#growing into a face that no one recognizes

[poisonf0rest]

Between Flames and Shadows

♱⋅── sylus x reader x rafayel

♱⋅── about: Rafayel agreed to smuggle you into the N109 Zone, unwittingly thrusting you into danger and the arms of an even more dangerous man, Sylus— who you promised your soul to long ago. Just as you had promised Rafayel your heart. And now they both want what you have so cruelly denied them.

♱⋅── word count: 10.6k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, threesome, pwp, enemies to lovers, jealousy, bondage, exhibisionism, voyeurism, size kink (sylus is big), mating bites/bond, double penetration, minor breeding kink, another horribly nasty duo~

art credit to @/sakimenz on x, dividers by @cafekitsune

It’s been six days, fourteen hours, and three minutes since you’ve last contacted Rafayel. 

Not that he’s been counting.

Again, he flips his phone around, scrolling through dozens of notifications, and not bothering to read a single one as he fails yet again to find your name among them. A scowl, and he tosses his phone across the couch. Insane doesn’t begin to describe the spiral Rafayel has descended into since you infiltrated the N109 Zone— since he reluctantly agreed to set you up as bait and watched you get taken away. 

Since he made a deal with the devil on your behalf. 

“The Nest, you actually got it? How?” 

“You doubted me, cutie?”

“Doubt?” You snort, rolling your eyes as you yank Rafayel closer by the collar, gaze flickering from his lips, eyes, and back again. Leaning in closer, you wait until Rafayel’s eyes nearly flutter shut before pulling back, snatching the invitation from his hands with a smirk. “Never, fishie.”

Rafayel now wishes you had. Wishes he finally kissed you, wishes he never let you go. At least, not alone. 

The memories and regrets tug at him so violently that he can’t stand it, every “what if” fear blending in with shattered memories of you dying before him in lives past, bloody and heart torn from your chest as he’s doomed to chase after you again and again and again. 

Rafayel stands abruptly, chair falling back with a bang. 

Fuck it, he’s going after you. 

The damned N109 Zone never changes. 

Different venues, different gang names, different “world-ending” weapons. But even after several millennia, the greed and stupidity of humankind remains forever stagnant and forever their greatest weakness. That, and the nauseating smell of gunpowder and whiskey. 

It all makes Rafayel’s stomach roll, and he thumbs at his tie, slacking against his neck before he snatches a glass of champagne from a waiter. Unsurprisingly he does recognize a handful of faces, some from his own gallery exhibitions, others as past targets, or grandchildren of someone he used to know. Not that any of them mattered.

He walked down a hallway filled with Protocores leading up to the banquet hall, and yet strangely enough every last one was bought for an exorbitant amount, even the smallest fragment that barely emitted any kind of energy. What kind of idiot…

Rafayel’s frown deepens, and he shoots down yet another glass, moving from champagne to whiskey as he winces from the burn. 

Then, Rafayel spots you.

You’re alive. 

You’ve alive and you look absolutely fucking gorgeous, prowling across the auction in a cocktail dress, fabric dark enough that it only shimmers a deep red when you dance from spotlight to spotlight. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s running. Trying and failing for it to look as natural as possible,, slamming into a waiter and mumbling out an apology as he rushes to your side, nearly dashing onto the dance floor when the shadows seem to lunge– growing and shifting and laughing in an ancient language Rafayel can barely understand as something else steps out from them. And wraps a clawed hand around your waist.

Another man, infuriatingly tall and reeking of the sky and ashes, his hair bleached the same pale color, leans down to whisper something into your ear as you laugh. Laugh. 

And gods new and old, Rafayel sees red. 

Rafayel’s breath catches, chest tightening with a fury so raw it feels like it might crack him open. The din of laughter and clinking glasses becomes a dull roar in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He barely registers the heat raging down his veins, a warning that his restraint is fraying faster than he can piece it together.

An uproar of murmuring steals your attention away from Sylus, and you finally allow your fake smile to drop. Only for your jaw to fall entirely as you see Rafayel standing only a couple of meters away, violent white flames licking against his fingertips as other guests begin to gather. 

What the fuck is he doing here. 

“Rafayel.” Your voice cuts through him, hissing in warning. But the sound of it— alive, steady, and wholly unimpressed— does nothing to soothe him. If anything, it stokes the fire.

Sylus turns slowly, his lips curling into a lazy smile. When his eyes land on Rafayel, something flickers in the depths of his right pupil. “Oh?” he drawls, voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like you picked up a stray, kitten.”

The nickname grates against your nerves, but it’s nothing compared to the way Rafayel reacts. His flames flare brighter, casting eerie shadows across the room as his fists clench. “Take your hand off her.” 

More patrons are beginning to notice. 

Sylus’s grip on your waist doesn’t waver. Instead, he tilts his head, “Her? Oh, you must mean my companion for tonight.” He shifts slightly, leaning down as if to make a point, his hands brushing against the small of your back, right where the silk meets bare skin. “I think you have it mistaken though, she’s the one who practically dragged me here. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Your pulse spikes, a mix of anger and frustration coursing through you. You force yourself to step between them, planting a hand firmly against Rafayel’s chest before he can close the distance. Thankfully, it makes the flames sputter down to a dull glow in his palms. 

“Stop,” you hiss. “What the hell are you doing here, Rafayel?”

His eyes lock onto yours, wild and burning with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. “I came for you,” he snaps as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, congratulations,” you snort, “You found me.” Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the glint of recognition in the eyes of more than a few guests. “And so has everyone else I’ve been trying to avoid.”

Rafayel doesn’t flinch, his gaze darting briefly to Sylus before returning to you. “I don’t care about them,” he mutters, brows furrowing. “I care about you. I never should have left you, let you go. Come back with me.”

Before you can even respond a deep chuckle cuts through, Sylus stepping forward as he tucks you into his side and reaches around to place a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder. Pinning you between them. “Touching. But you should know better than to interrupt our business, artist.”

Rafayel’s flames reignite instantly, searing white-hot as he shoves Sylus’s hand off his shoulder. “I already told you to get your hands off her,” he growls, stepping forward, entire body radiating heat as he’s mere inches from Sylus’s face.

“Or what?” Sylus taunts smoothly, something in his eye flashing with amusement. “You’ll set this whole place on fire? Very subtle. I can see why you’re such a popular target.”

Target? You linger on it longer than you should've, pieces about Rafayel’s surprising knowledge about the N109 Zone and Sylus’s insistence on resonating as your partner begins to swirl around again. That is, until you physically feel the heat from Rafayel’s flames begin to char into the wooden floorboards. 

“Stop it, both of you!” Snapping, both of their heads whip down to you as you struggle to shove them apart. “You’re drawing attention. Do you want to blow this mission completely?”

“Mission?” Rafayel scoffs, his gaze snapping back to you. “If this was a mission, why would you agree to work with him?” He tilts his chin to Sylus, who simply shrugs, shadows flickering and rising at his back. Shit. 

“Her choice, really,” Sylus interjects, voice dripping with false sincerity. “Not that I blame her. All bark and no bite, aren’t you, puppy?”

Rafayel goes deathly still.

So Sylus allows himself to step closer, chest now pressing up against your bare back, the gesture irritatingly casual. Intimate. “It must be exhausting,” he continues, “Running around, chasing after scraps of attention. Does she even notice? Or is this just another case of unrequited devotion?”

“Say that again,” Rafayel growls, flames licking up his palm.

Sylus grins wider, clearly enjoying every second. Enjoying his reactions. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that strike a nerve? You must be used to following orders by now, so tell me, does she ever let you off leash, or do you only bark when commanded?”

“Sylus,” you snap again, cutting off whatever retort Rafayel has ready. You glance around, realizing the murmuring crowd has turned into a full-fledged audience, their gazes sharp and curious. “You’re both acting like children. The target—”

The sound of shattering glass cuts you off.

You whip your head around, just in time to see a hooded figure perched atop an overturned table. A small, cylindrical case glints in their hand, and your blood turns cold as you feel the overwhelming pulse of an unleashed Aether Core. 

“Run!”

The word barely leaves your mouth before the world explodes.

A deafening boom shatters through the venue, blast wave throwing you backward. The force knocks the air from your lungs, glass and debris raining down like jagged confetti. You hit the ground hard, pain shooting through your side as the heat of the explosion sears your skin.

Through the haze of smoke and ringing in your ears, you catch fragmented images: chandeliers crashing to the floor, tables splintered, and guests scrambling for cover and weapons as gunshots ring out.

Sylus is a blur of movement, his shadows coiling and slashing through the chaos. Rafayel is kneeling beside you, flames erupting instinctively to shield both of you, looking down with wide eyes.

“Get—” you try to shout, but another powerful wave of the protocore squeezes your heart, and your vision blurs as you heave for breath.

The last thing you see is Sylus stepping over Rafayel’s crumpled form, hauling him over one shoulder before beginning to carry you, too.

Then, nothing.

It’s cold. 

The explosion. The Aether Core. Sylus. Rafayel.

A gasp tears from your lips as you jolt awake, your body reacting before your mind catches up. The world spins in protest as you try and sit up, chest heaving like it’s trying to claw back air that’s been ripped away. Spinning, the world is still spinning as control of your body returns to you—pain prickles along your limbs, your skin freezing against the stiff leather beneath you.

Blinking hard, you push up on trembling arms, the faint scent of dust and something metallic clogging your nose. The ache in your skull is relentless, pulse hammering against your temples. You’re not in the banquet hall anymore. There’s no fire, no rubble, no echoing gunshots. 

Instead, shadows claw at the corners of a room you don’t recognize. Empty walls of an office greet you, dark and seemingly abandoned with an unlit fireplace, heavy drapes smothering the windows, and a lavish seating area you’re in the midst of with a couch, coffee table, and—

Someone’s there.

Slumped in a leather chair near the fireplace, head tilted at an unnatural angle, is… “Rafayel.”

You call out to him in a gasp, a raw mix of relief and dread. His head hangs low, chin brushing his chest, his arms seemingly tied behind his back. For one desperate, fleeting moment, you think he’s asleep. But the light catches on something wrong, something warping along his body. 

Shadows.

They slither down his now bare chest and around his legs, dark, writhing tendrils of unnatural energy that pulse and coil, anchoring him to the chair. They’re the only thing keeping his unconscious form upright, taut and unyielding, glowing faintly at the edges with an unmistakably familiar red glow. 

“Relax, he’s not dead.”

The voice is a smooth drawl, and your head whips around to find a heavy desk in the center of the office, and of course, the origin of the voice seated at the head of the desk, arms crossed as he watches you with an amused smirk.

“What did you do, Sylus?”

Your hands instinctively go for your guns but only brush against empty holsters instead. Weaponless, you stumble off the couch, placing yourself between Rafayel and the still-seated man as you glare down at him. 

Sylus doesn’t even flinch. If anything, your anger only seems to amuse him further. 

“We had a chat while you were sleeping.” With a sigh, he rises from his chair, every movement exuding practiced ease as he encircles the desk, making his way to you. A crow circling a corpse. “Turns out you’ve been keeping more from me than I thought. That, and your memory truly is terrible.”

