion. She stood up from the sofa, but her feet felt heavy, reluctant. It was almost like she couldn’t move. She knew Feyre—had heard so much about her, the mortal-turned-Fae who had helped free them all. But seeing Rhys so effortlessly carry Feyre, with that smile that she’d only ever seen directed at her... it hit YN in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Mor stood by her side, watching as Rhysand approached the door with Feyre. Her hand on YN’s arm was gentle, a soft reassurance that YN was thankful for.

“Go on,” Mor said quietly. “You’re just as important here, YN. You don’t need to be scared of what’s happening. We are here for you.”

YN nodded, drawing in a deep breath as she moved forward, her steps uncertain but steady. As Rhysand and Feyre entered the room, she saw the way Rhys looked at Feyre—softly, protectively, and with an affection that, for the first time, made YN feel like she was no longer at the center of his world.

Feyre smiled at YN as Rhys gently set her down on her feet. There was a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that reminded YN of the girl who had sacrificed so much for them all. YN’s heart softened, and she stepped forward, reaching out.

“Thank you,” YN said, her voice thick with gratitude. “For everything. You—” She paused, her emotions overwhelming her for a moment, before she pulled Feyre into a tight embrace. “I know it’s because of you that we’re all here. That Rhys is here. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Feyre hugged her back just as tightly, her voice warm and kind. “I didn’t do it alone,” Feyre said, pulling back with a small smile. “But I’m happy to be here. With all of you.”

The group settled around the dinner table as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Feyre was kind and gracious, a perfect guest, while Rhysand sat with a rare relaxed air, laughing and joining in with the others. But YN, despite the smiles and easy conversation, couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

She smiled when it was needed, nodded at the right times, but inside, she felt the gap between her and Rhys grow larger. The more they talked about Feyre—her kindness, her bravery, her role in their world—the more YN couldn’t help but feel that she was losing Rhysand to someone else.

It hurt in ways she hadn’t anticipated. But she kept her face calm, her composure intact, and though the knot in her chest tightened, she smiled through it all.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and stories. But as they all ate, YN sat back, her thoughts swirling. Rhysand was no longer just the man who loved her; he was someone different, someone who had room in his heart for another. She could see it in the way he spoke of Feyre, the way his gaze lingered on her.

And YN? She was simply standing on the sidelines, trying to hold onto a love that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The night was long. But YN would fight for her place in Rhys’s heart—for their future. Even if it meant facing what she was most afraid of.

he House of Wind had become more than just a home for Y/N over the past few weeks; it had become a place of quiet, uneasy observation. At first, everything had felt like a blur—busy days and nights spent adjusting to the changes. Feyre’s arrival had been a shock, an unexpected whirlwind that shifted the delicate balance of their lives. Yet, it was not Feyre’s presence alone that unsettled Y/N. It was Rhysand’s shifting attention, his sudden and unnerving detachment from her.

Y/N had noticed it first in the small things—how he would spend hours in the study with Feyre, teaching her new things, showing her how to control her magic, his voice soft, patient. His lessons went on for hours, and there were times when Y/N would sit in the grand hall, reading, waiting for him to return to her, but he never did.

It was as if Feyre needed him now more than she ever had, and Rhysand was more than willing to give everything he had to her. She didn’t understand it—why did he need to give her so much of himself? Why did his lessons stretch on endlessly, late into the night, when there were so many other things to focus on, things that they could share as a couple, as soon-to-be parents?

Even when he wasn’t with Feyre, Y/N couldn’t reach him. When the day would finally end, and Rhysand would return to the House of Wind, he would often retreat to his office instead of coming to her side. He slept there for hours, the door to his office often left ajar, his figure slouched over piles of paperwork and forgotten responsibilities.

Y/N would lie in their bed, her growing belly pressing into the soft sheets, feeling the absence of her mate more profoundly with each passing day. She knew that Rhysand’s duties as High Lord were demanding, but surely, surely he could make time for her, especially now that she was carrying his child. But no. It was always Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren who hovered over her, their concern for her health and wellbeing growing each day. Cassian was the first to notice when she had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Azriel was there, always in the background, quietly ensuring that she was okay. Amren and Mor took on the roles of mothers, watching over her, their comforting presence a constant reminder that she was not alone, even when Rhysand was distant.

She would often ask, “Have you spoken with him? Does he seem different to you?” and Azriel would only look at her with that familiar shadow of confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he would say, his voice low, thoughtful. “Rhys has never been like this before. It’s like he’s refusing to talk about whatever’s bothering him.”

And Y/N? She tried to convince herself that it was just a phase. Maybe it was the pressure of ruling, the stress of keeping Velaris safe. Maybe Feyre’s arrival had triggered something deep inside Rhysand, something she couldn’t understand. It was foolish of her to think that she could make it through this journey unscathed. But deep down, she felt the sting of it. The weight of his neglect hung heavy on her chest.

She would tell herself that Feyre needed him. Feyre had gone through so much in her life—losing her family, fighting in the war, carrying burdens Y/N could never comprehend. Maybe it was only fair that Rhysand focus on her, that he be there for Feyre while she healed. Maybe she needed his support more than Y/N did.

