#every minute and every hour i miss you i miss you i miss you more

[tonycries]

Like a Dog!

Synopsis. Jealous? How cute. He’s yours - and he’ll fúck you until you won’t forget it.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, jealousy s, marathons, NÉEDY BOYS, dúmbifícation, proposals, creampíes, praise, GOJO’S POWERS, márking, they’re YOURS, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s tattoos, cervíx kíssing, fitting it, talking you through it, p slápping, p talking, ex-husband!Toji, spítting, comfort, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Wedding vows!

“Soooo…” Toji’s sneaking long, languid drags of his fat thumb up and down your sappy folds. And it makes your breath hitch, your thighs quivering just in time for him to sidle two staggering palms underneath and stretch. Wide open. “-still...jealous, doll?”

Ruining you for what seemed like copious hours upon hours non-stop, that very same question left Toji’s scarred lips in cloudy little pants like a smug mantra. 

The bed was recklessly creaky at this point, splinters cracking with every sloppy pound that had your sanity doing much the same. 

And Toji’s crushing you against the clammy mounds of his Herculean pecs, heaving. Gasping. So, so needy that just about all you can do at this point is bumble out an embarrassed little, “Wh-why?”

“Because m’yours, mama.” Whining as his sheeny-lathered lips snicker from right beside your tender ear, and his mushroomy tip grazes right down his favorite target of your treacly slit. Slow. Steady. “And I hafta prove it.”

Nevermind the fact that he was talking like he wasn’t your ex-husband of just a few days. 

Nevermind the fact that you’re sure the pulpy depths of your poor cunt was already utterly bruised and battered with the exact bulky circumference of Toji’s proud crownhead. Because Toji Fushiguro could never dream of being with another.

He’s tugging you even more pliably into this mean full nelson of his, squeezing out a thick few dewdrops of buttery pre that lather your puckered hole. Rotund, curvaceous mound of his fattened head swirling patterned circles at your snug hole around and around-

“Don’ tell me this pretty pussy’s hngh- forgotten about me already?” He’s murking out, planting exactly three simpering swats! to your slick-flooded entrance before sinking in- “Heh- yeahhh that’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

Because your drooling cunt was always so greedy for him - your bloated pussy lips struggling and hungry being opened oh-so-widely agape. It made your slackened maw lather with a fresh wave of saliva at the sheerly raw stretch.

“Good girl- good fuckin’ girl takin’ all of me.” Toji’s huffing out, head tilting sleazily to the side to take in every inch of the heavenly bouquet envisioned right below him. “Bet ya missed me all deep inside, huh? S’that why you’re gettin’ all jealous over some rando?”

But, of course, the silent treatment never worked on Toji - and you’re finding him cooing, “Awww, c’mon my wife-” Such pointed, loving emphasis, “-talk to me. Lemme hear those pretty noises.”

And you hate the way that his rumbling baritone tilts into something mockingly higher. You hate the way that his bludgeoning tip rims around your gooey slick-filled entrance and makes your voice crack.

“T-talking about ah- jealous-” You’re managing out, and Toji’s willowy eyes widen ever-so-slightly at the way you can manage out coherent syllables even through each punctuating drill. “-but I ngh- saw the way you looked at my coworker, you green-eyed m-monster.”

He’s scoffing, spanking your overstuffed pussy once. Twice. Thrice just for good measure. “Feisty, aren’t you, mama?”

And every minute wiggle is dampered helplessly by the way that he’d curled two large forearms - muscular and veiny - around your legs to embrace you tightly. Chin rested over your head, “He was only bein’ nice-”

“And nice isn’t gonna get your hngh- cute cunt sucking like as slut like this.” Toji’s rolling his eyes, “Don’t joke with me now, doll, spread those pretty hngh- legs n’ lemme see her. No need to be shy.”

Massively engulfing hands of his crown the topped curve of your dangling knees and mold you to every one of Toji’s lecherous whims until you almost do feel shy. But there was absolutely nothing shy about the way that he was now leering at you.

Hot breath wafting with the sound of a low whistle, “Shiiiit- pretty lil’ thing, huh? Don’tcha know how much m’weak for ya? Why the fuck would I ever wan’ anyone else? Silly girl…”

“S-stop- staring—” You’re whining out, fingers tangling through the tresses of Toji’s darkly silken bangs and pulling. A blasphemous little action that earns you a heavy-handed thud of his bloated head into your soppy cervix. 

“How can I not stare, mama- she’s mine, isn’t she?” And there was something in his tone, something…edged and rough- and you swear that Toji was the one that sounded somewhat jealous. Sounded gone. “And I’m yours, of course.”

Ruined every time his ruddied tip was skimming past the syrupy adhesive-like maze of your insides and thumping right into the targeted bullseye of your cervix. 

He’s so hot underneath you - feverish. The ridged ladders of his washboard abs slipping and sliding a lewd massage underneath your back. And the feeling is so heavenly that you’re wondering why you ever signed those divorce papers in Higuruma’s office in the first place.

“No needa worry- M’yours, doll-” Grit out. Harsh. Punishing as much as his deep strokes were messing up your poor insides. Making sure that you won’t forget. Voice seeping with something wild, “H-heh. Divorced or not- a d-divorce which won’t last for ngh- long anyway- I got every part of ya ah- fucking memorized, y’know? Think I’d do that for hngh- anyone else?”

“E-every?” Your legs and voice are wobbling like jelly at his words.

“Every.”

As if to prove his point, he’s thumbing gluttonously over the rounded outline of where he was rummaging your sodden walls. Shooting out a few wiry spatters of pre that almost fill you up to the brim - so much of it - once he’s gliding over with a few cocky touches.

“My favorite spot s’always here-” The tremors of his recoiling bounces into your spongy womb rattle your melty mind. You feel the jitters of his thick thigh muscles when he arches into a curve up, up, up. “-knock knock.”

“S-so…” Mumbling, shit- Toji was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough of you. “-filthy.”

He’s rolling his eyes at that little comment - you like it, anyway if that warm geyser streaming from between your mushy folds told him anything. 

“N’ I remember that your hngh- favorite spot was here…” Oh, you knew what he was doing - you knew exactly the way in which Toji’s dark brows would scrunch with rude delight when his strawberry divot slurs right past that magical spot. “Orrrrr…here-” Ramming resoundingly with his left-leaning girth in exactly the opposite way from the spot that only he could reach so well. Toji’s tongue pops out to lap at his sneaky dribble of saliva - he was loving this. “Whoops…maybe-”

“F-fuck-” You’re all but begging, your whimpers going straight to that forevermore bloated shaft of his. Pumping in a few horny ounces that make him grow even thicker, “-fine- fuck! Please-”

“Hm…” Toji’s tutting, bangs sticking to the plane of his prespired forehead as he shakes his head understandingly. Mockingly so. “What’s that?”

“Please-”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

He’s lolling out his tongue to lap at the salty pearls of tears beginning to waterfall from your fluttering eyes, “Say ‘please- husband.’”

The embarrassment and pure irritation curdling in your veins was strong, but your need - your throb from the wet patch between your legs, and that spot was even stronger. Shit, you needed him. “P-please…my husband.”

Ah, the words are barely spilling from your mouth, barely even reaching our own ears before Toji’s making you see white-hot pleasure flickering behind your lids. A drawling keen dragging out from your throat as soon as his curvaceous cockhead nuzzles up in a sweet, sweet hug into your g-spot. 

And your ears can only thunder with your heartbeat, your spine bowing as your husband plaps his fat cock into your most candied spots over and over and over-

“One more thing.” Something cool touches your face, and only seconds later do you recognize it to be a phone. Your phone. “Tell that lil’ loser of a coworker that yer hgh- married. And-” Another deafening pap! “-expecting.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Yours, always.

“I…I’m sorry, my love.” Nanami hisses - he heaves the moment his buttery-topped tip was sinking past your puckered entrance. And there’s a dangerous furrow between his neat, blond brows, “But I can’t have ya sayin’ anything bad about my wife.”

And he was so serious - seriously in love with the way you were gaping up with spit-flooded lips when one of his thick, calloused digits massage over your eagerly peaked clit with the chillingly golden band of his wedding ring. Matching with yours. 

Your fingers dig into the plane of your husband’s unfairly broad shoulders underneath his blue button-up, all rippling muscles and sheer dripping sex appeal. He hadn’t even bothered to take his office clothes before helping you…feel better. “Kento, I-I’m just sayin’ your new c-coworker is so much prettier-”

Thwack!

Only for him to cut you off with a heavy-handed spank to your treacly cunt, and a rumbling growl - rasping from beneath his stern lips once Nanami grants you with a filthy, filthy glissade of a French kiss. And you could taste him - taste yourself from his makeout with your slobbery pussy just before.

Your sticky slick lacquering his gummy lips in a candied glaze, slipping and sliding all the way down the dimpled edges of his grin, his chin, down below between his cushiony pecs- 

It was like a badge of honor, and Nanami Kento gladly and proudly adorned it.

You’re just leaking from that gooey spot between your legs when he’s back to pressing peck after peck on both your lips and your cushy g-spot. Dribbles of translucent slick drenching Nanami’s tawny happy trail - and his ring. 

One that’s pushed between your lecherously parted lips to swirl around that whiny cavern of your mouth, making you just shut up-

“G-gonna-” Clawing at his strong forearms, shocked that you were being halfway choked by your dear, gentle husband. “-gonna get dirty this way, K-Ken-”

“No, don’t mind getting…dirty if it’s you.” You’re hearing Nanami gasp from above you, murky pants of his shooting out in a rasping ah! ah! ah! And his droopily half-lidded eyes just bore into yours with sweet connection, “And I hate disrespectin’ my ngh- wife, this way but…but m’not gonna go easy on you tonight, darlin’.”

Fuck.

The bed sings out splintering creaks with every thud! of Nanami’s fatly bloated tip smooching up against your spongy cervix. Every bouncy bludgeon spurting out the most dewy ribbons of his precum from the very tip of his rounded crownhead. Proud and ruthless.

You can only wring your fingers through Nanami’s golden strands, unsticking stray locks from his prespired forehead. Babbles upon babbles spill from your lips, “I-fuck! Kentoooo- it f-feels so good.”

“Good, hm? Th-tha’s right-” Freely thumbing away a few puddly gumdrops of saliva that’d begun just spilling from the corners of your maw with every hit after hit- 

And every clashing pivot of his toned hipbones sting, heat blossoming up your spine in this sloppy mess of a mating press that Nanami had manhandled you into. But he needed more- more more more-

“S-shoooo good, Ken- right there-” Lewd little strings of hiccups are bubbling from your chest and wafting up between the bustling fingers still toying with your mouth and making you suck. Tongue swirling up the cold engraved metal of his ring as if your favorite honeyed lolly, “Always feels so ngh- good havin’ you inside me-”

Too good.

Unable to help yourself from greedily clasping onto that dangling yellowy tie sticking to your sweat-simmered tits and pulling-

And oh, this makes Nanami gasp- free hand slamming! down onto the timber bedframe. This makes his hips hammer forward with a loudly ringing pap! Plummy, split cockhead probing into your cervix hard. 

Never slowing down, never stopping- hell, he doesn’t think he even could right now. 

“H-heh, my clever girl.” A kiss against your forehead. “My needy girl.” Your cheeks. Each side. “My ngh- beautiful girl- most beautiful girl in this world.”

There’s such utter and true loving in his foggy mahogany eyes that you almost feel shy. “D-don’t look at me like that, Kento.”

“Y’know I only h-have eyes for you, my love…” Accompanied by the digits rummaging deep inside your sultry mouth to reel back with a sodden plap! And dip down to caressingly pinch your plump clit, “C’mon- tighter. Mark me up. Tight.”

And there’s nothing you can do but listen to what he says.

How could you not?

Not when the ever-sensible Nanami Kento was begging - pleading - down at you to choke his velveteen tie even tighter around his attractive throat. Adam’s apple bobbing at your increasing strain, lightning bolts of veins thumping when you squeeze.

“Yeahhh- don’ be shy. Let everyone know- fuuuuck-” Bleary head falling back with every adhesive-like cling of your elastic walls - or, at least, trying to if it wasn’t for your chokehold with his tie. Nanami’s lips curl into an oh-so-feral snarl, head tilting to the side to chafe his own flesh with the ropey bruises of your actions. “-mark me up s-so that the whole office knows m’yours. And I…”

Fuck, you looked so cute fucked dumb and drooling on his fat dick like this. 

Nanami’s thick muscular thighs are shivering at this point, shovelling your own further and further upon the more he could feel himself losing his fucking mind. 

“And I’m gonna m-marry you.” Bumbling out over and over like a mantra now, Nanami was so pussydrunk that his rotund tip wasn’t even kissing up against the bullseye of your g-spot directly anymore. Breath hitching, “Gonna marry- hngh- needa marry. B-be your husband- and-” Just dragging out achy massages of his swollen length to lustre every gooey inch of you with layers on top of voluminous layers of his- cum? “Sh-shit.”

Because Nanami was cumming and he couldn’t stop. 

Heaps of weighty ropes splatter across your elastic channel, it’s swashing around in thick masses every time he’s fucking it back deeply into you. “I love you.”

CRACK! 

At this moment, you’re sure that it’s your mind splintering into a million pieces, and only many, many hours later do you realize that it’s your poor broken bedframe. Because you’re overspilling with drooling dredges of pearlescent seed and bliss when that finally pushes you over the edge, too. “K-Kentoooo-”

“Shhh sh sh- m’here Hold onto me-” he’s rasping out. Airy. Depraved. Like Nanami doesn’t even know that the words are leaving his lips. “So perfect…wanna marry you, darling.”

You can only blurt out a drunken giggle, “Ken- we’re ngh- already married.”

“Oh…then…you already know m’yours…” Nuzzling his face into his favorite hideout at the crook of your neck, Nanami’s words are almost cracking into a whine - a plea for the very first time in his life. “-body and soul.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - XOXO

“Why hello to you, too.” You flinch when Geto snickers once his sneaking fingers massage downwards to pry open your thoroughly puckered and drooling pussy lips. He wasn’t talking to you. “Wanna help me make my girl all happy again?”

And he’s humming along, throwing your pliable legs easily over his sculptured shoulders with an understanding nod. “Mmmm- needy one, aren’tcha?”

“You’re s-such a tease.” You’re huffing out, brows knitting in a way that only made the pretty man above you kiss away. 

“And you’re such a green-eyed lil’ monster.” He’s purring back, a rasping growl leaking its way into Geto’s teasing words. “And as much as I love that ah- jealous pout on ya, gorgeous, better know it only makes me…harder.”

Geto’s snaking a hand to pry your drunkenly lolling head to veer downwards, chuckling at the way your droopy eyes widen when you’re taking note of his staggeringly bloated cock laid right there between your legs. Red and angry. So ready to pump the heated geyser between your legs full of his inches, that he can’t help but bawl out a ribbony string of pre smearing across your tummy. Enough so that you can almost taste it-

“What? What happened to my heh- snappy girl, huh?” Inky bangs mussing up when he’s cocking his head to simply leer. Such a sleazy look of depravity taking over all of his features, “Too big?” 

You’re shaking your head - gasping, “Y-yes but I want it- want you hck! inside me so badly, Suguru—”

“Say m’name like that n’ I’ll cum.” He’s rolling his eyes, truly unabashed and greedy. With a sopping wet plap! Geto’s planting your treacly slit with a spank, only for you to be presented with the big beefy expanse of his pale forearm before you can even make a whiny noise. “Now, bite down and take it.”

You think you could sob when every long, girthy inch of his fills you up to your very brim. Bulky globular tip kissing past your gluey lips and mazing you open so widely around him, until your elastic walls were tautly stretched till you could feel every ridge, every thumping vein, every goopy spurt of warm pre that showered your melty insides. 

“Heh.” Fuck, Geto’s heart just lurches with something warm at that heart-eyed cross of your pupils. Such a pretty picture. “Can ya count how many inches f’me, gorgeous?”

Ah, you couldn’t think much less count with just how battering Geto was with his mindless ruts just to fit inside. Washboard abs flexing with every push, push, push-

You’re letting go of his heated flesh with a soppy pwah! bursting from your lungs. “E-eight?” Only to be hit with a messy thud! of his thick cockhead dragging down your mushy walls, throbbing veins thumping at your tenderized spots in time with your very heartbeat. Oh. “Nine?”

“Atta girl.” The calloused mountains of his palms covet underneath your thighs and manhandle you even closer to lock them around his neck. Tighter. “Got a whole nine inches j-just for you, alllll for this pretty pussy right here.”

You can’t help but feel like a fucking toy at the merciless hands of Geto Suguru - and he’s more than happy to pliantly jerk you around until you were halfway through sobbing at the sheer pounds after pounds.

Your glossed lips can only part open when he’s punctuating each thrust with a tug on the precious hood of your clit, and Geto was always the best with his fingers. Dipping and swirling them around dexterously to make you see flashing stars, “Sugu, it- It feels- so-”

“Louder.”

“S-Sugu-”

“Ah ah- louder.” Mahogany headboard clattering against the walls, about to break. To snap. Just as much as he was right about now. “Don’ hold back any fuck- pretty noises from me. The entire ah- place hasn’t heard ya yet.”

“Mhmm, does it feel hah- good when big bad Sugu is fucking you stupid?” Leaving a sweet little pap! of his blushing red tip particularly hard into your g-spot, you swear you could taste the bliss of his bumpy veins branding into your tenderized orifices. “When ya don’t have to think about ngh- aaaany of those silly things?”

And you couldn’t worry about anything - not that too-flirty new member of the association, not your jealousy - not when Geto was fucking each and every thought out of your poor mind. 

Barely even registering it even once one engulfing hand curls gently at the back of your neck to hide away your prespired face into the clammy crook of his neck. So pretty and supple when he’s guiding you to bite, “C’mon then- heh- mark me. Use me. Show off that m’yours.”

“Y-you’re enjoying this-” you’re whining, though, nosing away to pinprick littering bites that blossom and bloom, and show off even if he had his traditional robes on. 

“And you’re turned on.” He’s finishing off your never-ending mewls, head lolling backwards drunkenly to give you an even bigger canvas to work with. “Feeling me all deep inside-” Splaying out a palm along your tummy to feel for that cylindrical outline of something hard. Aching. Bumping up in wet smooches into your deepest spots. “Such a possessive lil’ thing milkin’ me. I need you to fuck me. Fuh-fuck me.”

Muttering, “Ngh- should- should fuck you in front of the whole cult to l-let them know.” Your murky huffs are laced with something grumbling that makes his fattened tip twitch. 

It’s only then and there that you hear notorious clan leader Geto Suguru whimper. For the first time ever in his life, breaking at the seams when your nails rake pretty red valleys down the mountainous expanse of his Adonis-like back. 

Flexing and rippling and fuck-

Fuck, Geto thinks he could almost cum right then and there at the awe-strucken expression smeared all over your face. The way your lips were curling with trickling rivulets of drool and you barely even realize.

“That’s right-” He’s cooing at your nonsensical babbling like it was his favorite conversation, and you’ve never seen him so fucked. So much like putty underneath your hands as you leave marks for days. Maw slagging open with a smirk, heady lids so heavy and hypnotized that they’re practically closed. “That’s right, that’s riiiight- That can be arranged.”

Your greedy fingerpads tangle with his silken locks and jerk in shock, syrupy sap leaking sobbing between your pursed lips and forming a little ring right at Geto’s hulking base once you’re registering what he said. “Can be- arranged?”

And ah- Geto knows he loves you. He really, really loves you. Marked and yours, he’s whispering, “Anything for my girl. Because m’yours and yours forever and ever.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “I-I’m yours…”

And not even the way that poor Choso was buried vulgarly deep into every syrupy nook and cranny of your pretty pussy would stop him from rambling those whimpering words. In fact, it was the opposite. 

He was so thoroughly pussydrunk that just a few sloppy sucks of our glutinous walls makes Choso’s heaving chest stutter mid-fuck. Drooling maw falling pathetically open at the sheen sprays formulating around his swollen, rose-pink shaft. 

So glossy and pretty that he feels hypnotized.

“Cho…” Only snapping half-awake once your trembly fingers dive into Choso’s slightly dampened chestnut locks. And the flutters of his long lashes are so adorable, “D’you ngh- mean that?”

“Of course! Don’t be silly, my baby–” And he can’t even believe what he’s hearing - you? The light of his life? Fucking jealous over a too-flirty sorcerer? God, if it wasn’t for the way that his breath hitches at the dewy cling of your mushy walls exactly around his sensitive underside, then Choso would’ve thought that he was dreaming. “You know you’re the ah! only one for me.”

And he meant it with every pound after papping pound of his plumpened, ruddy crownhead drawing spattered gashes into your rubbery channel. 

Rubbing over one slender thumb to trailway the peak of your buttony clit, Choso can’t hold back his keening whine at just how much wetter that makes your already-slobbering pussy. Swirling pressurized gyrations over and over, he’s muttering away, “G-gonna prove it- g’na make you cum- ngh- have to- ah fuck-”

“Oh- shit- B-baby, I can’t stop-” You’re whispering at the fountained squirt of your slick flooding the sultry non-existent space between you two - you’re so responsive today, and Choso thinks he could cum just from this. 

“Fuck me-” he’s dribbling through roughly parted lips, nose crinkling with utter bliss. “Fuck me- ngh- Yeah yeah yeah, milk me and make me yours, baby- only ever want you to milk me.”

You’re snickering with such utter loving in your eyes that it makes him shy. “H-heh, so cute when you’re fucking yourself so hah- deep in me like this, baby.”

He could whine, could beg your cute cunt for more. Could feel not even a mere inkling of embarrassment as his tongue lolls out like such a slut to slide glazy digits all the way into the back of his greedy throat. Dewy eyes shuttering at the sugarcoated taste of your sweet, sweet juices-

“Oh, but you sh-shouldn’t ever need to be jealous. I w-wanna…” he’s starting off with a tremoring wobble of his jutted, strawberry-pink lips. Thickly viscous coatings of saliva and your slick hanging off of them like a sticky second skin, “-wanna s-stuff my face between your pretty legs forever and ever, baby–”

And Choso couldn’t fucking believe the words were spilling from his mouth - he was supposed to be making his poor girl feel better. Supposed to be comforting you.

But these are so sinful that it makes your beloved boyfriend burn a bright blossoming red, such a pretty flush eating one the apples of his cheeks. One you can’t help but cup, “S’that all?”

Shit, Choso can feel his buttery pre coil out in a few soppy splotches that puddle at the end of your pulpy cervix, split-ended shaft making such a mess. His hefty breeder balls clench tautly at the teasing tone of your voice- dammit. He can’t cum before you.

“N-no.” Pearly white teeth sinking into his gummy bottom lip, Choso chews away as if it was his favorite candy. Trying so-very-hard to hold himself back. “Wanna fuck her- ngh-” And just one look– just one sneaking spy down at where he was disappearing back and forth always left him stupidly speechless. “-her…p-pretty lips until I…die. Think m’ngh- addicted, baby—”

He was so precious.

Tear-streaked face nuzzling the crook of your neck, dexterous fingers knotting around the bulky base of his length. And the only thing that Choso’s heavy tongue can jumble out is a mixture of your name and please- please please-

“Aww, Cho–” You’re prying his sweaty face away to gaze down ravenously into yours, and just the sweet eye contact is enough to make his skin even more feverishly blushing pink. “Are you close?”

“N-no…”

A lie - and both of you knew it.

Because Choso’s streaks of thumping veins down his sensitive cock always throbbed so much harder when it was building up. His dark lashes lacquering with a salty layer of tears, sculptured abs flexing and pulling tight when his sloppy hips pap! pap! pap! into your fleshy mounds like such an animal.

Choso has never felt more out of control - more and more like his sanity was fraying away with every bumpy nudge of his dewdropping rotund tip into your bouncy sweet spots. With every drag of your raking nails down his scalp in a way that makes him think he would fucking purr if he could-

“I…I lied.” He’s confessing like his greatest sin, one arm wrangling around your waist to smush your naked tits against his cushy pecs. Cozy. “M’gonna cum-”

“Cum f’me, Choso.”

Biting back a shrilling mewl at the lecherous use of his full name, he’s already feeling the white-hot shockwaves of his tightly teetering orgasm swirling around in his thwacking balls. Urgently latching two soft-padded fingertips onto your clit, Choso pinches-

And then you’re both cumming.

You don’t know who was first - but in the depths of your lust-filmed mind, you’re sure you tied for the hardest. Because you’re seeing ivory - or make that was just the thickly viscous globs of seed that verspilled from your knotted cunt. 

“Fuh-fuck me-” he’s gurgling out, reeling you into his glimmering, toned body so tightly. Usually so conscious of crushing you with his weight, but now you’re being pinned to the soaked sheets with every ounce of him. He’s melting into you, abs against your tummy, thighs against your own, head dripping into your throat to bite. “Love you- love you love you love- love being yours. And yours o-only.”

Clingy wads of seed sloshing out of you with every sensitive buck, Choso’s still fucking you through your high. Fucking you like he can’t stop the steaming hot piles of cum being poured out into your cozy pussy until you were flooded to the brim.

And through your black-tinged vision you can make out the hypnotized figure of him dipping down two ravaging fingers to smear the clingfilm of lustrous creamy white. Swabbing a generous helping before popping them into his dribbling mouth-

“Baby, did you know curses mate for life?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Cross my heart

“Hah- what was that again, silly human?” Sukuna’s crossing over his big beefy arms exactly how he knew you liked, and the way you’re ogling the powerful flexes of his biceps is just so darn cute. “Jealous? Repeat that f’me- for your king.”

As if you could. 

As if Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just fucking you stupid right now - for what seemed like hours and hours and hours. The fat globe of his bawling cockhead drawing a few trickles of sap down your battered g-spot each and every time. Every vicious rut arching perfectly off of his luxurious throne to leave wet plap! after plap! after plap! on your poor stinging mounds of flesh.

You were supposed to be riding him - but, of course, the king of curses had to steal your thunder. Had to shut up your shrilling whines by bumping his hips into you mercilessly. 

“Oi oi-” Two dark-nailed digits are slicking in front of your deliciously crossed eyes to snap you out of your cockdrunken little haze, and with a sharp snap! your pulpy cervix is being bludgeoned with three thick drags of one strawberry-ruby tip. He’s fisting his other matchingly swollen length with fat fingers, thumbing down those lightning bolted veins mouth-wateringly. “Don’t tell me yer tappin’ out ngh- already?”

Your mewls come out candied and so, so needy. Bonelessly jittery arms curling around Sukuna’s thick neck, to jerk your hips mere sultry inches down his soppily glazed shafts. “I-I’m- not- I was just…”

“And now yer fuckin’ running away.” He’s drawling out, and oh, you could tell that he was enjoying this. Monstrous mouth on his stomach spilling out a few greedy puddles of saliva at that oh-so-desperate pout on your face. Grinning. “Can’t talk but- ya can ah- run away? Where are ya going, huh? Lemme escort ya, brat.”

Before you can even blink, he’s baring you with such a feral grin. Plumpish lips pulled back to show off those elongated canines, rumbling snickers shooting out from between them the very moment Sukuna’s curling a staggering arm around the small of your back. Hard.

Crushing you against the sweat-simmers mountains of his cushiony pecs, you’re at the perfect deepened angle for his second mouth to just dote on the weep tip of your clit. 

“Sh-shit-” Your head tumbles airily backwards at the roughened smooch of his oversized tastebuds down your neglected clit, so hot and greedy that it makes you see stars. Mumbles slurring with every syllable, “Kuna i-it feels so good-”

“Well, duh.” Sukuna has no qualms rolling those glowingly demon-red eyes, plumpened cock swiping copious syrupy dewdrops around and around your puckered hole. “Dunno why ya think of all this- ngh! fuck- stupid shit…Ya really think I make jus’ anyone ah- feel like this?”

You’re huffing, knowing exactly the stupid conversation that got you here. “Not m-my fault- everyone in your court is always trying to be ngh! fuuuck- a-all over you and I just got a little jeal-”

“No shit, woman.” Fuck- you should’ve expected the punishing little pinch of his plushy fingerpads around your beaded nipples. And Sukuna can only tut, “Gettin’ jealous over low-lives for ngh- what? How m’I gonna get that cute lil’ brain of yours to f-finally understand, hm?”

And it’s like he was trying to drill that idea into you. In many ways.

Sukuna’s letting a third of his massive palms pucker up your swollen pussylips. Lecherously so.

Dancing his heated fingertips up and down up and down those saturatedly puffed-up edges before letting the hefty hilt of his stacked shaft fall in a weighty smack! Once. Just enough to make you sound out a shocked yelp at the messy French snog of his second cock down your treacly slit.

Slow and languid - the complete opposite of how vigorously he was now filling you up with those exact inches. “My jealous girl- ngh- one’s not ‘nough, right? Good thing your Kuna has two.”

Yeah, his size was incredible. 

Your parted lips couldn’t stop quivering, couldn’t stop streaming out geysers of cockdrunk spit at just how close you felt to bursting. 

Because his girths were plugging you mind-numbingly full, thumping veins massaging in sweet little glissades down the most treasured sweet spots of your walls. Two of Sukuna’s fingers dip downwards to spread your bulging lips, using every ounce from years upon years of battle just to buck. Up, up, up-

“Sh-shit—” he’s hissing underneath his headily cloudy breath, jaw clenching at the velvety slide of himself stuffing you doubly full. And if Sukuna thought that he wasn’t handling this well, then he wasn’t ready to gaze with glazed eyes up at you. “So- tight. Look at that bulge. Feelin’ full, brat?”

Yes. You could almost sob, pulling on those bubblegum curls at the base of Sukuna’s neck when he’s only pivoting to sink in even deeper. Yes yes yes yes-

“Good. G-gonna make a biiiig mess- here-” You’re whimpering brokenly at the sharp throb of one index of his probing about halfway down your tummy, where Sukuna’s sweltering hot tips were scouring. “-maybe then ya won’t forget who’s yours.”

“M-mine?” You’re blinking your droopy eyes up at him, and shit- he can feel his regal cheekbones burn at the pretty sight.

Drooly little squelches are wafting off from underneath you after every battering ram of an innocent peck up into your goopy depths. And Sukuna only matches the slurping sounds back up above when he latches his lips onto yours.

“Kiss me- kiss me proper.” Your maw dangles open drunkenly with a prying tug from one of his thumbs, “Lick-” And it’s so fucking filthy that you can feel your slobbering pussy lacquer with another candied wave of slick, flooding between your legs and helping you slip and slide in lewd gyrations of his lap. A mess that his excess mouth gladly laps up. “Spit.”

You do - letting the gleaming thick wad splatter onto Sukuna’s eagerly awaiting tongue and lather his mouth even wetter. And you right along with-

With your orgasm taking you by surprise - fuck. Right at the moment your dripping cunt pecks his twin hilts. 

You hadn’t even noticed the way it was building up and up and up- not until you’re letting your eyes sprint to the sluggish back of your head with a moan. 

“I-I’m-” Barely able to stutter out, stomach piling hotly with the shockwave of your high and the pleasurably liquidly masses of Sukuna’s buttery pre. Even more as he watched you fall apart. “-cumming—!”

“I know I know, nasty girl. Fuckin’ filthy.” He’s planting heavy-duty pound after pound to permanently brand all those spots, your cervix, everywhere and anywhere with the rounded circumference of his bloated cockheads. Swiping off those miniscule splatters of remnants, grumbling - with such a content smile. “Gotta work on your h-heh aim, though. Notice anything, brat?” 

Notice? What was there to notice? You muse you could barely even think - barely even breathe with the way that your mind was still jolted with your orgasm. With the way that Sukuna’s bustling cocks were stretching your gluey walls permanently open and-

Oh.

Oh.

That’s when your lust-filmed eyes see it - the tattoo. Nothing out of the ordinary to see Sukuna with a cursed marking on his tongue, but what came right after was what had you gasping…your name. Inked right on his flesh.

“Next time ya get- tch…jealous, m’ngh- tattooing your name here-” Drifting down his clawed digits from your hips and over to his own. And then up to his heart. He was dead serious. Planting your agape mouth with a sappy kiss, “-and fuckin’ ya in front of the whole court, my silly human.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Casual?!