Sylus stops just short of you, tilting his head back as his eyes roam your face, his grin growing sharper, fang peaking out. “Not one but two immortals? You certainly are greedy, aren’t you, kitten?”

Your stomach twists. 

Nothing he’s saying makes sense, but the words cut into your gut regardless. Like a broken promise, like an old wound. “Let him go, Sylus. Now.”

But Sylus doesn’t move. He stands there, tapping a hand to his chin, studying you with a look that makes your heart throb, his right eye beginning to glow a crimson red. Amusement flickers behind his eyes, but there’s something else, too. Something darker.

“Twice,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his gaze slipping briefly to Rafayel’s bound form. “Twice, you’ve cursed those who thought themselves unstoppable. Twice, you’ve bound your heart and soul.” His eyes snap back to yours, glinting with a sharp, cruel edge. “Not that you’d remember.”

Almost like he’s in pain. You stiffen, breath catching in your throat.

“Humans,” Sylus continues, the word dripping with scorn. “So quick to lay claim to what they desire, so insatiably greedy.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, heavy with mockery, hands ghosting down your side as you shiver despite yourself. “And you, sweetie, are no different.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A chuckle, “Of course you don’t.”

Sylus fights the urge to laugh. No wonder the god of the ocean itself followed you around like a lovesick puppy— Sylus was hardly taking it any better, but at least he just had the self-control to hide his obsession.

A strained groan echoes through the room, low and guttural. Your head snaps toward Rafayel, the sight of his head lifting weakly making your heart lurch. His hair is matted with sweat, and when he looks up, his sunset eyes are furious blue, darker than the ocean itself, narrowing to slits as the shadows twist tighter around his body. 

There’s a moment, just a heartbeat, where you see something raw in his gaze. Relief. Desperation. And then, it’s gone, replaced by a scowl that’s as sharp as any blade.

“Well, look who’s awake,” Sylus hums, and you nearly collapse in relief, turning to rush to Rafayel’s side when something stops you halfway. 

Two simple threads of shadow chain you down, dragging you back to Sylus as the other binds your hands behind you, unaffected by your sudden thrashing. In faux comfort, Sylus curls an arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace as the other rests against your ribs, drawing comforting circles against your tattered dress—the once pristine silk only just gifted to you destroyed with gashes and holes from the explosion.

Rafayel’s lip curls, his voice a growl despite the rasp of exhaustion. “Should’ve known a snake would take a deal and twist it. This is your plan? This is what you call a friendly competition?” 

Sylus tilts his head, his smirk turning predatory. “Careful, puppy. You’ll get your turn, I never specified who went first.”

Silence. 

You feel like you’re playing catch-up, each word only adding to the confusion as the tension grows thick enough to choke on.

And then Rafayel laughs. His entire body shakes with it, head thrown back against the chair he’s still bound to, laughing and laughing until he’s all but spitting flames. They erupt from his palms, climbing down the marble floors, vibrant pinks and reds curling into empty air as shadows dance to put them out. 

Sylus doesn’t release you, though his fingers twitch against your ribs as the flames light up the room. His smirk falters just slightly, replaced by something harder to read—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, or respect.

Rafayel’s laughter fades, his head rolling forward again as if it took everything in him to laugh at all. When his eyes meet Sylus’s, they’re cold and dark, an abyss in the ocean.

“You really think this will win her back?” Rafayel spits, tremors of barely-contained fury ripping through him as he struggles against the tendrils that hold him. The shadows only tighten in response. His glare cuts to you, begging. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a liar, a snake. All those ugly cold-blooded beasts do is lie.”

Sylus snorts, hugging you closer as the low scoop back of your dress causes your skin to brush against his chest. “Lie? Are you always this dramatic?” He tilts his head, mocking. “Perhaps you should’ve asked about the rules before we began. Backing out already?”

Flames spark from Rafayel’s body again, this time uncontrolled, swirling in frantic spirals like an inferno around him. His body trembling against the leather. “Release me then! Let me go first, let me show you she doesn’t need you. She’ll remember me.”

“You’re awfully bold for someone tied to a chair.” 

Sylus leans down to graze your neck with his lips, tilting his head like he’s savoring the sight of Rafayel’s frustration as he whispers into your ear just loud enough for him to hear. “Your puppy never stops barking, does he.”

Rafayel takes the bait, fire searing through wood, flickering in and out. “She’s not yours to take,” he seethes, shadows and flames casting violent shadows across the room. “Not yours.”

This is beyond ridiculous. 

You try and jerk away from Sylus, forgetting about the shadowy tendrils also holding you in place. Instead, you settle for pushing Sylus back with your bound arms, glaring at the both of them bickering like feral cats once again. “Both of you, stop! Whatever grudge you have with each other, leave me out of it!”

Sylus chuckles, the sound low and unnerving. “Leave you out of it? Oh, kitten, you’ve always been at the very center. You just don't remember yet.” His hand slips from your ribs to lift your chin, tilting your face toward his as he gazes down at you with something almost… reverent. “But don’t worry, we’ll help you remember everything.”

His words send a pang through you, a strange and unbidden ache that threatens to consume you from the inside out. You’re left suspended between them, chest heaving, mind a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. And yet, somewhere deep inside, you can feel it—an echo of something ancient and unshakable, something you don’t understand. Something they both seem to know.

That alone seems to calm Rafayel, at least, for long enough that Sylus can bind his hands together, unable to conjure any more flames before gagging him with a veil of shadows too. Something that immediately sends the man into a frenzy as he curses and squirms against the restraints. 

“What are– Sylus, release him right now—”

“Relax.” You’re also being hoisted higher up into the air, feet barely touching the floor as your arms strain above your head. “He’s simply upholding his part of the deal. Besides, he’s not the one who deserves to be punished tonight. That, sweetie, would be you.”

But before you can rebuke, a huff of hot breath caresses your neck, Sylus humming against your ear as you shiver involuntarily. “You can’t blame me. After all, you’re quite cruel to curse both of us and then go about forgetting entirely.” 

Sylus drags his hand down your ribs, thumb catching a rip in your dress as he tears it all the way down until his fingers reach the bare plush of your thigh. His grip tightens, and your sudden moan startles you nearly as much as it does the other two, shaking and needy at barely a touch, your body pulled upwards by Sylus’s shadows as you’re now balanced precariously between his hold and the brush of your toes against the floor. 

“Tell me, does it hurt? That part of you that used to belong to us?”

The sensation is so foreign, the warmth and gentleness of his touch such a contrast to the cruelty he's displayed, but your traitorous body welcomes the contrast, leaning into his palm. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shaky, unconvincing even to yourself. “I don’t—”

“Oh, you don’t remember,” Sylus cuts in, mockery dripping from his words. “But your body does. That’s the funny thing about bonds, darling. They don’t care about your memories. They care about promises. The ones you made. The ones you broke.”

You can feel the heat of Rafayel's gaze on you, watching as Sylus slowly runs his hand up your leg, the heat of his touch deliciously contrasted by the cool iron of his rings, making you shudder as they circle the tender flesh of your inner thigh. You fall forward, pulling against the restraints, unable to resist the urge to push into his touch.

Behind you, Rafayel lets out a muffled roar, thrashing against his binds. His fury burns through the room, flames licking at the air around him, casting wild, flickering light that illuminates the shadows writhing against his skin. Even gagged, his expression a storm of conflict, boring into Sylus with a fire that refuses to be smothered.

“See how desperate he gets?” Sylus laughs, his breath hot against your ear. “Always so loud, so needy. So quick to burn himself, like that’ll make you notice him more.”

Rafayel’s muffled snarl grows louder, and the flames around him surge, threatening to overwhelm the shadows keeping him bound. He jerks forward, the chair groaning under his strength, his entire body trembling with the effort.

Sylus smirks, unbothered, even amused. “Careful, puppy. Else I might think you’re trying to cheat.”

You wrench yourself away from Sylus’s grip as much as the shadows will allow, suddenly aware of how exposed you are with your torn dress.

“Cheat at what?” Thrashing, you try to slip from the restraints, which only has Sylus’s Evol squeezing tighter, pulling your wrists from behind your back to up in the air.  “Let us go, now.”

“Feisty,” Sylus purrs, hand moving from your thigh to your jaw. Squeezing your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb, he wrenches your gaze off Rafayel, forcing your neck to crane up to look him in the eye as he presses up against your back.

“That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Always resisting, even when you don’t know why.” His lips quirk into a wicked smile. “In that case, say no.”

And then Sylus’s lips are on yours, warm and insistent.

Your eyes widen, a muffled sound of surprise rising in your throat as the warmth of his kiss spreads across your lips. It’s instinct, the way your body immediately leans into his embrace, desire and confusion tearing at your chest. 

The logical part of you wants to pull away, but oh, something deep inside you sings so sweetly at his touch, making your mind fuzzy and body hot as Sylus tilts your head to the side. The angle has your neck screaming in protest, trapped between Sylus’s possessive grip on your neck and his chest, yet you swear it’s the dichotomy between the pain of his grasp and the devotion of his lips that has you addicted.  

This close, his scent is entirely intoxicating, a heady mix of spices and smoke, breath hot against your mouth, his lips surprisingly soft, gentle against yours. He doesn’t rush, a low, contented noise humming in his chest as you deepen the kiss, already licking against his bottom lip as you crane your neck for more, grinding back against him as best you can with your arms now bound above you. 

You don’t even realize you’re doing it. 

The bond with Sylus purrs in realization, and he has to summon up every ounce of strength and control left to break away, groaning into your skin as his lips trailing along your jaw, down to your neck, teeth grazing every spot that makes you shiver, and yet refusing to sink in. Refusing to mark you as his own. Not yet. 

When Sylus finally pulls back, you're panting, flushed and breathless. An absolute mess. 

"You're fussy, kitten," he murmurs, panting, his large frame practically surrounding you, heaving as you stumble forward under the weight. "But if you want more, you need to answer me."

"I don’t understand.” You’re panting, and fuck, it’s hard to breathe. ”What does this have to do with…"

The hand not busy laying claim to your throat travels down to meet the rip in your dress, brushing across your bare ribs. You feel Sylus smile into the nape of your neck as you moan at the icy burn of his rings caressing the flushed skin of your chest, his hand large enough to cup the entirety of the poor, sensitive flesh. 

That is, until his touch retreats entirely, the searing heat of his presence replaced with an empty chill. 

“Yes or no?” Sylus’s voice is low, rough, and commanding, but there’s a crack in his tone that gives him away. “I need to hear it, kitten. I need to hear you say you want this.”

You groan, head lolling forward, feeling the last shreds of your resolve crumble. It’s almost too much to bear, shadows coiled around you like velvet chains, holding you upright even as your strength falters. 

Why were you even fighting in the first place? The thought slips from your grasp, fleeting as a wisp of smoke. You can barely recall why you’re mad at them, at Sylus, at Rafayel. The failed mission, the target slipping away…it all feels inconsequential now, eclipsed by the molten desire in your chest. Did you not want them both? Did you not dream of this? Did you not die for this? 