The thoughts tasted like poison on her tongue, and she tried to swallow them down, but they kept coming back, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

One evening, when Rhysand returned from another long day with Feyre, Y/N found herself staring at the door to his office, waiting for him to come to her. She could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, and she tried to steady her breath, but when he didn’t knock on her door, when he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, her heart sank deeper.

Later that week, she overheard Rhysand telling Feyre that he would be taking her to the Illyrian camps. It was dangerous, he said, but necessary. They would stop at the Weaver’s house on the way, and Y/N couldn’t help the knot that twisted in her stomach. She tried to smile, to seem supportive, but when she asked, “Why? Why are you taking her there? That’s so dangerous,” Rhysand’s expression was distant, his gaze hard.

“I need her to retrieve something for me,” he explained curtly, but there was no warmth in his voice. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N stood there, shocked, trying to process what he had said. She watched them leave, her heart heavy with the feeling that she was losing him, that whatever connection they had once shared was slipping through her fingers.

As Rhysand and Feyre made their way to the Illyrian camps, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal that had begun to grow inside her. She would wait for them to return, but she wasn’t sure what she would find when they did. Would Rhysand still be the same, or would Feyre’s presence in his life change everything forever?

The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. The absence of Rhysand and Feyre had left a void, and the walls seemed to echo with silence. Y/n sat near the window, the early evening sunlight casting a golden glow across the room, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her swollen belly. She had been waiting—waiting for Rhysand’s return, for any sign of the distance between them to close. But all she had received was space. The quiet ache in her chest gnawed at her.

Amren, ever watchful, sat across from her, her expression unreadable. But Y/n noticed the tension in her gaze, the way she kept looking at her with something close to concern. It didn’t help that the others had been distant too—Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, all acting like they were hiding something, exchanging too many knowing glances and hushed conversations. It only deepened her sense of unease.

Today, however, was different. Gifts had arrived for her—thoughtful, generous tokens from several of the Highlords in honor of her soon-to-be motherhood. She’d been expecting them, but still, the small mountain of neatly wrapped parcels in front of her filled her with mixed emotions.

"Open them," Amren said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. "

Y/n nodded, the familiar rustle of paper comforting her in its simplicity. She picked up the first gift, a small, elegant box wrapped in a deep shade of red with a ribbon that shimmered like morning sunlight. She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, studded with tiny moonstones that glinted softly in the fading light. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. She smiled softly, imagining it wrapped around her wrist as she cradled her baby.

"Oh, Helion," she murmured, the thought of the Highlord of Day bringing a warmth to her chest. She ran her fingers over the cool stones, letting out a sigh as she admired the craftsmanship.

"He's always been a thoughtful one," Amren remarked with a raised brow, as if she too had felt the affection Helion had for Y/n.

Y/n smiled faintly, placing the bracelet to the side. There were other gifts to open. She picked up the next parcel, this one wrapped in soft blue paper with intricate golden designs. It was from Thesan, the Highlord of Dawn, a court known for its refined beauty and grace. When she opened it, she was greeted by a set of hand-painted ceramic dishes, each piece vibrant with delicate patterns that seemed to glow with a warmth that reminded her of sunrises.

Thesan had always been attentive, and she smiled as she imagined the quiet, regal Highlord choosing each piece carefully. She couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, the way he considered her comfort and her child’s future.

But it was the third gift that captured her attention.

The parcel from Kallias, the Highlord of Winter, was wrapped in dark, rich purple paper. She carefully untied the ribbon, her heart beating a little faster, and opened the box inside. What she found inside was far beyond anything she could have expected.

A small, intricately carved wooden box. It was no larger than the palm of her hand, and as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface, she noticed delicate snowflakes and swirling designs etched into the wood. There was something magical about it, something that made her chest tighten. Inside, nestled among soft velvet, was a small crystal vial filled with a silvery liquid that shimmered like moonlight on snow. Alongside it was a small letter, written in Kallias’s elegant handwriting.

"To Y/n, with warmth and hope for the future. May this gift be a reminder of the strength within you, and the serenity you will find in the stillness of winter’s embrace. You are not alone, not ever."

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat as she held the vial gently, the words from Kallias sending a ripple of warmth through her. His gift was not just thoughtful—it was deeply personal. It felt like an invitation, a message from someone who saw her, truly saw her, even when the others had become distant.

"He really thought of everything," Y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the small vial.

Amren watched her with a quiet expression, her eyes flicking between the gifts and Y/n’s reaction. “He did,” she agreed softly. “Kallias is a good male. He knows the value of compassion.”

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tension in the room was still palpable, but this small gesture from Kallias made her feel seen, reminded her that she wasn’t invisible in the midst of the growing chaos.

Before she could say anything further, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Rhysand and Feyre,” Amren muttered, already standing up. “I suppose the moment has arrived.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened, both with excitement and dread. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

As the door swung open and Rhysand stepped in, with Feyre at his side, something immediately shifted in the air. Rhysand’s usual confident demeanor was different—sharper, perhaps, but there was a sense of something unsaid between him and Feyre, an energy Y/n couldn’t quite place. Feyre’s smile was brighter than she’d seen in ages, but there was a newness in her eyes—a quiet certainty.