Sure, this arrangement with you was supposed to be casual but…one simple hangout with friends later and Ino Takuma knows you’re the only one he’d ever want to see walk down that damn aisle. He knows.

Because you’ve got your trembly legs practically padlocked greedily around the slender curve of his toned waist, your slobbery folds greedily drooling down every curvaceous inch of him. And oh, he can’t help but let off a quiet whine at the grumpy furrow in your brows, “W-wan’ more, Taku–!”

More. 

More. 

More more more that made his peachy-pink tip drivel out a few slippery douses of pre down your rubbery walls like your favorite sort of icing. Only adding to the complete and utter mess he’d already made-

“Are ya sure?” Ino’s drawling out, mean hips angling to skim just past the bruised and battered orifice of your g-spot. Slowly puckering up in a French kiss against your cervix, he’s catching a thumb down the eager globs of cum from just before that were now sloshing out of you. Teasing it into his mouth, “Yer already so f-full, pretty- Hmmmm, maybe we should just hngh- rest now-”

Ah, he knew exactly what would happen.

Exactly how it would only take three curls of his fat thumb up and down the lustrous layers of buttery seed that were staining your puffy pussylips for you to snap. To let out a cloudy pant of swears before planting your quivering feet flat on the plush mattress and flip the two of you over. 

Ino’s leaving a stinging spank once the mound of your ass rests right up against the tight curve of his rounded balls, slobbering a glossy snail trail all over his heated skin in a way that make him groan. “Ohhh, love it when yer rough w’me like this.”

“Just one more…” He’s not even sure if you knew just how lethal that pout of yours was, fingers digging into his scalp to pull on his silky chestnut locks. And Ino lets you. Fuck- he lets you. “Want to be s-sure that next time, everyone knows you’re mine.”

Oh. Ino can feel his neat brows raising, hips rummaging upwards into your gluey depths with a mindless slam! “Holy shit. I-is that what this is- you’re ngh- jealous?” Latching onto the pivoting motions of your hips, “That’s so fucking hot.”

Indeed, and who knew that a flirty waitress would leave you fucking the sanity out of him like this. 

Ino’s finding himself keening at the smaller digits of yours staking your nails and your claim all over his pretty tawny hair, his throat, his pecs. Marks upon marks upon marks-

“Hah- fuuuuck- you jus’ feel so ngh- good, baby—” you’re practically purring, jerking your hips to mush his fattened mushroom tip into your sweetest spot with practice. Up and down and Ino can’t look away. “Makes me wanna k-keep ya all to myself.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s quirking up one brow, and you can’t help but find it so rawly sexy the way he does it. “S’that what you hngh- want? Wanna keep me until ya-” Both of you hissing when he’s grazing his soft fingertips across the creamy wads of cum spilling from your soppy slit. Before pushing it back in- “-until ya milk me dry, pretty?”

He was always so mean with his mouth - but the way that Ino was arching his spine the perfect curvature off of the drenched sheets was even meaner. 

Choking out through long, unsteady heaves of his pronounced pecs, “Shit, greedy girl. D-don’t know if I even can cum anymore, y’know?”

“Just one more?”

“Dammit…dammit! Ya know I can’t- ah- resist ya.” He’s tutting, “Just oooone more for m’girl?”

Deep, vulgar strokes plap! plap! plapping! against your own sloppy staccato. Vicious. Hard enough that the excess ribbons of cum smear and sludge all inside your tight entrance. It feels so completely lecherous that you don’t even hesitate before craning one set of fingers behind your back to graze over his puckered ballsack.

Tender touch making Ino’s jaw drop with a whine -  a whine. 

“Y-you vixen–” Soft hair splaying out across the pillowcase like a halo when he’s throwing his head alllll the way back, matching the way his eyes slide behind until all you can see are those ivory whites. “Fucking take it then, always ruinin’ me with this p-pretty pussy o’ yours.”

“S’that so?” You’re musing, teeth sinking into the tender spot right at his left earlobe. And Ino’s face is so sweaty and flushed nuzzling into yours, streaked with a cherry-red blush that looks oh-so-cute. “No need to be shy about it, Taku–” 

“F-fuuuck- don’ say my ngh- name like that.” And there’s something in the way he giggles all pussydrunkenly, “Gonna make me- cum again- Fuuuck, only you could m-make me like this.”

Oh?

So very drunk off of you and the clingy smooches your sloppy cunt was leaving on his rock-hard length that he just couldn’t stop babbling. Faster. Couldn’t stop running his kiss-bruised mouth with every thwacking thrash! against your magical spots, dotting gumdrops of dangerous pre with every single jackhammer. Sloppier. 

And that smile on your face is heavenly. “Say that again, baby?” But your words are devilish.

As if to whisper his deepest darkest secrets in hoarse, breaking whimpers into your ear, Ino’s curling his dextrous inches of fingers around your throat. Hauling you greedy centimeters closer until his heady breath was bouncing in warm puffs off of your features, in awe taking you in. Drooling. Blushing. Syllables drowning in embarrassment, “Only you can ah- fuck me stupid like this- o-only you…m’yours.”

“Gonna hafta let hngh- everyone know then-” you’re humming, voice so silky smooth but Ino’s ruddied cock could feel the sweltering hot gushes as you only got wetter. “-I’ll be ah- showing you off then-”

“Mhmm– yeah- yeah, whatever you say, sweetness.” He’s sighing underneath his breath when your bounces only grow more vicious. “Proper name, place name…backtory stuff.” Face drooping into the strained crook of his neck and- oh.

And then you bite him and Ino thinks he sees the gates of heaven.

With you, straddling him right then and there like the angel you are. Your needy pussy swallowing up torrential ounces and ounces and ounces of his ribbony cum. The sappy masses mixing and meshing with the already-filthy puddle that he’d made before.

There’s just so much spilling from that strawberry pink divot peaking at his crownhead, that Ino’s entire body hunches over. Sweat-dampened forehead sticking to yours, shivers sprinting down his spine to where he was maintaining a vice-like grip plugging you full of his swirling cum.

Bleeding into his words when he’s muttering up at you through long, fluttering lashes, “C-can we hold hands when we go out now?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - WEAK

“M’not weak.” He’s spitting out, long snowy lashes fluttering with every sheeny glissade of your puckered pussy lips rovering up and down his achy, overused cock. Up and down up and down up and- “So ngh- m-mark me up.”

And it was just about the only thing that Gojo Satoru wanted - the only thing he yearned for - right after proving to you and everyone else that he was yours. 

He’d just finished smearing your prettily puckered lips with a thick lipstain of sappy cum, before manhandling you on top of him to ride him for hours and hours and hours. You’re so gorgeous milking his fucking soul, with Gojo’s own velvety blindfold dangling off of your neck.

Planting a long, exaggerated snog of his plump rosy lips on your sodden mouth, Gojo’s pulling away with a dramatic pout. “Wan’ to show them how the ah- strongest fucks. For everyone t-to know how well you- hngh!”

You’re proving exactly his point with a clingy clench of your glutinous walls hugging his rummaging cockhead. Slipping and sliding between his leaky mushroom tip between your saturated lips oh-so-easily with just how soaked you were.

With a stinging smack! of his slender, six-inch fingers onto the arched curve of yours ass, Gojo’s helping your bulging lips swallow up every one of his fucking inches. Greedily. 

“Why?” You’re huffing out a clouded pant, hitting Gojo’s playfully loving features. Words taking on a whiny tone that you only ever saw used by your boyfriend himself, “S-so that even more girls could flirt with you when m’right ngh- there-”

Swat!

Once. Twice. Thrice until Gojo was sure that your sharp mouth was reduced to flooding with nothing but needy whines at his punishing little thwacks. 

Reminding you of how he’d turned down anyone and everyone else that flocked to him.

You can only watch when he’s curling one big, beefy forearm around the pivoting small of your back. Sapphire eyes rolling up at you, “Girl, as much as I hah- looove that feisty hngh- mouth o’ yours. You think just anyone s’gonna make the st-strongest theirs?”

Before you can answer, he’s swabbing out a caramelized wad of translucent saliva, dipping down to your neglected clit and leaving off a pressurized spank.

“Silly lil’ thing. The answer is- no-” He’s humming away, like he wasn’t just driving your body oh-so-feral right about now. Prattles of praises dripping with every dousing dab of his globular tip opening up your gooey depths, “-so no complainin’ now, my girl.”

And it was so true.

With a few copious more kisses lingering on your tongue, Gojo’s blessing your tastebuds with a wet thwack! of his drooly saliva. Pecking away the overspilling spatters beading at the corners of your lips, “See how well ya take it? So no need ta get ngh- jealous, sweetheart.”

And maybe it was high time that you’re asking for a break, high time that you’re breathing in heaving gulps of air to try and organize your dazed mind. 

But the only thing you find yourself doing is carressing your palms to give Gojo’s bulging pecs a good firm squeeze. Digging your nails into the plush muscle in a way that makes his nose crinkle with a whimper.

“C-can’t help it, Toru–” Head throwing back with the roaring pap! of his clammy skin sticking to yours with each bounce, you’re stuffing your snug cunt so unbearably full with his massively large inches. And it only makes you want more more more- “-you’re just so pretty…”

Oh.

“Yeah?” Gojo’s letting his head splay-out into the pillow with a woozy grin smeared all over his ruined features. One set of his biceps rippling when he’s resting it sexily behind him, the other twitching when he’s curling one finger underneath the blindfold at your neck and dragging you until you’re mere sultry inches away. “Ya think m’pretty, huh?”

Your blood curdles in your vein with embarrassment at what you’d just babbled away cockdrunkenly - what you were still babbling out. “Y-yes. Unfairly pretty.”

Fuck, Gojo was just twitching his bulked rotund tip into your goopiest depths. Still so sensitive. Earning you a low whine puffing from between his lips, and the sweetest of kisses against that tender g-spot. 

“H-heh…” And if you were in a better state of mind, you’d have sworn that the great Gojo Satoru’s suave voice trembled with such an obvious crack. “M’gonna marry ya- I swear.”

And that massive diamond ring bunched up in his drawer to be mentioned later, you’re feeling the burning sting of his pampered fingernails raking bruising lines down the curvaceous arch of your spine. The sheer bend of it sending Gojo licking his lips, eyes craning to admire the bumpy pathways of his perfect work.

You’re hissing your own crescents drawing the very same thing all over Gojo’s Herculean front the very moment his jackhammers get too much. Strawberry red lines against his peachy flush. Plummy split-end probing deeply into all your treasure trove of geysers that it felt like just the slightest bit of recoil parting your gluey flesh made him mad. 

“Ohhh, girl-” The smile you’re bared with is so wild - unrestrained. Showing off his sharpened canines like such an animal, drooling and gleaming with mouth-watered sap. Breaths staggering out in hot pants, “-the way you hah- stake your claim on me is sooo sexy. Because m’yours, huh?” 

And maybe if this was any other time then you’re sure you’d be embarrassed at how quickly you’re hurtling into your orgasm headfirst with just those words and the bruising twang of his fingers pinching your clit.

Yet, it feels so good - Gojo Satoru was always the best at whatever he did. 

And right now you can feel your throat burn with the wrenching call of Toru— your hips stuttering down into his almost-thunderously. Riotous, vicious drags to plumpen your favorite spots with the curved angle of his thick cock, so drag out your high for far too long-

But Gojo wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t.

Not until spearheading few determinedly roughened thrashes up into your soppy cervix with a gritted slash of his mouth. 

“Yeah yeahh- y-you can handle it, girlie-” Swab after swab after swab that made your second and third orgasms cash into one. “Gotta s-suck me ngh- dry now, m’kay? Make aaaaall of Toyko lose their fuckin’ electrcity- ah- instead of worryin’ that pretty lil’ head with stupid things. Okay?” Final, heaving slopes of his thrusts- “Gotta take eeeverything th-this big cock takes like a champ, m’kay? Because it’s all yours heh…”

And then you’re milking him and you’re milking him until he’s gone. Ruined. 

The strongest reduced to nothing but a lecherous mess of whimpers and feral twitches of his ruby-red tip. Flooding your poor cunt over and over with waterfalls of his creamy sap, so fucking overstimulated that he can feel his footfalls planting down firmly on the mattress. Eyes watering, spine hunching-

CRACK!

Ah, Gojo’s cracking his leaky lids open to a dim bedroom, air murky with sex and buzzing jujutsu. Exactly how he wanted it - for everyone in every ward of Tokyo to know who made him feel this way. So good. To know how he was yours.

Gojo looks up at you, cock jerking ever-so-slightly at your heaving figure straddling him and oh, he’s in love. “Let’s take out the lights in all of Japan this time.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Soulmates.

“Cummin’ on my haaaah- cock for the fourth time and still not ‘nough?” And perhaps for the first time ever in his life, the ever-stoic Higuruma Hiromi sounded breathless. Words hitching into a needy lilt of his voice, “-still want fuckin’ more, greedy girl?”

Yes. The answer was yes yes yes yes - and it was bleeding into your every action. 

Steadying your precarious hands on the cool mahogany plane of his office desk. Important law documents rustle and fall with every single motion of your hips pivoting backwards against Higuruma’s toned ones, wrenching out resounding paps! of clammy skin-on-skin. Saturated lips puckering up around every solid, girthy inch he could give, “...J-jus’ want you, Hiromi.”

“Hm, s’that right, angel?” Planting a sudden spank of his thick digits down onto the jiggling mound of your ass. And if you crane your head over your shoulder just right, you’d catch that simpering dimple at the end of his curling grin. “Such a needy girl- bet ya can’t stop thinkin’ about me, huh?”

And- shit, Higuruma wasn’t expecting his lovely angel to actually nod. 

To let your head tumble up and downwards like you were out of control, mewling out affirmative yeses.

Without a second thought, he’s tugging the tattered rest of your tight silken skirt cleanly off. Engulfing palms smoothing over your stinging flesh and spreading your puffed-up pussy lips so wiiidely agape.

Your squirmy hips are being pinned down with one of his strong arms, and the forever-deepening angle of Higuruma hiking up a singular thick thigh. Neat black garter only digging into his supple leg muscles and making them look even bigger. “Take this fuckin’ cock now- no need to be shy.”

What a pretty sight.

Of your sheen-slicked folds struggling and yearning to take up more more more of him. Slobbering out sweltering hot geysers of sickly sweet slick that drizzle between his digits and down to that neat, black happy trail. You were so needy right now and Higuruma has never loved anything more - well, other than his love for simply you, of course. 

“Not a single ngh- inch left- hah- ya really are made f’me, huh? All this for jus’ me?” He’s hissing out over the knocking thuds of your knees bumping into the wooden furniture with each pressurized thrust. But of course, Higuruma couldn’t have that- bending his legs with a grunt to lift your own boneless limbs ever-so-slightly midair. And you take it so fucking well- “M-maybe I hafta make ya ngh- jealous of overtime more often.”

You’re mumbling, “Hiromi—”

For which you’re shut up by the pads of his rounded fingertips rolling over your pulpy clit with a patterned heart. “Kidding- kidding, angel. But I wouldn’t s-say no to ya barging in my office n’ takin’ this fucking cock more ah- often.”

Pump and pump of his vigorous shaft, you feel like you can only perch your hips higher and take it. 

All the while Higuruma’s babbling away pussydrunkenly like he doesn’t even realize it - and he doesn’t. He can’t. The only thing running through his saccharine sweet mind being you you you-

“Awww, nothin’ for ya to be worried about, dear–” Those overstimulated pearls of wet tears gathering at your droopy eyes are lazily wafted away by one of Higuruma’s thumbs. “M’a married fuckin’ man- not to my work. To you, my soulmate.”

“B-but–” Your lower lips juts out in a pout that makes his strawberry pink cockhead jolt like he’d been zapped with a million fucking volts of electricity. Mind too intoxicated to really even register what he said - married. “-makes me feel so lonely n’ jealous some ah- nights, baby–”

“My poor angel-” His face nuzzles into your tear-clammed cheeks, and the miniscule bristle of his five-o-clock shadow makes your trembling orifices only wetter. “-my poor, poor angel. Y’know what we can ngh- do?”

Blinking up dazedly, “What?”

“What if I…” And oh, he’s planing over the middle of your tummy, fingers teetering sensual little circles right above where his rummaging fat cock was making such a mess of your goopy insides. ‘-pumped ya alllll f-full right here.“ Just those sweetly tender words in your ear was enough to make your lips part parchedly, as dry as a desert. “N’ gave our little family a-another hah- member…or two.”

It’s as if as soon as the idea is dropped into your needy head, it’s all that you can think about. 

“Wan– ah-” You’re mewling, “Want it- want it so bad. I-inside please–”

Plummeting your hips in an even sloppier slew of grinds against Higuruma’s, it’s no surprise that his sculptured skin where your ass is meeting and smacking into his is angry and red. But he doesn’t mind-

Fuck, in fact, it makes Higuruma even fucking harder. Every ounce of hot blood in his body bloating up to balloon his swollen crownhead even puffier, and he’s skimming over the sensory pads of his digits over and over your womb to feel for that nudge- that little probe of his ruthless shaft into your depths.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He can’t help but snicker in an uncharacteristically sleazy way at just how eagerly you’re nodding, “‘Course it does- my- ngh! good girl takes it all, doesn’t she?” He’s so filthy with his mouth, driving you closer and closer to the edge, even more so when he’s finally uttering. “N’ m’gonna give my all because m’yours, angel. All yours.”

He was fucking you all the way through your high like he meant it - and was driving the very message into both your gummy cunt and your stupefied mind. 

Over and over in such salacious grounds of his bulky cylindrical shaft swirling into your pudgy cervix. Kissing you hello and goodbye each n’ every time until he can’t hold it in-

Can’t stop. Can’t even falter when the arm manhandling you flatly onto your front sags with the weight of his entirely powerful body. Hunching over with a low groan, Higuruma’s filling you up to the very brim. Even past that with the utter viscous volume of seed treacling past your puckered slit. 

It’s so soppingly soaked that you’re feeling your thighs slip and slide past each other with every squeeze, lathered in a sugary frosting of his cum. Packed and plugged safely inside your goopy depths.

Higuruma can’t help but let his heart twist with utter pride at the way he could feel the matted masses cream and knot around his throbbing shaft inside of you. Ready to keep you locked up in here as long as possible for it to take. 

Overtime be damned, he was on a mission to prove that he’s devoted - that he’s yours.

Which is what finds him sneakily tugging open the second drawer on his desk while you busy yourself trying to catch desperate breaths. To steady yourself. To fucking open your eyes after this thorough ruination of your insides - only to see something big, and glinting on your left ring finger. 

A big, expensive diamond in exactly the design you’d off-handedly mentioned liking years and years ago.

Your mouth drops, and Higuruma’s crooks into a simpering smile. “If that didn’t prove m’all yours- maybe this will, my wife.”

A/N. WALK ‘EM LIKE A DOG SIS-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[miyukisu]

A Trace of Body Paint .ᐟ

❤︎ Request | He's learning anatomy for his art class—you'll help him, right? 3.1k wc ╰ feat. artist!shidou ryusei (bllk) x afab!reader

tags - lots of tension and build up at first, p*rn with plot, college au, artist! shidou, he and reader are both experienced, FILTHY, dirty talk, unprotected smeggs, rough smeggs, face f*cking, creampies, overstim, no y/n, not beta read

MEGA MASTERLIST

minors do not interact

"Yeah! I'll see you next week for my next assignment. Okay?"

Yeah right... next week...

You didn't peg Shidou as the type to flake on you, especially since he was the one who needed something from you. At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt, then your mind wandered to impossible territory.

Maybe he found a different person to model for him.

Maybe you weren't good enough a model and he was getting low marks because of you...

But wouldn't that be his fault?

Maybe... he dropped out of class?

Every possibility crossed your mind, but not once did you think of actually asking him, "Hey, what's up with not calling me anymore to model for your art class? You know... THE THING WE DO WEEKLY?"

But pride does get the best of us. You are no different. Either the world ends or he grovels at your feet for ghosting you like that. Anyway, why did you care so much?

Shidou Ryusei only asked you to model for him for a few weeks for an art course he was taking. It just so happens you two were close and your schedules matched (and he thought you were really pretty). In exchange, he'd treat you after every drawing session. Ordinary stuff—that was until you slowly started to develop feelings for him.

There was something about the way he looked at you as he studied every minute detail—making sure they were all transferred to paper. He made you feel so... beautiful in ways you've never realized before. But most of all, you fell for such a creative and passionate spirit.

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon spotting a familiar hairdo across the quad. Your eyes met and you made sure not to waste this opportunity—glaring at him, making sure he knew how much he had pissed you off. Shidou looked left and right, possibly trying to find a way out of it. But maybe the intensity in your eyes worked because before you knew it—he was making his way to you.

"Hey..."

"Really? That's all you have to say after ignoring the texts I sent last week?"

"Eh... must've missed them," he lied.

"What about the time you saw me near your building? You missed me standing a meter away from you?"

"Guess so," he lied again.

His nonchalance made you want to rip your hair out. This hot-and-cold treatment was driving you up the wall. It was clear with the exasperated look on your face.

Though, his eyes never left yours—those same damn eyes that stared at you for hours. It was like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't.

"Why did you even walk over here?"

He sighed like he didn't gave a shit. "You looked like you were about to murder me."

"Shouldn't you be running away then?" you countered. Shidou simply shrugged. "I'm not sure either."

You were about to unleash your fury, but he sighed loudly before continuing. "Fuck... fine. I've been avoiding you."

"Yes. I can clearly see that. The question is—why?"

"Look. I've been getting the highest scores in class because I have the luxury to have an actual person model for me... while everyone else relies on references on the internet or whatever," he explains. "But now... it's..."

"Isn't that a good thing then?" you asked—confused by his reasoning, but even more confused by his change in demeanor.

He shook his head. "Nah... it's just... I won't be needing you anymore."

Your jaw dropped. He said it so casually like it didn't just left a gaping hole in your chest.

"I mean," he backtracked. "We're gonna start drawing nude figures soon, so either you're willing to strip for me or—"

You cut him off. "Are you gonna draw my face with it?"

"Eh, all I need to draw now is the body since we're done with portraits and—"

You cut him off again. "Then draw me."

"Wha—" Shidou was cut off once more. "You heard me. Draw me," you say, as if challenging him.

It earns a hearty laugh from him—one you haven't heard in a while. "You're saying you're gonna stand butt naked in front of me while I stare at you for an hour or two? You know how that sounds, right?"

"It sounds like you're gonna stare at me butt naked for an hour or two."

You were so shameless, he thought. But it was one of the many things he liked about you. He chuckled, amused by the way things turned. Well... what kind of artist would he be to turn down such an enticing muse?

Shidou let out a low whistle as soon as the last article of clothing met the floor. You used to do these drawing sessions in the library—when all he had to observe from you were innocent things like your eyes, your hands, your hair, and so on.

But now that you have to bare everything to him, you figured the only place to do it was at his dorm. It was like what you imagined: cluttered but artsy enough that you could let it pass.

You stood awkwardly in the middle, feeling a bit chilly with nothing to protect you. But you posed, placing a hand on your hip while looking off to the side. That way, there wouldn't be any awkward eye contact.

Shidou sat down on a stool and quickly got to drawing. He said nothing as his eyes constantly flitted between the paper and your body.

The first few minutes in—you became hyperaware of everything. The fact that he was seeing absolutely everything. The absurdity of this entire situation. But most of all, the way your body was reacting to his gaze.

From your peripheral, you could see his gaze linger a bit too long at times. He'd bite his lower lip every so often and it made you feel conscious. Was he doing that because he could see your nipples hardening due to the temperature? Maybe he noticed the way you'd subtly rub your thighs together?

Whatever it was—it had him clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

Around 15 minutes pass, until he finally spoke. "Feeling tired yet?" he asked without looking up from his paper. You figured he was applying the final touches at this point.

"Yeah. A bit."

He hummed in response. "Get comfortable on my bed then."

"What? On your bed? Now?"

Shidou looked up from his paper. At this point both of you were desensitized by your nakedness (or so you thought). "Yes. Now. I have to draw you in at least 3 poses."

Three?

You gulped. But, once more, pride creeps up. You can't just challenge him to draw you naked so boldly—only for you to back down now. You gathered yourself and sat on his bed which was only a few steps away.

"Go on. You can get comfortable," he encouraged.

So you did. You lied down on your side, propping your head up on your hand. The scene that had unfolded reminded you of that one Titanic scene: Rose sprawled out for Jack to draw.

Knowing that, the moment felt too intimate. But you sucked it up... even though there was an unwanted wetness forming at your core.

Shidou shifted in his seat again, lowering his paper on his lap. "Alright, keep that position," he said, a bit strained.

In this position, you couldn't look off to the side. Your only option for the next few minutes was the wall behind him or Shidou himself.

At some point, your eyes met. There was something in his eyes you've never seen before. It wasn't the usual focus he had; it was something else. Something more intense.

But the 2nd pose passes soon enough and you were down to your last.

"What should I do now?"

He sighed, looking over his current sketches. "Lemme think. I'm having a hard time getting the details right."

"Maybe it's because you're sitting so far away," you commented—not thinking about what it implied.

His eyes zeroed in on you again—caught by your words. You want him to come closer with you like that and him slowly losing his composure? You were playing a dangerous game and you had no idea yet.

Shidou finally stood up from his chair, walking over to the bed. You weren't sure if it was just your imagination, but he was hard. His length strained against his fitted pants. The sight had your mouth watering.

He sat down beside you, eyes never leaving yours. The atmosphere seemed charged with the way you two found yourselves slowly leaning into each other.

"You look great," he whispered. It was something he always said in these sessions. It was a rather simple compliment. But it held more weight now.

"Thanks," you meekly responded. Neither of you realized how fast he inched towards you. His lips were a breath away. You showed no signs of backing away, so he went in.

He pressed his lips on to yours. The kiss felt hungry—needy almost—like he was fighting off this urge for so long. Before you knew it, his weight pushed you down on the softness of his bed. His scent enveloped every sense, clouding your judgement.

Shidou pulled away, breathless. "Pose like this."

He sat upright, eyes raking over your body. This time, he didn't hide the way his gaze would linger on certain parts. His hands ran down your legs, admiring the softness of your skin.

Then, without warning, he pried your legs open. But you didn't stop him. His pink irises trailed down to your core, seeing how wet you've gotten. Shidou thought he was drooling.

"Fuck... I wish I could draw this."

You feel your chest tightening. "Why not?"

"And let everyone see this?" his fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh. "No chance in hell. I want to be the only one to appreciate my muse."

He let his thumb swipe through your folds softly before pressing lightly into your clit, earning a mewl from you. He kept circling the sensitive nub as if in a trance.

"I know what I want the last pose to be," he says. You moan a little louder as he rubs your clit faster. "Want your last pose to be you all fucked out... think you can do that?"

Words got caught in your throat. But it hardly mattered. It didn't seem like he'd take 'no' for an answer anyway.

Things escalated quickly because you soon found his finger plunging in and out of your quivering hole. He made sure to curve it in a way—relentlessly hitting that gummy spot on your walls.

He added another finger, wanting to hear more of your breathless moans reverberating throughout his room. To hell with it if his neighbors heard. This was music—it was art in its purest form.

"Shit... might just cum in my pants from this." He almost did after you clenched down on his fingers, cumming for the first time today.

Even as you coat his digits with your essence, he keeps pushing his fingers in and out until the fluttering died down a bit. He pulled his sticky fingers out before having a taste, savoring every last bit.

He made quick work of his belt, pulling down his pants and letting his member out. Your eyes widened. Not only was his size impressive, but his tip was incredibly swollen and leaky—like he couldn't wait anymore.

Shidou exhaled deeply, feeling the chill of his room brush over the sensitive length. He locked eyes with you again. "Care to take care of me a bit? My hand hurts from all that drawing... and... well, you know what else."

Normally, you'd bite back at his teasing. But your mind was fuzzy. All you could do was wrap your fingers around his length, slowly tugging it at first. The pleasure he felt after being so hard for so long took the strength from him. He almost fell on top of you if it weren't for his thick arms supporting him from either side of you.

"C'mon... do it fucking faster," he ordered. You obeyed—jerking him off as fast as you can without hurting him. It wasn't long before his own hand wrapped around yours as he continued to fuck into your fist. Next thing you knew—hot ropes of cum painted your stomach.

Even he was in a daze as he observed a part of him stained you in such an intimate way. He slowly leaned in, his breath fanning your face. "Hey, can I paint you like this? You look even better with my cum all over you."

You let go of his semi-hard member, slowly tracing his muscles up until you cupped his cheek. Gently, you pulled him down for a searing kiss. It was more than enough for him to know that you too wanted more.

He became rougher—biting your lip and fighting your tongue for dominance. As you pulled away for air, Shidou moved quickly to straddle your upper body. He shamelessly took his cock and slapped it against your lips a couple of times.

"Gonna have to help me get hard again, sweets. Help me out, won't you?"

Though he didn't really give you time to respond as he invaded your mouth inch by inch. One hand held the headboard while the other supported your head. He rolled his hips slowly, gauging how much you can take in at a time.

But, clearly, he underestimated you when you gripped his hips and pulled him in yourself. You felt his cock spring back to life steadily. He pulled out his hardened shaft, letting you breathe. It was only now you realized the grin that crossed his face. He was enjoying this way too much.

He went back to hovering over you, his cock bouncing at every move he made. Your body was jelly at this point—not even a bit of resistance as he flipped you over so easily. He licked a long stripe from your lower back up until your nape. The fresh saliva combined with the chilly air made you shudder.

He carelessly lifted up your hips. With your cheek pressed into his pillows and your ass up in the air, he only got harder at the sight. He leaned down to be eye-to-eye with this so-called masterpiece, your cunt.

His nimble fingers toyed around with your soaked folds, chuckling to himself. "Man, I don't think I could ever capture something so damn beautiful."

He gave it a quick lick to test. "Well, unless you let me get familiar with her long enough." Another lick. "Maybe I can capture at least half of its beauty." Another lick. "Don't you think?"

A muffled sound was the only thing he got from you. "Yeah? You're gonna let me get to know her? As an artist, I'm overjoyed right now. Maybe I should show you."

And show he did.

He lapped up at your arousal, tongue licking long stripes each time. Your legs threatened to give out every time he flattened the pink muscle against your twitching hole. It didn't take long before he started darting in and out. Helpless groans filled his small dorm room.

Big calloused hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, making sure you stayed in place for him to enjoy. He was so messy... so so messy. Shidou suckled on your clit—really trying to coax another orgasm from you.

It didn't take much more for you to cum again, but this time all over his mouth. He happily took in everything, reaping the fruits of his labor.

He gave your ass one quick kiss as if to show his thanks. But he wasted no time lining up his painfully erect cock against your entrance. "Fuuuuck, I need to be inside you already or I'm actually going to explode," he muttered.

At first, it was just the tip. But it stretched you out so good already. The needy whine that escaped you was a testament to that. It only made him grip your hips tighter, surely leaving a mark for you to see tomorrow. Carefully, he pushed in more of his length, feeling every bump of your pussy engulf him.

"Shit. This is the stuff."

But he got impatient, shoving in the rest of his length without warning. It was so tight, so warm—too inviting for him to handle. His hands left your hips, opting to find support on the mattress instead. His thick arms caged you as his chest pressed against your back.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things in your ear, kissing your neck occasionally. But for as slow and sensual his voice may seem, his hips snapped with reckless abandon. He wasn't shy about giving you your third and, maybe, fourth orgasm of the day while chasing his own.

"You finally understand why I didn't want to ask you?"

"Yeah... I knew I was gonna end up fucking you real hard."

"But this is so much better than what I imagined."

His words brought you over the edge, cumming again. But the overstimulation rendered you thoughtless. The only thing on your mind was how good he was dicking you down.

"Fuck... Ryu!" you screamed. His grin only grew wider.

"That's it. Scream my fucking name. Let them hear it."

Your wanton moans encouraged him to go faster, mercilessly pistoning into you. It wouldn't be a surprise if you came another time on his cock.