The flicker of Sylus’s red eye pierces through the dark, pulling you out of your own thoughts and anchoring you back to this reality as you feel the rumble of his laugh vibrate through your chest even though he’s no longer touching you. You wish he were. 

“Then say it.” You hear him step closer, but still refusing to touch you. “Say you want this, or else it stops.”

And then it’s back.

A violent surge tears through your chest, flashes of color—of memories—fluttering by in a tempest, in an unintelligible inferno as the burning within your heart returns tenfold. Images flash too fast to comprehend, but the feelings linger: love so deep it swallowed you whole, betrayal like a knife twisting in your ribs, desire that turned your world to ash. 

They ripple through you, each thread of memory, each red string of fate tying itself tighter to your soul.

You’re gasping, trying to grip your chest as it feels like your heart is going to burst from your chest, desperate for relief. But Sylus’s Evol makes it impossible to move, snaking down your body instead as it anchors you against the pain attempting to seize your entire being. 

You want them. 

You need them. 

After all, they were always yours.

"Yes."

The word tumbles out, barely audible, a whispered confession that feels like release and surrender all at once.

Control returns to you in waves, your body trembling as if it’s been dragged from the brink of collapse. Your thighs quiver, and even the hold of Sylus’s Evol isn’t enough to stop the shuddering. Everything burns. Gods, everything burns. 

Behind you, Sylus makes a low sound that only makes the shaking worse. It’s raw, guttural—a noise you feel rather than hear. His control is unraveling, and for the first time, you realize he’s as close to breaking as you are.

He’s trembling.

Even with his iron control, even with his Evol wrapping around you like armor, he can’t stop the way his fingers hover just shy of your skin, tracing the curve of your neck, your spine, your waist, like he’s memorizing you. And he’s close—too close. 

His breath is hot against the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tension radiating from him, maintaining that invisible barrier as he replays your ‘yes’ in his mind again and again and again.

“What was that?” His voice is a rough whisper, but the challenge is clear. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes!” You nearly yell it this time, humiliation burning across your cheeks, but it’s dwarfed by the heat of your desire. ”I said yes.”

Sylus lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, and every reason he’s had to hold back shatters. His Evol ripples, shadows weaving around your body in a dark embrace. Hands fly to your hips, a palm squeezing your thigh as your left leg is lifted completely off the ground. 

Sylus inhales you in greedy mouthfuls, lips dancing down your neck, your shoulder blade, nipping into the skin, reverent and desperate in equal measure. This new position was beyond vulnerable, Sylus forcing your quivering thigh higher and higher until it presses into your chest, the crude slice in your dress providing absolutely no resistance or chance for modesty, allowing everything to be exposed to the chill of the office’s midnight air. 

And to the hungry gaze of the man seated before you. 

"So needy, kitten. Are you finally remembering?” Sylus coos against your ear, but his smirk is fixed on Rafayel, looking directly at him as his free hand trails down between the slits of fabric, toying with the lace band of your panties, long, rough fingers slipping under them in teasing circles. “Beg.”

“What?” You hate the way your voice quivers as Sylus teases your cunt through the thin, already-drenched fabric. “You’re out of your—ah, fucking—mind, Sylus.”

“Quite the opposite. After all, we have an audience to impress.” A sudden slap against your clothed pussy has you moaning, jolting against your restraints, futile, and yet the disturbance is just enough for the left strap of your dress to slip off your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast just shy of the nipple that was no doubt already hard enough to peek through the sheer silk all on its own. 

“Go on, beg for me.”

You don’t even get a chance to argue, not when Sylus delivers another harsh slap on your clit, soothing it with a cruel swirl, just enough to have you chasing the friction, grinding down against his palm with a choked sob. His middle two fingers tease against your slit, teasing but never breaching as the soaked fabric is stretched around his digits. He’s breaking you, and it’s working. 

"...Please." It comes out in a whine, and you bury your face in his chest as you feel yourself burn in embarrassment. 

A hum and Sylus’s hand leaves your cunt, making you whine at the loss. That is, until it's replaced on your neck, pushing your head up. A squeeze. "I said beg."

The pressure of his hold and the sweet demand of his voice only makes you wetter despite yourself. "Please," you repeat, shaking, each breath cut off just slightly by his thumb. "Please, Sylus, need it."

At first you think the bastard is doing this for himself, but as soon as you finish gasping out the words, his hand moves from your neck to your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to look across the room. 

Forcing you to look right at Rafayel.

Still bound and gagged, desperate doesn’t begin to describe him. Straining against his bounds, Rafayel’s entire body is shaking, trembling from either need or fury, gripping the leather until his knuckles turn white. Sunset eyes are glassy, blown out with unshed tears as they struggle to focus on everywhere Sylus touches you, the bruises against your neck, the quiver in your leg, the slick dripping down your thighs up to your clothed cunt.

Fuck, he’s hard. Rafayel’s cock strains painfully against his pants, an obvious dark spot tented up against his trousers, rocking against empty air with a muffled sob.

He looks more wrecked than you, and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

And that realization does horrible, terrible things to you. 

“Please. Need you, need it s’bad it hurts. Wanna cum so, so badly, please,” you whine, deliberately sweet, locking eyes with Rafayel as you drag out your moan. “Sylus.”

There’s a click of a belt buckle and you’re being lifted up into the air. Sylus holds you up by the backs of your knees, completely at his mercy as your hands flail against the restraints pulled taut above your head. Your legs are spread wide, hugged tight to his chest as you feel his length, hot and desperate, pressing into your ass. 

"Hold her down."

The shadows pull taut, wrapping around your knees as they allow Sylus’s hands to wander elsewhere, suspending you against him. At the same time, his fingers are hooked against your panties, snapping them against your weeping cunt and giving Rafayel the perfect view as the two men lock eyes.

Rafayel’s reaction is almost immediate, falling forward in the chair, moans stifled against the shadows as he watches Sylus push your panties to the side and then, without warning, thrust two fingers in knuckle-deep. 

"You're so sensitive, aren't you, sweetie? Or is it because he’s watching?" As you cry the man simply drags you flush against his chest, forcing your legs higher as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. And looks Rafayel dead in the eyes. “She’s taking me so well, isn’t she?”

Sylus follows Rafayel’s gaze, unfocused and starving as he watches the two of you, more specifically, where your cunt greedily sucks up Sylus’s fingers, meeting every grind and curl of him deep inside you as you writhe against his chest. 

Rafayel hates it, he hates it, and he hates how turned on he is at the sight.

You’re so easy, walls clenching around his digits, obscene suck following each and every movement as clear evidence even as your words fail you. With another curl of his fingers, Sylus twists his wrist, admiring the glint of your slick dripping down his palm and forearm. So wet, even as he purposefully avoids giving you what you’re seeking, planning to drive you insane before fucking you in any way that matters.

A particularly deep thrust of Sylus’s fingers has him grazing that sweet spot, and your entire body convulses, your cries echoing across the empty room in time to the lewd, wet squelches of Sylus’s ministrations. You're sobbing, struggling to find respite from the sensations as your legs tremble and familiar heat coils in your core embarrassingly fast. 

"Ah, ah," Sylus chides, and his touch disappears, leaving you empty and unsatisfied as your head lolls back against his shoulder. It takes all of your willpower not to beg him to keep going, but the look on his face makes it clear you're not allowed.

"I need—”

"You need," his grip is firm, "To learn patience. Aren’t you forgetting something? If you cum so quickly, do you really think you’ll be able to handle the both of us?"

Sylus says that, and yet he’s not exactly helping. Finally giving attention to your clit, his pace is merciless, the slick sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in making his cock twitch in his pants.

"Yes. Yes, Sylus, I want ah– wait," you gasp, unable to move, squirming in the air as you look directly at Rafayel, almost in a plea. But that only makes the poor man almost cum at the eye contact. His entire body flushes an erotic pink at the sight of you, pathetic whimpers and unintelligible praises muffled into the shadows.

Sylus smirks, feeling you clench around his fingers, and grinds forward, your protests dissolving into static as you feel his cock grind between your thighs. Fuck, you’re close.

But Sylus isn’t looking down at you, not anymore. He’s rather focused on the poor man looking nearly hypnotized at the show you’re so generously putting on. 

So why not take it further? Sylus directs his Evol down, ripping Rafayel’s shirt and squeezing his thighs as they tease and tighten against his trembling muscles, grinning at the man practically falling apart without so much as a touch. 

"You want a taste, puppy?” 

Sylus smirks, kissing down your neck, finally undoing his Evol gagging Rafayel’s mouth as a pathetic whine echoes across the room alongside every heaving breath. “Ask nicely, and maybe I'll let you. If she cums, she’s all yours."

Rafayel has never wanted to burn a building down so badly before. 

He's a god for fuck's sake—he, the bringer of tempests, the master of tidal waves, and the keeper of fire, unable to even fucking breathe at the sight of you. This is not desire; this is sacrilege. 

But then he hears it. His name. Shattered, trembling, falling from your lips like prayers ripped from a throat too broken to care—Rafayel, Rafayel, Rafayel—your thighs quivering in the air, your body offering to something you don’t fully understand, each syllable searing through him like molten iron, branding him, unmaking him.

Rafayel’s fingers twitch with the need to destroy—burn, drown, something. But when you scream his name once more, cumming around Sylus’s fingers, the god inside him shatters.

"Please," his throat is raw from cursing through the gag, each word tasting like ash and salt on his tongue. "Please, Sylus."

It’s not enough. Sylus tilts his head, amused. Rafayel sucks in a shuddering breath, nearly falling from the chair to his knees as the restraints loosen.

"You want a god to beg?" Rafayel laughs, fury crackling beneath his desperation. "I’ll beg. I’ll kneel. I’ll crawl to her. Please, just let me taste. Don’t make me wait anymore."

“Then crawl.”

You’re only just coming down from your orgasm, bits of Rafayel’s and Sylus’s nth argument flickering through your mind— before you’re suddenly gasping for breath. 

A silent scream rips from your mouth as the restraints above you flicker with every tremor that seizes your body, knees buckling as a searing sensation against your leg bites again.

You didn’t even see Rafayel get off the chair, let alone process when he got on his knees beneath you. 

“Rafayel!” Looking down through tear-lined lashes, you watch the man lick his lips, his only apology a wet, messy kiss to the violet bruise already blooming against your inner thigh. He’s whimpering apologies into your leg, tongue slipping out to meet your quivering skin, collecting your sweat and dripping slick, smearing it higher and higher along your inner thigh. You swear no human tongue is that long.

As if coordinated, the moment Sylus releases your leg from his hold, Rafayel drapes it over his shoulder, your body suspended between them. Your hands writhe helplessly above your head, desperate to lace themselves into the man's hair and pull— closer or further, you do not know. 

Rafayel’s yanking you forward, moaning into your cunt as his lips meet your own swollen ones—too hasty, too depraved to even think of pulling aside your sticky panties. He’s eating through the fabric like a man starved, teeth grazing your clit as his tongue slips under, burying himself between your folds, tongue fucking up into you as his moans and whines are muffled only by your own and the wet squelches of your cunt.