Y/n’s breath caught as she noticed their shared glances, the unspoken bond between them that hummed through the air like an invisible thread. She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her bones.

“Well, look at you both,” Y/n said, forcing a smile, though it felt hollow. “Feyre, you look well. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”

Feyre smiled warmly, though there was a hint of something private behind her eyes. “We managed,” she said, the way she said it making Y/n’s heart clench. “And you, Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to Rhysand, his expression unreadable. “I’m getting there,” she said softly, and though it was true, it felt like an answer far too shallow for everything else she wanted to express.

As the evening wore on and everyone gathered around the table, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something had shifted, and no one, not even Rhysand, seemed to want to speak the truth of it.

But she noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes lingered on Feyre, the way their quiet exchanges seemed to carry a weight that hadn’t been there before.

And she wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if she had lost something she hadn’t fully realized was slipping through her fingers.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as an uncomfortable wave of pain stretched across her back, her large belly shifting uneasily beneath the blankets. The room, once warm and familiar, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as she tried to shift positions. Her heart thudded a little too loudly, and the silence only amplified the emptiness in the space. Rhysand had not been by her side for hours, and at this point, it was becoming a familiar absence—one she couldn’t ignore.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, the strain of carrying their child weighing heavily on her. She hadn’t wanted to wake him, but something inside of her yearned for the quiet solace of a midnight walk—anything to soothe the tightness in her chest. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amren, who still slept soundly beside her. Y/n made her way to the door and stepped out into the cool, moonlit halls of the House of Wind.

As she walked down the corridor, her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between her and Rhysand, even before he left for the war. The secretive looks exchanged between him, Feyre, and the others had only deepened her suspicions. The change in his demeanor when he’d returned had been subtle, but it was there. She just didn’t know what to make of it. Yet.

The soft sound of footsteps ahead caught her attention. Cassian.

He froze when he spotted her, his eyes briefly flickering with a flash of surprise before he tried to hide it behind a strained smile. “Y/n… What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched, like he’d been caught off guard.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, her hand resting against her rounded belly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make myself some tea,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”

Cassian’s smile softened, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He eyed her for a moment before speaking in a quiet, almost tender voice, “Well, wouldn’t want a lady like you wandering these halls alone at this time of night.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “Let me join you.”

Y/n felt a sense of comfort in his words, the warmth of his easy-going nature wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at him, the bond they had forged over the years making this moment feel… safe, in spite of the turmoil in her heart.

They started walking together, Cassian keeping pace beside her. The halls seemed endless as they made their way to the kitchen, but the familiar company made the journey less isolating. Their conversation flowed easily, the lull of their voices filling the air between them.

“Have you had time to rest?” Cassian asked, glancing over at her belly. “You should take it easy, you know.”

Y/n chuckled softly, rubbing her belly. “I’m fine. The little one is kicking up a storm tonight. Can’t quite settle down.”

Cassian’s grin was easy, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something unspoken, as he leaned slightly toward her, trying to offer her comfort. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re always so kind, Cassian,” she said, almost teasing. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, with a wink that made her laugh. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking for trouble.”

Y/n smirked. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

They continued talking, weaving through the halls, discussing small things—how the weather had been, how the training had been progressing with the armies—and the more they spoke, the lighter Y/n felt. It was like a brief escape from the gnawing uncertainty she carried.

But then, as they reached a corridor near Feyre’s room, Y/n noticed something strange.

A small light was spilling out from beneath the door.

She froze mid-step, and Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd,” he muttered, glancing at her. “Feyre should be asleep by now.”

Y/n frowned. “Should we check on her? She might need something.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a tight nod. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few steps forward, his large form blocking the door as he cracked it open. But before he could slip inside, he froze.

Y/n, not one to stand idly by, took a small step forward, peering around him. “Cassian?” she whispered, her voice unsure.

But Cassian, his face hardening in a way she hadn’t seen before, quickly turned to her. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “please… Let’s go back. It’s—”

Before he could finish, Y/n pushed past him, her heart thundering in her chest. She entered the room, and in the dim light, her gaze locked on the sight before her.

Rhysand and Feyre. Together.

Rhysand had Feyre pressed against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their connection undeniable.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest, the air thick with the realization crashing over her. She blinked, disbelieving. This was not happening.

“Rhysand,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out from under her.

Rhysand’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from Feyre, both of them frozen in shock. Feyre’s face flushed with guilt, but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n’s hands trembled, her thoughts spiraling as she processed the sight. All the doubt, all the pain, everything she’d tried to ignore—it was true.

Without another word, Y/n turned and fled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t even hear Cassian call after her, his voice full of anguish. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the sound of her feet pounding down the halls.

She was halfway down the corridor when she felt Cassian’s hand on her arm, pulling her back gently. “Y/n, please,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Y/n, in her shock, yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Cassian!” she shouted. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you all been hiding this from me?”

Her voice wavered, breaking with every word. Her emotions were a storm. She didn’t care who saw it anymore. She’d been blind.

Cassian took a step back, his eyes filled with regret. “Y/n, please—”

Her hands trembled, but her words were sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why?" She stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Rhysand, the male who had once been everything to her. "You made me believe in you. We built a life together! A family! And now… now I’m supposed to just accept this?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of it all almost suffocating her. "We have a child, Rhysand! You will be a father!"