Shidou harshly grabbed your tit, hoisting both of you up into a sitting position. This way, his cock reached even deeper into you. He kneaded your neglected breast while keeping you steady by the waist.

He showed no signs of slowing—even reaching down to play with your clit. A tear was rolling down your face from how sensitive he made you. But he quickly licked the salty tear off of the curve of your cheek.

He whispered softly, "Cum with me."

Just like the obedient muse that you were, you did. You clamped down on him as he shot rope after rope of gooey seed into you. Finally, he slowed down a bit, letting him empty himself in your pulsing cunt.

As you calmed down and he softened, he gently laid you back down on the soft mattress of his bed. He watched as his cum oozed out of you, smirking to himself.

"My best piece of work yet."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note WHAT THE FUCK DID I WRITE DAWG I WAS SO ON EDGE THE WHOLE TIME HELP WHY IS IT SO FILTHY

[potatoplace]

A Place In This World

The Afterthought: Chapter 5 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

chapter 4 | chapter 6 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Working at Sevenda's is a welcome escape from the River House, where you've become little more than a ghost after Starfall.

Warnings: toxic family, depression, self deprecating thoughts (none of them are too terrible this chapter)

Words: ~8.4k

Author's Note: I never seem to get as far in the plot as I want to in every update... This chapter isn't too crazy exciting, but there's some sweet moments and a little bit of angst with the sisters. I hope you all enjoy this update! Title is of course from Miss Swift 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Your neck was stiff when you came to, the beginnings of the morning sun spilling across your face.

The ground outside was glistening with a fresh layer of snow, nearly untouched at this time in the morning. It seemed even the early risers had chosen to sleep in today, after the revelry of Starfall last night.

You, however, wouldn't stay asleep any longer. Not with the cold numbness slithering through your chest, curling itself around your heart, your lungs, your ribs. An absent hand came to rub at your chest, to bring some semblance of life into your hollow heart once more.

No such luck.

A glance at the clock that had recently been placed above your bedroom door told you that it was half past six.

That gave you two and a half hours to bathe, drink tea, possibly eat something, dress, and make your way to Sevenda's.

You did just that, sinking down into hot water, a sigh leaving your lips as your body soaked in the heat. You could almost pretend you felt alive.

After forcing yourself from the bath, you dressed in a simple, dark green dress. It was made of cozy wool, and the long sleeves were easily pushed up to make whatever work Sevenda would give you easier. It fit you loosely and reached to just above the tops of your feet, something you were grateful for after last night.

The feel of all those males' eyes on you... It was unsettling then, and unsettling to think about now. You could hardly imagine wanting to be looked at like that by someone you actually liked, let alone by strangers... How could Feyre stand it? How could anyone stand it? You supposed each person was different...

You shook your head, clearing those thoughts away. No need to contemplate how inexperienced you are in the romantic world, despite what Nesta claims.

Quietly, you crept downstairs, keeping an ear out for anyone who might be awake, teapot in hand. Thankfully, no one was in the kitchen yet, and you were able to prepare a pot of tea with no interruptions. Safely ensconced in your room again, you sipped at the lovely orange and cinnamon tea you had made.

As you stared out at the still-sleeping city, your mind drifted to last night. How Feyre had had no time for you, and Mor hadn't appeared while you had been in the House of Wind. Feyre had been crowded by the citizens of her city, that was understandable... Mor not showing up worried you though, but you were sure there was an explanation. And your other sisters and their mates, well, you hadn't believed they would interact with you anyways.

Azriel had been... Surprising. Caring. Sweet, almost. Him noticing that you had left wasn't something you had even considered, with how close he had been with the pretty redheaded friend of Nesta's. And... You had become accustomed to not having your absence noticed.

Your eyes closed for a moment, a wave of sadness washing over you.

You still felt so alone.

The minutes continued ticking past as you stared blankly out the window, sipping on your tea when you remembered to.

Soon enough, it was fifteen minutes until nine, and you peeled yourself out of the armchair. Boots first, then the short cloak, scarf, and mittens Azriel had given you for Solstice- also the ones that he had draped around you last night in the cold.

You wondered how he had gotten them...

You just barely remembered to grab the cup that Sevenda had lent to you before you snuck out of the River House, into the snowy city.

The walk to Sevenda's was peaceful, quiet. Most citizens of Velaris seemed to still be sleeping, and the blanket of snow on the ground muffled everything. The silence of the normally bustling city matched the feeling in your heart.

Empty. Cold. Quiet.

Sevenda's was warm already, the smell of spices lingering pleasantly in the air when you pushed your way in through the door.

"Ah, Y/N! Lovely to see that you decided to come in," Sevenda's warm voice greeted you from the left, a hand waved in greeting.

"It's nice to see you too, Sevenda. And thank you, again. I really appreciate the offer. I brought back your cup," you added, raising your hand to show it.

"Thank you, dear," Sevenda said, taking said cup from your hands. "Would you like to get started?"

You nodded your head, and let the fae lead you to the back of the restaurant, into the kitchens. It was large, with multiple shiny, silver stoves along the back wall, three matching cold boxes, a wall completely taken up by pots, pans, anything that you would need to cook. There was also counter space galore, with two other fae already working dough in the far corner.

"For today, I'm going to see how you do with prep work, mainly with fruits, vegetables, and meats. If you do well, I'll keep you on full time, if you'd like," Sevenda said, her words sparking a bit of hope in your chest.

Chopping, dicing, cutting. You could do that.

"That sounds perfect, Sevenda. Thank you for giving me this chance."

Sevenda smiled warmly at you, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Of course, dear. Now... Are you feeling alright?" She asked more quietly, a concerned look in her eyes.

You nodded. Even though you weren't, you didn't want to rehash last night's events. "Yes, thank you." You even shot her a smile that you hoped was at least half-convincing, relieved when she returned the expression. "What should I start with?"

"First, you'll need an apron and to wash your hands," Sevenda said, leading you to the large sink, which conviently had a plethora of aprons hanging on hooks next to it.

You did as she asked, scrubbing your hands under hot water halfway up your forearm, dress sleeves already pushed up to your elbows. You tied a dark blue apron around your neck and waist, and faced Sevenda, who was pulling a cutting board from a cabinet. You noted the location, wanting to be as useful as possible as often as possible.

"I'll start you off by demonstrating how I like everything to be cut, and you'll do the same thing right after. I know it will be a lot to take in, but most of it is fairly simple. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?"

"Alright," you said resolutely, nodding your head.

The hours passed quickly, filled with you absorbing the information that Sevenda was feeding you through her demonstrations, taking in every angle that she used the knife at. You did decently, your cuts a bit clumsier than Sevenda's but still accurate enough. She was kinda, reassuring you that in time, you'd gain confidence and surety in your movements.

It was lovely.

Feeling needed. Feeling useful. You had entirely forgotten how that felt over the last two years, being the extra sister with no magic to help in a way that someone else couldn't.

By the time your shift was finished, Sevenda had pulled you aside to speak with you, anxiety building in your gut even as she smiled warmly at you.

"I'd like to hire you on immediately, full-time if you'd like," Sevenda offered, a twinkle in her eyes. "You've already got the basics down, and you're on track to catch up with my other prep cooks so long as you keep at it with the same enthusiasm you showed today. So... Would you like to have a job?"

A smile- a true, unburdened smile spread over your lips. "I'd love to, Sevenda. Thank you so, so much for this opportunity."

"Thank you for solving my dilemma of hiring a new prep cook, Y/N! Now, do you have an account with the Bank of Velaris already?"

You thought for a moment before answering. "I do... But it's the one that Rhys and Feyre set up for me. Would I be able to make a new account?"

You still felt like such a child, knowing so little about how the city you lived in worked. You had spent so long wishing and longing to leave that you'd hardly taken the time to learn about Velaris. Seeing how you were stuck here, likely permanently... The thought sent a pang of sickness to your stomach. But still, since you were stuck here, you might as well start learning about the city in which you will die.

"I'm sure that could be set up... Would you like any help with it?" Sevenda asked.

"That would be amazing, but you don't have to," you said, hoping that she didn't feel forced to help you, after your breakdown last night.

"Oh, nonsense, I'd love to help you Y/N. We can go in a few minutes, I just have a few more questions for you. Now... Would you like to work five or six days a week?"

That was an easy choice. "Six days would be best, I think." Less time in that house, waiting to be left out of events and dinner conversations.

"Alright, and if you ever want to go down to five days, just let me know and we can work something out. Do you have a specific day that you'd like off?" You shook your head. "Would Mondays be fine with you?"

"Mondays would be just fine," you replied. "Do you..." You paused, rolling the question over in your head. "Do you know of any apartments for rent? You don't have to answer, of course, I just thought I would ask," you said quickly, already regretting the question.

Sevenda merely smiled at you. "I do know of a few close by. Once you have a week or two of pay in your account, we could go look at a few sometime, if you'd like?"

You nodded quickly. "That would be amazing, Sevenda. Did you have any other questions for me?"

Sevenda closed her eyes for a moment before fixing them on you once more. "None that I can think of at the moment, but you'll be back tomorrow in case I forgot anything. Now, let's go get you a personal bank account," she said cheerily, rising from the table you had sat at. You followed her lead, letting her take you to the large, white marble building that had a large matching sign with, presumably, its name written in the large gold lettering on it.

Making an account was easy enough, and within the hour you had a small metal card, magically linked to your bank account in hand, your first day of pay already deposited by Sevenda.

You walked back to her restaurant with her, parting with a brief hug, initiated by Sevenda.

"I'll see you in the morning, Sevenda," you said, the words repeated back to you by the kind, chocolate eyed fae.

And then your legs carried you without thinking, back to the River House. The snow had melted just slightly, and was significantly more trampled than when you had arrived this morning. The sun was nearly set already, casting a pretty orangey-pink glow over the city.

Pretty.

The River House was warm when you entered, and thankfully there was no boisterous laughter coming from the living or dining rooms.

A part of you still longed for someone to ask where you were, what you had been doing all day.

But you knew better by now. And you were proven correct when no one came to greet you, even while you made a small dinner of rice with grilled vegetables. You even ate in the dining room, a rarity for you in the past months, the tiniest part of you hoping that Feyre might come in to talk with you. Or that Mor would show up, and you could spend part of the evening together.

Neither happened, and soon enough you were back in your room, a fresh pot of tea in hand, soothing, calming lavender and chamomile again.

You had enjoyed your day at work, but it had exhausted you. All you wanted at the moment was to fall asleep, but you chose to do something else before crawling into your makeshift bed in the tub tonight.

You would try to read. With your gift from the twins in hand, you pulled the cookbook that Nesta had gifted you, filled with lovely illustrations of soups and stews from all corners of Prythian.

Slowly, you let the magnifying glass read out the title a few times, your brain trying to make sense of the letters on the cover turning into the words you were hearing. It was embarrassing, how long it took you to be able to understand a sentence, even with it being read aloud to you. Heat rushed to your face, even with no one in the room to witness your shortcomings.

You tried reading a recipe, going one word at a time with the glass. That... Sort of worked, though it was slow going. And you felt like the only reason you were mildly successful was that the words were being read aloud to you.

How pathetic.

You sighed heavily before draining your last cup of tea and shutting the recipe book. That was enough of disappointing yourself for the night.

You stripped yourself of the dress you'd donned the morning, changing into a soft, long sleeved white cotton sleep dress that met the skin of your ankles, swishing softly against them with each step.

Sleep came easily to you that night, your body tired from doing so much work when it had grown accustomed to sleeping all day and rarely moving. It was a pleasant kind of tired, though, letting you drift into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning went much the same, with you rising before the sun to bathe and have a soothing pot of tea. Work flew by, with you completely focused on improving your knife skills for the seven hours you were there, determined to not let Sevenda down.

Before you knew it, you'd already worked three days in Sevenda's homey restaurant, settling in comfortably, even with the other fae you now worked with. Josi and Torma were the other two prep cooks, and both of them had been warm and welcoming to you. Sevenda's sous chef, Wren, had been a little less friendly, but you'd noticed that he was like that with everyone except Sevenda. He wasn't rude, or anything, just quieter.

It was on your fourth morning of work, a Saturday, that your routine was interrupted.

Azriel was in the kitchen, patiently watching a pot of oatmeal cook, shadows playing around his wings and over his shoulders, a couple of them breaking away to crawl up to his ears.

"Good morning," you said quietly, going to the cupboard that housed the kettle.

"Good morning, Y/N. You're up early," Azriel remarked in a neutral tone, neither judging nor questioning.

"Mm, thought I'd have a cup of tea before everyone else was buzzing around..." You said, feeling mildly guilty that you hadn't told him the full truth. You set to filling the water and setting it on the burner next to the one Azriel was using, then turned to grab your teapot. "Would you like a cup?" You asked before you could stop yourself and consider the possibility of being rejected, even for a simple cup of tea.

"I would very much, Y/N, thank you. Would you like some oatmeal? I'm afraid I've made too much..." Azriel said softly, a tiny frown on his face as he stared at the pot before him.

A small smile grew on your face at his reaction. "That would be nice, thank you." You pulled two of your teacups out of the cupboard. A few minutes later, the two of you were sat on stools at the kitchen island, a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea in front of each of you. The oatmeal was delicious, flavored with cinnamon and brown sugar, which paired well with the apple cinnamon tea you had brewed.

You ate in a comfortable silence, occasionally stifling a giggle when a shadow brushed over you, their cool touch tickling the back of your neck and your ankles. Curious little things...

Soon enough, though, it was time for you to depart from the River House, and return to the one place that you felt wanted in this city. Azriel had finished his breakfast as well, so you grabbed his dishes, ignoring his protests in favor of washing them.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

You rolled your eyes playfully, even though he couldn't see your expression. "I know that, I wanted to." Bowls, cups, silverware were all placed in the dish rack, clean and shiny from the water dripping off of them. Once that was finished, you returned to your room for a brief moment to grab your scarf and hat, and when you returned downstairs Azriel was lingering near the front door.

"Going somewhere?" Azriel asked neutrally, only a bit of curiosity in his tone.

You blinked at him once, twice. Strange, that it would be him who would know that you were employed first. "Yes, I'm going to work," you said plainly, hoping that his neutrality would continue. While you wanted your sisters to know... You wanted them to find out because they paid attention, not because Azriel had.

"Oh? Could I walk you there?" His question caught you off guard- if anything, you had anticipated him asking if Feyre or Rhys knew or had approved of the job. In your surprise, you nodded in agreement, and moments later the two of you were out the door, walking through the fresh layer of snow that had fallen overnight. You noticed a few of his shadows moving in front of you, pushing some of the snow from your path.

Cute.

"How long have you been working?" Azriel asked from your right, following the path you were taking.

"Just a few days, so far," you replied, trying to give the minimum information so you wouldn't bore him... Starting a new job was hardly an accomplishment for a fae of his age.

"Are you liking it?"

You nodded immediately. "I'm loving it already, working with food is probably the most natural choice I could have made." Too many words...

"That's wonderful, Y/N. It's nice to see you smile again," Azriel said softly, drawing your eyes to him. He was wearing a small smile on his lips, one that you realized matched your expression. A light flush spread over your cheeks- was your happiness always so obvious?

"It's nice to feel like smiling again..." You said quietly, more to the air around you than Azriel himself.

Sevenda's was in sight now, and you slowed your pace. While Azriel may just be being nice... He was still being nice to you. And having someone be kind to you was something you craved nearly every second of every day, so you wanted to savor it, even if it was selfish.

"Do..." Azriel paused, as if he was considering his words carefully. "Does Feyre know that you're working? She hasn't mentioned it."

"Uhm... No, I haven't told anyone yet," you admitted.

You saw Azriel nod his head in your peripheral, and you hoped it was one of understanding.

"Do you want them to know?"

You hesitated. "If you're asking if you can tell them... I'd rather you not."

Another nod as you approached the door to Sevenda's, stopping in front of it. "I won't tell them, then. Sevenda's, hmm?" You bobbed your head in confirmation. "That's good, she's a great boss from everything I've heard."

"She's amazing, if I can be honest," you said, gratitude in your voice. And she was. She had been so kind to you, and so helpful.

"I'm glad, Y/N," Azriel said, his voice the warmest that you had ever heard from him. "I'll let you get inside. Have a good shift."

"Thank you, Azriel. Have a good day," you said, waving goodbye to him before entering the warm restaurant, a smile on your face.

Your day passed quickly, filled with the delicious smell of spices and fresh cut vegetables, the sounds of sizzling meats and bubbling stews. This job at Sevenda's was truly a blessing, distracting both your mind and body as you listened to the friendly chatter between your coworkers and focused on what you were doing.

The River House sounded empty when you returned, completely devoid of sound. No running water, or voices in the living room. The entire night, you saw no one, not even Nuala or Cerridwen. You even spent a few minutes sipping tea in the living room - though you left quickly, feeling out of place even while alone - hoping to see Feyre for a moment. You hadn't seen her since Starfall, and... You wanted to see her. You also would have been able to ask her where Mor was, but alas, the question would have to wait.

The next evening, after your final day before having a day off, you saw Feyre for the first time in five days. She was glowing with happiness, both naturally and from the magic you knew she had gotten from... One of the High Lords - you still weren't sure which.

"Y/N! Come, sit with me for a little bit," Feyre said, dragging you onto the couch in the living room with her. You had just barely gotten your boots and scarf off before she met you in the entryway. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"It has been a bit," you agreed, settling in beside her. You glanced around, noting that Nesta and Elain were seated next to each other on the love seat, angry stares trained on you.

At least they weren't glaring yet...?

"So, how have you been?" Feyre asked you, drawing your attention away from your other sisters and back to her.

"I've been fine, Fey. Just..." You debated telling her about your job. That would also mean Nesta and Elain knowing... But... You wanted Feyre to know. "I've been... I've been working."

Nesta scoffed from where she was seated, whispering something to Elain. You frowned. What problem could she possibly have with you having a job?

"Really?" Feyre asked skeptically. "You... Where are you working?"

Her tone, the sheer disbelief in her voice had you regretting ever opening your mouth. Being honest was obviously not a good choice for you anymore. "At Sevenda's restaurant..." You said quietly, met with a dainty snort from Elain. Heat rushed to your face, especially when Feyre frowned at you, as though she didn't believe you.

"Really? That's... That's really nice, Y/N. I'm happy for you," Feyre said with a strained smile. You didn't believe her for a second.

Still... "Thank you, Feyre. What about you? How have you been feeling?"

"Tired," Feyre moaned dramatically, a hand on her forehead. "The little one seems to be draining all of my energy, I've had to start eating double what I normally do just to feel like I can function."

"Maybe you can stop by Sevenda's when Y/N is working," Nesta suggested in a snarky tone, causing Elain to giggle into her hand. "If she even works there... What Sevenda would need with you, I have no idea."

Tears pricked at your eyes, though you fought them. Why were they so mean to you?

Feyre glared at Nesta, but said nothing in your defense.

She probably agreed with Nesta's words.

"I'm sorry that you're feeling so exhausted Feyre. Maybe there's something that could be taken off your plate for a little bit, until you're feeling better?" Another scoff from Nesta.

"I don't think there is, Y/N. It takes a lot to run a court..."

You knew that. Of course you knew that. "Oh... Well, I hope that you feel better soon, then. I'm... I'm going to go take a bath. I'll see you later?"

Feyre nodded. "I'll see you later. At dinner?"

There was no way in hell you would be showing at dinner tonight. "Maybe," you said, standing from your place next to her. You made your way out of the living room, ignoring Nesta and Elain's glares, up the stairs and into your room.

Happy. You had been happy when you returned home. You were proud of the fact that you had gotten a job. And yet the three people that should have cared, should have shared in your happiness and pride? They couldn't care less. They didn't even believe you.

That only served to solidify your choice to leave this cursed house as soon as you could, to continue in your plan to have your own living space. And, of course, it put tears on your cheeks, on the blanket that you curled into as you laid in the bathtub.

🤍🤍💖🤍🤍

In your first three weeks of work, you never saw Mor. You did, however, receive a letter from her on your first day off, read to you by the glass the twins had gifted you. She had apologized profusely for not showing up to Starfall, though she had a good reason. The citizens of the Hewn City had demanded to have a member of the High Lord's Inner Circle stay with them through the celebration, and as the only one already there, that duty had fallen to her. And in the week since, she had been constantly fighting with Keir over the upcoming election that was planned, hardly having a moment to herself.

Which was why the letter had taken so long to be written.

You felt horrible for having thought she had abandoned you, though you knew there was a reason you had jumped to such a conclusion.

Every week since then, Mor had managed to find the time to write you a letter, each one asking about how you had been, informing you of the lastest bullshit her father had put her through. You looked forward to each letter from her, but wished that you could see her in person, or at least write a letter in response. You missed your friend. According to her most recent letter, the one that had arrived two days ago, she would be returning to Velaris for a few days in the next week.

You were excited to see her again, but more than that, you were excited to move into your apartment today.

Sevenda had shown you to two different available apartments last week, and on Monday you had signed your lease. The building was only a couple of blocks away from Sevenda's, and it was a cute little place on the third floor, with a balcony that had a decent view of the mouth of the Sidra and the harbor. You already knew that you would be taking your tea on it once the weather had warmed, the view was too amazing to pass up an opportunity to look over.

The walls inside had already been done in a shade of light pink the day before, the cabinets of the kitchen coated in a pale lavender, a move in gift from your new landlord. It was a small space, that was true. Besides the bathroom and built in closet, the apartment was one large room, with no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, the kitchen from the bedroom.

But you didn't mind.

Because it was yours.

And truly, how much space did you need? There would be enough room to have a small dining table, a loveseat and a couple of armchairs in front of the fireplace - which you had been absolutely delighted to see - and a large bed. You could even put up screens or curtains to partition off your bedroom, if you felt like it.

The possibilities felt endless as you lugged your small amount of belongings over to your new place, bursting at the seams with happiness.

Today, Sevenda had given you the day off so that you could move in, though you had tried to insist that you wouldn't need the whole day. Still, she had made it clear that you deserved the day to settle in and purchase whatever you needed, even going as far to give you a week of advanced pay.

Moving your belongings took you less than an hour, even in the snow, and only three separate trips between the River House and your apartment. The presents you had recieved for your birthday and Solstice, the clothing that you couldn't part with, skincare items, and your hairpin all went with you, but everything else in your old room stayed.

You had decided against informing anyone of your move, choosing instead to quietly remove your things. If they truly cared about you, they would notice your absence soon.

If they didn't... You would deal with that if it came.

By midday, you were shopping in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, on the hunt for cookware. You already had the wonderful measuring cups and spoons that Nuala and Cerridwen had gifted you, as well as your tea set from Azriel, but you would need a bit more than that to be able to cook at home.

That lead to you entering a lovely little shop, filled to the brim with pots, pans, and cooking utensils in every color of the rainbow.

For now, you only bought one frying pan and one pot with a lid, both in a shade of pink that matched your measuring cups. You also purchased a set of three mixing bowls in the same shade, made of a light but durable clay. A spatula, wooden spoon, whisk, and a set of silverware also came home with you, along with a few cleaning supplies that the store happened to carry, but anything else could wait for now.

You carried your bounty home, arms sagging under the weight of your purchases as you climbed the stairs to your apartment. Everything was put away in a matter of minutes, and you allowed yourself to relax on the floor for a bit, letting your arms flop out to the sides.

You could hardly believe it... A smile crept across your face as you lay on the floor of your own apartment, that you had earned the money for. You had done this for yourself, all on your own.

Once your arms felt less weak and tired, you sat up and looked around the room. It was... Fairly barren. Your pink bedding set and blanket from Mor were in the far right corner of the apartment, the box of your clothing placed next to it. Near the door to the bathroom you had placed your box of toiletries, and in the kitchen you had already stacked your cookbooks and teas on the counter and placed your dishes in the cupboards.

You needed some kind of furniture tonight, if you could manage to find something your weak arms could carry home.

And towels! How had your forgotten about towels? Oh- and food, you would need something at least for tonight.

You let out a breath. Maybe Sevenda was right, that you would need most of the day to get settled. You got up after another moment and put your boots back on, along with your hat and scarf.

A trip to the Palace of Thread and Jewels provided you with the towels you needed, in an assortment of pastel shades and sizes, as well as a fluffy purple bath mat. You even remembered to pick out two fluffy pillows as well, just in case you slept on the floor or in the tub tonight. As you were leaving the Palace, you couldn't help but pick out a soft, sky blue blanket one of the outdoor stalls, the green skinned fae bidding you farewell with a kind smile. You walked home, snow beginning to fall just before you entered the building.

You deposited your bags on the floor to the left of your front door, and set down the stairs immediately after locking up. Before the snow started to accumulate, you wanted to get a chair or something so that you would have a place to sleep for the night. If you couldn't find anything... Well, the bathtub looked to be the same size as the one in the River House.

When you had been out earlier, you thought you had spotted a second hand store, filled with mismatched furniture. You retraced your steps, and found it to be in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Inside, it was cluttered, with small paths leading through the building. It was near the back of the store that you found something you might like- a tall backed, wooden chair with a pink velvet cushion and backing, the legs of the chair curved and elegant.

Why would someone ever part ways with this?

You continued to the back of the store, finding a pale, short fae male sitting behind a counter, reading a book.

"Hi, I'd, uhm... I'd like to buy a chair that you have?" You asked shyly.

"Which one?" He asked, without looking up from his book.

"The uh. The wooden chair with pink velvet on it."

"Fifty gold marks," the male said shortly, a hand extending to take your bank card and press it to his ledger, all while continuing to read. He handed it back a moment later. "Have a good day, miss."

"Thank you," you said quietly before leaving the counter, going to collect the chair into your arms.

The walk home was slow going, the chair decidedly too big for you to comfortably carry for more than a few steps at a time. But still, you made it, dragging the piece of furniture up the stairs and through your door. You managed to lug it in front of the fireplace, settling into it for a moment.

You almost decided to skip getting ingredients for dinner... But your stomach rumbled in protest, at the thought of continuing to neglect your health in favor of avoiding discomfort. So instead, you pulled yourself from your new chair, then went back down the stairs and into the snowy city one last time today.

The Palace of Hoof and Leaf was a bit further than the Palace of Bone and Salt, but you knew where to find what you were planning to cook for dinner. It was easy enough to find rice, chicken, zucchini, broccoli, and a small set of spices, a large enough selection to satisfy you for at least your first month. Snow had begun to fall heavily while you had been in and out of shops, already covering the tracks that had been on the bridge when you had crossed it earlier, and when you finally made it up the stairs and through your front door, you were feeling tired.

Tired enough that for the moment, you placed the chicken in your cold box then walked over your chair, and plopped down.

You would consider today a success, even with how tired you now were. After all, you were tired in your chair, in your apartment.

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

Two days after you moved, you had an unexpected knock on your door, just a few minutes after you returned home from work.

Perhaps it was finally Feyre, realizing that you had moved.

You were proven wrong when you opened the door, however, to see Azriel standing before you, a cloth bag filled to the brim with little jars.

"I- Hello," you said, surprised at him being here, even if he had taken to walking you to work on the mornings he was in town. "Can I- Can I help you?"

"I just returned from Illyria, only to find one of my shadows to be very frantic over the sudden emptiness of your room," Azriel said, though there was no accusation in his tone. "And after I spoke with Sevenda, she... She directed me here. I hope that's alright?"

You were even more surprised by the efforts he had gone to to find you, than his presence at this point. "That's fine, Azriel. Was there a reason you wanted to see me?"

"I... Yes," Azriel said, somewhat shyly, and you swore that you almost saw a flush covering his cheeks. "You never did tell me which teas you enjoyed, so I brought you a jar of each. I thought you might like to have a bit more, now that you're living on your own."

That was... Incredibly sweet of him to do. You were running low on your tea stash at the moment, and knowing that he'd thought of you...

Don't get any feelings, or hints of feelings, you reminded yourself. Humans and fae don't belong together, no matter how kind and attractive they are.

"Thank you, Azriel," you said, stepping aside to let him through the doorway. It was only polite, after all, to let him in. "I'll take those," you said as you grabbed the bag from his hand, moving into the kitchen to take arrange the little jars on your counter.

"You don't have a bed," Azriel observed from behind you, a hand on your chair, where your blankets were still piled.

"Oh, I'm uhm... I'm still working on that," you said sheepishly, abandoning your task of organizing the jars. Your eyes darted over everything, looking for anything else he could find issue with.

"Let's go solve that, then."

"I- What?" You asked, thoroughly confused. He was offering to go shopping with you...?

"We can go find you a bed today, Y/N. You need something to sleep on, and while a chair is fine for a little bit, it really would be best for you to have a bed," Azriel said simply. You were still staring at him in shock, so he sighed lightly and said, "Think of it as a housewarming gift, Y/N. You can pick out whatever you want, and my shadows will bring it here for you."

"I- But... Why?" You managed to get out, even as you mentally kicked yourself for being so awkward.

Azriel's mouth turned up in the corners at your reaction. "You need a bed, and I'd like to know that you're sleeping comfortably."

"But... Why?" You repeated, still confused.

Azriel sighed and shook his head. "You're my friend, Y/N, I like to know that my friends are well taken care of. And that starts with a good night's sleep, which starts with a bed," he explained as he walked over to your closet, pulling out the scarf and hat that he had gifted you. He wrapped the scarf around your neck and put the hat on your head, lips turning up more as you stood there and let him. "Now get your boots on, unless you really don't want to go."

Your eyes narrowed playfully at him, but you did as he said, slipping your boots on and lacing them up. "Alright... Thank you, Azriel."

His lips turned up into a full smile this time, a beautiful sight on his face. "You're welcome, Y/N. Now, let's get going before it gets too dark."

You let him lead you across the Sidra, to a shop in the Palace of Flame and Steel that specialized in wooden furniture.

"Pick out whichever one you like most," Azriel had told you, with a pointed look telling you that he would know if you tried to pick the least expensive option.

He watched as you went from bed to bed, mattress to mattress trying to find the right combination. You had been in the store for nearly an hour by the time you made your choice, settling on a walnut frame. It had a nice headboard, with little creatures carved into the posts on both sides, a feature that was continued at the corners of the end of the bed. Some of them looked like little cats, a pet that you had always wanted to have but never could afford in the human lands, and when you had been able to, your family had firmly shut the idea down.

For the mattress, you had laid on one that felt like a cloud, supporting your body in a way that you had never experienced. Perhaps... Perhaps Azriel was right, after all.

You felt dreadful, though, as he paid for your new furniture, even as he reassured you that it was a housewarming present and he was more than fine paying double the amount if he had needed to.

He walked you back to your apartment, and, as promised, your new bed was already set up along the back wall, looking extremely inviting even without bedding on it.

"You should let me repay you," you insisted to Azriel, a hand on his forearm stopping him from leaving. "I can't... This is too much," you said.

Azriel's eyes shined with understanding as he read the guilt in your own. "It's okay, you know. To be given things, without the need to reciprocate. But... If you still feel that you need to repay me, I suppose you could make me dinner some time," Azriel suggested.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you sure I can't pay you back?"

He shook his head. "The only payment I will accept is in the form of food, Y/N. Again, this is a housewarming present, it is a gift that I am giving to you of my own free will. I am, however, partial to your cooking, which is why I would accept that as payment."

You sighed, but nodded your head. You would pay him back with food, as often as he liked. "What days are you in the city?"

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

It took two more days before Mor was in town, which you found out about two hours into your shift when she burst into Sevenda's, speaking loudly enough that you could hear her in the kitchen.

A moment later Sevenda appeared, your blonde friend in tow.

"Y/N!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you into a hug once you had set down your knife. "Oh, girl, I have missed you so much!"

You squeezed her back tightly, overjoyed to see her again. "I've missed you too, Mor!"

Mor pulled away a moment later, her face serious. "Where are all of your things? I went up to your room in the River House to see you, and none of your stuff is there! Feyre had no idea either..."

A flush spread over your cheeks. "Oh, uhm... I moved out?" You said hesitantly.

Mor blinked at you a few times before a smile slid over her face. "You... Moved out?" She giggled. "And you didn't tell anyone? Was it this morning?"