"I— R-Rafayel—Sylus!"

Your head rolls back, falling onto Sylus’s chest as you feel Rafayel moan, the vibrations sending a shockwave up your spine. Your cum is dripping down his chin and chest, and he’s lost in the heat and taste of you, head spinning as he makes out with your pussy, sucking the drenched fabric of your panties, his poor neglected cock straining against his pants, begging for attention. In truth, Rafayel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life.

Rafayel presses closer, nose brushing against your clit in sync with the curling and twisting of his tongue as it reaches that spongy abused spot deep inside you, the hot friction enough to send your eyes rocking into the back of your skull. 

Now you’re certain, the way it writhes inside you is most definitely far from human. 

Sylus is more than content to just watch over your shoulder, transfixed. Watch as the god kneels beneath you, head moving in a frenzy, desperate for more, a slave to his own hunger. When you try to writhe away from Rafayel, overstimulated, Sylus merely wraps his burly forearms around your waist and neck to pin you in place, the squeeze of Sylus’s biceps and Rafayel’s kissing to your cunt making you gloriously light-headed. 

Sylus watches your muscles begin to tremor, thighs locking around Rafayel’s head, and he brings his palm down to curl his fingers up into you alongside Rafayel’s tongue. 

“My, just look at you.” Sylus chuckles against your forehead as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, stifling your moans as you bite—hard—down into his sweat-slicked skin. “So needy for the both of us. Do you remember now? Do you realize the only thing your body craves is us, that we will be the only ones ever able to satisfy you?”

"Sylus, oh god, please," you moan, already delirious as you beg. 

Rafayel's head snaps up, panting between your legs, your wetness shining on his chin. He glares at the man above him, his eyes alight before pressing a rough kiss to your clit. 

"I’m your god. Do not speak to him while I'm touching you.” Rafayel’s mouth is back on your cunt, sucking, biting, and he reaches a hand up to rip the remaining fabric of your dress, squeezing your breast. "You're mine, You’re mine too. You were mine first, don’t forget that again." 

Rafayel feels the way you tense around his tongue and Sylus’s fingers and frowns, sucking harder, faster. You are a symphony in their ears, a drug in their veins, and gods, Rafayel has never felt so high.

 "Say it. Say my name,” he whines, drooling against your folds, "you're mine. All mine."

You can barely breathe.

"Say it."

"Yours, Rafayel," you cry out, your entire body shaking, "I'm yours."

"Again," he’s pleading, a growl, and you can feel it inside you, the vibration and the desperation. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, the dizziness in his vision to kiss your clit—missing, placing wet, opened-mouth kisses against your thighs and cunt a few times instead.  "Say it again."

"Yours, always, always," you can feel the tears running down your cheeks, a sob wrenching from your throat as the pressure grows, "yours, Rafayel, I'm yours—"

You’re babbling, so, so fucked out you don’t even recognize the familiar letters Rafayel presses into your clit with every swirl of his tongue—R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L—spelling his name as if in reminder. In possession. In worship.

The two of you are practically overstimulating yourselves, and Sylus can see the moment your eyes roll back, your lips parting with a moan, and moves his fingers to curl against your g-spot at the same time Rafayel goes back to licking up into your cunt. The god growls at the interruption and nips Sylus’s fingers almost on instinct, causing Sylus to hiss as you jerk in his hold. 

Immediately, Sylus is reaching down, yanking on Rafayel’s hair, forcing his head out from beneath you. “Ah-ah, no biting.”

But, gods, does Rafayel fight it. Whining, Rafayel reluctantly slips his tongue out from your cunt, dazed and addicted, eyes half-lidded as he attempts to find his way back to you, finally forced back onto his heels. 

"The fuck do you think you're doing? Sylus, I swear to the seas I’ll set everything on fire and let it all burn," Rafayel snarls, his body shaking with desire.

Sylus laughs. "Is that how a good boy asks?"

Neither of you misses the full shiver that races down Rafayel’s spine at the pet name. Sylus forces Rafayel’s head to the side with his grip on his hair and the god snaps out of it, smiling with the promise of blood as your cum drips from his canines. 

"I have killed for less."

"I’ll make it worth the effort, puppy. I promise."

Sylus's eyes burn into him, a silent dare. A challenge. Rafayel's gaze shifts back and forth between Sylus and you, his teeth grinding together as his cock strains against his pants. There are only two choices left, and he knows it.

“Will both of you stop fighting and please—” you scream at their stupidity, “Please just fuck me!”

Their hands are on you in an instant.

Sylus drags Rafayel up by the hair, pushing the man back as he stumbles backward onto the couch, you falling on top of him as Sylus bends you over the leather arm. Immediately, you feel the hot press of Sylus against your ass, his body caging you between them as his arms rest on the back of the couch and right beside Rafayel’s head. 

“Make him come, and I’ll fuck you,” Sylus whispers into your ear, guiding your back into a deeper arch until your breasts graze the cold leather. 

He doesn’t even finish talking before you’re pawing at Rafayel’s pants. 

You don’t need the extra motivation, not really, not when you’re already salivating at the sight of Rafayel’s pretty length, heavy and leaking as it snaps up to his abdomen as soon as you shove down his boxers.

Overly eager, you thumb at his slit, collecting the copious amounts of sticky pre-cum dripping onto his stomach as you drag your hand up and down, watching anger fade from Rafayel’s expression entirely as he writhes against the couch. 

You’ve barely even touched him and he’s falling apart. The sheen of sweat makes his muscles stick to the leather as he bucks up into your touch, babbling pleas as he watches you lean down to kiss the tip. "Poor baby. You’re this hard from just watching?"

"Please," Rafayel begs, gasping as your hand squeezes against the base of his pretty cock. "Wanna fuck you. Wanna be inside you. Please."

You hesitate, almost looking over your shoulder at Sylus for permission when you’re lifted up into the air with a yelp. Sylus only needs one arm to hoist you over the arm of the couch, dropping you onto Rafayel’s lap as the both of you moan at the mere contact of skin on skin. 

It should be embarrassing, the fact that you’re so wet that at the first few attempts, Rafayel’s cock merely slides between your thighs, grinding into your clit before trying again, Sylus cooing sweet nothings to the both of you as he purposely slows you down.

One of his large hands begins grinding you onto Rafayel’s length, letting you take him inch by inch, the other moving to stop the man beneath you from squirming, pinning him down. 

"Mhm fuck, Raf, feels so good." Relishing the stretch you finally, finally, get. Greedily sinking faster as you chase the addictive feeling, down until your ass hits his pelvis with a lewd squelch.

"Ah," Rafayel tries to meet you halfway, tries to thrust up into you but can’t so much as move with Sylus’s hand and Evol holding him down yet again. “Sylus, please, let me. Need it, need it so bad.”

The sound of Rafayel moaning Sylus’s name really shouldn’t be that hot, and yet you feel your pussy flutter, Rafayel’s cock twitching violently in you as he groans from the sudden pressure, throbbing in time to your heartbeat. Rolling your hips, you chase the friction of his pelvis against your clit, grinding back and forth as your breathing reduces to small cries of their names. 

"You can do better than that," Sylus scoffs, hand squeezing your hip, pressing down onto your lower abdomen before dragging you all the way off Rafayel’s length and slamming you back down. Again. And again.

Both of you lose your minds a little at that. Your moan is muffled as you collapse down onto Rafayel’s chest, panting, drooling at the pace Sylus is setting for you, still moving your hips as you try to distract yourself by placing messy, opened-mouth kisses up Rafayel’s heaving chest. Biting his nipple just to watch him arch into your mouth with a sob. Wanting, needing more. 

Sylus rocks you forward just a bit more and you scream, the fat head of Rafayel’s cock now ramming into your g-spot, raw and sensitive.

"Please, fuck," Rafayel gasps out, shaking at the change in angle. His jaw hangs deliriously open as he looks down, greedy eyes locked on the way your cunt was swallowing him whole. “Don’t stop, m’close. Please, ah—shit, don’t squeeze me like that— don’t stop.”

Sylus’s low laugh makes your cunt throb, gushing around Rafayel’s cock as the sticky, creamy strands begin to pool where your thighs meet. Still guiding you up and down, Sylus moves to finger at your clit, smiling as the both of you tense up immediately, smacking up once, twice, onto your oversensitive nub. 

“Very well then, make him cum. Poor thing deserves it, right?” Sylus whispers into your ear, spreading two fingers across the glossy mess between your bodies, watching your combined slick drip down his wrist. You watch him withdraw his glistening fingers with a smug, feral grin, immediately leaning down to press the digits into Rafayel’s open mouth. 

Every sound is unrestrained now, Rafayel’s eyes rolling back at the taste of you coating Sylus’s fingers, sucking diligently as his pace speeds up into brutal, frantic thrusts. Rafayel’s hips freely jerk up as he plants his feet into the couch, new leverage letting him ram himself deeper, barely pulling out before rolling his hips back into yours. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, fuuuck."

"Cum, puppy, I know you're close."

You swallow your cries just long enough to lick across Rafayel’s blushing red ear and whisper, "Be a good boy and cum for us, Raf. Come inside me, please?”

It hits him so hard it hurts.

Rafayel cries as he cums, loud, sweet moans garbled against Sylus’s fingers, drooling around him nearly as much as his cock is drooling in you, the sheer heat of his release filling you to the brim as it squirts down your thighs and up his abs in thick rivulets. But he’s still grinding up into you as he cums, fucking his release deeper, arching his muscled back into a gorgeous curve on the soaked leather, and you feel your own orgasm quickly approaching.

"Rafayel, Sylus, wait please, too much, I’m gonna—"

"You can take it, kitten.” Sylus cuts you off, retracting his fingers from Rafayel’s mouth before tapping them against his cheek, smearing the wetness of his digits down his jaw.

Rafayel gets the message, still thrusting, hands squeezing your breasts, waist, down to your ass, spreading your thighs until they shake, all as Sylus keeps moving your hips. The two of them working together as your body shudders, orgasm hitting you without any other warning. 

Sylus hums sweet praises as your head floats in and out of reality, still deliciously stretched around Rafayel’s still-hard cock. The couch dips as Sylus settles in behind you, the heat of his bare skin caressing your back as his hands massage comforting little circles into yours and Rafayel’s hips. 

“Good job, baby.”

Both of you shudder at the praise. 

Sylus’s voice acts as little more than an aphrodisiac, all low and rough with a teasing chuckle, and the way you feel Rafayel twitch inside you makes you think he feels similarly. 

“Hey,” Rafayel’s already embarrassingly close to coming again, your every movement tightening and rocking against his length. He pushes himself up onto his elbows with a whine, nuzzling into your touch with each slow, deep thrust. “You’re taking too long. Hurry up, a deal is a deal, so hurry up already and fuck her.”  

You can’t see it, but the sight of you and Rafayel still subtly grinding against each other, panting and breathless, makes a dark flush spread across Sylus’s cheeks, his own body betraying him as he smiles. One thick arm anchors you to his chest as the other pulls Rafayel up. “So needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t know who he’s talking to— you don’t particularly care. 