Rhysand flinched as if her words had struck him harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He reached for her, but her eyes hardened, her heart already too far gone for him to reach.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" she shouted, her voice growing louder, desperate for answers. The anger poured out of her like a flood, drowning everything in its path. "Is that it? You just gave it all up? How could you do this to me? To us?" She gestured between herself and her stomach, the child growing inside of her. "I gave you everything. I gave you my trust. My heart. And this is how you repay me? This is the price I pay for being so blind?"

Feyre took a hesitant step forward, her face filled with guilt, but Rhysand’s protective instinct flared. His hand shot out, catching Feyre behind him, his posture stiff and defensive. His eyes flickered with regret, but they held the painful truth.

For a split second, Y/n thought she might lose herself completely, but then the bitter laugh escaped her. It was harsh, mocking—disbelieving.

Because that was when it hit her.

These two were mates. Mates.

"So mates, huh? Is that what this is all about?" she scoffed. "I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming, shouldn’t I?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm now, the anguish inside her turning to venom. "But of course, you would protect her, wouldn’t you?" She looked at Feyre with contempt, shaking her head. "You didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth."

Rhysand’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The pain in his eyes was evident, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, not when he knew the words he needed to say would only make things worse. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

Y/n’s body shook with anger, the injustice of it all weighing down on her chest. She turned on her heel, ready to storm away, but that’s when it happened.

The sharp pain slammed into her abdomen, and her knees buckled. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her vision blurred with pain.

Azriel--who appeared out of nowhere--was at her side in an instant, his arms steadying her, but her body betrayed her. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Y/n?" Azriel’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to steady her, but she could barely hear him through the intensity of the agony. Cassian was on the other side, his hands gently gripping her arms, trying to keep her upright.

"Madja!" Cassian barked at Rhysand, his voice filled with anger and venom, "Be responsible and get Madja now!"

But Y/n didn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the agony coursing through her, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it consumed her. She didn’t care about Rhysand anymore. She didn’t care about Feyre. She didn’t care about anything except for one thing: their child.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she cradled her stomach with one hand, feeling the life growing inside her, the precious little one she had been so determined to protect.

"Please," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking as she looked at Rhysand. "Please don’t take this from me."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a frantic glance, both of them moving into protective mode as they kept her steady. Y/n’s eyes were locked onto Rhysand now, her fury mingled with a desperate need for him to understand. To feel the weight of what he had done.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

Rhysand stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her, but Y/n jerked away from him, the sudden movement only worsening the pain in her abdomen. She gasped again, clutching her stomach as a new wave of agony hit her.

“Y/n, please—” Rhysand’s voice was low, broken, but she couldn’t listen. Not anymore.

"No," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "No more excuses, Rhysand." Her hands trembled, her body trembling, and she couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She was done.

The pain continued to tear through her, her thoughts scattering, spinning out of control as she cradled her stomach tighter. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. They were for everything she had lost in that one moment. The trust. The love. The future they were supposed to build together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” She glanced at Feyre, her eyes hard, but her voice trembled with more than just anger. “How could you—how could you do this to me?”

But before anyone could respond, another wave of pain shot through her, and she screamed, her body collapsing into Cassian and Azriel’s arms. Her mind was a blur, only one thing clear—she needed help. She needed them to save the child.

Azriel's voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. "Cassian, hold her. I’ll get Madja." He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, his wings brushing against the wall as he flew out into the night.

“Please, Y/n,” Cassian murmured, his voice soft but filled with fear. “Please, hold on.”

Y/n’s vision was swimming. She barely registered the words, the frantic chaos around her, her body failing her. All she could feel was the tight grip of the pain as it dragged her deeper into the darkness.

Rhysand stood there, torn between the desperate need to run to her side and the instinct to protect Feyre. He was lost. He had lost her. And in that moment, Y/n’s shattered words echoed in his mind: We have a child, Rhysand... You will be a father... Are you not ashamed of yourself?

And for the first time in his life, Rhysand had no answers.

Y/n slowly regained consciousness, the dull ache in her head reminding her of the storm that had passed through her body. She blinked against the bright light, her vision blurred for a moment before it cleared. The soft, cool sheets beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, it all felt so distant and overwhelming.

Madja's voice cut through the haze. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone warm but firm. "Good thing no harm was done to the baby, but you're under a lot of stress. I can feel it in your body, the strain on you."

Y/n turned her head slowly, seeing Madja standing next to her, the healer’s face filled with concern. Azriel was by the window, his posture tense, while Cassian hovered near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of guilt and concern. Amren, ever stoic, stood off to the side, her eyes watching with an unreadable expression.

"Your baby is fine, Y/n," Madja continued, placing a hand lightly on Y/n’s arm. "There’s no danger of premature birth. Just take care of yourself, try to rest, and the baby will be fine. But your stress levels... they’re far too high." She gave them all a pointed look. "All of you."

With that, Madja stepped back, her eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment longer before she turned and left the room. There was a silence that followed, one that stretched out far too long for Y/n's comfort. Cassian was the first to speak, though his voice was unsure, quiet, the weight of his earlier actions heavy in the air.