You shook your head. "No, it was on Wednesday," you admitted softly, turning your gaze to the floor.

"And Feyre didn't... Oh, sweets," Mor cooed, pulling you into another hug and stroking your hair. You pushed her away after a moment, face bright red at being comforted in front of your coworkers.

"It's okay, Mor, really. I've already accepted that they don't notice me," you said, hoping that you had successfully hidden your pain. You may have accepted that your sisters pay you no attention, but it didn't mean your heart didn't hurt.

Mor frowned at you, but accepted your answer for the time being. "Well, when are you off work? I can stop by again, and you can show me your apartment!"

"I'm normally off right around five, you could come back then."

"Sounds like a plan, sweets!" Mor said brightly before leaving the kitchen, waving at you before being shooed out by Sevenda.

You quickly got back to work, determined to make the day pass by quickly.

And it did. The next five hours went by fast, filling you with a feeling of accomplishment as you finished everything Sevenda had asked you to do a few minutes faster than usual. Something as simple as that made your day so much brighter, easier to fight away the feeling of loneliness that followed you most hours of the day.

Mor met you outside as she'd said she would, a shining ray of sunlight even as the sun had begun to set.

"So- I leave town for a few weeks, not that I wanted to," Mor grumbled as you linked arms with her and began to lead her to your apartment. "And when I come back, you've already had a job for three weeks and you've moved into your own apartment? I am so proud of you Y/N."

You blushed at her words, but still allowed yourself to soak them in. "Thank you, Mor. I'm glad that you're okay with it."

Mor frowned. "Why wouldn't I be okay with it? I think it's amazing that you decided to move out, everyone deserves their independence."

You nodded, but your thoughts were on your sisters... What they surely thought of you, leaving without a word... "It's just... I don't know. My sisters... Weren't very supportive of me even having a job, let alone having my own apartment."

"Oh, hon, don't worry about them. I think they're just jealous of you having your own life outside of our little circle. Now, Nesta and Elain... They could certainly use a talking to," Mor hissed. "And Feyre isn't much better, letting them get away with their behavior."

You shook your head. What would they have to be jealous of? Being lonely? Having at most three friends, if you were being generous with the term? "It's fine, Mor, really. I've stopped expecting them to act any certain way, it's just... Easier."

Mor sighed next to you. "I suppose so... Anyways, tell me what's been going on!" Mor said cheerily, sensing your hesitancy to speak about your sisters.

"Well... Not much, beyond the moving out and getting a job. Although..." You thought about Azriel, how you now considered him a friend- and he thought the same of you. "Azriel has been very nice, he brought me some tea blends when he found out I moved. And helped me find a bed."

"Oh, I'm sure he did," Mor said suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You smacked her arm lightly and shot her as much of a glare as you could muster.

"Not like that Mor!" You exclaimed, blood rushing to your cheeks at her insinuation. "He helped me go to a store and his shadows brought it back to my apartment."

"Oooh," Mor laughed. "Okay, I misunderstood, Y/N. I'm glad that he's been a good friend to you while I've been away."

"I am too, Mor," you said softly, a hint of a smile on your lips.

You unlocked the front door of your building, letting Mor pass through the doorway before you, then led her up the stairs.

"Three flights? I must be spoiled, only having a flight to go up one at my place," Mor said by the time you reached the top, your fingers fumbling for the correct key.

"It's not all that bad, Mor," you giggled as you swung the door open, letting her go in first, and closing the door softly behind you.

"Oh, Y/N! This apartment is so you!" Mor said brightly as she looked around. "The bed looks amazing." She flopped down on it, sighing happily after she did. "You chose good, sweets."

"Thank you," you giggled, plopping down next to her. "I'm so glad the owner was willing to paint, it saved me from trying to do it myself."

"And it looks lovely too, and as I said, very you. So," Mor started, a hand flung onto your thigh. "I thought, if you have a day off while I'm in town, we could do a sleepover again! Either here or at my apartment, whichever you'd prefer."

"That sounds lovely Mor. If you're still here tomorrow, and you don't have plans tonight, I have tomorrow off," you offered.

"That's perfect! I'll go get a change of clothes and pick up some food on my way back, if that works for you, Y/N."

You nodded. "That sounds like a plan to me, Mor. I'll see you in a little bit?" The two of you stood from your bed, Mor's hair the tiniest bit rumpled from being squished against your mattress.

"Yep! Any preferences on food?"

You shook your head. "Anything is fine by me Mor, get whatever you've been missing while in the Hewn City."

Mor's face scrunched up at the mention of the Hewn City. "Don't remind me," she groaned. "I think I'll get some kind of pasta. Pasta sounds perfect for a sleepover."

"That sounds good to me. Walk safely, Mor, it's been slick out at this time recently," you warned, smiling when Mor winked at you playfully.

"I'm always careful, sweets. See you in a bit!"

You shut the door behind her, a smile on your face. You hadn't realized just how much you had missed your friend until you saw her again.

Not wanting to waste your alone time, though, you pulled yourself into the bath, determined to finish before Mor returned. While you didn't feel disgusting, you felt a bit dirty from work still, and if you're spending the night with Mor you'd like to smell decent.

Still, you let yourself relax in the steaming water for a few minutes, bubbles coating the water's surface. Your lungs expanded and collapsed rhythmically, lulling your heart into a state of peace.

Maybe... Maybe you could belong in Velaris.

Maybe it was your sisters that you didn't belong with, any more.

But with Mor? With Azriel? At work? You felt like you had begun to carve out a tiny little place for you to exist peacefully, if not happily.

A deep sigh left you.

You wished... You wished you could belong with your sisters once more. Your heart longed to see them, to share your joy with them. But... They never seemed to share in it with you.

So, you would settle for carving out a space for yourself.

No, it's not settling, you told yourself as you began to scrub at your body with a cloth. It's choosing to live, not to merely exist.

You may not know what you want out of life, but you're willing to find out now.

You willing to try your hand at living once more.

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

The Afterthought Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2 @butterfix @sirenpearldust @marrass @satiresunflower @mae-foster @boo-shalala @optimisticbabydreamer @sttvrdustt @bunnybella186

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SIX ━━ A Little Too Much

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.2K

❀ ━ warnings: like maybe an allusion to sex???

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: paige bro lock in

PAIGE SINKS deeper into the couch, the familiarity of the apartment wrapping around her like a hug. It’s nice being back, the familiar scent of vanilla (Jo’s candles) filling the space. The TV is tuned to some random college football game—an SEC game that Paige really couldn’t care less about.

Aubrey’s sitting at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, her arm resting on the back cushion. A bag of chips is balanced precariously on her knee as she scrolls through her phone, glancing up at the screen every now and then to half heartedly comment on a play.

“Nah, ain’t no way Tennessee gets this one,” Aubrey says, tossing a chip into her mouth. “Georgia, no debate.”

Paige snorts, squinting at the game for a moment. “Ion know, the Vols are up.”

“They won’t be,” Aubrey insists, waving the bag of chips for emphasis.

Paige hadn’t realized how much she missed all of this until now. She’s spent the last month in LA, focusing on her rehab at a state-of-the-art facility her team insisted on. The work has been grueling—hours of physical therapy every day, pushing her body to its limits, trying to rebuild what she’s lost.

But being away from her teammates has been harder.

It’s the first week of October now and she hadn’t seen any of them since early September, right before she flew out. Sure, there were texts and FaceTimes—especially with Jo, who’s practically made it her mission to keep Paige from feeling too disconnected. But it isn’t the same as this: sitting on the couch, arguing over nothing, being in one of her best friend’s presence.

“You said Jo was working out with Yanna and Caroline, right?” Paige asks, glancing over at Aubrey. She’d be lying if she said she isn’t anxiously waiting for Jo to get her ass home.

“Yeah, they been at it all day. Jo’s on this whole new grind—something about gettin’ faster footwork or whatever. I dunno, think she just wants to be really prepared for the season, cause—” Aubrey nods to Paige’s knee and Paige nods—Jo is certainly gonna have a huge role for the team this season.

After a moment, though, Aubrey sends her a look, asking, “Why, though? You impatient?”

Paige just rolls her eyes, saying, “It’s just been a minute.”

Aubrey hums, though she doesn’t sound entirely too convinced.

Paige doesn’t much care. She cares more about the fact that she has to sit through nearly the entirety of this football game before she hears the door click open, her head snapping up instinctively. She can hear Jo before she sees her—her sneakers squeaking against the floor, her laugh that’s as bright and familiar as sunlight as she mutters something to—presumably—Ayanna or Caroline, who must still be in the hallway. For a second, everything else washes away—the announcers on the TV, Aubrey scrolling lazily on her phone. Paige’s focus narrows completely, landing squarely on the figure stepping into the apartment.

When Jo finally comes into view, it’s like Paige can breathe again. Except, maybe not, because Jo looks exactly the same and yet somehow better then Paige remembers. Her ponytail is a little messy, strands clinging to her forehead, and her tank top is soaked through with sweat, outlining the lean strength of her frame. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are sparkling with that post-workout adrenaline.

Paige feels her stomach plummet, a sudden, unwelcome realization inching into her mind. She thinks Jo looks beautiful like this.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” Jo’s voice breaks through Paige’s thoughts, light and high-pitched with excitement. Her smile is wide, open, and utterly disarming, like she’s been waiting for this moment for weeks. She drops her gym bag onto the floor without a second thought and breaks into a jog toward Paige, her arms already outstretched.

Paige stands automatically, her body moving before her brain catches up. And then Jo is there, colliding into her with so much force that Paige actually stumbles back half a step. Jo’s arms wrap around her shoulders, strong and unhesitating, and before Paige even knows what’s happening, she’s being pulling into the kind of hug that makes her feel like melting.

Jo smells like strawberry shampoo and a hint of sweat, a mix that should probably be unappealing but isn’t. Paige’s face ends up pressed against the side of Jo’s neck, and, for a moment, she lets herself completely sink into the embrace. Jo is warm and solid and so full of life, and Paige feels herself relax in a way she didn’t even realize she needed.

But there’s something else, too: a tangle of emotions she can’t—or maybe just doesn’t want—to name. Paige’s hands settle on Jo’s waist, and she pulls her closer, tighter, without even thinking. Her heartbeat picks up, thudding erratically in her chest. She tells herself it’s just the adrenaline of being nearly barreled into.

But then Jo’s laugh bubbles out, muffled against Paige’s shoulder, and Paige feels a little breathless.

“I missed you so much!” Jo squeals, her arms tightening around Paige like she’s never letting go.

Paige smiles, closing her eyes for just a second as her nose nudges Jo’s ponytail. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, and there’s a softness in her voice that surprises even her.

The warmth of Jo’s hug, the way her fingers curl slightly against Paige’s back, makes something twist low in Paige’s stomach. It’s almost too much, but at the same time, not enough. Paige doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to think about why this feels different than hugging Aubrey or Azzi earlier.

From behind them, Paige hears Aubrey mutter, “Yeah, maybe a little too much.”

Paige’s eyes snap open, heat rushing to her face. She freezes, her arms going stiff for just a second, but Jo doesn’t seem to notice. Paige’s heart pounds as she wills herself to stay calm, to keep her expression neutral as she pulls back, not too abruptly but enough to put some space between them.

Jo beams, her hands lingering on Paige’s shoulders as she grins up at her. Paige feels like she might die under the weight of it.

“Shit,” Jo says suddenly with realization, stepping back and gesturing to herself. “I’m disgusting right now. I should’ve warned you before jumping on you like that.”

“You’re fine,” Paige says quickly, and then, because she feels like she should say something normal, she adds, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you sweaty before.”

Jo laughs, the sound bubbling up effortlessly. “Still. Let me shower, and then we’re hanging out. No excuses. I missed you!”

Paige can’t help but smile back, even as her thoughts churn. Jo is grinning at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and Paige feels something warm and unsteady settle in her chest. She watches as Jo grabs her bag and heads toward the bathroom.

Once she’s out of view, Paige sits back down on the couch with a huff. She hates that her heart is still beating too fast.

Next to her, Aubrey hasn’t moved, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch as she watches Paige with a look that makes the blonde shift a little. The football game continues on, the last few minutes of the fourth quarter blaring, but Aubrey doesn’t seem the least bit interested in it anymore.

Paige finally breaks the silence, blurting out as she turns to Aubrey, “What did you mean by that?”

Aubrey raises an eyebrow. “By what?”

Paige frowns. “That comment you made. About me missin’ her too much.”

Aubrey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans forward, grabbing the remote and lowering the volume on the TV. When she settles back into her seat, she gives Paige a look—a knowing look that immediately puts Paige on edge.

“She has a boyfriend, bro,” Aubrey says simply, as if that explains everything.

“I know that,” Paige snaps, the words leaving her mouth too quickly. She feels a flush creeping up her neck and shifts in her position, trying to look casual, unbothered. “Obviously I know that.”

Aubrey’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her voice sharper now. She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive without meaning to be. “’Course I do. What’s your point?”

Aubrey tilts her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. “My point is,” she says slowly, “you look at her like she’s the sun or sum. And don’t act like you don’t, ’cause I just saw it.”

Paige scoffs, but it’s weak, almost half-hearted. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” she says, though her tone wavers. “She’s, like, my best friend. I’m just—” She falters, trying to find the right words “I’m just happy to see her. It’s been a month, bro. I’d be like that with anyone.”

“Really?” Aubrey asks, raising her eyebrows. “Uh, you didn’t act like that when I picked you up from the airport. Or when Az came by earlier.”

“That’s different,” Paige says defensively. “You and Azzi—she’s—” She stumbles over the words, annoyed that she can’t articulate why it is different without making it sound worse.

Aubrey doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks entirely unimpressed. “Uh-huh,” she says, drawing the syllables out. “P, I warned you about this when you two first moved in together.”

Paige remembers. She remembers when they were moving her bed during the summer and Aubrey had told her seriously, “You cannot fuck Jo Jacobson.”

At the time, Paige had laughed it off. The idea seemed absurd then. Sure, Jo was beautiful, but she was also a freshman and just getting her feet wet here, and Paige would never do that. She would never do that. She still would never do that. But then, Paige hadn’t ever thought of her in that way.

Now—

“I don’t like her like that,” Paige says, her voice firmer than she feels. “I don’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Aubrey says again, in the same tone as before. “Look, I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose. But, bro, if you do have feelings for her—and I’m not saying you do—don’t let ’em mess with your head. Or the team.”

Paige bristles at that. “I don’t have feelings for her,” she insists. “And even if I did—which I don’t—it wouldn’t affect the team. I’m not that stupid.”

Aubrey shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just saying. Jo’s solid with Asher. Like, really solid. You don’t wanna go down that road.”

Paige feels her chest tighten, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she hates how Aubrey is talking to her or because some small, traitorous part of her knows Aubrey might be right.

“I’m not goin’ down any road,” Paige says, forcing her voice to stay even. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m just happy to see my best friend again. That’s it.”

Aubrey doesn’t press further, but her silence is heavy, loaded with unspoken skepticism. Paige tries to focus on the last few minutes of the football game, but the TV screen practically blurs in her vision as her thoughts spiral.

She tells herself Aubrey’s wrong. That her excitement to see Jo is completely normal. That the way her heart has leapt when Jo walked in the door was nothing more than relief after a long time apart.

But deep down, she can’t shake the way her stomach had flipped when Jo smiled at her. Or the way her chest felt too tight when Jo hugged her, like her ribs were trying to contain something that didn’t want to be contained.

Paige doesn’t know what to call it. She doesn’t want to know.

JO’S EYES remain glued to the screen, but she doesn’t even notice what’s happening in the episode anymore. She missed this—missed the nights spent lying next to Paige, the “sleepovers” which are really just code for one of them being too lazy to walk back into their own rooms and crawl into their own beds.

Jo’s massaging Paige’s knee, the rhythm comforting and almost mechanical now. It’s just what they do; she’s done it a thousand times over since her surgery, though it’s been a month since she’s done it now. She knows how much it helps Paige, and it’s not like it’s anything weird—just a friend doing something nice for another friend, a friend that’s gone through this same thing before and knows what can help.

She’s not thinking about the way Paige’s leg feels under her palm, how soft the skin is, how warm. She’s not. She’s not thinking about how close they are, how the smooth skin of Paige’s thigh rests under her cheek, or how the way Paige moves so naturally beside her makes her chest feel tight in a way that doesn’t make sense.

Paige lets out a soft sigh, and Jo doesn’t quite know why it sends a little flutter through her. She shakes it off quickly, adjusting her position to be more comfortable, still massaging her knee.

They’re almost at the end of first season of The Vampire Diaries now, and Jo’s surprised that Paige has stuck with it. She thought, with all the complaining, that Paige would have tapped out after a few episodes, but here they are, still going strong. Jo knows her well enough that she can tell that Paige has actually started to get into it. Maybe not as much as Jo, but enough to make comments and roll her eyes at the sometimes ridiculous drama.

“You can’t actually be Team Damon, P,” Jo says, shaking her head against Paige’s thigh, letting her fingers glide over the tender muscle beneath Paige’s knee. “Like, come on, girl. Stefan is clearly the better choice.”

Paige shifts slightly, and Jo glances up to see the blonde smirking down at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed and Jo can understand why—it’s hot in here. Maybe they should turn the heat down. “Ion know, JoJo. Damon’s a lot more interesting.”

Jo huffs, “Yeah, well, interesting isn’t always the best option. You need someone who’s steady, who’s good for you.”

“Who’s ‘boring,’ you mean?” Paige’s voice is light, a teasing edge to it.

Jo shakes her head again, laughing a little. As she does so, her lips lightly graze the top of Paige’s thigh. She doesn’t think anything of it. But then she feels Paige’s leg tense up. Jo stills her hand on her knee, thinking she might’ve done something wrong. But then, maybe a second later, Paige is relaxed again, and she doesn’t say anything, so Jo cautiously resumes the massage.

“Yeah, boring’s fine. It’s good. It’s better than all the shit Damon brings,” Jo says.

She can feel the subtle shift in Paige’s posture—she’s looking at Jo, eyes soft, gaze steady—and Jo quickly glances back at the TV, avoiding it. She doesn’t know why. Because it’s because if she lets herself look at Paige for too long, she’ll start thinking about things she’s not supposed to.

“Whatever,” Paige says after a pause. “I still think Damon’s cooler.”

Jo just snorts as she finishes working on the blonde’s knee, feeling the tension slowly melt away as her fingers work the muscles. A final press of her thumb into the joint elicits a soft sigh from Paige, and Jo grins slightly, the satisfaction of helping her best friend making it worth it.

Her fingers ache slightly from the pressure, but it’s nothing really. She looks at Paige briefly before flopping down beside her, her legs splaying out on the bed as she turns onto her stomach. The weight of the day and the long workout is starting to press in on her, and the soft, quiet room feels soothing. “My turn,” she says with a little grin, throwing a look over at Paige as she gestures to her back. It’s a deal they became accustomed to before Paige went off to LA—Jo massages Paige’s knee, and Paige takes care of the horrendous knots in Jo’s back. Simple.

Paige stares at her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, before moving over to straddle Jo’s hips and starting to knead into her back. Jo tries to relax, exhaling deeply as Paige’s hands work their way over her tense muscles. It’s familiar and comfortable, and God, is Jo glad Paige is back in Storrs.

Paige’s fingers press into a particularly stubborn knot, right between Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo winces, just a little. It’s the one knot that never seems to go away, no matter how much she tries to stretch or work it out. It’s been there for years, a stubborn thing.

“Still there?” Paige’s voice is soft, but Jo can hear the hint of concern.

The younger girl nods into the pillows. “Mmm, yeah, it never goes away.”

Paige hums in acknowledgement, and Jo hears her shift slightly. For a moment, she wonders if Paige is just going to stay where she is and work the knot from the outside, but then, to her surprise, she feels Paige’s hands move to the bottom of her t-shirt, sliding under the fabric carefully.

“Lemme get in there,” Paige murmurs lowly.

The words and the cool air against her skin sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, but she doesn’t pull away. Paige’s touch is so familiar, so comforting, that even the shift in how they’ve positioned doesn’t feel strange—at least, it shouldn’t. She can feel Paige’s fingers move under the fabric, creeping up her spine near her shoulder blade, right where she can press deeper into the knot. The pressure is sudden but not unwelcome. It’s exactly what Jo needs.

“Mmm, that’s better,” Paige says softly, her voice closer now, almost against Jo’s back, as she works the knot precisely. Her fingertips press firmly into the spot, working the muscle, easing the tendon.

The warmth from Paige’s fingers against her skin sends a wave of heat through Jo’s body, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The knot is finally loosening, and for a brief moment, she’s too focused on the sensation to even process anything else. Paige’s hands move with ease, like she’s done this a thousand times. And she has. Or, well, at least a few.

“You good?” Paige asks, voice soft but steady, like she’s concerned, and Jo feels a strange pull in her chest.

Jo hums in response, though it comes out softer than she intended. “Yeah, that feels perfect.”

For a moment, there’s silence between them, and all Jo can focus on is the steady rhythm of Paige’s hands as they move over her back, the weight of her stomach settling into Jo’s muscles. The room is even warmer now—they really should turn down the heat. Even if it’s Connecticut, it’s only October. That, or maybe it’s just the proximity, the closeness of Paige’s body to here. Jo doesn’t know what it is, but her heart’s not beating the way it usually does.

Paige’s hands slide back up, pressing into the tender spots along Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo bites her lip, trying to ignore how good it feels.

And then, without thinking, Jo shifts slightly, a small motion that presses her chest just a little closer to the bed. With the movement, her body aligns a bit more with Paige’s, and suddenly the space between them feels too small, too close. She can feel Paige’s breath against her back, steady and warm, and Jo’s pulse quickens despite herself.

“God,” Jo mutters. “You’re good at this.”

Paige’s fingers stop their movements for a moment, as if processing the words. “It’s nothing,” she says, but there’s something different in her voice. Maybe it’s just how close they are, or maybe it’s the weight of the silence hanging between them, but Jo’s pretty sure she hears a shift in the way Paige speaks. A slight tension in her voice that Jo can’t explain.

Eventually, Paige finishes working the knot, her hands pulling away slowly. Jo almost feels a pang of disappointment, but she can’t place why. She’s just relaxing, just letting herself unwind. It’s nothing.

Paige lies back down next to her, the space between them still feeling a little smaller than it should be. Jo turns her head to meet Paige’s gaze, their faces just inches apart.

“Better?” Paige asks, her voice soft and almost too quiet. Her fingers trail lightly down Jo’s spine, slipping out from under her shirt with a gentle touch that sends a small shiver through Jo.

Jo smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

Paige nods, her lips lifting at the corners a little before Jo turns her gaze back to the TV. She tucks her hands under her cheek as she lays on her side, eyes lazily watching the screen. Damon and Elena are fighting over something—per usual.

She doesn’t even notice at first when Paige shifts, her leg brushing against Jo’s under the covers. And then she slides a little closer, her shoulder brushing against Jo’s arm. Her face is even closer now, and Jo’s aware of that. She can feel her breath against her skin. It catches her a little off guard, but it’s not weird. It’s just how they always seem to end up—close.

“I missed you, Joey.” Paige’s voice, so soft, echoes through the room.

Jo glances up, meeting her gaze. It makes her smile. “I missed you too.”

And she did—she got so used to being so close to her that it was terrible when she was gone for so long. So bad it felt like Jo was going through withdrawal or something. And it only makes it worse that she’s flying back out in a couple days and Jo is going to have the apartment to herself again.

Paige’s face is still close, her eyes searching Jo’s for something. They’re so blue, even in the dim lighting of the room, and they feel like an ocean Jo could easily drown in.

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she presses herself closer still, their chests touching now, Jo’s nose brushing against Paige’s neck. Their legs tangle more under the sheets, and Jo feels Paige wrap her arm around her waist gently, letting it rest there. Jo doesn’t mind.

It’s just them. It’s just how they are.

PAIGE WAKES slowly, the soft morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds casting stripes across the bed. Her body feels heavy, warm, and there’s a comforting weight against her arm. Blinking her eyes open, she shifts her head on the pillow and glances down. Jo is still asleep beside her, her face soft in the pale light, her features slack with peace.

Jo looks… pretty, Paige thinks, her thoughts still hazy with sleep. Her hair is tousled, sticking up slightly at the crown from no doubt a restless turn in the night, but it only makes her look softer, less put together in a way that feels intimate. Paige is half aware of the fact that her own arm is tucked under Jo’s, her hand resting near Jo’s waist. Their legs are tangled together, too, her calf brushing Jo’s under the covers.

Paige doesn’t move immediately. She doesn’t want to. It’s warm like this, comfortable, and even though the logical part of her brain tells her to pull away, to avoid making it weird, she stays where she is.

Her gaze lingers on Jo’s face, on the slight curve of her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose that are barely visible. There’s something unguarded about Jo in the morning, something vulnerable and even sweeter than she is when she’s awake.

Last night drifts back to Paige’s mind. The massages, the feel of Jo’s hands on her knee, the feel of Jo’s back under her hands. The way Jo told her she missed her, too. Paige had meant it when she told her—she’d missed Jo more then she thought she would during her time in LA. But it’s not just that. There had been something else in the air last night.

Maybe it’s just the shift of being apart for a month, she tells herself. That’s all. It’s just the way things feel different when you come back to someone after being away. Things will settle back into place eventually. They always do.

Jo stirs slightly in her sleep, her brow twitching, and Paige instinctively stills, not wanting to wake her. The younger girl murmurs something unintelligible and shifts closer, her head tilting toward Paige’s shoulder, and Paige’s breath catches for half a second.

The buzz of a phone breaks the quiet, cutting through the gentle hum of the morning. Paige blinks, her thoughts scattering, and she glances toward the nightstand. The phone buzzes again. She assumes its hers—she gets texts at odd hours from basically everyone. Without thinking, she reaches out, fumbling for the phone blindly without lifting her head.

Her fingers close around the cool device, and she squints at the screen as she opens it, not wearing her glasses yet. By the lockscreen, she immediately can tell that this is not her phone, though—it’s Jo’s. She’s about to close it and put it back when the name at the top of the screen makes her freeze. Ash.

Her stomach twists. She knows that name and she knows it well. Asher. Jo’s boyfriend.

Maybe she doesn’t mean to look, maybe she does. Either way, the messages are right there, impossible to ignore.

Ash 💓

Hi baby I know it’s early

Just wanted to say I miss you

and love you

And I can’t wait to see the media day flicks you better send me them all

Paige stares at the screen for a long moment, her chest tightening in a way she doesn’t—but also might—understand. She knows she should stop looking, that this is a complete violation of Jo’s privacy, but her eyes tracy the words again. Baby. I miss you. I love you. They feel like a slap.

She exhales sharply, locking the phone and setting it back on the nightstand. Her case flicks back to Jo, still fast asleep. Her face is serene and peaceful and Paige feels an overwhelming rush of emotions. It’s not jealousy. It’s not. She’s not jealous. She has no right to be jealous of two high school sweethearts that literally grew up next door together that are probably soulmates and are someday going to get married and have babies.

She’s not jealous of that.

But, nonetheless, the knot in her stomach doesn’t go away.

She unentangles herself carefully, shifting her leg and arm away from Jo’s, mindful not to wake her. Jo murmurs something again, soft and sleepy, and Paige pauses for a second before slipping off the bed entirely. She needs space. Air.

She pads to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. Her hands grip the edge of the sink, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, her face slightly puffy from sleep.

She shakes her head, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on her face. It doesn’t help much.

Paige forces herself to focus, to push away the strange feelings clawing at her. Jo is her roommate, her freshie, and, yeah, basically her best friend now. And that’s all this is. That’s all it will ever be. She needs to stop overthinking. She needs to get ready for the day.

But even as she brushes her teeth and begins to brush through her hair, her thoughts keep circling back to those texts. To Asher. To Jo. And to the way Jo’s body had felt so warm and close and right against hers just minutes ago.

PAIGE STANDS in front of the mirror in the locker room, adjusting her uniform and smoothing her jersey. The bold, navy #5 stitched on the front catches her eye, and for a moment, she lingers. It feels almost strange, wearing the jersey she won’t be able to play in this season.

Not that she hasn’t come to terms with it. Paige is good at keeping herself together now, even if the pang of frustration hasn’t entirely disappeared—and won’t, she knows, until she gets to play again. But she’s learned to deal with it, to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t be on the court, she can still be here—still lead, still help her team in every way she can.

Her hair is perfectly straightened, sleek and sharp, the way she likes it. Her makeup looks good, too—just enough to emphasize her sharp cheekbones and blue eyes, but nothing overdone. The uniform ties it all together, making her look just like the player she’s supposed to be, the one she still is even if she’s stuck on the sidelines.

She takes a couple mirror pics—her annual media day mirror pics. They come out well, and she posts them to Instagram with the caption “5’ll be back soon,” because it will. She will.

By the time the day is in full effect, Paige knows the drill: photos, videos, soundbites for promos. She takes a few solo shots first, her expression switching between serious and smiles for the camera. Then it’s duo photos—first with Azzi, then with Nika and Aaliyah, her classmates. They laugh and joke between snaps, Nika managing to pinch Paige and Aaliyah during one, probably getting a perfect reaction picture.

Whilst Jo is getting her photos done, Paige is off to the side, hyping her up. When she makes Jo laugh—loud and sudden, the kind that makes her throw her head back—Paige is the one who catches the photographer’s eye. He gestures for her to join Jo, saying how he likes their energy together. Paige does as he asks, coming into view of the camera.

They stand side by side, first posed with their arms crossed, meant to look tough and intimidating. Then, the photographer tells Jo to lean her arm casually on Paige’s shoulder. Jo does, and it feels so normal, so them, that Paige doesn’t even notice how close they are until the photos pop up on the photographer’s screen.

“Yo,” Paige says, leaning in closer to the preview image. “We look good.”

Jo grins, nudging the blonde with her elbow. “Yeah, we do.”

And they do. There’s something about the way they look together—Jo’s darker features contrasting with Paige’s lighter ones, their postures balanced between playful and powerful—that feels striking.

When the photographer tells them they’re done, Jo taps Paige on the back lightly, her touch lingering for a half-second too long. Paige pretends not to notice.

They continue on through a mix of photos, promo videos, and shorter interviews. Paige’s role as “Coach P,” as everyone’s begun calling her, doesn’t go unnoticed.

Nika, of course, has to chime in. “That girl ain’t my coach,” she mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking her head while she stirs a few laughs from their teammates and some of the media coordinators.

Paige rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Jo cuts in, throwing her arms around Paige’s shoulders from behind and resting her chin right by Paige’s neck. “You’re right, Nik,” Jo says, her voice teasing as her arms tighten slightly around Paige. “She’s not your coach. She’s mine.”

Nika hisses at her in mock annoyance, making Jo laugh loudly as she lets go of Paige—though not before making sure to squeeze Paige’s shoulders fondly.

Paige hardly notices the way Nika flicks at Jo’s arm afterwards, or the way Jo sticks her tongue out at her. Instead, her brain replays the words—she’s mine.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

It’s not like that, though. And, goddamn, she has to get herself together.

Luckily, she has an interview waiting for her, so she doesn’t have long to continue dwelling on it. Except, actually, she thinks she might be unlucky, because when she spots Celeste Sinclair waiting for her with that soft little smirk and a glint in her eyes, Paige almost groans aloud.

She supposes she did this to herself, though. It’s not like she didn’t know Celeste was one of their media girls when she started fucking her—it’s literally how they met.

As Paige approaches, Celeste’s eyes sweep over her, lingering just a fraction too long on the way her uniform fits. Paige notices it immediately, and begins to steel herself.

“Paige,” the redhead greets, her tone syrupy and professional, but there’s a flicker of something else underneath. Something Paige is very familiar with.

“Celeste,” Paige replies evenly, keeping her expression neutral. She folds her hands in front of her, trying not to let her irritation show. She doesn’t have time for this—doesn’t have the patience or willpower to handle another girl turned obsessed—but media day is about appearances, so she plasters on a polite smile and takes the mini mic Celeste offers her.