Not so long as both of them were inside you within the next five seconds. 

“Shh,” Sylus kisses you quiet, silencing the whines you didn’t even realize you were letting out, "Don't worry, kitten. We're gonna take real good care of you, aren't we, Rafayel?"

Rafayel only nods, eyes half-lidded and teary as he looks down to where you and him are joined. He's still buried to the hilt, throbbing against your walls, and you both moan at the overstimulation from every movement, hissing at the cool air as Sylus slides his hands down to pull you apart, fingers pressing against his cock inside you.

"Just relax, alright? Deep breaths. This'll feel really good soon."

Slow. Torturously slow. Sylus retreats his fingers and replaces them with his weeping tip. And then he’s pushing in alongside Rafayel’s cock— careful, deep grinds of his hips that have you and Rafayel moaning, every heartbeat pulsing against your walls in violent thumps. 

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"Breathe, Raf."

"I'll burn you alive."

Sylus laughs at Rafayel's pained whine, and he takes that moment to tighten his arm around your waist, forcing you steady before thrusting in one brutal push. The sheer size of them, the combined pressure, and the very fact that you can feel them both rocking and throbbing against each other is enough to have you losing your mind. 

Dropping his head to kiss your shoulders, Sylus almost looks apologetic as he turns your head to the side, messily licking into your lips as he says, “M’sorry, just a bit more. Just a bit- hah fuck- a bit deeper—” 

Oh fuck, he’s not even in all the way yet.

Rafayel is moaning nonstop now, his hands finding yours and squeezing, the two of you trembling. You're a drooling, overstimulated mess between them, but all you can do is nod, a garbled, “S’okay, keep- keep going.”

That's the last warning you get before Sylus pushes deeper, until you can feel him in your throat, pound after heavy pound that shakes the entire damn couch. Holy fuck, it might break. 

They’re caging you in on either side, rhythmless, bouncing you like little more than a toy, pressing closer as the pressure grows against your walls and around your hips, reminding you of just how small you are to them in every conceivable way and how far they’re willing to go for you. How willing of worship they are. How desperate they are to prove it. 

You can feel everything, so full you can barely breathe, can barely think. Shaky fingers claw down anything you can find, digging into hard planes of muscle, and Rafayel makes a sound against your mouth like it hurts. But he isn't holding back either, the grip on your thighs bruising as he fucks into you, every thrust a sharp shock of pleasure as he and Sylus rock against one another.

The room is filled with the lewd squelch of their cock fucking into your wet cunt, taking turns in deep, uneven tempos, and the heavy, ragged sounds of your breathing.

Sylus suddenly moans, loud and unrestrained against your shoulder, and you look back to see Rafayel’s hand squeezing the pale column of his neck, the slow lick of flames leaving bright red marks against his skin in the shape of Rafayel’s palm. The pain only seems to set Sylus off further, a harsh thrust into your ass forcing you forward and deeper against Rafayel as well, nearly delirious as you’re stuck between their silent competition yet again.

Rafayel’s mouth gasps open in a feverish puff of your name over and over when you already begin clenching, practically milking them back in, pace stuttering as his swollen tip takes turns colliding with Sylus’s own and your cervix. Half-delirious, his palm comes up, pressing right where he could feel both of their cocks making a mess of you inside. 

“Ah! W-what-”

“Mhm, you deserve a reward don’t you cutie?” He’s panting against your mouth while Sylus bites the filthiest of words into the crook of your neck. The lovebites they’ve swathed across your skin will take days, if not weeks to disappear, but you’re far too gone to pay them any mind. “Take it, take our cum then. Right here.”

Rafayel’s palm digs into your lower stomach, hard.

His thrusts are short and frantic now, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as you tighten impossibly around him. The pressure builds until you can't breathe, your body shaking and toes curling as you scream out little ah’s of their names.

"Wanna-" Rafayel can barely finish his sentence, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock knocking against your cervix. "Wanna fill you up, make sure you never forget. Never forget us again.”

Sylus on the other hand almost looks pained at the idea, and the sudden rush of possessiveness makes his thrusts harsher, rougher, and the sound of his hips colliding with yours fills the room.

“Yes yes yes- hah- want you to cum inside.” Arching between them, grappling pathetically for more. More. “Both of you inside, want it.”

"Careful." Sylus growls, forcing himself to breathe. To think. 

Rafayel only grins, a wicked edge to his fucked-out smile. “It’d be our mark. All ours. Our love, all full of us, our cum. You'd look so good like that, our sweet darling.”

You cry, burying your face in Rafayel's neck, his hair, the smell of him, of Sylus. "Wanna- want—ahh—want it, Sylus, please- want to feel it, want to be both of yours.”

“Don’t.” Sylus can't help but hiss, his cock swell violently inside of you, the telltale heat pooling in his stomach of a dragon marking his territory. He’s so close it’s embarrassing. 

Instead, his mouth finds your throat, sucking more bruises into the side Rafayel hasn’t completely marred. "Do you really want this? Think about it, kitten."

Rafayel laughs, squeezing your face in his hand as a low trill sounds from the back of his throat. “You believe—mhm, fuck—she can think right now?”

Sylus chooses to ignore him. Gently taking your face from Rafayel, he covers your eyes, whispering into your ear, "One more time, kitten. Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

There's no response, but the sudden, painful press of Sylus's bite makes you gasp, the sharp sting a pleasant contrast to the sweet ache spreading throughout your body. A hand pulls against your waist, another flicking cruelly across your nipple, pain and pleasure bleeding into one as you nearly collapse, two sets of hands immediately steading you instead. Rafayel moves to the unoccupied side of your neck, matching Sylus’s marks, the vulgar sounds of their tongues and sucking of teeth between moans fills your ears, just above the slap of their rough thrusts. 

Twin marks, the jaws of a Lemurian and the canines of a dragon, glowing a dull blue and red, claiming your body and soul in a way that their bonds sing. 

Sylus immediately retracts, kissing away the few escaped droplets of blood in apology while Rafayel lets them run, licking up your collarbone as the blood smears across your heartbeat, frantic under his tongue. 

Rafayel's tongue soothes the pain as he kisses the mark, hissing a soft, “ours,” into your neck.

The possessive edge in his voice sends a shockwave through your body, and you can't help but shudder, walls spasming around him and Sylus as the pleasure nearly blinds you, every sense heightened by Sylus’s palm still covering your eyes. 

Without sight, every touch, every shift of their bodies against yours, in yours, is overwhelming. And you’re crying out into the darkness as they tease and drag you up, forcing you closer and closer— 

Fuck, you’re squirting everywhere. Each thrust now punctuated by wet slaps as your hands claw and slip against the drenched muscles of Rafayel’s abs and Sylus’s chest, unable to anchor yourself as you continue to cum. Shaking with it. 

They barely notice, the sudden vice of your cunt sucking them inside as they fuck into you in shallow, desperate little grinds. Anything to get deeper and deeper still, one kissing you as you feel their tongue lick up into you and the other playing with your clit, all three of you quickly losing your minds.

It’s impossibly messy, desperate. Neither of them has any control left, both cumming inside you as you continue to convulse around them, Sylus's hips stuttering as you feel the full, hot press of his release. Rafayel isn't far behind, whining and twitching, filling you up as their combined release gushes around your thighs, staining the leather couch below with dripping pools of it.

The feeling of being so full is enough to prolong your orgasm to the point of pain, and you scream their names as best you can when you can’t feel your tongue anymore, body convulsing.

You're still dizzy when Rafayel finally pulls away, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the feeling.

“So good, so pretty for us cutie, our sweet darling, you did so well." Rafayel’s babbling to himself with a lopsided smile, guiding Sylus’s hand to your navel. "Look, look. She's so full."

Sylus pulls back, heaving, his eyes immediately falling to where Rafayel's hand rests. He can feel it, can feel both of their releases seeping out, but Rafayel is right, your lower stomach is swollen. Not quite enough to show, but definitely enough to make them both moan, and the sound draws your attention back down to earth.

“Again.”

It's the first demand you’ve given in a while, and it’s not what Sylus expected, not with the way you barely seem lucid, but there's a bright flush to your cheeks and an excited glint in your eyes, and it's so fucking hot he can barely breathe. 

What Sylus also didn’t expect was for you to immediately lift yourself off his dick, busy watching your combined spend trickle down your thighs before both you and Rafayel knock Sylus onto his back, looking equal parts feral and furious as the two of you work together to pin him down. 

“You really didn’t think I’d let you get away with everything you pulled in the beginning, did you?” 

You nod, biting into Sylus’s neck as you whisper in faux anger. “This is entirely your fault.”

Sylus could barely manage to hide his smile. 

Who knows if any of you will make it out of this alive. The only lasting truth you know now is that they’ve irreversibly claimed you. That you’ve claimed them. 

Your dragon and your god.

This is all for @jayhyunglover who sparked this obsession while I was stuck in NYC's airport-- what a way to start 2025. Regardless, a month later this was born, so thank you, darling for feeding my delusions. This one's for you~

[mommynott]

Locker Room Relief

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Filled with anxiety before a big game, you help Theo…relax and release some tension👀 This is my hockey!theo series. If you haven’t already, check out pt.1 & pt.2!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, chars 18+, modern au, pro hockey au, hockey!theo, dom!theo, semi-public, oral, blowjob, throatfucking, praising, degrading, dirty talk, teasing, swallowing, dom&sub, slight slapping, Theo destroying our throat

Saturday night had arrived and you were eager to head to Theodore’s game. He invited you to come watch him play stating nothing would make him happier. Between the texts and hangouts, you were growing more and more feelings toward the Italian.

Walking into the ice arena, the crowd was roaring and the bleachers were packed. But that’s when you recognized one of his friends approaching you. Enzo or Lorenzo. Something like that.

“Hey…Nott is kinda…In his head or somethin’- you mind talking to him?” Enzo asked through a heavy breath as he approached you. Concern washed over your features. You were aware this was a pretty big fucking game. “Uh…Yeah, of course. Where is he at?”

The second you asked the question Lorenzo nodded his head toward the locker rooms. Not waiting for another second, you stormed off toward the door and entered the locker room. “Theo? Hello? Are you in here?”

Walking deeper inside the dimly lit locker room, the sounds of the massive crowd were muffled now. Then you saw him, sitting on a bench with his face slammed into his palms. His leg bounced against the concrete floor.

“Theo…Oh, sweet thing…What’s wrong?”

Whispering out your words, you approached the Italian. Kneeling between his legs you removed his hands from his face. Your eyes locked on his and that’s when you could see it. Nervousness. Anxiety. Worry.

“Fuck…I don’t know- Our opponents…They’re definitely fuckin’ good-“ Theo’s tone was shaky, and you gave him a sympathetic smile. Nodding your head as you took his strong hands within yours. “Hey- it’ll be okay. You’re a fucking great player! I know you’ll do an amazing job…”

Your smile grew a bit as a grin tugged on Theodore’s lips. He let out a low chuckle and kept his ocean gaze on yours. “Thank you, amore…I’m just so damn nervous…” His Italian accent rolled off of his tongue while he glanced away for a moment.