"Y/n, I—" he started, but Y/n lifted her hand weakly, signaling for him to stop.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady with the hurt of it all. "How long have you all known?"

Azriel stiffened, and Amren rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Girl, don’t involve me in this mess," she said with a scoff. "I had no idea either. Though, it was kind of obvious." She glared at the two males as if daring them to argue.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his voice laced with regret. "We thought it would be best to wait until after the birth to tell you. We didn’t want to put you or the baby at risk."

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, too weary to say anything but the truth. "And that plan went to shit."

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the bed. "Y/n, I am so sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "Rhysand told us all—told us that she was his mate after the journey. Feyre was mad at him, and... and then Rhys finally came clean to all of us. Told us everything." His eyes were filled with sincerity. "We should’ve told you sooner."

Y/n closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I trusted you all. All of you. And you kept this from me. You should’ve told me the moment you knew." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She would not back down from this.

"I know," Cassian said quietly, his voice filled with shame. "We thought it was for the best. But you’re right. We should’ve told you. I should’ve told you." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I should've trusted you."

The room was thick with emotion, a painful silence hanging in the air when, suddenly, a piece of paper appeared in Y/n’s lap, its crisp edges catching the light. She blinked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she grabbed the letter. Her gaze softened as she read it, the others leaning in, confused.

"What’s this?" Cassian asked, his voice low. "Who’s it from?"

"Kallias," Y/n murmured, her fingers brushing over the letter’s surface with a sad smile. "The High Lord of Winter."

Everyone froze, their eyes widening as they processed the name. "Kallias?" Azriel repeated, his brows furrowed. "What’s he writing to you for?"

Y/n’s smile turned bittersweet as she looked up from the letter, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something more resolute. "I wrote to him a week ago, asking if I could visit Winter. I needed a change of scenery. And he..." she trailed off, her smile growing faint. "He’s more than happy to have me."

The others stared at her, stunned into silence. The room felt as though it had shifted in an instant. "You... You’re going to Winter?" Amren asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why now?"

Y/n’s smile faltered, but she didn’t hide it. "I already knew I’d leave sooner or later," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she folded the letter. "Just... not this soon. I guess my leave will be permanent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"Y/n, no," Cassian said, stepping toward her, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, you can’t—"

"Please," Azriel added softly, moving to her side. "Don’t go."

But Y/n held up her hand, silencing them all. There was a moment of stillness, a tension hanging in the air as they all waited. Slowly, Y/n swung her legs off the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She pulled her bag from underneath the bed, her gaze focused on the task at hand. "I need this," she said quietly, as though it was an understanding only she could see. "I’ve always needed this."

"Y/n, please," Cassian pleaded again, his voice rough with emotion. "You don’t have to do this."

Y/n’s gaze softened, but she was firm. "I do," she replied, her voice steady. "I do have to."

The room was quiet now, the weight of her words settling over them. It was clear there was no changing her mind.

"Now," Y/n said, turning to Amren, "will you please help me get changed?"

Amren’s expression softened slightly, but she gave a small nod. "Get out, all of you," she said, her tone more gentle than usual. "I’ll help her. And I’ve got advice for her."

The others left reluctantly, Cassian lingering at the door, his eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n caught his gaze and held it for a moment, before she turned back to Amren, the two of them sharing a quiet understanding.

Amren helped her get dressed, the quiet advice coming in fragments. "Take care of yourself, Y/n. Don’t let them hold you back. You deserve this peace. You deserve to find what you need. The rest will follow."

Y/n nodded, a weak but grateful smile on her lips. "Thank you, Amren."

When she was finally ready, Azriel appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Y/n took a deep breath before moving toward him. Cassian, Mor, and even Amren stood back, their eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Before she left, Y/n moved toward Cassian first. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close for a moment, her face buried in his chest. "I’ll miss you," she whispered.

Cassian hugged her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Please take care of yourself," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Next, she turned to Mor, who embraced her with a tight, brief hug, her expression just as conflicted. "I hope you find what you need," Mor said softly.

Lastly, Y/n stepped toward Amren, who looked at her with a strange blend of pride and sorrow. "You’re stronger than you think," Amren said with a faint smile, before she too turned away, leaving Y/n to face her own path.

Y/n gave one last glance at the room before stepping outside. Azriel was waiting for her, his hand outstretched. Without a word, she took it, and in a flash of blue light, they vanished, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

And though Rhysand’s presence was absent, Y/n’s resolve was clear. She was moving on. She was taking the first step toward healing. Toward a future she would shape on her own terms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[chuulyssa]

from people you know to people you don’t: singer!geto

singer!geto with his silver rings clinking against the mic stand when he adjusts it mid-performance. with his fingers running through his long, dark hair just to play on the bad boy persona the media has made of him. with his spot under the spotlight in front of thousands of people to see, who lets the crowd chant in some of the vocals in the chorus while he laughs, gripping the mic and pointing it to his fans, his black painted nails gleaming in the stage lights.