The questions start predictably enough. Celeste asks about her recovery, her plans for the future, how she’s adjusting. Paige answers each question with the kind of practiced ease she’s managed to master over the years. She talks about her rehab process, about staying focused, about how the comeback will be stronger than the setback. The words feel automatic now, almost rehearsed.

Still, it stings a little. Every time she’s reminded that she won’t touch the court this season, that she’ll have to watch from the bench while her teammates fight for another championship, there’s a flicker of frustration she can’t quite extinguish.

But she doesn’t let it show. Obviously.

Celeste presses on, asking something about how Paige is adapting to her new role as a leader from the bench, and Paige forces herself to smile through it. She talks about embracing the role of “Coach P,” about how it’s just as important to support the team off the court as it is on it. She doesn’t let her voice waver, doesn’t let any of the bitterness slip through.

When the interview finally wraps, Paige exhales quietly, ready to walk away—but Celeste steps closer, cutting her off.

“So,” Celeste says, her voice dropping just enough to make it clear this part isn’t for the cameras. “You’ve been busy out west, yeah? I—you haven’t been back at all lately.”

Paige sighs a little. “Yeah, well. Rehab and stuff. You know how it is.”

Celeste tilts her head. “I do. Still, I thought you might text or call or something. I left you a few messages, but you never answered.”

Paige resists the urge to roll her eyes. Celeste’s persistence is both flattering and annoying. Yeah, the sex had been good—but was it genuinely good enough for Celeste to continuously run after Paige when she’s made it more than obvious that she doesn’t really want her? Paige doesn’t think so.

But, then again, Paige is better with her tongue and fingers than Celeste is.

“Been busy,” Paige says again, brushing her off.

The red-haired girl doesn’t seem deterred, though. She leans in just slightly, murmuring, “Well, if you’re not too busy tonight or even later this week… ?”

Paige starts to shake her head, ready to shut it down. She has enough girls in her bed back in LA that she doesn’t need to make up for it here while she’s only back for a few days.

But then—her mind flashes to this morning. To Jo. To the messages from Asher. The pit that settles in her stomach when she saw the I love you and I miss you and the baby. Something about it still lingers, sharp and annoying, and Paige can’t quite shake it.

Before she really thinks about what she’s doing, she hears herself saying, “Actually, I am free tonight.”

Celeste’s face lights up, her smile widening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, her tone casual, like she isn’t committing to something she’s already dreading a little. “I fly back to LA in a couple days, so tonight works.”

Celeste doesn’t bother hiding her excitement. “Perfect. Come over later?”

Paige nods and Celeste looks almost giddy as she finally walks away.

As Paige rejoins her teammates, sitting next to Jo, the brunette smirks at her a little, judging her arm and asking, “Again?”

Paige feels heat rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. “Stop, it’s nothing,” she says quickly.

Jo doesn’t press or tease her much like anyone else would, just letting out a little laugh under her breath before getting up for one of her own interviews.

Paige can’t help but watch her during it. And think.

Jo, asleep in her bed this morning, soft and peaceful and pretty. Jo, laughing loudly during their photoshoot. Jo, whose phone had lit up with messages from a boyfriend that Paige can’t stand to think about.

Her jaw tightens slightly, and she shoves the thoughts aside. She’s going to Celeste’s tonight. At least she’ll be doing something.

[jhyoos]

Rebel Girl

rockstar!sevika x influencer!reader

Chapter 6: Ex’s and Ohs

summary : you get invited to a big party downtown Vegas by a well-known celebrity. you decide to bring along the others.

mentions: modern au, fame au, drama, swearing, protective sevika, ex finn, overall finn just being a weirdo

notes: surprise! extra chapter. 🤭

The next morning, you woke up groggy but determined to stick to your usual routine—it was the only thing grounding you in the midst of all this chaos. You started with your hour-long shower, letting the water cascade over you as you tried to clear your head. Afterward, you brushed your teeth, meticulously went through your 30-minute skincare routine, and finished with a combination of lotion and baby oil that left your skin glowing. By the time you slipped into your classic baby tee and pajama pants combo, you felt like a semblance of yourself again.

Just as you were finishing up, a knock at the door interrupted your moment of peace. You padded over and opened it to find Vi and Jinx standing there, both with wide grins on their faces.

“Good morning,” you greeted them, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” Vi replied, her tone casual but warm. “We were wondering if you wanted to join us for breakfast in the lobby. Haven’t heard from you all night, so we missed you.”

Jinx nodded enthusiastically, her wild blue hair bouncing with the movement. “Yeah, it’s not the same without you. You’ve got the best ideas, and we could really use your input.”

You gave them a small smile, appreciating the effort. “Oh yeah, sure. Just let me grab my stuff.”

Turning back into the room, you grabbed your phone and the bag with your hotel key, then followed them downstairs.

-

The lobby was bustling with activity, the smell of coffee and freshly cooked food wafting through the air. You were immediately struck by how awkward it felt as you approached the table and realized you’d have to sit next to Sevika. The tension between the two of you was palpable, but you pushed through it, plastering a neutral expression on your face as you took your seat.

Jinx, thankfully, was a great buffer, sitting on your other side and diving straight into conversation. “So, I was thinking we could do a retro-style drop for the merch—like 90s grunge but with neon accents,” she said, sliding her sketchbook toward you.

You leaned over to take a look, nodding thoughtfully as you offered suggestions. “What if you use a distressed font for the band name? And maybe incorporate some holographic details for the logos?”

Jinx’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s genius!”

Meanwhile, Vi and Caitlyn sat across the table, deep in their own conversation but occasionally looping Sevika in. You could feel Sevika’s presence beside you, her warmth, her voice, the occasional brush of her arm against yours. It was distracting, and you hated how much you noticed it.

The awkwardness shattered when your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced down and gasped, immediately catching everyone’s attention.

“Who is it?” Vi asked, curious.

You didn’t answer, too busy staring at the name on your screen. It was a call from Jayce Talis, the wildly popular YouTuber you had collaborated with a few months back. He was connected to every celebrity, constantly attending the biggest parties, events, and concerts, and making millions while doing it.

“Hello?” you answered, hoping and praying it was actually him.

“Hey, there’s my favorite girl,” Jayce’s smooth voice came through the phone. “I heard you’re in Vegas. You wanna come by one of my parties tonight? I’ll send you the address.”

You bit your lip, your mind racing as you looked at the others seated around the table. “Is it okay if four other people come?” you asked, feeling a flicker of hope.

“Sure, the more the merrier. I’ll send the location now,” Jayce said, his tone easygoing.

“Thank you so much,” you replied, genuinely grateful.

“Of course, babygirl. I’ll see you later,” he said before hanging up.

You placed your phone on the table, noticing everyone staring at you expectantly.

“Who was that?” Caitlyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Jayce Talis,” you said with a grin. “We’re invited to one of his parties tonight.”

“Deadass?” Vi’s eyes widened as she leaned forward. “Oh, fuck yeah. I heard his parties are crazy. So crazy you don’t even remember the next morning… no diddy.”

The table broke into laughter, the tension momentarily forgotten as everyone began buzzing with excitement over the plans for the night.

That evening, the hotel suite was a whirlwind of chaos as everyone prepared for the party. Clothes were scattered across the beds, makeup spilled across the countertops, and the music blasted loud enough to vibrate through the walls.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit—a short, sleek black dress with a daring slit up the side, paired with strappy heels that gave you an air of elegance. Your makeup was bold, smoky eyes with a hint of glitter and a deep red lip that made you feel confident. You finished the look with silver jewelry, your hair styled in loose waves that framed your face perfectly.

Caitlyn, ever the meticulous one, walked over and handed you a glass of wine. “You look stunning. Jayce is going to regret not staying on that call longer,” she teased, giving you a playful nudge.

You laughed, taking a sip. “Thanks, Cait. But this isn’t about Jayce. It’s about having fun.”

She smirked. “Well, if Sevika sees you like this, she might eat her words about not being serious.”

Your stomach churned at the mention of Sevika, but you quickly pushed the thought aside. Tonight was supposed to be about letting loose, not dwelling on unrequited feelings.

Meanwhile, Vi and Jinx were already well into the pregame phase, laughing hysterically as they downed shots of tequila. Vi was in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, her go-to look, while Jinx had gone all out in a neon mini dress that screamed chaos. Sevika, on the other hand, had kept it simple yet devastatingly attractive—a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, paired with dark jeans and boots.

-

By the time you all arrived at the party, the energy was electric. Jayce’s mansion was everything you’d expected—luxurious, sprawling, and filled with people who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. The music thumped through the walls, a mix of EDM and Top 40 hits, as the group made their way inside.

The night quickly spiraled into drinking games, loud conversations, and dancing. Vi and Jinx had disappeared to the dance floor, while Caitlyn stayed by your side, sipping a cocktail and making small talk with other guests. You were about to join the others when you spotted Sevika across the room.

She was leaning against the bar, her posture relaxed, a drink in hand as she talked to two women who were clearly vying for her attention. One of them rested a hand on her arm, leaning in closer, and you felt your stomach twist.

Your heart sank as Sevika gave a low chuckle, her lips curling into that smirk you hated to love. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was flirting.

Caitlyn noticed the shift in your expression and followed your gaze. “Oh no,” she muttered, quickly grabbing your arm. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

You tried to pull away. “I just need to—”

“No, you don’t,” Caitlyn interrupted firmly, steering you toward another part of the room. “Come on, let’s get another drink and find something else to focus on.”

Reluctantly, you let her guide you away, but the image of Sevika laughing with those women was burned into your mind. You hated the way it made you feel—jealous, insecure, and foolish. You took a deep breath, silently vowing not to let it ruin your night.

Caitlyn handed you a fresh cocktail and gave you a reassuring smile. “Remember, you’re here to have fun. Don’t let her get in your head.”

You nodded, forcing a smile as you raised your glass. “You’re right. Cheers to that.”

But even as you tried to lose yourself in the party, the nagging ache in your chest remained, a constant reminder that Sevika would never be yours in the way you wanted her to be.

The party was in full swing, and the energy was electric. You and Caitlyn had thrown caution to the wind, taking more shots than either of you probably should have. The alcohol coursed through your veins, making everything brighter, louder, and a little more carefree.

Caitlyn, who rarely let loose like this, was surprisingly keeping up with you. The two of you sang along to every song blasting through the speakers, laughing as you tried to out-dance one another. At one point, Caitlyn leaned in close, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"I think... I think I'm gonna confess to Vi," she blurted out, a mixture of determination and nerves in her eyes.

You paused, blinking at her before breaking into a wide grin. “Do it! You absolutely should! She’d be crazy not to say yes.”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “This might just be the liquor talking, but I think tonight’s the night.”

You gave her an encouraging push toward where Vi was standing, chatting with some other guests. “Go get her, tiger!”

Caitlyn took a deep breath, muttered something under her breath, and walked off, leaving you alone in the middle of the dance floor. But you didn’t mind. The music was too good, the vibe too perfect.

You found yourself dancing with a group of girls who had gathered nearby, all hyping each other up. You laughed, twirling in your dress, feeling freer than you had in weeks. The bass of the music vibrated through your body, and for a moment, you forgot all about Sevika, Jayce, and everything else weighing on your mind.

Then a finger tapped your shoulder, breaking the spell.

You turned, expecting to see Caitlyn or maybe even one of the girls you'd been dancing with. Instead, your breath hitched as your eyes landed on a familiar face.

“Finn?” you said, your voice laced with disbelief.

He gave you that same charming smirk that had once made your heart flutter. “Hey, gorgeous. What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here in Vegas?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I got invited,” he said casually, his voice smooth.

You knew why. Finn wasn’t just any guy; he was a famous actor. His rugged looks and effortless charisma made him a perfect fit for the action and sci-fi movies he starred in. He was always the center of attention, always in the spotlight.

And once, you had been right there with him.

The two of you had been a celebrity power couple. Fans adored how well you matched—your aesthetics, your energy. Everything about your relationship had seemed perfect. And for a while, it had been.

The sex, the lavish dates, the way he spoiled you… it was like living in a dream.

Until the dream turned into a nightmare.

Your chest tightened as the memories came flooding back. Coming to his house to pick up the dog you had adopted together, only to find him in bed with one of his co-stars. The shock, the betrayal, the fury that had led you to throw hands with both of them.

And then, the final blow—him kicking you out of his house in the middle of a storm, leaving you stranded in the pouring rain.

As if that wasn’t enough, you later learned she hadn’t been the only one. Finn had cheated on you with multiple women, and to top it off, he had even stolen money from you on more than one occasion.

Now, standing face to face with him again, you felt a rush of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, and a flicker of something you didn’t want to admit might still be there.

“What do you want, Finn?” you asked, keeping your tone cold.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Can’t I just say hi? It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” you muttered, turning away, but he caught your arm gently, pulling you back.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ve missed you.”

You stared at him, your jaw tightening. “Missed me? Is that what you told all the other girls too?”

Finn’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something almost resembling regret. “Look, I know I messed up. But maybe we can talk? Somewhere private?”

Before you could respond, you felt a firm hand on your back. Turning, you saw Caitlyn, her expression a mix of concern and warning.

“Everything okay here?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at Finn.

You shook your head, stepping back from him. “Yeah, we’re done here.”

Finn raised his hands in mock surrender, giving Caitlyn a once-over before meeting your eyes again. “Alright, I’ll let you go. But think about it, okay?”

As he walked away, Caitlyn gave you a look. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though your hands were trembling. “Yeah. Let’s just… get another drink.”

Caitlyn hesitated but eventually nodded, steering you toward the bar. You couldn’t shake the feeling of Finn’s gaze lingering on you, but you pushed it to the back of your mind.

Tonight was supposed to be about fun. You weren’t going to let him ruin that for you. Not again.

The chaotic haze of drinking and partying had left you feeling a little too hot under the collar—agitated, restless, and desperately in need of a moment to yourself. You stumbled your way through the crowd, searching for Jayce. The booming bass of the music thumped in your chest as you finally spotted him perched on top of an expensive-looking table, holding court with a group of people.

“Jayce!” you called, your voice cutting through the noise.

He turned at the sound of your voice, and his face broke into a wide grin. Without hesitation, he hopped down from the table, his movement surprisingly smooth for someone as drunk as he seemed.

“Jesus,” he said, running his eyes over you in a way that made you simultaneously flattered and exhausted. “You look even better than the last time I saw you.”

He pulled you into a warm hug, and you hugged him back, patting his shoulder lightly. Jayce had always been like this—overly confident and unfiltered—but you knew his heart was in the right place.

“Thanks, Jayce,” you said, stepping back. “But, um… where’s the bathroom?”

He waved a hand toward the far corner of the room. “Oh, don’t bother with the public one. Just use mine. It’s upstairs, connected to my suite. See the elevator over there? It’ll take you directly up. My guard will let you in.”

You nodded, grateful for the shortcut. “Thanks, Jayce.”

“No problem,” he said with a wink, before climbing back onto the table.

You made your way to the elevator, a burly security guard already waiting by the doors. Without a word, he pressed the button for you and gave you a curt nod as the doors slid shut.

The ride up was quick, and you were relieved to find Jayce’s suite quiet compared to the chaos downstairs. You stumbled into the bathroom, kicking off your heels as you rushed to relieve yourself. In your slightly drunk state, you didn’t even think to lock the door.

After finishing, you washed your hands, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your mascara was slightly smudged, and your hair was a little messier than you’d like, but otherwise, you looked… fine. Passable.

The sound of the door opening behind you made your stomach drop. You glanced up into the mirror, your heart sinking as you saw Finn standing there.

“Please, baby, let’s talk,” he said, his voice low and pleading.

You turned to face him, keeping your tone firm. “I’m good, Finn. There’s nothing to talk about.”

As you tried to brush past him, he grabbed you by the waist, his strength keeping you in place as he pressed you back against the wall.

“God, you look so sexy,” he murmured, his eyes dark and focused entirely on you. ��Just let me get a kiss. I’ve missed your lips so much.”

Before you could protest, his hand was on your face, tilting it up toward him. You struggled against him, trying to push him away, but he was faster. His lips crashed onto yours, stealing the kiss before you could stop him.

Your mind raced, equal parts shock and anger bubbling to the surface as you fought against his grip. You planted your hands on his chest, shoving him back with as much strength as you could muster.

“Get off me!” you yelled, your voice sharp and trembling.

Finn stumbled back slightly, his expression flickering between surprise and frustration.

“Don’t act like you don’t still want me,” he said, his voice dropping into something darker.

“I don’t,” you spat, your chest heaving. “Stay the hell away from me, Finn. I mean it.”

Before he could say another word, you darted out of the bathroom, grabbing your heels as you made your way back to the elevator. Your hands shook as you pressed the button, praying the doors would close fast enough to keep Finn from following.

When you finally made it back to the party downstairs, your heart was still pounding. The noise of the crowd was both overwhelming and oddly comforting—it meant you weren’t alone. You immediately searched for Caitlyn or anyone you trusted, needing an anchor after what had just happened.

Finn’s presence had ruined the night for you. All you wanted now was to find a quiet corner, breathe, and maybe—just maybe—figure out how to piece yourself back together.

As you made your way back onto the party floor, the noise and flashing lights felt like a cruel reminder of your shaken state. Your heels clicked against the floor as your eyes scanned the crowd, desperately searching for a familiar face. You weren’t thinking much—just running on the hope that someone you trusted could pull you out of the spiral you were sinking into.

Your gaze finally landed on Sevika. She was leaning against the bar, her focus on a small group of girls, flashing them the kind of smirk that had once made your knees weak. Her hand brushed against one of their arms as she leaned in to say something that made them giggle.

For a moment, you hesitated. But then Sevika looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. The instant she noticed the tears streaming down your face, her expression changed. The playful confidence melted away, replaced with concern and something else—something almost protective.

She straightened up immediately, excusing herself from the girls without another word. Her strides were long and purposeful as she closed the distance between you, her brows furrowed.

“Come on,” she said softly, slipping her hand onto your back to guide you. She led you out of the suffocating crowd and into the night air. The quiet of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the chaos inside, and you took in a shaky breath, grateful for the reprieve.

“Hey,” Sevika said, her voice low but insistent. She turned to face you, her hands gently gripping your shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I-I…” You tried to form the words, but they caught in your throat, choked by the sobs you couldn’t hold back.

Sevika crouched slightly, trying to meet your downcast gaze. “Take your time. Just tell me.”

You swallowed hard, finally managing to get the words out. “My ex… he…”

Her jaw clenched immediately. “What did he do? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? Where did it happen?”

The barrage of questions came quickly, her tone growing harsher with every word. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memories flashing in your mind. “He kissed me,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling. “He made me kiss him.”

Her face darkened instantly, her entire demeanor shifting into something cold and deadly. “What does he look like? What’s his name?”

“Finn,” you said, your voice cracking. “He’s tall, has tattoos everywhere… He’s wearing bright yellow…”

You stopped yourself mid-ramble, suddenly realizing how Sevika’s fists had clenched at her sides, her whole body taut with anger. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m gonna kill him,” she muttered, her voice low and venomous. It wasn’t meant for you, but she said it loud enough for you to hear.

Her words sent a shiver down your spine. “Sevika, no,” you said, reaching out to grab her arm.

Her gaze snapped to yours, her eyes burning with a fury you’d never seen before. “He forced himself on you,” she said, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “You think I’m just gonna let that slide?”

“You can’t,” you insisted, your voice rising. “It’s not worth it.”

“It’s worth it to me,” she shot back, her tone firm and unrelenting.

You shook your head, tears spilling again as you tried to pull her attention back to you. “Please, Sevika. Don’t do this. I just… I just need someone right now. Not revenge.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly, and for the first time, she seemed to really see you—the vulnerability, the pain. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her jaw still tight. “Okay,” she finally said, her voice softer now. “Okay. I won’t do anything. Not tonight.”

Relief flooded through you, and you took a small step closer, resting your head against her chest. She hesitated for a moment before wrapping her arms around you, holding you tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice low. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You didn’t respond, just letting her presence ground you. For now, that was enough.

As Sevika comforted you, the quiet moment shattered when Finn stormed outside, his face twisted in anger. His voice slurred slightly, but his venom was crystal clear.

“You’re such a fucking whore, you know that?” he spat, his voice loud enough to draw attention.

Your head snapped toward him in shock, but before you could react, Sevika stepped in front of you. She squared her shoulders, shielding you entirely. Her voice was low and steady, but there was an edge to it that could cut steel.

“What did you just call her?” she asked, her mechanical arm twitching subtly as she balled her fists.

“A whore!” Finn shouted, stepping closer with an unhinged glare. “Up in the bathroom, playing hard to get, and now you’re cuddled up with some dyke?!”

“Chill,” Sevika warned, her voice dropping further, calm but laced with a deadly undertone.

“Chill?” Finn scoffed, his eyes wide with deranged fury. “Bitch, I’ll knock the teeth out of your mouth. I’ll make the rest of your life a living hell.” He took another step closer, now chest-to-chest with Sevika.

Sevika didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, giving him a slow once-over before smirking coldly. “Jesus… You dated this man? He’s pathetic.”

Before you could react to the insult, Finn’s fist flew. The sound of his knuckles connecting with Sevika’s cheek was loud enough to silence the faint chatter nearby. She stumbled back a step, more out of shock than pain, her face blank as she brought her hand to her cheek.

Then her expression changed. Fury washed over her features, her jaw tightening as she rolled her shoulders. Without another word, she swung her mechanical fist, and the sound of the impact echoed like a thunderclap. Finn crumpled instantly, hitting the ground like a sack of bricks.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your hand gripped the wall to steady yourself as you stared at the scene, trying to process if this was reality or some drunken fever dream.

Sevika turned to look at you, her breathing even but her eyes searching your face for any sign of distress. You couldn’t move, too stunned to even speak.

The muffled noise of the party behind you suddenly grew louder as someone yelled, “There’s a fight outside!” The doors burst open, and a flood of people poured out to see what had happened. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as everyone’s eyes landed on Finn’s unconscious body sprawled at Sevika’s feet.

Jayce pushed his way through the crowd, his sunglasses perched on his nose but failing to hide his wide-eyed reaction. “Oh shit,” he muttered, looking down at Finn before glancing back at Sevika. “Is he dead? I can’t afford another death…”

Sevika didn’t answer, her gaze flicking to you briefly before focusing back on the crowd.

“He’s not dead,” you said, your voice shaky but loud enough to silence the murmurs. You stepped forward, your hand trembling as you gestured toward Finn. “But he forced himself on me in the bathroom you said was guarded, Jayce.”

Jayce’s head snapped toward you, his sunglasses lifting slightly as if he needed to see you more clearly. “For real?” he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and concern. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I swear I’ll look deeper into this. I mean it. I’ll take your word for it—always. You’re my girl.”

He gestured toward his security team, who immediately moved to pick Finn up. “Get him out of here,” Jayce barked. “And make sure he doesn’t come back. Ever.”

As the guards dragged Finn’s limp body away, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring among themselves. Jayce gave you a small nod before heading back inside, leaving you alone with Sevika again.

She turned to you, her eyes softening ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice calm but tinged with something that sounded almost like regret.

You nodded, even though your legs felt weak beneath you. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Sevika stepped closer, her presence grounding you as she placed a hand gently on your arm. “You’re safe now,” she said, her tone firm. “No one’s going to hurt you while I’m here.”

For a moment, you just stood there, letting her words sink in. You didn’t know how to feel—grateful, overwhelmed, or still shaken—but you knew one thing for certain: you felt safer with Sevika than anywhere else in the world.

Caitlyn, Vi, and Jinx rushed through the lingering crowd, their worried faces evident as they reached you and Sevika. Caitlyn was the first to speak, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“You okay… both of you?” she asked, her tone a mix of concern and urgency.

Sevika crossed her arms, her usual stoic demeanor back in place. “Yes, I’m fine, Cait,” she replied simply.

You nodded, though your voice wavered slightly. “I am too. Just… a little shaken up.”

Jinx stepped forward, her usual chaotic energy muted but still present. “It’s time to go… yeah?” she said, her voice lighter as she hooked her arm with yours. Without waiting for an answer, she started leading you toward the exit, offering you the comfort of her presence.

Vi and Caitlyn flanked the two of you, and Sevika trailed slightly behind, her sharp gaze scanning the remaining partygoers as if daring anyone else to cross the line. The group moved quickly through the mansion, the buzz of the party now a distant hum as more people decided to leave after the commotion.

The cool night air hit you like a splash of water as you stepped outside. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the city’s noise provided a welcome distraction from your pounding heart. Jinx kept her arm linked with yours, humming softly to a song still stuck in her head.

Caitlyn glanced back at Sevika, lowering her voice so only she could hear. “You did good back there. He had it coming.”

Sevika grunted in response, but there was a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

As the group exited the mansion and approached the gates, the blinding flashes of cameras caught you off guard. Paparazzi were already gathered outside, shouting questions and taking rapid-fire photos. The flashes lit up the night like fireworks, and their voices overlapped, each trying to out-yell the others.

“(Y/N)! What happened in there?”

“Who was the guy Sevika knocked out?”

“Sevika, are you protecting (Y/N)?”

“Are you two dating?”

“Finn said you were in a relationship—care to comment?”

You instinctively shrank back, overwhelmed by the chaos. Jinx tightened her grip on your arm, glaring at the reporters. “Seriously, don’t you guys have anything better to do?”

Caitlyn stepped forward, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the flashes as she tried to create a path. “No comments. Leave her alone.”

Vi moved beside her, her presence intimidating enough to make some of the paparazzi take a step back. “You heard her. Back off,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Sevika stayed close to you, her tall frame a protective barrier against the invasive crowd. Her sharp gaze flicked over the reporters, daring any of them to push further.

“Sevika, is it true you assaulted Finn?” one of them shouted.

“Shut it,” Sevika growled, her voice low and threatening. The reporter quickly lowered his camera, the air suddenly tense.

The group finally pushed through the throng of paparazzi, with Vi leading the way and Caitlyn acting as a buffer. You kept your head down, your heart pounding as the cameras continued to snap.

Once inside the car, the driver quickly locked the doors and sped off, leaving the chaos behind. You exhaled deeply, leaning back against the seat as you tried to calm your racing thoughts.

“God, they’re vultures,” Jinx muttered, shaking her head. “Do they ever give it a rest?”

“They’ll move on to something else by tomorrow,” Caitlyn said reassuringly, though her brows were furrowed with concern.

Sevika remained silent, her gaze fixed out the window. Her jaw was tight, and her hands were clenched into fists on her lap. She looked like she was replaying the night in her head, simmering with barely contained anger.

Vi broke the silence, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “You okay? That was a lot.”

You nodded slowly, though your voice was quiet. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Jinx gave your arm a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, we’ll lock the doors, crank up the room service, and shut out the world for the rest of the night.”

You managed a faint smile, grateful for her attempts to lighten the mood. As the car sped through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, you couldn’t help but glance at Sevika. She was still staring out the window, her expression unreadable.

For now, you focused on the promise of quiet and comfort waiting back at the hotel, desperate to put the night’s events behind you.

Back at the hotel, the group gathered in Caitlyn and Vi’s room, the tension from earlier slowly melting away as the comforting smell of food filled the air. The table was covered with an assortment of takeout boxes—sushi rolls neatly arranged, crispy chicken wings glistening in sauce, golden fries piled high, and several tubs of ice cream waiting for dessert.

Jinx immediately dove for the fries, her mood lightening as she munched away. “This is exactly what we needed after all that drama.”

Caitlyn and Vi sat close together on the couch, their shoulders brushing as they shared a plate of wings. Caitlyn had a small, nervous smile on her face, stealing glances at Vi, who seemed completely at ease.

You took a seat on the floor, cross-legged with your sushi in front of you, watching the dynamic between Caitlyn and Vi unfold. Jinx noticed too, her eyes darting between them. “So… are you two gonna stop pretending or what?”

Vi choked on her drink, coughing as Caitlyn’s face turned beet red. “Pretending what?” Vi asked, wiping her mouth.

Jinx rolled her eyes dramatically. “That you’re not into each other. It’s so obvious.”

Caitlyn bit her lip, looking down at her hands. Vi glanced at her and then back at Jinx, sighing. “Fine. You caught us.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened in surprise, but when Vi reached over and took her hand, her expression softened. “She was drunk, but I still accepted,” Vi said, her voice low but sincere.

Caitlyn smiled, squeezing her hand. “I asked Vi to be my girlfriend,” she admitted.

You clapped your hands together. “Finally! I’ve been rooting for you two since forever.”

Jinx leaned back, grinning smugly. “Told you so. Now kiss or something. Make it official.”

Vi rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss Caitlyn, a soft, tender moment that made everyone cheer and clap beside Sevika but she was amused. Caitlyn laughed, hiding her face behind her hands as Vi pulled her close.

The rest of the night passed in a warm, comforting haze. Laughter echoed through the room, and everyone indulged in food and ice cream, the stress of the evening melting away.

When the night wound down, Sevika stood, stretching. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” she said, glancing at you.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of nerves. “Thanks.”

The two of you walked down the quiet hallway, the sounds of the city fading into the background. When you reached your door, you turned to her. “Thank you for tonight,” you said softly. “For protecting me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Sevika shrugged, but her expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Trying to lighten the mood, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Well, I’m thanking you anyway.”

Sevika froze for a moment, her lips twitching into a faint smile as she nodded. “Goodnight.”

She turned and walked away, leaving you to enter your room. You closed the door, leaning against it for a moment as your heart raced. Shaking your head, you got into bed, pulling the covers up and letting the exhaustion of the night finally take over.

But just as you were about to drift off, a knock on the door startled you. You got up, wondering who it could be at this hour. When you opened it, Sevika stood there, her eyes intense and her expression unreadable.

“Sevika? Is something wrong?”

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer. “Fuck it… I have feelings for you too,” she said, her voice low and rough.

Before you could process her words, she leaned in and kissed you deeply, her hands gently cradling your face. The kiss was firm yet tender, filled with all the emotions she’d been holding back. You didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, your arms wrapping around her neck as your heart raced.

Sevika’s hands slid down to your waist, steadying you as she broke the kiss for just a moment, her forehead resting against yours. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded eagerly, pulling her closer. “More than okay.”

She smiled before kissing you again, this time with more urgency. Her hands moved to the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it to the floor. You felt a thrill run through you as you tugged her into the room, your lips never leaving hers.

Sevika kicked the door shut behind her, the soft click of the lock echoing in the room. The night stretched out before you, a mix of passion and emotions that neither of you wanted to end.

taglist : @moodient @whatlefoop @nonexistentsourcherry @graciebloom @swordfemm4 @m00npjm @sevikasleftarm @fayecreates @artfairyyyyy @mulan-but-gay @inlovewithsevikaandambessa @sapphiellar @fudosl

[aptbelle]

FOREST BOY

pairing: earthfairy!jun x female!reader

summary: y/n was a lonely little girl. she had no friends, just her imagination and the forest behind her home to get her through the day. the forest is where she’d run to to escape reality and day dream. one day, after running from her bullies, she meets a strange, yet charming boy, wen junhui. junhui shows her what lies deeper in the forest, and she is amazed. every single day, she goes to the forest just to see junhui, and they spend hours together. one thing y/n had noticed about junhui was that she never saw him outside of the forest, nor did he have any interest in leaving. they spend every day together until y/n has to go away for college. the news breaks junhui’s heart, and he goes away, which hurt y/n in return. four years later, y/n lands a job in her hometown, allowing her to come back home. she is excited to see junhui again, but he is nowhere to be seen, no matter how far in the forest she travels. however, she meets another boy, who is very similar to junhui, or so y/n thinks.

warnings: this story only includes jun and minghao! they are characters in this and not related to the ones irl. lower case intended! this story may have possible angst!

author's note: this is a story i had started on wattpad a couple years ago, but i never published it. so i decided to continue it on here! i hope you enjoy! i am a student, so i will update as much as i can while juggling school.

previous chapter: prologue

next chapter:

CHAPTER 1: HOME SWEET HOME

4 years later…

y/n never realized how blurry the train made the outside world look. the first time she took one on her way to college, she was occupied by a book the whole time. having finished all her books, she was left with nothing to read. she had her headphones on and was taking in the scenery of her hometown.

it’s been years since she came home, with school and summer internships she was very busy. all the hard work had finally paid off, she was finally graduated and began her career for her local newspaper, writing blogs about whatever the managers tell her. her first task was writing a nature article. this allowed her to be able to stay at home, for once.

she felt so guilty for not visiting more, but her parents had busy schedules as well, so hopefully they understood.

it was the end of spring, so everything was in full bloom. y/n had missed all the trees and flowers. her college town was nothing but city; the closest garden was too far for y/n to even consider walking. she reminisced about her childhood and teenage days she spent in the forest, with nothing but her thoughts and wen junhui to keep her company.

wen junhui.

y/n felt her heart skip. junhui. the boy she spent almost every hour with. she hadn’t thought about him in awhile. he was the reason she loved everything about nature. he taught y/n all she knows about the forest. she had created so many memories with him between those trees.

she could not wait to see him again.

y/n remembered how she left him, without a good explanation. she hoped he had come around, and would be happy upon her return.

though it was going by fast, y/n began to recognize the scenery around her. she was almost at her local train station. the stop would be any minute. she paused her music and put her phone away into her purse. she took her headphones off of her ears and put them around her neck.

her luggage was in the overhead compartment. she didn’t have much, just her clothes. she knew her mother would have kept her room just the same. the extra stuff she had around her dorm, she sold for extra money.

just a few minutes later, the train slowed down. the blurred image outside the window became a clear show of the station. y/n stood up and grabbed her luggage’s. she looked around outside, and saw her mother standing there with a sign.