However, an idea struck you. Perhaps not the best but it would definitely give him some kind of encouragement. “Well…I can help…give you some luck—“ A giggle freed between your lips as you fell to your knees, your hands tracing down to his pants.

Theodore raised a brow while a sly smirk danced on his face. “Oh? Some luck you say, huh?” His voice now low and dangerous, you bit down on your lower lip as you shimmed off his pants and boxers.

His throbbing erection popped out as he leaned back on the bench and a little gasp released your lips. “See…Let’s get rid of some of this tension, baby…” A seductive whisper, you wrapped your hands around his massive cock.

Slowly stroking it as first, Theo groaned, wrapping your hair up in a ponytail as he pushed you closer to his length. “I really…really need that release, Cara Mia- Fuck—“ Giggling at his words, you didn’t make him wait much longer. Kissing his precum-stained tip, teasing Theo, his grip on your silky hair only tightened. “You and your teasing…Imma destroy that pretty throat of yours-“ Wetness pooled between your thighs while you spread your lips, slowly taking in his cock.

Gazing up at Theo with submissive doe eyes, he felt as if he could explode in your mouth right then and there. Bobbing your head faster by the second, he tilted his head back. Taking in all of the pleasure.

“Faster- open up that pretty throat of yours, amore—“

Through his more spastic moans, you obeyed, trying to relax your throat muscles. However, the moment you did, Theodore wrapped his other hand in your locks before going to town and thrusting himself in your mouth.

Tears welled up in your eyes while he mercilessly fucked your throat, feeling as if it was spreading for his length. Sure as hell wouldn’t have a voice after this. All in all, you fucking loved it. “Dick-sucking slut— Huh? My dick-sucking slut— Fuck…that throat feels too damn good-“

The degradation, the praising, you swore you could finish from that alone. Taking his entire cock down your throat, you managed to keep your gaze on his. And Theo’s view?

Mascara dripping down your face, glossed over submissive eyes. He could hardly contain it. —Slap!- With a quick flick of his palm, he swatted across your face but only slightly, his smirk growing. “Such a mess for me aren’t you, Tesoro?”

Taunting you as he drilled down your throat you managed to muffle a moan “-Mmhmmmm—“ Enjoying every second of this. Suddenly, you could feel Theo’s cock twitching between your throat.

“-Cazzo— Imma…Imma cum down that pretty throat…You better swallow every last drop, got it?”

He spoke through his intense panting while you managed to nod your head. After a few more thrusts, Theo jolted, a loud growl emitting from his chest. Feeling his warm sticky cum coat all over your throat and of course, swallowing every bit of it.

That doe-eyed gaze remained up on the player, he slowly pulled out of your mouth and took his thumb to whip some drool from your lips. “Gods— You’re fuckin’ amazing, amore…” Breathing out, he pressed his lips softly to yours and helped you up.

“Did that help?” You asked him through a soft giggle while he grabbed a clean towel and helped wipe up and clean your face. “Oh…It sure as hell did, Tesoro-“ Smirking, he chuckled lowly and gave you one last kiss.

You both walked slowly toward the door of the locker room. The crowd still going wild. Theo looked back at you once more and shot you a cheeky winky that made your heart flutter.

“You’re my good luck charm-“

Ahhhh part three!!! I hope y’all enjoyed hehehe I can’t wait for more hockey!theo🫦

Divider linked in my masterlist🌙

Love my naughty nymphs💋✨

[fridaysmind]

Shifting priorities

The Doctor x reader (platonic)

Okay, I've only written on Transformers, but seeing the new installment of PPT just made me smile and sit down to write. I love the scientist characters too much. Warning: mention of organs and violent experiments, possible spoilers. If you want me to write you something, feel free to request it!

Yes. Yes, he knows no mercy, yes, he's ruthless and cruel. So what? If even half the employees in this company were as logical, goal-oriented, the greatest things were created long ago. If that snot-nosed jerk Ludwig, with his inspirational speeches and penetratingly understanding gaze, would stop acting like a softy, immortality would not be a dream, but a matter of money. Sure, these assholes would be sure to talk about the good for the world, but who gives a damn? They don't understand anything at all, make heroes out of themselves, sympathize, pity, as if they are not the ones watching bloody experiments on cameras, as if they are not the ones keeping living corpses in cages without food

Let any of them call Sawyer an asshole, so be it, but he was honest enough, at least with himself. He knew who he was and didn't try to appear different.

Some of the employees laughed at him when he brought you, a kid, into his cleanest (and relatively) office for notes and paperwork. They threw jokes about his demotion to babysitter or his willingness to leave his job and go into fatherhood. The doctor had no trouble putting them in their place.

They don't understand because of their own feeble-mindedness, Sawyer says to himself, looking down into your big, overly intelligent eyes. He took this kid away, like finding a diamond in a pile of dirt, sand, and debris. He knew those test results, he knew that communication style. It was hard not to recognize himself in your face. A kind of little genius who'd been so lucky to get into the orphanage.

You're definitely different from the other kids, you don't look at him like he's the last hope, like you're a yard dog, you don't act like a nasty snotty brat, none of that. But he sees respect, he sees that one genius recognizes and acknowledges another and it rubs off on his ego. You laboriously write something out of his study guides by the light of a desk lamp, read his notes, speak of him to others with reverence, causing him something resembling a surge of pride.

Kids are always too curious, especially the smart ones, and you were out of the question. Of course you did sneak in during one of his experiments. He can blame himself for not locking the door. He could, yes, but he won't. Another body opened up before him like a flower bud, not moving as he carefully separated the marrow with a scalpel and as your stupid face crawled out from the other side of the bunk, making him shriek in fright.

He was almost on the verge of a breakdown, it had all started out so well, now he'd have to either keep you on a leash or get rid of you altogether, the kids can't live with themselves after a sight like that!

But oh, oh, he remembered why he chose you. Staring emotionlessly at the pale face of the girl you had definitely previously known, you point a finger towards her head asking to see the actual brain. He calms down in an instant, noting to himself again what a genius he is for discerning the right specimen.

As the doctor continues to poke around inside the children, you sketch out cerebral gyrus in your notebook, interjecting now and then about the purpose and name of certain parts of the large hemispheres of the brain. Wonderful child…

As the years of his work go by, you grow up. You enjoy interacting with experiment 1166, stroking his colorful fur, throwing him things to bring back. You're aware of his human nature, as well as many other things, but you remain as he chose you to be–cold and indifferent.

The Doctor notes some signs of savagery in you, very slight, but that's not surprising when a child grows up underground, in the company of adults, experiments, and beast-like unintelligent creatures. You can survive it.

***

His first reaction when he wakes up, immobilized, split into pieces and placed in the damn machine–worrying about himself. Not that it's unexpected. He remembers you pretty quickly, too. Where are you, where is his favorite apprentice? He asks questions, demands answers, threatens, but a short 'run away' is all he gets in response.

Immersed in darkness and silence, abandoned by traitors who only turn when they need his brainpower, he thinks of you. You're still not as bright as he is, but your company was much more pleasant than this one. Did you just run away, leaving him alone? You don't think of him even after all these years together? You grew up around him, he taught you so many things that he knew himself, didn't you get attached?

What a silly thing to say, he doesn't get attached, and you're so much like him that you're hardly different in this. Sawyer can't help but feel something unpleasant at the thought. Abandoned, all traitors and all abandoned him!

***

The ray of light in this prison was your sudden voice. He thought he had lost his mind, he mean even more, but no, you were definitely here, the cameras didn't lie. He couldn't help but scare you a couple times, just for fun, understand the old man, he was so bored here! But he helps you get to him, genuinely happy to be able to socialize again. No, he hasn't become like those soft-spoken idiots in the factory, it's just nice to talk to a decent person, that's all.

You stay by his side survived by nothing short of a miracle when the Prototype himself visits the Doctor after the Hour of Joy. They need his mind, they need his intelligence and knowledge. All that, but not you.

Sawyer almost squeals, screaming that he will not help them under any circumstances if they touch such a marvelous specimen, he is uncompromising, unafraid of the threats of a huge creature that makes even your mouth dry up with a semblance of worry.

You're staying, alive again by a miracle. and under strict surveillance by everyone. No one here trusts you, nor will they. You don't expect them to be kind, though.

The Prototype has warned Sawyer that your feeding is only the Doctor's own responsibility and goes into the shadows. You are left alone with each other, simultaneously tongue clucking and hissing the same curse. Everyone here is such an asshole.

[crowsofdarkness]

Just For Tonight: Part One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Content Warnings: 18+ smut which includes spanking, voyeurism, oral with male receiving, protected p in v with reader being on birth control, anal, and m/f/m relations.

Summary: Steve lets you live out your secret fantasy. Just for tonight.

Authors Note: This is basically porn with some plot. Part Two will be posted later. Enjoy!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @bookofriverr

-this is not connected to my other Stucky fic Ménage a Trios-

PART TWO

“You’re such a little brat,” Steve stumbled into his bedroom with me attached on his lips. 

My hand worked at the buttons of his jacket, trying to get it off, but he smacked them away. 

“Steve,” I whined, my pussy clenching around nothing. 

His hair wasslicked but he blew away a few loose strands. There was a darkness in his eyes, something I didn’t recognize, and for a brief moment it scared me. 

“You’ve been riling me up all night knowing I can’t do anything about it. Then when I finally think we’re going to fuck, you stop and talk to an old friend for twenty minutes,” I angrily gruffed while crossing my arms over my chest.

Steve cocked his head to the side, those eyes glazing over the pout of my bottom lip before glancing over my shoulder briefly. 

“Haven’t you learned anything? Don’t you want to be a good girl for me, Y/N?” 

I gulped loud in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, knowing that whatever I was in for tonight wouldn’t be good. 

Not like I would complain. 

“Take it off,” he plucked at the strap of my dress. 

I quickly shimmed out of it, letting the silky material pool at my feet. Steve’s hungry eyes raked over my bare chest and pebbled nipples, licking his lips ever so slowly. He closed the distance between us, engulfing me in a feverious kiss that was filled with biting lips and crashing teeth. His tongue devoured every inch of my mouth, reveling in the taste of my drink earlier. I scratched and clawed at his shirt, wishing he would take it off so I could graze my teeth over every inch of skin. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing,” Steve bit along my jawline, down to my neck as his fingers worked circles on my clit.

I hissed in pleasure, trying to remove his clothing while I stood bare for him.

“I’m fucking tired of all the teasing, Steve,” I grumbled and began working on his belt.

The sound of skin on skin echoed in the room and I cried out in ecstasy when he slapped my ass again.

“I’m tired of you being a brat. Get on your knees,” his eyes darkened.

I stood tall to him, not backing down with a wicked smirk on my face.

“No.”

Through the darkness of his bedroom, only cast in the ever-growing light of the moon, Steve stepped back into the shadows with a playful gleam in his eye as a darker voice sounded from the corner of the room. My shoulders went stiff as the smirk was wiped off my face, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to.