singer!geto who avoids interviews, questions, and who doesn’t sing love songs... but somehow his fans always end up finding love letters in his cryptic lyrics. and he always leaves them unconfirmed too, just smirking whenever paparazzi ask if they’re real or fiction. always answering “my fans are my muse” whenever pressed about his inspo.

singer!geto who leans into the bad boy image of him by the media because it’s much easier to do so than to explain the quiet loneliness and crippling depression he has felt since high school. because it’s much easier to be seen with a new woman every month than to confess to his entire world.

singer!geto who finds himself thinking of you late at night, about what it all could’ve been had he not been so selfish. he doesn’t understand if he’s selfish or just protecting you, but whatever it is, god does it hurt him, and a little voice in his mind hopes you’re hurting as much as he is right now, not being able to touch the skin of your face, or the softness of your lips in his big and lonely penthouse.

singer!geto whose eyes are always searching around in his concert, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces just so that maybe he could find yours, and maybe that would mean he was finally forgiven for pushing you away for so long, for always having his name in headlines linked to other women who aren’t you, for always being so scared of his own fans for you.

singer!geto who’s lyrics are always penned at three in the morning when his imaginations of you are the most vivid. and he swears to his pr team he’s not in love, never has been. yet they all question how the words pour out more sorrowfully than they would have if it had been all just stupid stories of broken couples.

singer!geto who doesn’t know where you are right now after he cut you off that night. so he travels around the world in the guise of his world tours, and doesn’t forget to explore the whole city in case he finds you in the marketplace buying your favourite fruits like he used to, or in the store with the snack you used to share with him on movie nights, or in the shopping mall where he swore he would buy you pretty dresses when he grows up and becomes rich.

singer!geto who wishes he knew how to grow up happy, who wishes he never dreamed his dream now that he has achieved it, who still wants what he wanted all those years ago so selfishly. even after all those “you have to sacrifice to achieve your goals” he says to the world, he wishes you would unblock him on your instagram just so you could match pfps again, so you could post him on your stories saying “my pookie” again, and even though he said he hated when you called him that, he would kill just to hear it spill from your lips one more time.

singer!geto who would always question why most successful people said money couldn’t buy everything, but has now realized that they were right. money couldn’t buy the way you laughed at his jokes, or the way you smiled at the new song he wrote, or the way you kissed his calloused fingers after a long practice session.

singer!geto who looks at small things at the shopping center and thinks you would like them, so he buys them even though you aren’t here to savour them anymore. he doesn’t remember how often he’s been questioned about this habit of buying clothes that won’t fit him, or things on his shelf that most certainly could never match his style. he could go on and on about the meaning those carried for him, but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

singer!geto who’s a coward, too afraid to take your name in front of the crowd of his thousand or so fangirls. what if you didn't like the spotlight? what if the girls got a bit too crazy? was it his fault for picking this career after all? was it his fault he fell in love with you more than he did for the strings of his guitar?

singer!geto who climbs up on stage for the final day of his tour, and it’s in the old city you used to live in. the old high school the two of you would go to was long demolished, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the love you held for him was destroyed along with that building as well. but among the low murmurs of the crowd, and the light falling on their faces, his eyes search for just one person almost habitually.

and he finds her.

you.

singer!geto who’s always been a bit shy when it came to singing in front of you. so when he sees you in the audience, his voice falters, and he forgets his purpose, and although he isn’t quite sure if his delusions have finally caught up to reality, or if his imagination has become progressive enough to project his feelings in the real world, his eyebrows furrow and his eyes squint as if to demand if you were real. if you were really there.

singer!geto who you smile timidly at, too small in the row of his million or so fans, too much of a speck in the sea to be noticed by anyone else. but he notices. he always notices. and you think this is the first time he has taken this long to tune his guitar on stage, and the others might have missed the faint pink on his cheeks. he was always shy.

“you’ll like this one,” he says as if you haven’t already liked the hundred songs he wrote before.

singer!geto who keeps forgetting the next lines of the song he wrote, and instead keeps adding lines that feel more raw, more real than anything anyone has ever heard before. and he has always refused to sing love songs, then why is this one about wanting to be braver to keep a relationship he quit, his fans wonder. but how would they know that singer!geto performs under the stage lights every night, but he has only ever felt seen when he was with you.

singer!geto who tumbles downstage immediately after the performance, hearing the chants of his name only distantly, just so he can scream at his managers to find the pretty lady in the purple dress he had bought for you so long ago and forgotten about after thinking you would’ve thrown it away just like he had done to you.

singer!geto who finds you walking up to him with a sheepish smile, and his breath catches in his throat. he doesn’t want to believe it is real — he wants to meet you alone, not in front of all the prying eyes of his team. his eyes are wide and his lips are quivering, and the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely is the hand you extended to greet him.

“hi,” you introduce your name, and his shaking hands meet your firm ones.

he stiffens and nods, surprised by the formality but not completely so. his fingers clutch tightly around the back of your hand that he knew so well, but now it just feels so unknown. he desperately tries to claw at you, or rather what he remembers of you, the one who has haunted the lyrics of his songs for so long.

his voice is trembling when he says your name, though it feels foreign on his tongue now. have you changed so much that you forgot him?

“i’m a fan, can i have your autograph?”

you could have the whole man if you requested, sweetheart.

but you don’t know it.

you don’t remember.