‘welcome home, y/n!’ the sign read. her mother was shaking it around with a smile. her mother was usually the strict type, but where y/n had not been home in a very long time, her mother showed a happier side.

y/n hurried into the middle aisle so that she would not be the last to leave the train. she finally reached the doors to the outside and stepped off the train onto the platform.

she turned her head and instantly saw her mother running towards her.

“my sweet, y/n!” she exclaimed. she wrapped her arms around y/n. y/n missed these hugs so much. it felt so warm and inviting, reminding her of old times.

“hello, mom,” y/n hugged back, putting her head into her mother’s neck.

“i am so glad you are back home,” her mother said, letting go of the hug and putting her hands on y/n’s shoulders. y/n noticed the tears in her eyes. “you look so mature,” her mother continued.

y/n doesn’t think she had changed her appearance that much. she did cut her hair and change her style a bit. then again, her mother hadn’t seen her other than video calls for a couple years.

“thank you, mama,” y/n replied. her mother hadn’t changed at all, aside from the slight gray peeking from her roots. y/n had always been told she was a spitting image of her mother, which was a compliment she always loved to hear.

“was the trip okay?” her mother asked, “i know train rides can get boring after a while.”

“yes, it was alright,” y/n said, “it was nice seeing everything after so long.”

her mother smiled and patted y/n’s arms. “that’s so good to hear.”

y/n’s mother grabbed her stuff. “the car is just this way. don’t worry about driving, i will let you rest.”

“thanks, mama,” y/n replied.

y/n followed her mother to the car. there was a crowd of people at the station. the mother and daughter pushed through the crowd until they reached outside. her mother led y/n just a few more steps until they found the car.

y/n’s mother popped the truck and carefully set her luggage in. y/n walked to the passenger side and opened the door. she was suddenly hit with a nostalgic smell. the car had always kept the clean, new-car scent that y/n had loved. she truly felt at home. she got in the car, shut the door, and strapped the seat belt.

seconds later, y/n’s mother got in, letting out a big sigh. “oh, y/n, i am just so happy you’re finally home,” she said, patting her daughters thigh.

“yes, it’s been far too long,” y/n agreed. her mother started the car and began to drive out of the parking lot. “i’m surprised you aren’t on one of your business trips right now,” y/n continued.

her mother slightly smiled. “i’m scheduled to leave for one tomorrow, and stay gone for a couple days.”

y/n looked down. she knew her mother was very busy, but she had just gotten home. this didn’t upset her, though, she was used to this. this did give her more time to herself. more time to spend in the woods.

more time to find junhui.

“what are you smiling so wide for?” y/n’s mother asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“nothing,” y/n said, “just excited to see an old friend, junhui.”

y/n’s mother furrowed her eyebrows. “y/n,” she said sternly, “i thought you would grow out of that. this ‘junhui’ boy doesn’t exist. you’re too old for this kind of imagination.”

oh, right.

y/n’s mother never believed her when she brought up junhui. y/n didn’t blame her. junhui would never want to come over for dinner, and would only come to her house late at night, never through the front door but through the window. he would always use the same excuse, that his parents didn’t want him going to strangers’ houses.

y/n never met his parents neither, or seen his house. the more she thought, she only ever saw him in the forest. he didn’t go to school, or to town. just the forest. she had always assumed he had been homeschooled. that’s the only reasonable explanation.

“he exists, mother,” y/n said, chuckling, “he was just super shy.”

“super shy and super odd,” her mother replied, “only staying in that forest. no wonder you didn’t get kidnapped.”

already with the scolding. y/n loved her mother, but she knows that junhui was real, no matter if her mother saw her or not.

“plus,” her mother continued, “i never saw him when i went to the forest for a walk. just dead trees. maybe he left when you did, along with the rest of your mind.”

y/n kept her mouth shut, not wanting to further draw out her so called ‘delusions.’ she’d introduce them one day, if junhui was still around, which she hoped.

“are you still planning on keeping in touch with your college friends? i know you said you had made a few,” her mother chimed in.

y/n did make a few friends, but none were too close. she had a roommate in college, but they were far from friends, polar opposites. she told her mother, however, that they were close as can be.

“they’re all busy with their careers,” y/n told her mom, “not much time to talk.”

“ah, i see,” her mother nodded.

before too long, the two reached their neighborhood. everything felt like nothing had changed. their house was in the far part of the neighborhood, so it took maybe another couple minutes to reach it.

it was a comforting two story, accompanied by the wonderous forest in the back. just the sight of the trees made y/n feel safe. so many memories, and more to be made.

“home sweet home!” y/n’s mother exclaimed, pulling up to the house. she put the car in park and unbuckled. “don’t wait too long, you’re room isn’t in perfect shape for nothing!” y/n’s mother hopped out of the car and shut the door. she went around the back and grabbed her daughters stuff before heading into the house.

y/n stepped out of the car as well, looking around at her surroundings. no major changes, but she did notice a car at one of the houses down the street. when y/n left, that house was for sale. standing outside of it was a man who looked to be about y/n’s age. he had a black mullet and glasses. it seemed he was tending to some plants in front of his house. he turned in y/n’s direction, flashed her a smile, and waved. y/n waved back, and he turned back to what he was doing. he had an attractive smile, one y/n would remember, but she had never seen him before.

she turned her focus back to her childhood home, and began to walk in. she opened the door and was greeted once again with a familiar smell. her mother’s favorite scent was vanilla-lavender. she always made sure the house smelt like it. every time she’d smell this scent outside of her home, it made her think of home. now she was finally there.

“go get settled into your room, honey,” her mother said, “i’ll be asleep before too long. i have to leave early in the morning.”

“okay, thank you, mom,” y/n said. she walked up to her mother and gave her a hug.

“y/n, thank you for coming back,” her mother said.

“of course, there’s no where i’d rather be.” y/n let go of the hug, grabbed her stuff, and walked up to her room.

it was the last room in the hall, closest to the back of the house and closest to the forest. the door was shut, and still had the ‘y/n’s room’ sign on the door surrounded by assorted stickers that she put there when she was a little girl. she opened the doors and was flooded with nostalgia.

the bed was still on the left side of the room doused in the blue bedsheets and matching comforter that feels like marshmallows. the bookshelf on the right side still had all the same books that y/n had read a dozen times. the desk next to it was oddly neat. y/n usually had some kind of mess going on on it. the window was placed perfectly in the middle. the window which jun had popped in on countless occasions. the window which y/n had always escaped with him out of. the window showed a perfect view of the forest. she was eager to go for a walk. she needed material for her first article anyways, and the forest would be a perfect spot to come up with ideas.

she needed to unpack first. she set her luggage up on her bed and unzipped it. she didn’t have too many outfits, but she had a lot of lounge clothes. she put all her outfits in the closet ans the random shirts and shorts in the drawers, along with the undergarments. she left one set of lounge clothes out: black t-shirt and grey sweats. she changed out of her current clothes and put the lounge set on. she put on a pair of sneakers she brought with her.

y/n’s door opened. her mother was standing outside.

“i’m heading to bed now, sweetie,” her mother said, “are you settling in nicely?”

“yes, everything’s just the same,” y/n said, “i was going to head out to the forest a bit, find something to write my first article about.”

her mother nodded. “well, if you see you’re imaginary friend, tell him i said hi,” she joked before leaving the room.

y/n hoped she saw her ‘imaginary’ friend. she missed him after all this time, and hoped he was still around. she had so much to tell him about, and she was sure he did as well.

y/n grabbed her laptop and headed out the room. she went downstairs and to the back door. she opened it and headed into the forest.

there had been a perfectly paved path that she’d always take. she had walked it so many times that the grass had never been able to grow there. looking around she had noticed the trees had new vines on them, new bushes had sprouted, trees had grown taller, but she knew it would always be the same forest she basically grew up in.

she walked farther and farther in until something caught her eye: a rose bush. roses were her favorite, and a perfect topic for her to write about. roses symbolized so many different things, and were the cause of many memories with jun, who never forget they were her favorite

—

“tag, you’re it!” junhui yelled as he tapped 14 year old y/n’s shoulder from behind. before y/n could fully turn around, jun had already sped off. he was a lot faster than she could ever be, which is why he loved to play tag.

“jun!” y/n chuckled as she began to run after him the best she could. he was so far ahead that he looked like a tiny speck. y/n’s one goal was to catch up to him, and that was all she was focused on.

not the fact that her shoelace was untied.

she sped her pace up, not taking her eyes off of jun. all of a sudden, she felt her shoe get caught. she looked down and saw that she had stepped on her shoelace, causing her to fall in front of her.

in front of her, unbeknownst to her, was a large rose bush filled with thorns. when she fell, she felt them all prick into her at once. some of the thorns were in her face, arms, and thighs. she yelled out in pain.

“jun, help!” she called out, but he was probably too far to hear. everytime she tried to move, a new thorn pricked her in a new place. she was basically stuck in her favorite flower bush. to most people, it would have been great to be surrounded by their favorite flower, but in that moment, y/n wished to be anywhere else.

“y/n? where are you?” junhui’s voice rang. he must have turned around after he didn’t hear y/n chasing him anymore.

“jun!” she yelled, “i’m in the bush! help!” she peaked her head up as much as she could, and she saw jun in the distance. he was looking around frantically until he finally caught sight of the bush. he ran over to her as fast as he could.

“oh my gosh, y/n,” he said, “how did this happen? are you alright?”

“i tripped over my shoelace, and fell on a bed of roses,” y/n chuckled, “it hurts to move.”

“here,” jun said, putting his hands on her sides, “i’ll help you up.” he began to lift her out of the bush. thorns latched onto her and were stuck in her skin, but most of them were still on the bush.

“oh, y/n,” jun pouted, “you have maybe 20 thorn pricks. i am so sorry we shouldn’t have played this game out here.”

“jun, it’s okay,” y/n consoled him, “i had fun. i always have fun with you.” each spot burned in pain. she looked down at the arms and upper legs and saw many bloody cuts. she reached her hand up to her face, grazing her cheek. she winced in pain, feeling more cuts. tears rushed into her eyes.

junhui grabbed her hand. “don’t touch your face,” he said, “there are more cuts on it.” his dark brown eyes were full of concern and empathy. he wiped y/n’s tears before they got into and of the cuts. “i can fix them for you. make them heal faster.” jun took y/n by the hand once again and began to walk her deeper into the forest.

every step y/n took, her left ankle felt sore. she groaned in pain following behind jun. he took around and took notice of this, stopping in his tracks. “here,” he said, “put your arms around my neck.”

y/n nodded, doing as he said. she put her arms around him, and felt him reach under her legs and lift her up. he began to carry her bridal-style into the forest. “you feeling okay, m’lady?”

y/n smiled. “besides from all these pricks, yes,” she said to her charming friend carrying her, “this feels quite nice.”

“special treatment for a special girl,” jun said. he always had such a way with words, and he was the most caring friend y/n had, the only one to be correct.

“where are we going?” y/n asked. this is the farthest they have travelled in a while, and she doesn’t know what down here would help with her cuts.

“you’ll see,” jun said, “i’ve been meaning to show you this little spot anyways. now we have a perfect reason to go.”

that just made y/n too curious. what could it possibly be?

“and we are here!” jun exclaimed.

y/n looked ahead of them and her jaw dropped. in front of them was a beautiful pond. it was surrounded by vines and trees. the water was so clear. it almost looked blue. it was like an oasis.

“my little- wait,” jun said, “our little paradise.” he smiled at y/n. he carried her over to one of the rocks by the pond and sat her down on it.

“junhui, this place is beautiful!” she said, taking in the scenery.

“isn’t it?” jun said giving y/n a smile. “sit tight and i’ll clean the cuts for you. this is the cleanest water you can find.”

y/n relaxed on the rock as she watched jun at work. he walked over to a bush full of coral bells. they were called such for their bell-like shape. he took one of the flowers off and dipped it into the pond, collecting water in it. he brought the water-filled flower back to y/n, kneeling down in front of her.

jun took two fingers into the flower and rubbed the water over the cuts, wiping away all the blood. the water made the cuts feel painless, seemingly healing them. it made y/n feel at ease.

“you wanna know something?” jun said to y/n, his eyes looking all over her face, “no matter how much your face gets cut up, you’ll still be the prettiest girl in the world.”

y/n blushed. he always knew how to compliment her. he had the nicest and sweetest things to say no matter what.

“you’re a liar,” y/n chuckled as jun finished cleaning all her face-cuts.

“i never lie, m’lady,” jun said, dipping his fingers into the water again. “can i see your arms now?”

y/n nodded, showing her arms to jun, and he began to clean. he took care of them pretty quick, then moved to her legs. just a few minutes later, she was all taken care of. none of them burned anymore. y/n felt no pain.

“there you go,” jun said, “all better.”

y/n smiled at her friend. “jun, sometimes i swear you’re some kind of forest god or something.

jun shrugged and laughed. “something like that,” he said. his face suddenly changed, like he had remembered something. “i almost forgot!” he said as he walked off.

y/n cocked her head to the side. ‘what did he forget? i’m feeling all fine now,’ y/n wondered to herself.

jun was at another flower bush. this time it was another rose bush. he picked one of the roses off, taking the thorns off the stem one by one. he walked back over to y/n. he pushed her hair back behind her ear, and placed the rose there.

“finishing touch,” jun smiled.

y/n smiled. roses had always been her favorite, and jun remembered it. “kinda ironic, don’t you think?” she joked, which made jun chuckle.

“i couldn’t help it,” jun said, “they’re your favorite, and they suit you so well. everytime i see a rose, i think of you. no rose can live up to your beauty.”

y/n smiled wide. she wrapped her arms around the boy. “thank you, junhui, for everything,” she said.

he hugged her back. “of course, m’lady. anything for you, forever and always.”

—

that day just made y/n love roses even more, even though they tore her skin up. after looking at them for a few more seconds, she decided to start typing.

“Roses, often hailed as the "Queen of Flowers," hold a special place in human culture and history. Their beauty, fragrance, and variety have made them a symbol of love, passi-”

a sudden noise behind her caused her to pause typing. she looked behind her, but didn’t see anything. ‘must’ve been a squirrel or bird,’ she said to herself and went back to typing.

“-passion, and admiration across different civil-”

the noise was closer now, and sounded bigger than any squirrel or bird. it sounded like footsteps. the footsteps were then accompanied by a voice.

“well, hello there.”

[cloudss-space]

Hold me while thunder strikes

( killer chat ) ronin x reader ... fluff ... hurt / comfort ...

part of a trade with @roninroaming <3 trigger warning:

none

The rain slashes against your windows like a chaotic rhythm. It is not a gentle drizzle but a downpour that roars with the weight of an argument, rattling through the gutters and splashing onto the pavement in furious bursts. You sit by the window, one knee tucked against your chest, watching the world outside drown in silver streaks and blurred edges. The sky is slate grey, heavy and unrelenting. It feels as though the entire world has folded inward under its weight.

Your phone buzzes on the table, its light cutting through the gloom. Ronin's message appears, sharp as the rain outside. "What, no umbrella for your mood today?" You can almost hear the smirk behind his words, the cocky tilt of his voice. You type back with a grin, the faint tap of the keys breaking the rain's hypnotic cadence.

You lose track of time like this, the hours slipping through your fingers as the rain pounds its relentless tattoo. Every few minutes, your phone lights up. Another message from him, pulling you away from the somber dance of raindrops against glass. You text back, rolling your eyes at his reply: "If you had a throne, it'd be made of sarcasm." "And yours would be made of bad comebacks. Try harder, babe." His sass is a spark in the gloom, bright and irritating in the best way.

The rain eases slightly, its fury fading into something more melancholy, but Ronin's texts keep coming, each one like a warm pulse in the cool dimness of the house. "Bet you're still wearing those awful socks." You laugh out loud as you glance down at the striped atrocities on your feet. You consider sending him a picture but instead reply, "Jealous you can't pull these off?" His response is immediate and cutting. "Jealous isn't the word I'd use. I'd say "mortified” is more accurate."

The rain continues to fall, its steady sound filling the air. You glance around the room—familiar, cosy, filled with pieces of yourself—and feel the contrast of his sharpness against it. "You miss me yet?" he texts, and you bite your lip, deciding how to reply. You decide on, "Only when you're not being annoying," but his immediate response—"So always?"—makes you laugh.

The grey sky grows darker, not from the day ending, but from the storm thickening and the rain battering harder, as if to remind you of its presence. You rest your phone on your thigh and listen for a moment, feeling the weight of it like a heartbeat. Another buzz breaks the quiet; it's him again, as persistent as the weather. "Thinking of me? Or just staring dramatically at the rain?"

The kitchen smells of coffee grounds. You think about making a coffee, but Ronin's text stops you. "Bet you can't make it five minutes without replying." You scoff, the gauntlet thrown, and leave his message unanswered. The rain intensifies its incessant hum, mocking you with its insistence. At the six-minute mark, your phone lights up again. "Knew it. You know you can't resist me."

You stand to stretch, your body stiff from sitting so long, the floor creaking softly beneath your feet. Outside, the rain continues its gentle rhythm, creating a comforting background noise that makes your house feel more intimate and more yours. "You're lucky I find you entertaining," you text, pacing the room. Predictably, his reply comes instantly. "You're lucky I let you."

The storm rages on, but it feels softer now, as though the rain has run out of energy to fight. Your texts with Ronin fill the spaces between its breaths, a dance of banter and sharp wit that makes the hours pass like moments. You sink back into your chair, the house settling around you like a familiar embrace.

Outside, the rain becomes a whisper, its fury spent, but you hardly notice. Your phone buzzes again, the light bright against the gloom, and his words feel like a spark, sharp and warm all at once. “Don’t let the rain win. I’m the only thing allowed to ruin your day.” You shake your head, your grin unstoppable. At this moment, the storm is irrelevant. It’s just you, the rain, and him.

You pause, phone in hand, and lean your head against the window. The glass is cold and damp from the relentless rain outside, fogging slightly where your breath touches it. Water trails down in uneven rivulets, tracing patterns that feel almost alive. You wonder if Ronin would laugh at the sight of you like this—lost in thought, staring out at the rain as though it holds some secret. The phone buzzes again. "What, did the rain drown you? Reply faster, slowpoke."

You respond quickly. "Some of us are busy being poetic, unlike you, Mr. 'Reply faster.'" His response is immediate, the sass practically dripping from the screen. "Poetic? You? Please. The only poetry you know is whatever you scrawled on a bathroom stall in middle school." You snort, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. The rain continues its steady beat against the windows, unbothered by your laughter.

The hours stretch out, unhurried, as the day fades into a blur of rain and Ronin's incessant stream of cocky, teasing texts. Each one is like a flicker of light in the grayness that surrounds you. You pick up your phone again. This time you send a photo of the rain-slicked window. "Look at this. Pure atmosphere. Bet you couldn't handle this level of aesthetic." Seconds later, he replies. "That's not the atmosphere; that's wet weather. Nice try, Edgar Allan Mope."

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath about his inability to appreciate art, but there's something grounding about his humour, the way he refuses to let you sink too deeply into the melancholy of the storm. His texts are like the warmth of a candle flickering in a dark room, small but unwavering. The rain grows heavier again, pounding against the roof with renewed vigor. You get up and wander into the kitchen, where the faint aroma of old coffee still lingers. As you set the kettle to boil, your phone buzzes from its place on the counter. "Bet you're making tea. Because you're predictable. Don't forget to add extra drama."

You snap a picture of the kettle mid-boil and send it to him without a caption.He responds with a gif of someone rolling their eyes, followed by, "Classic. You and your tea rituals. Next, you'll be journaling about the rain. Or staring out the window with a single tear dramatically falling down your cheek."

The kettle whistles loudly, cutting through the storm's steady roar. You pour the water into your favourite mug, one he gave you as a joke—it's bright and says "Drama Queen" in bold letters. His texts pop up again as you steep the tea, and you grin as you read, "Using my mug, aren't you? You're welcome for improving your life."

The rain slows once more, softening into a quiet drizzle that patters like footsteps on the ground. You return to your spot by the window, mug in one hand and phone in the other. The room feels more cosy now, the dim light from outside mingling with the warm glow of the lamp beside you. "I bet you're still thinking about that dumb thing I said earlier," he writes, and you smirk, replying, "You're too optimistic if you think you're worth that much thought."

His response is immediate, the sharp wit undiminished. "Admit it: I'm the highlight of your rainy day." You pause, considering your response. Instead, you send him a blurry picture of the rain outside, captioned, "This is the highlight. You're just the annoying sidekick." His reply: "Sidekick? Babe, I'm the main event. Don't forget it."—and you laugh again.

The rain is relentless. The sky is a constant grey, interrupted only by the dark shapes of dripping tree branches against the window. Your gaze wanders over the shifting patterns of water, but your thoughts are drawn back to your phone, which rests warm in your hand. Another buzz jolts your attention, the light from the screen reflecting faintly on the window. "Still staring at the rain? Or are you finally ready to admit I'm more interesting?"

You shake your head, typing back. "You? Interesting? Don't make me laugh." His reply comes quickly, as if he's been waiting for it. "Don't worry, babe, I've got enough charisma to carry this entire conversation. You just focus on being my audience." You snort into your tea, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of rain. His words are entertaining, and you hate that he knows it.

Your tea has gone lukewarm, forgotten in the constant back-and-forth. You sip it anyway, the faint bitterness grounding you. The room feels alive with the rain's persistent whisper, but it's Ronin's texts that give the day its shape. Another buzz, another quip. "What's the weather like in Dramaville? Gloomy, I bet." You roll your eyes and set the mug down with a soft clink.

"Better than wherever you are," you reply, letting your fingers hover over the screen for a moment before sending it. His response is immediate: "Impossible. Wherever I am is the best place to be. Just ask anyone." You laugh, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel light, even with the storm outside pressing against the world.

The rain picks up again, the tempo shifting unpredictably as it pelts the roof in uneven bursts. It's distracting, but not enough to pull you from your phone for long. Another buzz. "Let me guess. You're sitting there all cozy, wrapped in a blanket, pretending to be deep?" He's right, and it's infuriating. You glance down at the fleece draped over your shoulders and type back, "Says the guy texting me nonstop. Who's obsessed now?"

His reply comes slower this time, like he's taking his time just to annoy you. When it finally arrives, you can practically hear the smugness in his tone: "Oh, I've always been obsessed. But it's mutual, don't even try to deny it." You groan, half exasperated, half amused, and resist the urge to throw your phone across the room. "Keep dreaming, Ronin," you type, but your lips curve into a reluctant smile.

The rain softens again, shifting into a soothing cadence that lulls the edges of your thoughts. You set the phone down and your fingers automatically move across the armrest of your chair. Outside, the puddles on the street reflect the faint glow of streetlights, their surfaces rippling with every drop that falls. The storm is no longer a force of chaos; it is now a gentle backdrop.

You glance at your phone and see another message waiting for you. "If I was there, we'd be doing something cooler than sulking. Admit it, I'd make this day better." You hesitate, then type back, "Only because you'd probably say something dumb and distract me." His response is immediate: "Exactly. I'm a gift. You're welcome."

The hours stretch on, the rain continues to fall, but you don't care. Ronin's words keep coming, filling the spaces where silence might have settled. You glance around your room—the blanket, the empty mug, the rain streaking down the glass—and feel a quiet kind of contentment. It's not a day you'd remember forever, but you wouldn't mind repeating it.

The rain becomes a soft hum, almost indistinguishable from your own breathing. Your phone buzzes one last time for the moment, his message simple and oddly warm: "You're lucky you've got me, y'know. The rain's boring. I'm the main event." You laugh softly, not bothering to type a response. His words linger in the air, steady and unrelenting like the storm outside.

The rain softens again, shifting into a soothing cadence that lulls the edges of your thoughts. You set the phone down and your fingers automatically move across the armrest of your chair. Outside, the puddles on the street reflect the faint glow of streetlights, their surfaces rippling with every drop that falls. The storm is no longer a force of chaos; it is now a gentle backdrop.

You glance at your phone and see another message waiting for you. "If I was there, we'd be doing something cooler than sulking. Admit it, I'd make this day better." You hesitate, then type back, "Only because you'd probably say something dumb and distract me." His response is immediate: "Exactly. I'm a gift. You're welcome."

The hours stretch on, the rain continues to fall, but you don't care. Ronin's words keep coming, filling the spaces where silence might have settled. You glance around your room—the blanket, the empty mug, the rain streaking down the glass—and feel a quiet kind of contentment. It's not a day you'd remember forever, but you wouldn't mind repeating it.

The rain becomes a soft hum, almost indistinguishable from your own breathing. Your phone buzzes one last time for the moment, his message simple and oddly warm: "You're lucky you've got me, y'know. The rain's boring. I'm the main event." You laugh softly, not bothering to type a response. His words linger in the air, steady and unrelenting like the storm outside.

The rain's calm, serene rhythm is shattered by the first strike of thunder. The deep, jagged sound rattles the walls and tears through the quiet like an unforgiving hand. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the world seems to stop—time frozen in the sudden, deafening roar. You jerk, eyes wide, a surge of adrenaline flooding your veins.

You jump, the phone slipping from your grip for a second, the cold metal clinking against the table. The thunder continues to rumble in your ears, leaving you tense and your breath shallow. You reach for the phone, your fingers quivering as you try to steady it, the vibrations from the thunder still echoing in your chest.

You are frozen, every muscle tight with the aftershock, heart racing in that sharp, uncomfortable way of fear. The storm outside feels far less comforting now, its unpredictability a threat rather than a background lull. You glance at the window. Your reflection stares back at you, pale and wide-eyed, as if the world itself had just screamed at you.

A second strike follows, closer this time, and you flinch, your whole body jerking in response. The house creaks with the force of it, and you feel as though the storm has come alive, its rage reaching inside. You grip your phone tightly, the hum of your pulse drowning out the rain.

You swallow, trying to regain some composure, but the fear clings to you, an unshakable weight pressing against your ribs. The storm is not just happening around you, it is inside you: a relentless wave of energy that you must not ignore. You shudder, bracing for the next blow.

The sound fades into the distance, leaving behind a ringing silence that feels heavier than the storm itself. Your heart slows, but it's still racing beneath your chest, as if it hasn't caught up with the moment. You want to throw the blanket over your head and retreat from the world outside, but you can't. Your eyes are locked on the window, waiting for the next strike.

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the knot in your stomach. The rain, once a comfort, now feels colder, more distant, as though it has lost its warmth. You check your phone, your fingers still trembling as you type out a message. "Did you hear that? That was terrifying." You don't care if it sounds dramatic; the feeling is raw, too fresh to be anything else.

Seconds later, Ronin replies. "What? Scared of a little thunder? I thought you were tougher than that." You laugh, the tension ebbing from your body, his words anchoring you in the chaos. "You have no idea," you text back, your fingers steady now, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin. The storm outside has quieted for a moment, but your heart is still echoing with its thunder.

The thunder rumbles again, its jagged sound cutting through the silence like a tidal wave. Your heart jumps, your throat tightens and you feel a surge of fear flood your veins. The storm feels like a living thing, its voice booming through the house and reverberating in your chest like a drumbeat. You grip your phone tighter, your knuckles white with tension as the next strike rips through the air.

This time, it feels closer, too close. The house shakes, the windows rattling with the force of the sound. You feel a surge of panic as the crack of thunder rips through the air. Your pulse races, erratic and fast, your mind spiralling with the primal instinct to flee, to hide, to escape the force of nature that is far too powerful for you to fight.

The fear presses against your chest, suffocating you, and you feel trapped. There is no safe corner, no place where the sound cannot reach you, no way to block it out. Your hands are shaking and the phone slips as your body trembles with the aftershock. You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate for it to stop.

The thunder rumbles again, like a fist pounding against the sky, and you flinch as though you've been struck. The sound is deafening, the sheer power of it rattling through your bones, and your body is locked in place, paralyzed by fear. The house shudders with the weight of the storm, but it's your body that feels like it's breaking apart. Your pulse pounding like a furious drumbeat, matching the storm outside.

You try to focus on your phone, but the words blur as your vision swims, each new strike of thunder leaving you breathless, dizzy with the crushing weight of the fear. You type out a message, your fingers trembling, "I can't... I hate this. I'm so scared, Ronin." Another strike tears through the sky, louder than before, and you can't breathe, can't think. The sound reverberates in your bones, too close, too much.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a rawness in your throat as you try to steady yourself, but the panic is relentless. The thunder is no longer just noise; it's a living, breathing force, something that seeks you out, hunts you down, cracks through the world you thought was safe. Your body trembles in its wake, your mind racing to escape, to hide, but there is nowhere to go.

The phone buzzes in your hand and you can barely make out Ronin's reply. "I got you. It's okay. Just breathe, baby." His words are a lifeline, but they don't reach you. Not completely. The next strike is immediate, a roar that fills the air, drowning everything else out, and you gasp, clapping your hands over your ears, curling into yourself. The weight of it, the noise, the endless crack and roll—it's too much.

"Make it stop," you text, your voice a whisper in the storm. I can't do this." Your vision is blurry, the fear clamping around your ribs like a vise. The room is spinning with the thunder, and you want to crawl into a space where you can't hear it, where it can't touch you.

The thunder is relentless. It cracks through the night again, louder than the last, and you can't escape it. The world outside might as well be falling apart, and your body is doing its best to keep up with the storm inside of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound of thunder like an invasion, a constant, thunderous assault that makes everything feel small, fragile, and out of control. You clutch your phone to your chest, your pulse frantic, wishing desperately for the storm to retreat.

The thunder continues, its monstrous growls rattling the house, and now there's more: lightning. A bright, searing flash of white cuts through the dark, too fast to process, followed by a jagged rumble that seems to shake the very air. Your body jerks with the suddenness of it, and for a moment, the whole world feels too bright, too alive with the electric crackle. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your mind racing faster than the storm.

The lightning isn't just a flash anymore—it's a threat, a violent streak of light that tears across the sky, lighting up the room in blinding, eerie brilliance. Each strike is sharp enough to cut through your skin, and the contrast between the light and the rolling thunder is enough to send a shiver down your spine. You curl tighter into yourself, the blanket wrapped around you like a fragile shield, but the storm is still too close, still too loud.

You grip your phone, fingers shaking, and type out the only thing that makes sense in this moment of madness: "Ronin, come over. I can't do this alone." The words come out fast and are desperate, but you don't care. You need him. You need him here, to drown out the roar of the storm with his presence, to make it stop feeling like the walls are closing in on you.

The lightning strikes again, the sky flaring brighter than daylight, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You are certain the crackling electric hum will stop vibrating through your body. The house feels hollow, empty despite the storm crashing against it. Your phone buzzes. For a split second, your breath catches. "I'm on my way, baby. Just breathe. I'm on my way.