“You heard him, doll. Get on your fucking knees.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to gather my bearings as I turned slowly towards the voice, now seeing the figure sitting in the corner of Steve’s bedroom. His ankle was crossed over to his other knee, tattooed hands resting on the arms of the chair. 

“B-Bucky,” you gulped. “How long have you been sitting there?” 

A soft click echoed in the room and it was soon bathed in an orange glow thanks to him turning on the lamp next to him. I sucked in a breath at the sight before me. 

Bucky was still dressed in his party clothes and his hair somehow managed to stay perfectly combed back from when I last talked with him last on the couch less than an hour ago. 

There was a typical monthly party at the Avengers Tower and even though I’d been glued to Steve’s hip all night, I found myself slipping away to talk to Bucky. 

“Wait,” I turned back to Steve. “Did you two plan this?” 

He gently cupped my cheek and left a chaste kiss on my lips. “I see the way you look at him, Y/N. How your eyes linger when he walks away.” 

My lips parted to speak but felt a swift smack to my ass. 

“Don’t lie,” Steve clicked his tongue. “It’s clear you want him to fuck you.”

“Steve,” I breathed, trying to figure out what to say. 

It was futile though because it was true. 

While I loved Steve with every part of my soul, lately I couldn’t ignore the way my heart leaped into my throat when Bucky walked into a room. It wasn’t always like this, I’d grown up with both of them. But recently, as Bucky started becoming healthier and growing into the man that sat before me, something in my brain kept telling me to let my gaze linger a while longer than what’s deemed normal for someone who was in a relationship. 

“I know what happened in the kitchen,” Steve chuckled. 

My head snapped back to Bucky, anger radiating off of me in waves. “You told him?” 

He tried to wipe the smirk off of his face, failing miserably. “I don’t keep secrets from Steve.”

It felt as if a weight had pulled down my stomach when I remembered what happened in the kitchen three nights ago. 

Tiptoeing down the stairs quietly in fear of waking up the rest of the house, I pulled on the bottom of Steve' shirt hoping it would cover my ass. Unfortunately it didn't and part of my yellow panties peaked through the end of it. 

“Just a quick snack,” I muttered into the dark air, reaching for the fridge. 

“Did you want some popcorn?” 

Screaming, I whirled around to see Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, lit up by the faint light of his phone. He extended a bowl of popcorn towards me. 

“What the fuck!” I held a hand to my racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Bucky!” 

Chuckling, he rose from the table to slowly stalk over to me. “Steve asleep?” 

I raised a brow. “Yeah, why?” 

Bucky shrugged before running a hand through his long hair and I did my best not to gawk at his bare chest. 

“My room is next to his and you’re not exactly quiet,” he said while standing in front me, towering over with his tall frame. 

Heat rose to my cheeks when I realized exactly what he was talking about. 

“Uh,” I pulled down the end of my shirt, hoping to cover my ass. “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t even realize how loud I can be.”

He hummed, the noise vibrating in his chest, and his vibranium fingers swiftly brushed over the heated skin of my thigh. 

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. I liked what I heard.” 

My gaze flashed down to his cock when I felt it brush up against my thigh, feeling exactly how much he liked what he had heard. Every part of me ignited with a burning desire that seemed to only be lit when Bucky was around. The guilt wouldn’t stop eating away at me though because I knew it was wrong to feel this way, especially because Steve also made me feel the same. 

I loved Steve so much, I saw a future with him. We’d been together for years. 

But the prospect of something new lingered on my mind for quite some time and the more I tried to ignore it, the harder it became to tell myself I didn’t want Bucky as well. 

“Bucky,” I breathed as my eyes fluttered shut. 

His fingers grazed up the skin of my thigh, burrowing up the shirt so they could rest on my hips. His warm breath tickled the side of my neck as he breathed me in deep. I didn’t push him away, I let his lips graze over the purple marks Steve left earlier and my fingers wrapped around his thick biceps. My nails dug into the skin, claiming what wasn’t mine. 

“Yellow is your color, doll,” he ghosted over my lips before stalking out of the kitchen, leaving me in a pool of my own desire. 

“It wasn’t anything,” I tried to tell Steve, hoping he would understand. 

With his hand still resting on my cheek, he grazed his thumb just underneath my eye. 

“It’s alright, honey,” he reassured you with another kiss. “I talked with Bucky and I have something to run by you.”

A sudden chill brushed over me, causing my nipples to peak. 

“What is it?” 

Bucky spoke next, still sitting in the chair in the corner of Steve’s room. “One night. You can have the both of us for one night.”

I nearly choked on my spit when I realized my darkest desire was about to come true. 

“You’re joking, right? This is some kind of prank?” I asked Steve. 

He sternly shook his head. “It’s the truth, Y/N. As long as you agree, you can have Bucky either along with me or just him. Just for tonight.” 

My jaw fell to the floor in shock. There was absolutely no way that Steve was being serious. The second I touched Bucky, would he freak out and break up with me? 

“How do we expect things to go back to normal after tonight? You can’t possibly think we’ll all forget this happened,” I snorted. 

“Doll.” 

Turning my head towards Bucky, he beckoned me over with a crooked finger but I was still unable to move. I felt Steve slink up behind me, his hands trailing up my stomach. 

“It’s alright, honey,” he whispered. 

Swallowing thickly, I took a step towards Bucky but he sharply shook his head. 

“Crawl.”

Heat shot straight down to my core, that fire igniting as I slowly dropped to my knees so I could crawl over to him. His ocean eyes were blown wide as they tracked my every movement until I stopped in front of him. 

“I need you to agree, doll,” he said, body vibrating with adrenaline. 

I threw a look over my shoulder at Steve who had sat on the edge of the bed resting his elbows on his knees. He gave me another reassuring nod so I looked back to Bucky. 

“Yes,” I breathed. 

The pale skin his neck bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “Take my cock out and stroke it.” 

Fucking finally. 

My hands worked quickly to undo the button and zipper on Bucky’s pants and I gasped when I noticed how hard his cock was in the confines of his briefs. 

“Do you see what you do to me?” He groaned while his cock sprang free.

I licked my lips at the sight of precum that beaded at the head of his cock; so pretty and pink. 

While Steve’ was a bit shorter and thicker, Bucky’s was longer and had a vein that ran underneath. It looked angry, like he’d been fighting a boner all night long. My hand worked up and down, squeezing every so often as I went, and Bucky’s head fell back against the chair. 

“Fuck,” his jaw went slack when my mouth began to take all of him. 

His hands found my hair, keeping me locked in place as he fucked into my throat. My feet dug into the carpet trying to keep myself locked in place and my nails dug into his clothed thighs. 

“Easy, Bucky,” Steve warned. 

“She can take it. Can’t ya, doll?” Bucky’s one hand cupped my cheek, working out the tightness. 

I nodded, urging him to keep going with a pat to his thigh. 

Now he didn’t hold back, rising up from the chair as he fucked the back of my throat all while keeping my head in place. 

“Shit,” he cursed. 

Opening my eyes, I glanced up at him with tears, begging him to keep going. 

“Beautiful,” he mused while holding his arms out wide moments before I felt his warm seed shoot down the back of my throat. 

I hummed in such delicious delight, swallowing all of him, before falling back to my knees and wiped the drool with the back of my hand. Bucky was still slumped in the chair, breathless, and I dared a glance over to Steve to see that he was gripping the blanket tightly. I feared that maybe he was angry with what happened but realized he, in fact, loved what he saw because I could tell how hard his dick was underneath his pants. 

Large hands gripped me from my armpits and forced me to sit on a lap, Bucky’s warm breath fanning over the back of my neck. He spread my legs wide, giving Steve a preview of how wet I was between them. 

“Do you want to be a good girl and give him a show?”

I nodded to Steve. “Can I?” 

He palmed his dick. “Of course, honey. I want to see you fall apart.” 

“Touch yourself,” Bucky rasped while biting my ear. 

Moaning out in pleasure, my fingers worked in fast circles against my clit and when Bucky’s cock brushed along my folds, I shivered in his embrace. 

“You want my cock, doll? You’re so fucking needy for it like the slut you are.” 

“Please,” I choked out. “I’ve wanted it for so long.” 

I felt Bucky’s chest rumble underneath me. “Did you hear that, Steve? Your girl has been wanting my cock for a long time.” 

Steve snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

My entire body was red from not only the heat of my growing orgasm but the fact that these two could read me like a book. Knowing what I wanted before I even knew. 

I jerked, halting my actions slightly, when Bucky pressed himself inside of me. 

“She has an implant,” Steve answered for me when he realized I was too far gone with touching myself that I wouldn’t be able to answer. 

Slowly but all at once, Bucky filled me completely and I groaned out his name. My hips rode against the length of it and my hand, that familiar white haze creeping into all of my senses. 

Unlike how he fucked my throat, Bucky was soft and gentle while dragging his cock in and out of my pussy. 

“So tight,” he bit down on the skin of my shoulder, causing me to cry out in ecstasy. 

“I’m so close,” I panted, fingers working even faster. 

Grunting filled my ears and through lidded eyes, I watched as Steve pumped his cock desperately trying to chase his own release. The sight of me being speared open by Bucky’s cock drove him wild, his hair no longer slicked back. 

A hand turned my face and now I was staring at Bucky, whose eyes glanced down to my lips; a silent question. 

“Please,” I sighed. 

His lips tasted different than Steve’s. They were softer, more plump and the few hairs that peppered around his mouth tickled my skin as our tongues danced slowly together, getting used to each other. 

Without warning, my orgasm tore through me violently and I screamed my release into Bucky’s mouth. His cock twitched inside of me before I felt that familiar feeling coating my insides, spilling onto my thigh and his pants. 

“Fucking hell, doll,” Bucky tried to catch his breath and wrapped his arms tighter around me. 

Steve halted his grip on his cock to lift me off of Bucky, tossing me onto the bed. I was exhausted but knew we were only just getting started. 

“I need you now, honey.” Steve made quick work of discarding all of his clothes. “Is that alright?” 

I reached out for his hand, pulling him down on top of me. “Please, Stevie.” 

His eyes fluttered shut at my nickname for him and then he lined his cock up with my pussy. “I won’t last long. Seeing you on Bucky’s cock nearly tipped me over the edge.” 

I ran a hand through his long hair and gave a lazy smile. “It’s alright.” 

The vast difference between the two men was evident as Steve’ cock filled me. His pace was erratic, him pulling my knees to my chest so he can fuck into me even deeper. 

The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard slamming into the wall, and Bucky chuckled from his corner of the room. 

“This is what I would hear every fucking night. Imagining this scene in front of me; although seeing now, it’s much better than what I thought,” Bucky said. 

I turned my head towards him, watching as he slowly rose from the chair to toss his clothes to the growing pile on the floor.

“Holy shit,” I mused at the sight in front of me. 

Bucky was like a god, as well as Steve. A pair of super soldiers. The muscles of Bucky’s stomach constricted as he began lazily stroking his cock. I held out a hand, inviting him over to us. He was too far away, I needed to feel his body heat against me again.

“Honey?” Steve whined in my ear, causing my attention to snap back to him. “I can’t hold on.” 