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

a/n: i have my math 3h paper tmr wtf am i doing here

[liliacamethyst]

Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)

Sequel to Web of Secrets

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.”  He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates. 

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

 But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

 For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him. 

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?” 

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

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[vantaeries]

HOW'S THEIR FIRST KISS WITH YOU

PAC : FUTURE SPOUSE SERIES

Your lips come and take me to the place to go - NCT 127

Pile : 1 ~ 2 ~ 3

How to pick : Close your eyes, take a deep breath and clear your mind. Trust your intuition and choose a pile that you are most drawn to.

Disclaimer : This is a general reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Remember, the energies can change from time to time. So pick wisely.

Masterlist

PILE 1

Your future spouse is a reserved and low-confidence person who might struggle or fear to confess their feelings. When they see you talking and joking with another person, they feel extremely jealous. They fear they may have missed their chance with you and are tormented by the thought that you might like someone else. Unable to contain their emotions any longer, they make a bold and uncharacteristic decision. As they approach, their legs feel like jelly and their heart pounds like crazy. Acting on impulse, they pull you into a passionate kiss. The passion from truth. In that moment, time seems to stand still. The world fades away, leaving only the sensation of your lips against theirs. The kiss is filled with all the longing and fear they have kept hidden for so long. The kiss is so raw, intense and might turn into a lustful kiss. They definitely dominate the kisses so you can feel how rough and desperate they are. It's as if they are trying to say, “I was scared. Scared that you might like someone else.” How do you react to their kiss? You feel shocked but you respond to their kiss. Do you know how they feel? Oh, they feel a surge of joy and relief. They get carried away by their animalistic desire lol. I think there will be a celebration after that. I'm feel they might kiss you in front of that person or audience lol. People who had been observing the scene erupt into cheers and applause, celebrating the spontaneous and heartfelt moment. So, they actually feel relieved and can rest well after confirming their feelings.

Keyword : Jealous, Insecure, Fire sign, Capricorn sun, Libra, Scorpio, Aries Venus, Children, Party or Gathering, Music, 444

PILE 2

After a heart-wrenching breakup, they were in the midst of healing their broken heart when they met you. Something stirred within them at that first encounter, an awakening sparked by your presence. It wasn't just attraction; it was a deep, magnetic pull that they couldn’t ignore. The first kiss came about unexpectedly, rooted in a misunderstanding that led to a heated argument. Their eyes couldn’t help but fixate on your lips, watching them move with each word. The sight was tantalizing and seductive, causing them to lose focus in the middle of the argument. Without warning, the argument escalated into something entirely different. They closed the distance between you, and before you could react, they pulled you into a kiss, as if their actions were saying, "Shut your mouth, or I'm gonna kiss you." You were taken aback by the suddenness of it, but your body began to respond to their kiss instinctively. It was your first kiss, and though it was slow, it was deeply satisfying. Your hands found their way to their neck or waist, and they hugged you tightly, savoring the connection. They loved touching your body and were thrilled by the way you responded to their kiss. When the kiss finally broke, both of you were left nearly breathless, cheeks flushed red from the intensity of the moment. So cute sksksks

Keyword : Conflict, 'You are that', Summer, Manifest, Scorpio Mars, Saturnian ( Capricorn & Aquarius), Comfort, Surprise, 555

PILE 3

This experience is different from the previous two because there is no rush or urgency. It's as if your future spouse is saying, "When you're ready, we will do this together." They are willing to give you the time you need, despite the strong attraction and sexual tension between you. Once you're ready, they will kiss you with voluptuous excitement. It's a fun kiss, filled with giggles and smooching. For some of you, the kiss might lead to lovemaking because "just kissing" wouldn't be enough. It's all about passion. The kiss is so addictive and raw, taking both of your breaths away. It's hot and good, awakening the lustful desire between you two. As if they are saying, "Yes, finally, I've been waiting long enough to do this. Everything will be made right." They don't want to confuse or pressure you, so they will take it one step at a time. They want you to feel comfortable and peaceful as you explore this connection together.

Keyword : couple in ecstasy, animal within us, passion, 222, Virgo, Sagittarius, Jupiter, Venus, Moon

[amazinglyashy]

HI I LOVE ur lads headcanons ‼️ idk if u do angst but im feeling some angsty/hurt/comfort........... can i pls request the lads men's reaction to the reader rejecting their confession bc we think they deserve better...... someone who doesn't have a heart condition (like the mc) or something........

Oh my gosh, thank you so much!! And oh man, I love angst and hurt/comfort, as long as I get to give it a tiny bit of hope/a happy ending! I felt this one though, I've thought about it before with my own MC…….. a few dozen times- Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request! <3

Love and Deepspace Li’s reactions to you rejecting their confession due to feelings of inadequacy

Rafayel -

Rafayel is… surprised, to say the least.

Not only do you not have any memory of him or the things you did together- the things you did to him- but you also are straight up turning him down when he finally realized that he needs to confess to you all over again.

He's pretty upset.

It'll definitely turn into an argument, and you know he's hurt. Damn, you're hurt too, just having to turn him down. He makes you feel something, like you're special. Like you're everything to him. Like you're not…

Broken.