His words are a balm, but they don't erase the panic clenching your stomach. The storm outside rages on, its roar and crack of light a constant presence. Another lightning strike rips through the night, too close this time, and you flinch so hard you knock over the cup of tea you forgot about on the table. It spills across the wood, the hot liquid spilling over the edges, but you don't notice—you are completely focused on the storm, the lightning, the thunder, and your desperate need for him to be here now.

You text him again, your hands shaking as you hit the keys. "Hurry. It's too much. I can't breathe when it's like this. I need you." You send it without hesitation, knowing the words don't sound brave, don't sound like the person you want to be. Right now, you don't care. You want the comfort of him, the storm outside lessened by his presence, his steady calm.

A flash of lightning erupts across the sky, too bright, too sudden, and your whole body jerks. You gasp, hands scrambling for your phone, your breath coming too fast, as though you might suffocate on the storm itself. You hear the wind now, too, its howl pressing against the windows, as if the world is coming undone outside. The cracks of thunder follow, overlapping, creating a chaotic rhythm that leaves no room for calm.

You feel small in this room, small in the face of the storm, like the walls are closing in. Your body shakes as fear rises, each rumble of thunder making it harder to breathe, harder to stay calm. You text him again, your voice trembling through the screen: "Hurry. I need you so much right now. I don't want to be alone with this."

The phone buzzes almost immediately, and you don't even wait to read it, already feeling the sting of fear creep up your spine. "I'm almost there, just hold tight. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you." His words are soft and warm, like a promise, and for a moment, it almost feels like the storm isn't so loud and impossible to fight.

Then, as if to punctuate the moment, lightning strikes again, and you're right back in it. The electricity crackles, the sky explodes in a violent white flash. You bury your face in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself, trying to ignore the frantic pulse of fear that races beneath your skin. The sound is deafening, a roar that fills every corner of the room and echoes in your bones. The storm won't relent. You cannot find peace until he is here, until his voice, his presence, cuts through the noise.

You wait for him, gripping the phone with white knuckles, feeling the space between you and the outside world close in. Each flash of lightning reminds you of your insignificance in the face of this force of nature, but his words, his promises, are the only thing that feel solid, like something to hold onto.

The thunder cracks again, but now, as you wait, there's something else in the air—hope. The storm might still be raging, but Ronin is coming, and that thought keeps you grounded in the chaos.

The storm continues to batter the house, but now there's a new sound breaking through the thunder: the soft, steady tap of footsteps on the porch. You don't hear the door open at first, but the soft creak of the hinges cuts through the fear, and then the sound of his voice. "Hey, I'm here."

It's a simple thing, but it's enough to make your breath catch in your throat. Your heartbeat slows, easing slightly to allow room for relief. You don't hesitate; you rush to the door, your fingers fumbling with the handle. Your mind is a blur of desperate need to get to him. The wind howls outside, but in this moment, with him here, the storm feels less threatening, less alive.

When you finally open the door, the cold air rushes in with a gust of rain, but it's him that you notice first. Ronin stands in the doorway, drenched from the downpour, his hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes full of something warm and steady. This makes the storm outside feel less like a threat and more like background noise. You notice the rain dripping off him and the way his clothes cling to his body. Your hands reach for him and pull him inside before your mind can process the fact that he's really there.

He doesn't say anything; he simply pulls you into his arms, wrapping you up like you're the only thing that matters. His warmth spreads through you, instantly soothing the storm within. You breathe in deeply, and for the first time in hours, you find it easier to breathe. The storm may rage on, but his hold on you, his way of holding you, makes the world feel a little less overwhelming.

"Shh," he murmurs, brushing a damp lock of hair from your forehead. "It's okay. I'm here, I've got you." His voice is low and steady, the polar opposite of the storm raging outside.

You press your face into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. The thunder is still there, distant and booming, but quieter now, as if its power is fading in the presence of him. You cling to him tightly, as if you're afraid the storm will return, but he only holds you closer.

"I hate it," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper due to the storm's din. "I hate it when it's like this. I can't stand the thunder, the lightning. It feels like it's going to swallow me whole."

Ronin doesn't pull away; he just holds you, his arms firm around you. His hand moves up to stroke your hair gently, soothing in its simplicity. "I know, babe. I know. But you're not alone anymore, okay? I'm not going anywhere." His words are a solid rope thrown to you in the storm, something to latch onto.

You nod, burying your face deeper into him and letting the tension in your body unwind. With each heartbeat, with each breath he takes, the storm outside feels less suffocating, less powerful. The rain beats against the windows and the lightning flashes, but his presence is your shield, protecting you from the fear that has held you captive for so long.

The next thunder strike comes, and you flinch, but Ronin doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls you in tighter, and you hear his voice again, soft in your ear. "It's just noise, baby. That's all it is. The thunder can't hurt you."

You don't know how long you stand there like that, but it doesn't matter. The storm rages on, the rain continues to fall, but for the first time tonight, you finally feel like you can breathe again. The world outside might be crashing in, but here, in the quiet of his arms, everything is still, everything is safe.

"You're not alone," he repeats, like a mantra, like a promise. His lips brush your forehead as you stand in the doorway and you close your eyes, letting the fear that's gripped you for hours finally begin to loosen its hold. The thunder still rolls across the sky, but with Ronin here, you feel safe. The storm outside is just that—outside. Here, with him, you are safe.

Ronin pulls back just enough to look at you, his fingers still threaded through your hair. His eyes are dark but warm, and he's clearly trying to anchor you to the here and now. But even with the storm outside and the chaos of your racing heartbeat, that familiar cocky smirk starts to tug at the corners of his lips. "Alright, alright," he says, his tone amused. "You're acting like we're in the middle of a hurricane, not just a little thunderstorm."

You frown, but even in the midst of the lingering panic, the familiar teasing tone of his voice makes something inside of you soften. His thumb brushes across your temple, a small gesture meant to comfort, even though his words are anything but soft. He's never gentle and quiet, but you've learned to love that about him—the fact that he brings his sass and cockiness even when things are at their worst.

"You think this is nothing?" you ask, trying to keep the hint of vulnerability out of your voice. "You don't hear it, do you? The way it shakes the whole house?" The next thunder strike rumbles through the air, so loud it makes the walls shudder, and you feel the familiar chill of fear crawling up your spine again.

He laughs, a low, teasing sound that vibrates against your chest. "It's thunder, babe. Not a bomb." He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "But I get it. You're not a storm chaser. His hand moves from your hair, settling on your back in that reassuring way that he's known you for too long to be a surprise.

"I'm your personal storm-shelter," he asserts, his grin widening as he pulls you closer, his body warm against yours. "And lucky for you, I've got an endless supply of badass energy to spare."

You roll your eyes, but even as the fear still claws at you, his confidence seeps into you. He has a knack for transforming even your deepest insecurities into something light, something manageable. His cocky nature is infectious—there's no denying it. You breathe out, trying to calm yourself, and look up at him. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly feeling like a badass right now," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk remains unfaltering. "That's why you've got me. You think I'm going to let you get all worked up over a little noise? Nah." He places a hand under your chin, tilting your head back so that you have no choice but to meet his eyes. "You're way tougher than this. You just need me to remind you of it."

You feel the stirrings of a smile tug at your lips. The storm still rages, but with him standing here, exuding that impossible confidence, the walls feel less constricting. "You're insufferable, you know that?" you say, trying to push against the pull of his smile, but failing miserably.

"Yep," he replies confidently, his voice dripping with his signature cockiness. "But you love it. You love me." He winks, his hand sliding from your chin to your back again, the warmth of it anchoring you further. "And you'll love me even more when I get you to stop shaking like a leaf in a storm."

You shake your head, but it's impossible to ignore how much calmer you feel with him here, his sassy remarks turning into a grounding force, like a shield against the fear. The storm outside might still be raging, but with him pulling you closer and his unwavering confidence enveloping you like a blanket, you can handle it.

"I swear," you mutter, resting your forehead against his chest. "You're impossible."

"I know," he replies smoothly, his voice taking on that familiar cocky edge. "And you're welcome." He gently guides you back towards the couch, where you settle, his presence an unshakable force beside you. The storm is still fierce, but with Ronin, it feels like you can weather the storm together.

He leans back against the armrest and you settle beside him. His arm naturally drapes around your shoulders. "It's just a thunderstorm, babe," he says, his usual cockiness softening for a moment. "I'll stay with you as long as you need me. I'm your personal bodyguard against Mother Nature, okay?"

His teasing, his cocky attitude, his steadiness... it works. You feel the storm inside you calm. The next crack of thunder doesn't seem so overwhelming, and you realise that with Ronin here, it doesn't matter how loud the sky roars.

You lean into him. You are still a little shaken, but the steady beat of his heart under your ear reminds you that you are not alone. The next rumble of thunder comes, but instead of tensing, you feel the light pressure of his thumb rubbing circles on your shoulder. His arm is an anchor holding you still, and the storm outside belongs to another world.

"See? That wasn't so bad," he teases, his voice low and playful. You look up at him, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. His cocky grin is still there, but there's something softer behind it now, a protective warmth that keeps the fear at bay. He knows exactly how to reassure you without sympathising with your panic. Just a little cockiness, a little humour, a little assurance.

"Really?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Because I think the walls just about cracked with that last one."

"Oh, babe, the house isn't going anywhere," Ronin says with a wink, leaning back casually. He looks at you like he's in control of the storm, like he's holding it in his hands, shaping it with every word. "And neither are you. You're stuck with me, rain or shine."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "I'm not sure that's a good thing," you tease, your voice taking on a lightness that wasn't there before.

He chuckles, but there's a cocky confidence in his laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. "Trust me, it's the best thing." His thumb brushes the back of your hand as his hand slides up yours, and it's oddly soothing, even though the storm rages on outside.

The next strike of lightning is blinding, and you flinch again, but Ronin doesn't move. He simply holds you tighter, his touch steady. "You're fine. You're tougher than this, remember?" His voice is unwavering, and that familiar cocky edge returns, instantly creating an invisible shield against the storm. "I'm here, so you can't be scared. Let the storm be the storm.

You exhale slowly, your body relaxing into him as you focus on the steady warmth he's offering. His presence is all you need to feel grounded. The storm is just that—the storm. You can hear and feel it, but it won't touch you. Ronin is here.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, trying to act like you're not hanging on to every word, but he knows better. He always does. "You're so full of yourself."

"Well, someone has to be," he retorts, amping up his smirk. "And lucky for you, I've got all the confidence you could possibly need." His hand slides down your back, his fingers grazing your spine in a way that sends a warm tingle through your body, pulling you deeper into the safety of his embrace.

"You'll never live this down, will you?" you ask, turning your head to look at him with a mock glare. The storm rages on outside, but you feel no overwhelming sense of dread.

He shrugs dramatically, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll remember me for it. You're stuck with the Ronin Weather Service."

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep inside you. "Weather service? Really?"

"I'm multi-talented," he says with a grin that says he's enjoying this way too much. "I provide emotional support and weather advice. Best deal you'll ever get."

You roll your eyes, but this time, there's no tension. The storm outside feels far away, even with the next crack of thunder rattling the windows. The tension in your shoulders has melted away under his touch, and the lightness in the air has returned.

His voice is low and carries a hint of tenderness beneath the usual cockiness. "I'm not leaving, okay? I'm not leaving until the storm has passed or you decide you want me out. I'm not going anywhere."

You nod, finally relaxing into the moment. The lightning flashes again, but you don't flinch. You've got Ronin here, his confident, teasing energy wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. His presence makes the world feel safer and more manageable.

"Thanks," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, but he hears you anyway. His hand squeezes your shoulder, a silent promise.

"Always," he replies, his voice as steady as before, and you realise that with him here, even the storm outside pales in comparison to the strength he's giving you. The thunder and lightning may crash around you, but Ronin is here, and that's all that matters.

The storm rages outside, but inside, it's quiet. The sounds of thunder and lightning still boom and crackle, but they don't hold the same power over you. Ronin's presence is a constant, unwavering grounding force. His arm is still around you, and his hand touches your skin, reassuring you that you are not alone.

You settle further into him, your head resting against his chest, listening to the calm rhythm of his heartbeat. The storm outside fades as your focus narrows to the warmth between you and the quiet strength of his presence. You know he's the type to rise to the occasion, to be the anchor in the chaos. But tonight, with the storm outside and your fear inside, he feels like more than just a source of strength—he feels like a fortress.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, and you feel the tension tighten in your chest. But this time, it doesn't claw at your insides the same way. You know that Ronin is right here, his chest rising and falling beneath your ear, his warmth surrounding you like a shield. "Not so scary now, huh?" he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. You hear amusement in his voice, but also something else: sincerity.

You smile slightly, even though you still feel the storm in your bones. "Yeah, well, you're the only thing making this bearable," you admit, your voice quieter than usual, almost vulnerable. You're not usually one to open up like this, to admit how much the storm affects you, but with him, you don't feel weak for it. You feel safe.

His hand rubs the back of your neck, soothing you with its rhythm. "I've got you, babe," he says simply. His words are always confident and sure, but tonight they're also tender, and his arms are tight around you, as if he's shielding you from more than the storm outside. "I'll be here as long as you need me."

You close your eyes and sink into him even more. The storm outside may rage on, but here, with him holding you close, the chaos hums in the background. You want to capture this moment, this feeling of security, and keep it with you forever. Ronin is your constant, your calm in the centre of the storm, the one person who knows exactly what you need without you having to say a word.

You exhale, the weight of fear finally lifted. The storm outside may still rage, but you feel less like running from it now. "You're not so bad, you know?" you tease, affection laced into your words.

"Yeah, I know," he responds, a grin in his voice. "Fine, I'll play along."

You shake your head, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. "I'm just glad I don't have to do this alone."

"I told you. You never have to," he replies, his voice low and steady. There is a calmness in his voice now, a steadiness that makes the storm outside seem more distant and less powerful. His hand moves to your hair, stroking it gently as you rest against him.

Outside, the wind howls and the rain beats against the windows, but it all feels less threatening. The storm is still there, but his presence softens and tames it, and the quiet certainty of him beside you makes it feel less threatening. You realise that the storm isn't just something you're surviving – you're getting through it together.

This realisation makes the fear fade even more. Ronin is right there with you, his cocky, teasing presence still holding its place, but now there's a softness to it, something that makes you feel less like you're battling the storm and more like you're weathering it side by side.

You raise your head and meet his eyes. For the first time since the storm began, you feel a peace settle in your chest. "You really are something else, you know that?"

He smirks, his usual cockiness fully in place. "I try." But there's something different in his eyes now, something that makes his smile more than just a teasing gesture. He leans in closer, brushing a kiss against your forehead, and you feel a soft press of lips that sends a flutter through you, calming the storm inside you.

The thunder rumbles again, but this time it feels distant, as if it belongs in a different world. You close your eyes and lean into him. The world outside is no longer a threat. You know you have Ronin beside you, his warmth, his confidence, his steady presence all wrapping around you like a cocoon. The storm outside seems irrelevant. With him here, you feel ready to face anything.

The storm outside continues to rage, but you know it has lost its strength. The walls shake with each strike of lightning, but you don't flinch. Ronin's warmth is all-encompassing, steady like the pulse of the earth itself. His presence has transformed the tension, turning the fear into something manageable, something almost laughable.

His arm is still around you, pulling you closer, as he glances down at you with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes. "See? I told you the storm was no match for me." His smirk is so wide it could almost rival the storm itself. "Now, you're calm. You're safe. I am the hero of the day.

You roll your eyes, but there's affection in the movement, the playful push of your shoulder against his. "Yeah, yeah, Ronin, you're the greatest. Stop gloating." You say it like you're annoyed, but you both know it's anything but.

But he doesn't let you off the hook that easily. With his signature sassy grin, he shifts closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm sorry, babe. I'll stop gloating only if you kiss me right now." His voice is playful, but there's a challenge in it that makes your pulse quicken.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. "Really? You want me to kiss you after all that?"

He shrugs casually, completely unfazed by the storm or the teasing. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."

You laugh softly, shaking your head, and the last remnants of the fear that the storm had conjured slip away like sand in the wind. He is irresistible, even when he's being infuriatingly cocky. As the sky is split by the next bolt of lightning, you realise that a kiss might not be such a bad idea after all.

Without another word, you lean up and press your lips to his, silencing his cocky grin in the most effective way possible. The kiss is slow at first, your lips meeting his with a warmth that makes the storm outside feel like nothing at all. But soon, that spark between you ignites, and the kiss deepens as his hand shifts to the back of your neck to pull you closer, his touch firm and confident.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Ronin's grin is wide and satisfied. "Told you," he says, his voice still cocky. "Best decision you'll make today."

You smile, your heart fluttering, and you laugh, even as his teasing words sink in. "Okay, okay, you win this round."

Another strike of lightning flashes, but you don't flinch this time. You're not alone, and that's all that matters.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Family First

“Mr. President, over here!”

“Mr. President, a quick word please!”

“Mr. President, what are your thoughts on the upcoming elections?”

Coriolanus has grown used to ignoring these pestering questions. Especially when walking to his front door.

These pesky reporters haven’t let up since the day he moved into the Presidential Mansion, waiting outside the front gates, desperate for something juicy.

As if he’d ever answer them.

They can’t get through the fence but their words certainly can, their annoying questions about things that don’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things.

He’s got much more important things to worry about today.

He has to address the nation.

Riots have been breaking out across the Districts, causing shortages of food and supplies in the Capitol. If he doesn’t get things under control they might have another war on their hands. And he can’t have that.

Coriolanus nods at the two Peacekeepers stationed outside of the side entrance to the Mansion, a less impressive one yes, but easier to walk out of compared to the front door where everyone is watching.

He steps inside the Mansion and is immediately greeted by Eudora Trinket, his trusted coordinator who hopefully, has whipped something up for him to say to all the citizens of Panem.

“You’re terribly last minute with these things, you know that don’t you?” She asks as they briskly walk down the great hall towards one of the many conference rooms they have in the Mansion.

Coriolanus merely glances down at the middle-aged woman who is always sporting a new colored wig with eyelashes to match. She keeps him on task so he doesn’t comment on her fashion choices.

“Do you have a speech?”

Eudora scoffs, whipping out a stack of notecards, “Do I have a speech? Of course, I have a speech Coriolanus. This isn’t amateur hour!”

Coriolanus takes the cards from her, glancing over the prepared lines she’s written for him. They seem good, strong, and authoritative, not leaving any room for argument.

“Let’s just hope everything’s ready,” he mumbles as they walk into the largest conference room they have in the Mansion, already occupied by all his advisors and several diplomats whose jobs are all currently on the line for letting this happen.

They said they could handle it. Now he has to clean up their mess.

Coriolanus makes his way to the podium, a camera already positioned in front of it, ready to roll to the entire nation at his command.

Coriolanus grips the edges of the podium, reminding himself to breathe. Eudora says he’s going to get gray hairs before he turns thirty but running a country can be stressful.

He glances around the room and finds the one person he truly cares about it missing.

But there’s a good reason for that.

Ten years ago, Coriolanus met the love of his life, Soarynn Nightingale.

He knew from the moment he saw her that she was the one for him, no questions asked. He courted her, learned about her, and fell in love with her. They got married right after graduating from University and right before he began his campaign to become the youngest President of Panem.

She had supported him through everything, the hardships, and the victories. And just when he thought she couldn't possibly give him anything else, she gave him a daughter. Ceraphina Snow was two years old and the apple of his eye. With her golden curls and eyes identical to her mother's, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He didn't get to see her as often as he liked, spending most of his time working on keeping this country under control but he cherished every moment he had with his baby girl.

He listens to the sound of quiet yet stressed whispers throughout the room, all from men who might be fired by the end of the night. They all look so pathetic in their seats, nervously looking at him before looking back at each other, trying to shift the blame off of themselves.

Coriolanus stares back down at the podium, looking at the cards Eudora wrote for him. He usually prefers to write these things himself but he was pulled out of a meeting to do this. This was a dire circumstance it seemed.

A hush falls over the room and he glances up to see why.

Soarynn is finally here.

She looks jarred, like she was just sleeping which she probably was, she's been more tired lately but there's good reason for that. His eyes zero in on his darling daughter who's hugged to Soarynn's hip, curiously looking around at all these men who will be jobless by the end of the night.

Her eyes finally find his and Ceraphina lets out a shriek of excitement, "Daddy!"

Coriolanus can't help but grin at how cute she is, reaching out for him. Soarynn is quick to quiet down their child, bouncing her up and down for a moment. She looks beautiful as always, with her hair pinned up while wearing a green dress, flowy and flattering.

He feels so bad about dragging her into this at the last minute but as President of Panem, it's important that his family is always seen by his side.

Soarynn gives him a small smile before nodding at everyone who stood up the moment she stepped into the room, silently telling them to sit down again. They do and several men let out sighs of relief as if an ounce of kindness from Soarynn can save them from a lifetime of wrath from their employer.

Soarynn takes her seat next to Eudora, to the immediate right of the podium and Ceraphina immediately reaches out for Eudora, most likely to touch her eyelashes which have always fascinated their daughter since the day she was born.

Eudora who claims to not like children gives her hand a little squeeze before she turns to look up at Coriolanus and give him a nod to go ahead. It's time.

The room falls silent once again and the nation's anthem begins to play, the cameras begin to roll and Coriolanus begins to speak directly to the camera, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"Over the course of the past six weeks, rebels have been wreaking havoc in the Districts, disrupting production and challenging those who are above them." He eyes his advisors who are nearly on the edge of their seats. "But I am here to put an end to these foolish attempts to disrupt what we know to be a great nation, rich with resources that are so gladly provided to the citizens of the Capitol."

Ceraphina tugs on Soarynn's dress, already tired of sitting still while her father talks.

"Starting today, all working District citizens will be given four additional hours of work to make up for lost production time. Those who have been detained for inciting riots will be executed."

A few eyes widen at his words but Coriolanus means every bit of them. If they let these rebels live, they'll spread this ideology to other people until the Capitol is left with Districts full of rebels and roaches.

"Let me be clear, we do not tolerate rebels in Panem, we will not ever tolerate rebels in Panem. This way of thinking will get you nowhere, it will only harm those you wish to help. We are a great nation that will rise together out of the ashes that these rebels have so foolishly created. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

The camera cuts off and Coriolanus is met with words of praise from every man in the room.

"Excellent speech sir."

"They won't dare to try and cross us now."

"Wonderfully said Mr. President."

He'd kill all of them right now if there weren't ladies present.

"Tonight we'll have a meeting to discuss further plans," he tells them, "eight o'clock." Then at nine o'clock, he'll start hiring new men to take their places.

He steps down from the podium and is greeted by Ceraphina beaming up at him, a big smile on her sweet little face. "Daddy!" Coriolanus grins down at her, unable to ignore her sweet nature, "Hello my darling, were you sleeping with your mother before you two arrived?"

Soarynn sighs and brushes a stray curl out from Ceraphina's face, "We were having very pleasant dreams before we found out that you'd be addressing the nation and threatening to execute half of it if things didn’t start to shape up.”

Eudora hums and gives him a sharp poke, “I don’t believe I mentioned anything about executions in my speech,” she hisses but Coriolanus ignores her, taking Ceraphina into his hold and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She thinks the world of her father, even if he is sometimes a heartless man, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Sometimes we have to do hard things,” he tells both women, blowing a raspberry against Ceraphina’s cheek which makes her tumble into a fit of laughter, “Daddy no!”

Soarynn watches the sweet sight with a small smile on her lips but he can tell she’s still exhausted, probably more so after hearing that speech, “We’re having lunch if you’d like to join us,” he offers, already knowing she’ll likely decline.

Soarynn shakes her head and rests her hand on the side of his face, a gesture she’s done at least a thousand times to comfort him in times of stress, “I wish we could darling, but we’re both rather tired today, aren’t we Ceraphina?”

“No Mommy,” Ceraphina says with a shake of her head, curls bouncing, “lunch with Daddy.”

Coriolanus presses another kiss to his daughter's cheek before handing her back over to his wife, "Next time my darling," he promises Ceraphina, "you'd be terribly bored anyway."

Ceraphina pouts but doesn't cry, at two years old, she's already quite well behaved and Coriolanus has Soarynn to thank for that. She's been quite involved in raising their daughter, causing her to be oh-so-sweet and polite to all she comes across, just like Soarynn.

Soarynn hums, brushing back Ceraphina's curls, "He's right darling, we'll have much more fun upstairs." Ceraphina doesn't look too convinced but Coriolanus is already being pulled in another direction by one of his trusted advisors, Quintus Heavensbee, someone who will not be fired tonight.

"Actually, it might be good for people to see all three of you together," he suggests in a hushed whisper, eyeing Soarynn for a moment, "or all four of you." Coriolanus rests a hand on Soarynn's stomach, just starting to show signs of pregnancy at five months which has only led him to be more protective over her.

He's kept her away from the news and media as much as possible, wanting her to have a calm and quiet pregnancy with their second little girl but it seems that duty comes before desire sometimes.

Before he can suggest something else that doesn't involve the love of his life, Soarynn cuts in with that sweet smile of hers, known to calm down the most tense situations, "A few minutes in front of the cameras couldn't hurt darling," she says, "it's our job to speak directly to our people."

Coriolanus bites the inside of his cheek, sometimes he wishes she weren't so selflessly devoted to this country and its well-being. From the beginning, Soarynn has always been the perfect First Lady, speaking at events, shaking important hands, and always knowing just what to say.

"Five minutes," he decides, giving both Soarynn and Quintus a knowing look, "I still have a lunch to attend." He also doesn’t want Soarynn to exhaust herself but he keeps that to himself.

Quintus smiles, pleased that Coriolanus agreed to his suggestion so easily and Ceraphina smiles too, excited to be with her father for a little longer. "Daddy carry me," she reaches out for him again. He can hardly deny such a request and takes her from Soarynn, "Best manners Ceraphina," he reminds her as they make their way out of the room and down the hallway.

The reporters are still outside waiting for him once they walk through the side entrance, sticking their hands and cameras through the iron fence that surrounds the entirety of the President's Mansion.

Coriolanus rests one hand on Soarynn's lower back while the other holds Ceraphina to his hip. A group of Peacekeepers surround the Presidential Family while they walk to the front gates of the Mansion and Coriolanus hates every second of it. He wants Soarynn inside, away from all of this.

"Mr. President, how do you plan to follow through with your threats of executions?"

"President Snow, by how many weeks will you continue to increase the District's workload?"

"Mrs. Snow, what do you think of your husband's brutish threats towards those in the Districts?"

It's the last question that makes his nostrils flare so of course it's the one Soarynn chooses to answer. "I trust in my husband's ability to keep our country safe and under control," she answers in a calm tone, the same one she uses whenever Ceraphina gets fussy, "the Capitol wants everyone to stay safe and riots endanger everyone."

Quintus lets out a grunt of approval, even Coriolanus is impressed by her answer, short and to the point and above all, praising the Capitol. Ceraphina kicks her feet, bored already, "Mommy I want to go play!"

Coriolanus quickly quiets her down with a stern look, he can't afford to have her say something contradicting, "Mr. President, when can we be expecting your second child?" Perhaps Ceraphina's small outburst can help shift the conversation elsewhere, he wraps his arm around Soarynn's waist, pulling her into him.

"Our precious little girl will be born in four months," he says proudly, "we're overjoyed with healthy reports on her growth and can't wait to strengthen and expand our family."

Soarynn leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder and the cameras all start flashing, capturing the sweet moment between the President and First Lady.

"Do you have any names planned?"

Soarynn smiles up at him, "We have a few ideas," she says, "but we still have a while to go."

Ceraphina reaches out for her mother and Soarynn takes hold of her small hand, once again, causing the cameras to flash. "Thank you for your time gentlemen," Coriolanus says to the reporters, ready to go back inside, "we hope to see you again soon."

He wishes he could banish anyone from waiting outside of his home, desperate for a blurry photograph of him or his family but he can only do so much before raising concerns about his harsh behavior. Threatening to execute any rebels certainly hasn't helped his case.

"Excellent job sir," Quintus commends him once they're all back inside, safe from the cameras and prying questions. Coriolanus hands Ceraphina back to Soarynn, straightening out his tie, "They're relentless with the questions," he mumbles, shaking his head, "and they're not even good questions."

Ceraphina giggles when Soarynn tickles under her chin, momentarily causing Coriolanus to forget about his stressful job, he wishes he could spend the rest of the day with his girls but he can't.

"Any news is good news," Quintus reminds him.

Coriolanus doesn't quite agree with that way of thinking but he doesn't say anything against it, instead, he presses a kiss to Soarynn's temple, "I'll see you tonight darling," he promises her.

He tries to have dinner with his family but it doesn't always happen, especially on days like today. But Soarynn understands that, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze, "Don't work too hard Coryo," she says softly, pulling at his heartstrings. If Soarynn had her way, they'd be nobodies, happily married and living a quiet life in his old penthouse apartment.

She's been so devoted to him and his dreams that she sacrificed her own dreams of raising a family out of the spotlight. A small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness with him but he recognizes all she's done for him.

"I'll try," is all he says, pinching Ceraphina's cheek, "be good for your mother sweetheart."

Watching them walk up the stairs feels like parting with a piece of his soul but he pushes that soft part of him away, right now he needs to do his job and be the cold, heartless man people know him to be.

It's better this way, safer this way.

꧁ ꧂

Later that night after firing every man who caused him strife today, Coriolanus sits in his bedroom on the sofa by the fireplace. Soarynn is in the bathroom getting ready for bed and he's got a newspaper in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

It's the perfect way to end the night.

Eudora threw the newspaper on his desk right before she left for the night. Fresh off the presses from their impromptu family interview this afternoon after he addressed and threatened the entire nation.

'President Snow is a Family Man' the headline reads.

He smiles at the photograph on the front page, Soarynn pressed to his side and Ceraphina on the other, holding each other's hands in a loving manner while Soarynn looks up at him so adoringly. He couldn't have planned it better himself.

He reads a few of the lines written about what Soarynn said, calling Coriolanus a President who puts his family first. Exactly. He's so glad the reporters can see it that way.

He’s more than pleased with how today turned out. He had been angry at first, angry at the men who made him look bad due to their own incompetence but Soarynn’s sweet voice seems to be the cure for everything.

He peers into the bathroom and catches a glimpse of his glowing wife dressed merely in her underwear, a hand resting on her baby bump. He smiles to himself, in a few months their baby girl will be here and they’ll be a perfect family unit.

Soarynn has truly given him so much, endless support, two children in about two years and she’s stunning on top of all of that.

The press can say all they want about him and so can people in the Districts for that matter. At the end of the day, so long as he has Soarynn by his side, he’ll always be known as a man who puts family first.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @kickmybark @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf |

[scrollonso]

Cinnamom — Strollonso (3) (prev)

A little over a week later, Lance sat at the back of Dr. Alonso’s classroom, tapping his pen absently against his notebook. His mind wasn’t on the lecture — truly, it hadn't been since they started this little arangement. It wasn’t even on the upcoming exam. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the awkward dinner he’d had with his father and the way Fernando had reassured him afterward.

It had been tense, but Lance got through it — mostly because of Fernando (and his cock.)

Now, though, things felt different.

Fernando had been more distant this past week. Professional. Careful. He still held Lance’s gaze longer than he should, still lingered when they crossed paths, but it wasn’t the same.

Lance hated it.

How could Fernando let him get so close, let him feel every inch of his body, just to suddenly decide it was too much? It wasn't fair.

“Mr. Stroll,” Fernando called from the front, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you answer the question?”

Lance blinked, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention — realizing half the class had passed by and he hadn't heard a word. The class chuckled quietly, and Fernando’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Maybe you’d like to join me in my office after class to review?” Fernando said, his voice casual, but his gaze intense.

Lance’s heart leapt. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, sure.”

When class ended, Lance lingered as the others filed out. Once they were alone, Fernando closed the door, leaning against it.

“You’ve been distracted,” Fernando observed, his voice low.

Lance crossed his arms. “And you’ve been avoiding me.”

Fernando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had to. After the encounter with Lawrence… I needed to be careful.”

Lance frowned. “Careful? You said you weren’t going anywhere. You said you weren't scared.”

“I’m not,” Fernando assured, stepping closer. “But I also have to protect you. If anyone finds out…”

Lance grabbed Fernando’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care who knows.”

Fernando cupped Lance’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “You should care.”

“I only care about you.” Lance leaned into his touch. “So stop pulling away. It’s driving me fuckingcrazy.”

Fernando shook his head softly. “Language, Lancito.”

Lance smiled. “Sorry, sir.”

Fernando kissed him then — slow and deliberate, like he’d been holding back for too long. Lance melted into it, his arms wrapping around Fernando’s neck, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Fernando rested his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m done keeping my distance.”

“Good,” Lance whispered, breathless. “Because I need you.”

“And you have me,” Fernando promised, his voice firm. “Now shoo, I actually have work to do.”

Lance grinned at Fernando’s words, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

Fernando laughed, watching him leave with a lingering gaze. As the door shut behind Lance, Fernando sighed, shaking his head. He was already counting the minutes until he could see him again.

After his last class of the day, Lance made his way to Esteban’s dorm, texting as he walked.

Lance:

Coming over. I’m bored.

Esteban:

Perfect timing.

Charles is here too.

🍕🍕🍕

Lance smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. By the time he reached Esteban’s door, the two were already lounging on the couch, laughing over something on TV.

“Lance!” Esteban greeted, tossing him a soda. “Finally.”

“Miss me that much?” Lance teased, flopping down beside them.

They spent hours catching up, laughing and talking about anything but school. The sun dipped below the horizon, and before Lance knew it, the clock read past midnight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fernando:

Where are you?

Lance bit his lip, heart skipping a beat.

Lance:

Este's. Why?

There was a long pause before Fernando’s next message.

Fernando:

I need you.

Lance stared at the text, his pulse quickening.

Lance:

I’ll be there soon.

“Guys, I gotta go,” he announced, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“Yeah.” Lance shot them a quick grin. “Something came up.”

Charles smirked knowingly. “Dr. Alonso?”

Lance’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Esteban laughed. “Go, go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

When Lance finally arrived at Fernando’s house, he barely had time to knock before the door opened.

Fernando stood there, eyes dark and intense. “You took your time.”

Lance stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You missed me that much?”

Fernando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed Lance by the collar, pulling him into a heated kiss. Lance melted against him, hands gripping Fernando’s waist.

As they broke apart, Fernando whispered, “Missed you.”

Lance grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a smirk. “Now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you.”

Lance didn’t need any more convincing. He followed Fernando willingly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

With a shudder, Lance senses a hand breach the waistband of his sweats and descend, bold fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking. He exhales harshly, little moans slipping out between gasps as Fernando's grip becomes surer, tightening around the head of his cock and thumbing over his slit. Kicking off his clothes might be easier, but Lance feels paralyzed by his touch, unable to do more than blindly feel for the button of Fernando's pants and fumble them open.

Instinct takes over from there, and before either of them can get another full breath in, Fernando's erection is hot and weighty in the palm of his hand, and he too is uttering low groans and trembling with each circuit of Lance's roving hand.

Finding his way to the Spaniard's neck, Lance's teeth bite down, earning him a pronounced shudder and a firm pull of his cock. He makes a trail in this way, alternately using lips and teeth to provoke the reactions he craves. Beneath his assault, Fernando is uncharacteristically pliant; seemingly the only part of him still functioning on a normal level are his fingers. Maybe, just maybe, it's not that unreasonable to think he isn't used to the touch of another person. The stray thought sinks like a brick, crushing yet alluring, into the pit of Lance's stomach, and he groans into the divot of Fernando's collarbone.

Is it worse to wonder about that, or to like the idea so much?

Both seem less than honorable, but currently, Lance isn't sure he has the brainpower to debate it further. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, stroking faster until the cadence of Fernando's voice grows choppy, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Caught between the wall and him, Fernando's eyes finally slam shut, and his hips jut forward, fucking through the waves of release into Lance's fist. His recovery is quick, however, and before Lance can even try to finish himself off, Fernando mirrors his pace with firm strokes of his hand until he too feels the wind knocked out of him, and collapses with a moan into Fernando's shoulder. 

They remain pressed together for several long moments, feeling the collective warmth stored between them and attempting to regain their composure.

"Finally," is the first word to hit the air afterward. Lance fingers trace a lazy circle at the small of Fernando's back. "I've been thinking about this all day, Nando."

"I'm aware," Fernando mutters gruffly into the Canadian's skin. 

How could he not be? Observation is a natural strength of his, but Lance's persistence drives home the truth all the more.

"Get some sleep," he adds for good measure. Because in some ways, he's still a responsible adult.

"I'm heading back," Lance agrees. The lack of reluctance on his face makes it clear — there'll be a next time to savor — but now he has to go back to Esteban's place before his dad notices he left. He turns on his heel before leaving, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

The next day, a girl — most likely a year or two younger than Lance — stood at the front of the classroom, her hands nervously clutching her notebook. The chatter of students filled the room as they waited for Dr. Alonso to arrive, but she had only one person in her sights — Lance.

Lance sat near the back, laughing with Esteban and Charles, completely unaware of the determined look on her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and began walking toward him.

Esteban was the first to notice her approach, his brows lifting in curiosity. “Uh, Lance? Incoming.”

Lance glanced up, confused at first, but his expression softened when he saw her, always greeting people with a smile no matter who. “Hey, Bianca. What’s up?”

She stopped in front of him, cheeks flushed. “I need to talk to you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips. “Right now?”

“Yes.” Bianca swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, and… well, I like you, Lance. A lot.”

The room fell silent. Charles shot Esteban a wide-eyed look, while Jessica and Zhou exchanged awkward glances.

Lance blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I know it’s a bit sudden,” Bianca continued, nervously twisting her fingers together. “But I had to say it. You’re kind, funny, and I… You know, I just think we’d be good together.”

Before Lance could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Alonso walked in, his gaze immediately finding Lance. Fernando paused mid-step, taking in the scene — Bianca standing close to Lance, the tension in the room palpable. His eyes narrowed.

“Take your seats,” Fernando said, his voice obviously more aggitated than it had been for previous lectures. "We have an exam to prepare for."

Bianca glanced at Lance, waiting for a response, but Lance only murmured, “I… we should talk later.”

Reluctantly, Bianca nodded and returned to her seat — which was, thankfully, on the opposite side of the room.

As the students settled, Fernando’s gaze lingered on Lance longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. Lance shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that stare, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now.

Throughout the lecture, Fernando’s usual composed demeanor was tinged with an edge of irritation. His eyes flicked toward Lance more often than usual, catching Lance’s gaze every time.

When the class ended, Lance lingered, waiting for the room to empty — he didn't want Fernando to get the wrong idea.

Fernando approached slowly, his arms crossed. “So. Bianca.”

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I— Nando, It's not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Fernando’s voice was low, laced with jealousy.

“She confessed. I didn’t say yes.” Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because I’m not interested in her. You know that.”

Fernando’s jaw clenched. “She clearly doesn’t.”

Lance smirked, leaning in slightly. “Maybe I should make it clearer, then.”

Fernando’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How?”

Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could start by kissing me.”

Fernando glanced at the door, ensuring they were alone before stepping closer. “You’re trouble, Lance.”

“And you love it.”

Fernando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lance’s lips, lingering just long enough to leave no doubt about who Lance belonged to.

When they pulled apart, Fernando whispered, “I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Though, they both knew Fernando was simply exaggerating, they understood what they had had to be kept a secret.

Lance grinned. “Including Bianca?”

Fernando chuckled. “Especially Bianca.”

Lance laughed softly, resting his forehead against Fernando’s. “She really did make you jealous, hm?”

Fernando’s hands slid down to rest on Lance’s waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. “You should know by now, Lancito… I don’t like to share.”

Lance’s heart fluttered at the possessive edge in Fernando’s voice. “You know you don’t have to.”

Fernando pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. “Still, I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. Especially not someone like Bianca.”

"She's your student, Nando," Lance snorted. “Plus, she’s harmless.”

Fernando’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Harmless until she confesses her feelings in front of half my class.”

“Alright, that was awkward,” Lance admitted with a grin. “But I handled it well, didn’t I Nando?” He hummed, eyes almost begging for praise.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “By running straight into my office after?”

“I knew you’d handle the rest,” Lance frowned, wrapping his arms around Fernando’s neck.

Fernando’s expression softened as he leaned in, kissing Lance again. This time, the kiss was slower, more lingering, the kind that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

When they finally pulled apart, Fernando’s voice was quiet but firm. “No more hiding how we feel when it’s just us.”

Lance nodded, his gaze steady. “And outside of here?”

Fernando sighed, brushing a stray curl from Lance’s forehead. “We’ll be careful. But I won’t ever let you doubt that you’re mine.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him at the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Good. Now, let’s make sure you never forget it.”

Before Lance could respond, Fernando backed him up against the desk, hands sliding under Lance’s shirt. The tension between them was electric, a slow burn that neither of them seemed willing to extinguish.

Lance left Fernando’s office feeling utterly satisfied and completely wrecked. His legs wobbled slightly, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to walk normally. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and every step reminded him of what had just happened against Fernando’s desk — of the hands, the whispered words, the way Fernando had completely unraveled him.

As he exited the building, Lance caught sight of a few classmates still lingering outside. He straightened his back, forcing a casual expression onto his face, though he could feel their curious gazes.

“Long meeting with Dr. Alonso?” Zhou teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lance grinned, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Right.” Zhou shot him a knowing look before heading off.

Lance shook his head and made his way home, thankful for the quiet streets. But as he entered the house, the familiar sound of his father’s voice made him pause.

“Son?”

Lawrence stood in the hallway, glancing up from his phone. His eyes narrowed as he took in his son’s appearance — the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way Lance was walking like he’d just run a marathon.

“You alright?” Lawrence asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Lance froze, heart pounding. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re walking funny.”

Lance swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “Oh, uh… I tripped on the stairs at school.”

Lawrence’s brow furrowed. “The stairs?”

“Yeah. Totally wiped out.” Lance gestured vaguely toward his legs. “Banged my knee pretty bad.”

Lawrence’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, and Lance could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“You need to be more careful,” Lawrence finally said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to take more care of yourself if you expect me to allow you to move out.”

“I know, I will,” Lance promised quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”

Lawrence nodded, distracted again by his phone. “Good. Chloe is coming for dinner.”

As soon as his father walked away, Lance slid into the living room and his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Fernando.

Fernando:

Home safe?

Lance smiled, typing back.

Lance:

Yeah.

My dad thinks I tripped on the stairs.

Fernando:

You’re terrible at lying, Lancito.

Lance:

Not as bad as you are at being subtle.

My legs are dead, old man.

Fernando:

Good.

Now you’ll think of me every time you walk.

Lance laughed quietly, shaking his head. He could still feel Fernando’s hands on him, the lingering ache a reminder of everything they’d done in such a short amount of time.

Lance:

I already do.

Next day's exam was serious — Lance could tell just by seeing the look on Zhou’s face, the way his friend’s brows were furrowed from concentration and not from arguing with people on Twitter. Everyone in Dr. Alonso’s ethics class was laser-focused, heads down, pens moving furiously across their papers. Everyone… except Lance.

He leaned back in his chair, lazily tapping his pen against the desk. The questions on his exam sheet blurred together, the words losing meaning. His mind was elsewhere — on the man sitting at the front of the room.

Fernando Alonso.

His professor looked effortlessly perfect, as always. The fitted white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the top button undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his tattoo, and Lance couldn’t help but admire the way his veins stood out when he adjusted his watch. That had become a daily occurrence since Lance had, half-jokingly, mentioned how much he loved seeing Fernando’s arms during one of their secret late-night rendezvous.

Now, Fernando did it every class.

Lance sighed, twirling his pen between his fingers before lowering it to the paper. A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he skimmed the first question.

Question 1: Define deontological ethics and explain how it applies in a business setting.

He scrawled:

"Deontological ethics is essentially following what society feels is right, like not hypothetically inviting your professor over to your house when your father is home and letting him fuck you in every position imaginable."

He glanced up, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. Fernando was scanning the room, his expression stern, completely unaware of the inappropriate content Lance was jotting down just feet away.

Question 2: Discuss the ethical implications of conflicts of interest in professional settings.

"My biggest conflict right now? Deciding whether I want to kiss you senseless or strip you out of that shirt. Let’s just say ethics is the last thing on my mind. :)"

Lance chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he moved on to the next question.

Question 3: Provide a real-life example of ethical boundaries being crossed in a workplace.

"Real-life example? Easy. You and me, Nando. Every lingering glance, every stolen moment, every touch that leaves me wanting more. We’ve crossed every boundary there is (I don’t regret a thing.)"

He glanced up again, catching a brief flicker of Fernando’s gaze meeting his. The professor quickly looked away, but Lance knew.

He knew.

Question 4: What is the importance of maintaining professionalism in high-stakes environments?

"Professionalism? You’re really going to lecture me about professionalism when you can’t keep your hands off me? Are you sure you’re qualified to teach this course with me in it? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest distraction you’ve ever faced."

When he reached the final page, Lance couldn’t resist a little flourish to his signature.

"P.S. — If you don’t call me into your office after reading this, I’ll be very disappointed. But if you do… lock the door. ♡"

The clock ticked down, students began filing out one by one, but Lance took his sweet time. Finally, he stood, strolling to the front of the room, exam paper in hand. He dropped it face down on Fernando’s desk, lingering just long enough to catch his professor’s attention.

“Finished already?” Fernando asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Lance leaned in slightly, his voice low and playful. “I think you’ll want to take your time with my answers.”

Fernando’s lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “Is that so?”

Lance winked. “Oh, definitely.”

He turned to leave, heart pounding in his chest. Just as he reached the door, Fernando’s voice rang out, soft but commanding.

“Mr. Stroll?”

Lance froze, hand on the doorframe. Slowly, he turned back, his breath hitching.

Fernando’s gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed. “See me after class.”

The room emptied, leaving them alone. Lance approached the desk, his pulse quickening as Fernando picked up the exam, flipping through the pages. His brows lifted slightly at Lance’s audacious answers, but instead of reprimanding him, Fernando closed the paper, meeting Lance’s gaze with a smirk.

“You know,” Fernando began, standing and walking around the desk until he was mere inches from Lance, “this is highly inappropriate.”

Lance’s breath hitched, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

Fernando chuckled, reaching out to trace a finger along Lance’s jaw. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want, Professor.”

Fernando’s grip tightened slightly, pulling Lance closer. “Lock the door.”

Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he reached behind him, his fingers fumbling for the lock. The soft click of the door securing echoed in the silence, and when he turned back, Fernando was still standing there — eyes dark, lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” Fernando murmured, his voice low, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lance shrugged, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. “I figured you’d notice. I was counting on it.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Lance’s spine. “So bold today, mi chico travieso.”

Lance grinned. “Only for you.”

Without warning, Fernando closed the distance between them, his hands sliding around Lance’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Lance gasped softly as Fernando’s lips brushed against his ear.

“And what am I supposed to do with a student who writes that kind of nonsense on his exam?”

Lance tilted his head, giving Fernando better access to his neck. “You could give me detention.”

Fernando laughed, his breath hot against Lance’s skin. “I think you’ve already got me in enough trouble.”

He kissed Lance then — slow, deep, and deliberate. Lance melted into it, his hands gripping Fernando’s shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Every kiss from Fernando was intoxicating, but this one felt different. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, a risk they both craved.

Fernando pulled back, his hands never leaving Lance’s hips. “You want to know what I feel when I look at you?”

Lance nodded breathlessly.

“I think about how reckless this is.” His thumb traced circles on Lance’s hip bone. “How wrong it should be.”

“But?” Lance prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

Fernando leaned in again, his lips hovering over Lance’s. “But I can’t stop.”

Lance kissed him again, harder this time, hands sliding up Fernando’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric. “Good,” he murmured against Fernando’s lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Fernando’s hands slipped lower, gripping Lance’s thighs and effortlessly lifting him onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of them cared. Lance wrapped his legs around Fernando’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“This is crazy,” Fernando whispered, trailing kisses down Lance’s neck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then don’t stop.” Lance’s voice was a plea, his hands tangling in Fernando’s hair. “Please.”

Fernando groaned, his resolve breaking completely. His hands roamed under Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing every curve and scar, committing them to memory. Lance’s breath hitched as Fernando kissed his way down his chest, pausing only to murmur softly in Spanish — words Lance didn’t fully understand but felt in his bones.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Fernando whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Lance smirked, tilting his head back as Fernando kissed a line across his collarbone. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Fernando’s hands worked their way to the hem of Lance’s shirt, fingers tugging it up slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every inch of exposed skin. He kissed along Lance’s jawline, pausing just by his ear.

“When’s your next class, mi sol?” His voice was low, husky, filled with barely restrained desire.

Lance’s mind spun, barely able to process the question with Fernando’s hands sliding under his shirt, palms warm against his skin. “Uh… I think—” He gasped as Fernando’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “I think I’ve got time.”

Fernando chuckled against his skin, pushing the shirt up and over Lance’s head before tossing it aside. “You think?”

Lance grinned, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” Fernando’s hands moved to Lance’s belt, fingers deftly undoing the buckle. “Because I don’t want to rush.”

Lance bit his lip as Fernando’s knuckles brushed against his stomach. “What if someone comes back?”

Fernando glanced up, his gaze dark and intense. “Then we’ll have to be quiet.”

Lance’s pulse quickened as Fernando leaned in, pressing a kiss just below his navel. “I’m not great at quiet.”

Fernando smirked, fingers slowly sliding Lance’s belt free and letting it drop to the floor with a soft clink. “I’ll just have to make you bite your lip then.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or mine.”

Lance shivered, his hands resting on Fernando’s shoulders. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” Fernando’s fingers found the button of Lance’s jeans, popping it open effortlessly. “You make me reckless.”

Lance’s heart thudded in his chest as Fernando tugged his jeans down, leaving him in just his boxers. Fernando’s eyes trailed over him slowly, appreciatively, before returning to his face.

“You’re gorgeous,” Fernando murmured, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him into another deep kiss. Lance melted into it, fingers tangling in Fernando’s hair again, tugging gently.

As they broke apart, both of them breathless, Fernando’s hands slid lower, gripping Lance’s hips. “So… how much time do we really have?”

Lance grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips. “Enough.”

Fernando’s eyes darkened at Lance’s response, a slow smile spreading across his face. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back, pushing the contents of his desk to the side in one fluid motion.

Lance blinked, startled by the sudden movement, but before he could say a word, Fernando grabbed him by the waist and spun him around, pressing him firmly against the now-empty desk.

“Hands flat,” Fernando murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Don’t move.”

Lance shivered, his palms pressing against the cool wood. His heart pounded in his chest as Fernando stood behind him, his hands sliding over Lance’s back, tracing the line of his spine.

“You’ve been driving me mad all week,” Fernando whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Lance’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, watching you in my class, knowing I can’t touch you? Knowing no one here knows you belong to me?”

Lance gasped as Fernando’s hands slipped lower, over the curve of his hips. “I think I have an idea.”

Fernando chuckled, his lips trailing kisses across Lance’s shoulder. “You’ve been testing my control.”

“And now?” Lance glanced back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you still in control?”

Fernando gripped Lance’s hips tighter, bending him forward slightly. “Not even a little.”

Lance smirked, arching his back slightly to press against Fernando. “Good.”

Fernando groaned, his composure slipping further as he pressed his erection against Lance, hands roaming greedily over his body. “I’m going to make you regret writing those answers.”

“Doubt it,” Lance teased, breath hitching as Fernando’s fingers brushed his bare skin. “I’ll just write more next time.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are, Professor.” Lance shot back, voice breathless, “bending me over your desk.”

Fernando kissed along Lance’s shoulder again, his hands steadying Lance’s hips. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Promise?” Lance asked, biting his lip to stifle a gasp as Fernando’s hands wandered lower.

Fernando smirked against his skin. “Oh, Lancito… I’m just getting started.”

Fernando let his hands slide over the perfect silk skin of Lance’s legs until he reached his university hoodie. “Looking so innocent, the perfect student, but in the meantime,” he pulls the hoodie over Lance's head, then his jeans and boxers, letting the boy lean completely naked against his desk, “fucking his professors.”

“Professor,” Lance corrects him, “only one.”

“That’s right, mmi sol,” Fernando drawls, placing his hands under Lance's thighs and turning hum aroind before hoisting him up the desk. “I am so lucky.”

Lance groans when Fernando lets his hands trail over Lance's chest and graces his nipples with his nails before taking both pink numbs between his fingers and pinching. “So pretty for me,” Fernando tells the boy and Lance throws his head back and pulls his legs up the edge of the desk while Fernando rolls the pretty brown buds between his fingers.

“Please, Daddy, I need– need–” Lance pants, not phased by the new term or his words not coming in coherent sentences. Fernando chuckles slightly as Lance spreads his legs a bit wider.

“I know, baby, I’ll give you what you need,” Fernando promises, removing one hand from Lance's chest and using it to open his belt buckle, “patience.”

He squats down again, hearing his knees crack as he leans in to lick a stripe over the perfect little hole. Lance moans, almost too loud, the walls of the offices aren’t that thick, but Fernando revels in the idea of someone overhearing them as he licks again, and again. The fingers of his left hand still work Lance's nipple, while his tongue works itself inside him and his right hand finds his own cock. Stroking himself in tandem with his movements makes Lance's arousal rise and he wants to bury himself in the boy so badly.

“Do you think you can be good for me and turn, baby?”

Lance lets his legs fall to the floor immediately and turns around, his arse perking out and his hands flat on the desk. “Like this, Daddy?” He purrs, testing the waters. 

“Perfect, peque.”

With a bit of effort, Fernando gets back to his feet and walks around the desk, opening the drawer to grab the almost empty bottle of lube. “Looks like we’re almost out,” he grins and Lance lifts his head to meet Fernando's gaze. He smirks, too, with a shrug.

“Exam stress is getting to me hard.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Fernando muses, though he knew the last thing Lance was worried about was any work in this class — coming back behind the boy and lubing himself up before putting some on his index and middle finger to insert them into Lance with a precise push. The boy moans filthy and Fernando grins. “Let’s relieve some of that stress shall we?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Lance moans, letting his cheek rest on the desk.

"Watch it." Fernando warns whime opening him up quickly, replacing his fingers with his stiff cock, thrusting into Lance with fervour. He leans over and takes Lance's cock in his hand, stroking him while thrusting deeply. “That better, Lancito?”

“Fuck, yes, Nando,” Lance moans, his hot breath condensing on the desk. “So much better.”

Fernando fucks him thoroughly and it’s not long after that Lance is whining out that he is coming. Fernando is not even nearly there and he lets Lance catch his breath for a second before he starts moving again. “I think we can go for another one, what about you, mi amor?”

The gasp coming from Lance is a mix of excitement and trepidation. Fernando laughs and glides his hands over Lance's back as he thrusts in again, harsh and quick. “God, you feel so good, baby.” 

“Oh, shi— shoot, frick, that’s–” Lance moans, not getting to say what he thinks because Fernando is hitting his prostate and the only thing he can mutter is ‘so good’. 

“Yeah, want to feel good baby?” 

“Yes, please” Lance croons, lifting his head slightly. Fernando slides out and turns the other around, lifting him up to the desk before thrusting back in. Lance's fierce eyes look up at Fernando and he feels the pleasure in his abdomen increase tenfold when the boy smiles at him. “Hi, Sir.”

The view is gone quickly when Fernando leans over him and takes one of Lance's nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking at it. Lance's eyes close and his head is thrown back in the sensation. Fernando can feel his already stiff cock against his abdomen and reaches for it with a last flick of his tongue.

“Hi, beautiful,” he groans, feeling his orgasm approach while he pumps his fist around Lance's hard cock and thrusts so hard that the desk is rocking. “Eyes on me.”

They shoot open and Lance sees the foggy look that has come over Fernando, making the older man smile. “Are you going to cum for me again, mi sol?”

“Nando, sir, please, too much, too–” Lance pants as Fernando speeds up his handwork and thrusts with aim to hit Lance's prostate. “Oh, fu—uck, fuck, fuck!”

White spurs over Fernando's hand but he doesn’t let go, keeping the spent cock warm with his large hand while he fucks himself to his climax. The desk scratches over the floor and Lance lies on it, spent and a happy, dazed smile on his lips when Fernando finds his release. He folds over the other man with a deep groan and a heavy sigh.

It’s silent in the room for a bit, Fernando just gathering his wits and Lance panting from the excursion. There is a hand in Fernando's hair and he smiles from the small act of sweetness from the boy.

" 'M sorry, Nano" Lance mumbled, Fernando knowing why the boy was so quick to apologize.

"Don't worry about it, Lancito" Fernando smiled, pressing a kiss to his student's cheek before pulling back to hell him dress.

[ioannemos]

a blouse

These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost. Chuck Palahniuk

day four: miss missing you / grief

rating: g

words: 900

───────────────────────────

“I’m back,” Lucy sings out, kicking the door shut behind her. She expects Lockwood to appear to take the groceries and is mildly put out when he doesn’t. After a moment George emerges from the kitchen in full apron and gloves and her heart sinks. “Oh no. What happened? I was only gone an hour.”

“Mrs. Bishop came by with the survey,” George says gloomily.

Lucy blinks. “And?”

“And I don’t know!” George follows her into the kitchen. “Lockwood’s voice got all… brittle, though I don’t think she noticed. They talked about nothing, he thanked her, she left, and he just stood there staring at the closed door, totally silent.”

Lucy pauses in putting away the groceries. “What did the survey say?”

“Nothing they hadn’t told us. He left the survey on the side table and went upstairs.” George sheds the washing-up gloves to put away the spices she picked up for him. “I haven’t heard a sound since.”

Lucy bites her lip. “Well, maybe he’ll come down for dinner.”

Lockwood doesn’t appear all evening. George makes dinner and then starts cleaning the library when Lucy insists on doing the dishes. She turns on the radio to drown out the silence with limited success.

Once the dishes are done she puts the kettle on and steps out to stare up the stairs again. She goes to stand in the library doorway. “This isn’t… normal, is it?”

George pushes his glasses back up his nose with a forearm. “No, not really.”

“Should we check on him?” George’s eyes widen. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Lucy says with exasperation.

“Not really, no.”

“What, not even when he’s in there not making a sound, not eating?” George’s lips thin and he shrugs. “Boys,” Lucy mutters, shaking her head. In the kitchen, the kettle whistles. “Well, I’m making tea and I’m going to check on him. You’re welcome to join me,” she says as a parting shot, certain that he won’t.

While the tea brews she toasts bread and pulls one of the cutlets back out of the fridge. George comes in while she’s spreading mayonnaise on the toast. “Suppose he doesn’t want us to come in,” he says. She turns to him in surprise. “Suppose he wants to be left alone,” he adds, a bit pointedly.

“Then he’s welcome to tell us so,” she says, raising her chin. “I forgot the lettuce; hand me a leaf?”

She adds six biscuits along with the mugs and the impromptu sandwich and carries the tray up, George trailing behind her. When she nods for him to knock, he gives her another wide-eyed look and takes the tray instead. She rolls her eyes hard and reaches out to knock. Just before her knuckles make contact, she hesitates. George snorts softly. “Not so easy, is it?” he asks.

“Shut up,” she retorts, and clears her throat. “Lockwood?” No response. Having come this far, Lucy feels the only thing sillier would be to give up now, so instead of knocking she turns the doorknob.

It turns easily and she steps inside before she can second-guess her actions any more. It’s completely dark, which startles her. Every other time she’s had a glance inside, either the curtains were open, a light was on, or sometimes both. “Lockwood?” she says again, anxiously. She’s not sure what she’s afraid of, but… She feels for a lightswitch near the door and flips it on.

Lockwood is laying perpendicular on his bed with his legs off the side, fully clothed and on top of the covers, holding something made of silvery-purple fabric. His face scrunches up and one arm rises to cover his eyes. “Wha…?” he begins, and then yawns.

“Erm,” Lucy says. “You… disappeared.”

“Hmm?” Lockwood sits up by degrees, rubbing his eyes. The fabric slips out off his lap and he lunges for it, crashing to his knees next to the bed and clutching it protectively to his chest. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls the fabric up to cover his nose and inhales, eyes closed.

None of them move for several seconds. She takes a deep breath and soldiers on. “You ought to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbles into the fabric. It’s shimmery like silk and perhaps the size of a shirt.

“Even so.”

He lowers the fabric back onto his lap and feels it between his fingers. “It doesn’t smell like anything,” he says, almost matter-of-fact. “I don’t think it ever did.”

Lucy can’t think of anything to say to that, so she takes the tray back from George. “George made cutlets for dinner and all I did was put it between some toast, so really you ought to thank him.”

Lockwood still hasn’t looked up from the fabric. “Mum wore the same perfume,” he says. His voice isn’t matter-of-fact, she realizes, it’s detached in the same way as when someone’s been terribly hurt and they don’t feel it yet.

“Oh,” George says, voice dropping.

“I’d forgotten,” Lockwood says, sounding even more distant. He smooths the fabric across his knee.

Lucy’s resolve crumbles. “Do you… I could leave the tray?”

Lockwood looks up, his eyes dull, and there’s an awful moment of silence before he says, “Please stay.”

Lucy doesn’t wait; she climbs onto the far side of the bed and sets down the tray. “George, don’t get crumbs on the bed.”

───────────────────────────

@lco-angst-week

this one. this was a genuinely rough one, bc as soon as i saw grief and thought of lockwood i knew where this was going, like seeing a car crash coming

(in case it wasn't clear, mrs. bishop wore the same perfume as his mother and it bowled lockwood over. i've spent so long picking at this one that i'm not sure it's coherent anymore but i'm also forbidding myself to keep picking at it)

in my case it was a sweater, not a blouse, and i sat on my bed just holding it for a long, long time. i don't even know what emotions i was feeling. they were big, and they were tangled, so i just held her sweater to my chest and let them wash over me for a while. it didn't smell like anything, either. i do have a bottle of her perfume, tho, and i get a glimpse of her dressing up for a party every time i smell it

also i hate the title of this one but writing it wore me out so stupid title or no up it goes ¯\_(┬◡┬)_/¯

[philhoffman]

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

his therapist woulda had a field day at their next appointment

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

they call me the griever because halfway through a thing I enjoy I’m already sad that it’s closer to being over

[sentientcave]

Pompeii//Good Grief

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEEEEEEEE have a little taste of some sad boy Ghost grieving his best pal (lover) Johnny ):

He pulled blindly at his tags, gripping the little gold cross he’d hung next to them tight. He had never been a praying kind of man, and even now, he wasn’t praying for escape. The explosion ripped through the base, the air turning hot, dust rising up so thickly that Ghost could do nothing but close his eyes against it, burning lack of oxygen tipping him into unconsciousness as the base rumbled and shook around him.

His last thought, before black jaws swallowed him whole, was of blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, a scarred chin, soft lips and scratchy stubble, the ache of absence. At least he’d see him again.

[swagging-back-to]

just fired my therapist who has been ghosting me for 4 months because she sent me a letter threatening termination because "i have not responded to any contact and continued silence will be taken as agreement to cancel services"

literally fuck you. actually fuck you. she would call WITHOUT WARNING when i would be out running errands and then when we actually have a scheduled meeting she would cancel 20 minutes after it was supposed to start.

therapy is sooo incredibly useless. i have never needed it, it has always *harmed* me more than not having it.

[lizeon]

every day i spend on twitter, because that's where most of the starmin are, is a day i wish most of that community would move to tumblr just because the way this site works in comparison would be so much better for it. the ability to tag art and be able to find it later on your own blog no matter how far back it was posted. the way you can add on to each others posts. and also i just like tumblers post format much better. especially for making a vague / simple post and then going into more detail in the tags cuz you don't wanna put all that in the main post but like it's there for anyone that wants to read it. on twitter you gotta put it all in the main body of the post and i. do not want to do that