And it'll come out eventually. Maybe not blatantly so, but in small ways, your feelings of inadequacy will start to leak through the cracks that are forming in your resolve as you try to refuse a man who has already been refused his love by fate and prophecy for far too long.

And somehow, that makes it so much worse. Because he can fight fate, he can go against the currents of time and the ever evolving cruelty of human nature. But he can't do anything about the feelings raging inside your own head.

He's sure going to try though.

Angrily but calmly, he will start firing off things he has done for you, just because he's loved you so much, throughout all of your time together and even before. He doesn't know if it'll make it worse, make you feel like he already does too much for whatever it is you see yourself as, but he's going to do it anyway. And slowly, it'll start forming into the things you two do together- the things you've done for him when he needs you.

And you're going to be there a while, because until you start to realize, until he starts to chip away at that dark feeling in the deepest reaches of your mind and heart, he's not going to let up.

Not now, not ever.

Sylus -

He's a bit taken aback, but he's not particularly surprised. He had seen this coming, mentally prepared himself for it, even. He knew after his treatment of you when the two of you had just met again for the first time, that any sort of official relationship between you two would be tricky to get to. Especially putting an actual label on it.

He'll be a lot more surprised when he reads between the lines at your words, and realizes it's not because you're still scared of him, but because you don't think you're good enough for him.

"You can't be serious, sweetie."

He's not going to force you to accept his confession, but regardless of how timid or aggressive you become, whether you escalate it vocally or try to exit the conversation, he's not arguing with you. He pretty much refuses to, as he instead begins to state snarky facts as he crosses his arms, watching your reactions as he does.

"When you patched my wounds a month ago, was I not deserving of your hands caring for me because they were shaky and belonging to you? How about that girl you muttered about that we saw at the café who was mad at her boyfriend to the point of shouting, when he didn't get her the right cake she wanted? Are you saying you're worse than her? Helping me on jobs simply because you want to exist near me is… not good enough for me?"

"Sylus, that's not what I'm saying-"

"Oh don't worry sweetie. I know exactly what it is you're saying. I just know it's a particularly misinformed, self loathing thought for you to be having. Don't you think it's insulting for you to decide who I give my love to? After every calculated decision you have witnessed me make?"

He'll finally soften, reaching out a hand to gently rest on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gentle back and forth.

"You don't need to be concerning yourself with what I deserve in a partner. You should have faith in my opinions, if not for yourself, but for your confidence in me, sweetie. After that, the rest is up to what you truly want in your heart."

Zayne -

His reaction is definitely the most reserved initially, especially until he realizes why exactly you're turning him down.

He definitely has the passing thought that maybe you're just misunderstanding him again, just like back with the snow seals when the two of you were still kids.

When he realizes that's not the case, and instead, it's your own internalized feelings, he's first a bit relieved, and secondly- pretty perturbed.

"It's interesting to know that's your perspective, given how much you enjoy those fictional stories with ironic pairings. I would think that it would be the most romantic thing for a heart patient to be in a relationship with a cardiac surgeon.

His biting but well-meaning quips aside, he's not quite sure how to break it to you that he used to be in a similar boat, and still is to some capacity. Which is partly why he's a bit upset to understand your perspective.

He's genuinely surprised you haven't processed the timeline of the two of you and your lives. Your accident that caused the state of your heart, his leaving to study medicine and become a specialist in cardiology and a renowned cardiac surgeon- are you not able to see that it's not an inadequacy for him, but his own lack of knowledge when you first started having issues made himself feel inadequate? Why he left without a word for years in the first place?

And not just that- it also applies to other fields too. He has no issues helping you where you need him, because he knows the extent of your capabilities, much like he knows his own. And he will spend forever if he needs to, to show you that loving is not about who does more. It's about doing what your partner needs, no matter how much or how little that is, and loving each other through every hard moment.

And you're about to hear every ounce of his convincing, opinions, and own feelings, until you start to see. Until you finally see.

Xavier -

Unless you tell it to him straight, he's not going to know why you rejected him. He'll be hurt, but he'll accept your rejection graciously and politely, before trying to figure out just how to get you to accept it.

There's an increase in claw machine dates, movie night invitations, and how much he helps you with missions or even just around your apartment. Eventually, you process the weird behavior and you're all but forced to confront him on really truly why you rejected him.

It's Xavier, so you try to play it off as a lighthearted situation or a joke, but you can see his expression darkening, and you're not sure if it's because of him being upset at your words, or realizing just how much time he has sunk into you with how... broken of a person you are.

Turns out, it's the former!

It's hard to not realize such, as he's pulling you into the tightest hug he's probably ever grabbed you into.

For a while, it's just you and him standing there, with him squeezing you tightly and you not knowing what to do with your hands or the lump rising in the back of your throat. He doesn't really know what to say, but he does know he needs to say something.

"I'll definitely make you see that you're more than enough for me."

"Xavier- that's not how this work-"

"I know, and I don't care. I- I need you to know that you're everything to me. You're not inadequate, or broken, or anything you've been telling yourself. You're more than enough. You're more than everything to me. And I'm not going anywhere until you finally understand that."