I pressed a kiss to his lips. “Cum for me, Stevie. It’s alright.” 

I knew he wanted to try and bring me to another orgasm and felt bad. But I reassured him it was alright and soon felt himself spill inside of me; his cum mixing with Bucky’s. 

Spent, he fell to the bed beside me and I gazed tiredly up at the ceiling, noticing all the faint hairline cracks that ran along it. The bed dipped at my feet and I felt Bucky’s long vibranium fingers gather the cum that started to run down my legs, forcing it back inside of me. 

“We can’t have this go to waste, doll,” he pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. 

“Bucky,” I whined when he slipped in another finger. “I don't think-.” 

“You can. I know you can,” his voice was gone, taken by the lust that consumed him. 

Steve rose from the bed to help Bucky position me on my knees. Bucky then slipped underneath while Steve knelt behind me. His finger grazed over my puckered hole and I shivered. 

We’d only have done anal a few times, more recently the last few days. It was then that I realized he was preparing me for this moment. 

“Stevie,” my head fell against his shoulder. 

He kissed me long and slow, savioring how I faintly tasted like Bucky. 

“You can back out if you want,” he reminded me. 

I shook my head. “No, I want this.” 

I then looked down to Bucky, who gave me a warm smile. “I want both of you.”

It took a bit of finessing but we managed to get a perfect position as I slowly sank down on Bucky’s cock. Steve then pushed me over so my breasts could press against Bucky’s chest. His arms held me in place while Steve gathered some of the cum inside of me, coating his cock with it. 

“Safe word?” He asked. 

I glanced over my shoulder at him, remembering that we came up with one a while ago when we decided to start experimenting sexually. 

“Mercy,” I breathed. “But don’t stop.” 

“Keep her distracted, Bucky,” Steve ordered. 

He did by capturing my lips in a feverish kiss, one that was a fight for dominance and ultimately, he won. My nails scraped along his scalp, causing Bucky to hiss out in pleasure. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long, doll,” he admitted while moving his hips, fucking me all over again. 

I brushed away the sweat sticken hair from his forehead, agreeing with a nod. “I feel the same.” 

Steve left a kiss to the base of my spine. “Ready?” 

I nodded and slowly, the head of his cock began to press inside of my ass and my cries were swallowed by Bucky as he kissed me again. I’d never felt so full in my life and it took me a moment to adjust to having both of their cocks inside of me at the same time. 

“Tell us when, doll,” Bucky’s voice cooed in my ear. 

“Go,” I urged them on. 

After a moment, Steve and Bucky figured out the best rhythm that worked best and my body felt like it was in overdrive. All of my senses were heightened as both of their cocks worked in spreading me wide for them. The room filled with the scent of all three of us, tangling together with the tellings of our ever growing affair. Some might have thought this was wrong but it felt so right; so free. 

This was supposed to be one night and then we would go back to our normal, everyday lives. Bucky would have to watch Steve and I be in love while he received none of that. 

How was that fair to him? 

How was it fair to my heart that always yearned for him?

Bucky’s vibranium fingers wrapped around my throat, his thumb titling my chin up so he can leave bruising marks there with his lips. 

Steve' pace was slow, not wanting to hurt me, while Bucky’s was fast paced and down right ruthless; the perfect mixture that brought me closer and closer to the euphoric release I’d been craving. 

“Doll,” Bucky bit down on the sensitive part of my neck when his second release of the night filled me. 

His body fell limp underneath me but we dared not move, fear of stopping how good Steve felt inside of me. 

“I love you,” Steve panted into the skin of my back. 

“I love you too.” 

My eyes hooked with Bucky’s and for the briefest of moments, I could see something twinkle in them. Our lips met in another kiss and not a few seconds later, both Steve and I let out our releases at the same time. 

The three of us lay in a mess of tangled limbs, me snuggling up in Bucky’s chest while Steve held onto me from behind. I was sticky and wet between my legs but I couldn’t be bothered to clean up. Sleep was beginning to sink its claws into me, desperate to pull me into the darkness with it, until I felt the bed beneath me shift. 

Bucky was getting ready to leave after noticing Steve was asleep, an arm draped over my stomach. But I grabbed onto his arm, stopping Bucky. 

“Where are you going?” 

His ocean eyes motioned to Steve behind me but I pulled him back into bed with us. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. 

“Please stay? For me?” I begged with bright eyes. 

He brushed away a strand of hair from my face and eventually agreed with a gentle kiss to my lips. “Anything for you, doll.” 

None of us knew what this meant but I think we all could agree that we’d be unable to go back to our old lives after this. I’d have to be open to Steve about my feelings for Bucky and I could only hope he’d understand that my heart was big enough to love both of them; equally. 

For now though, I lay with both of them. Feeling both of their heartbeats and skin on mine lull me to the sleep my body was craving. 

[scoutofmymind]

Hiii, I’m not entirely sure if you do au one shots, but if you do please write a princess x knight trope with Luigi. Him looking out for you during his night shift, watching you with the fiancé your father chose for you despite you two being madly in love.

Your writing is gorgeous, btw! In awe <3

I’m Your Man — {Luigi x Reader}

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI, kissing, p in v, virgin Luigi, fucked up kingdom politics, reader is a princess with an evil king father lol, this is NOT alpha/Omega or whatever, Luigi was raised as a wild animal killing machine, once again inspired by Mitski

Wc: 6,143

Notes: Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

AN: Thank you so so much for this request 💕 I once again took this and ran with it. It actually wasn’t my first Luigi x princess reader request sitting around in my inbox, so come one, come all! I have an inkling I might have questions about this one, so lemme know! I enjoyed writing this very much x

Ps: in order to keep this Drabble length and not fic length, I definitely cut out some backstory . But I hope despite that, it’s easy to follow along xo

You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a god..

I'll destroy you like I am

— I’m your Man, Mitski

Ironmere lies suffocated beneath its winter shroud, the castle's hundred hearths cold and dark save for one — your father's study. You've no choice but to seek its warmth, sprawled across a leather chair that's seen generations of royal lectures.

The fire pops and hisses, each crack of burning wood another tick in your mental count, anything to dull the familiar sermon.

"I must remind you," your father says, pipe smoke coiling around him. His shadow stretches across the study walls, cast by flames that paint the room in shades of amber and gold. "That the Grims are bred for loyalty, my dear." He turns to study your face, but you keep your eyes fixed on the dancing flames, refusing to meet his gaze. "Can be no more your equal than a well-trained dog."

The fire swallows his words, and you wonder if it, too, finds them bitter.

Since catching you at your balcony, tracing the Grimguards' movements with hungry eyes, your father has waged his own quiet war; each day brings a new warning, each meal seasoned with thinly veiled threats meant to plant fear where fascination grows.

But seeds of warning find no purchase in frozen earth.

"Speaking of which," he says, abandoning his chair to stand before the frost-kissed window. Beyond the glass, the Ironmere mountains pierce the steel-gray sky, their jagged peaks collecting snow. The ancient evergreens bow beneath their white burden, branches dripping crystal daggers of ice. "We've taken a new pup out of training. Young one, but promising. He'll be stationed near the South Tower."

They're bringing in a new generation again, stealing youth and binding it in black armor and cold metal muzzles.

Your father's cruelty wears a gentleman's mask, polished and pristine as the rings that adorn his fingers. Time has taught you to see beneath it, to recognize the calculated malice hiding behind words like duty and tradition.

The South Tower stands like a frozen sentinel, eternally facing winter's fury. It's where your father plants his fresh seeds of war, watching come morning with clinical interest as frost either hardens them into soldiers or claims them for the grave.

No coincidence leads new Grimguards there.

They either wake to see another dawn, their breath clouding behind their muzzles, or they join the nameless others whose bones might still rest beneath the tower's foundations.

This is how he plays at being divine — selecting who lives and dies with the casual interest of a man trimming roses; Nature's selection, he calls it, as if nature ever intended for young men to be bound in iron and left to freeze.

"Another child?" The words slip past your guard and your head turns toward him, though the fire still claims most of your attention, its warmth a mockery of comfort.

"No younger than yourself, my love." The endearment falls from his lips like frozen honey — sweet, yet somehow wrong. He speaks of sending a boy your age to stand in winter's cruelest depths, guarding a tower that has stood empty since before your grandmother drew breath. "We've discussed this before," he says, finally abandoning his view of his frost-touched kingdom to fix you with that measured stare. "You ceased being a child the moment you became heir to Ironmere."

You answer with silence and the loud protest of leather against leather as you shift in your chair.

Let him interpret the sound as he wishes — rebellion or resignation, it matters little. In this moment, you think of another young man who whose breath will freeze behind a muzzle while you sit before this fire, counting the ways your father fashions cruelty into crown.

"The muzzle ceremony is their rebirth." His voice takes on that familiar, aristocratic lilt—the same tone he uses when discussing wine vintages or the value of old tapestries. As if he speaks of art rather than chains. "This one's training scores are exceptional. He'll serve the crown well."

You've watched these ceremonies before, hidden in gallery shadows. Seen how they strip away names and replace them with numbers, how they forge living flesh into living weapons. The muzzles aren't just metal — they're shackles of status, marking each Grimguard as something less than human but more than beast. A perfect servant for your father's perfect kingdom.

In your mind, you see another humans eyes, bright with unshed tears as cold iron meets warm skin — another soul bound to Ironmere's frozen heart, while your father speaks of service as casually as one might discuss the weather.

Through frosted windows, you've studied their brutal dance since childhood.

The Grimguards train in Wolfdens outer courtyard where the stones are perpetually slick with ice, where one misstep means more than just a fall. They move like shadows given form, their black armor drinking what little sunlight winters here permit.

The training starts before dawn, when breath freezes mid-air and fingers can barely grip steel. They fight with those peculiar curved blades — somewhere between sword and sickle — that have become as much their signature as the muzzles that cage their faces.

The weapons are deliberately unwieldy at first, designed to strain muscle and test resolve.

Many break their own wrists learning to wield them.

You've counted the phases of their training through seasons.

First, the endless drills until their movements become reflex, then the sparring that leaves red droplets crystallizing on white snow. The masks come early — crude training ones at first, heavy iron things that make it hard to breathe, harder still to see. They learn to fight half-blind, to rely on instinct over sight.

To become creatures of pure reaction.

But it's the endurance training that haunts your dreams.

They stand for days in the bitter cold, perfectly still, until ice forms on their armor. They run barefoot through snow until their feet bleed, then run further still, and some disappear during these tests, their names never spoken again, as if Ironmere itself had swallowed them whole.

Your father calls it necessary refinement.

You call it what it is.

The systematic breaking of human beings until all that remains is loyal steel wrapped in obedient flesh.

It was the whimpering that drew you from your chambers — a sound so foreign in these stone halls where weakness dares not echo. Your footsteps fell like fresh snow as you traced that desperate keening, following it until it transformed into a metallic chattering, silver bars rattling as violent tremors wracked a body fighting to remember warmth.

He doesn’t turn when you found him in the South Tower's breezeway, though surely he heard you.

His silhouette matches the template they all conform to eventually — broad shoulders carved by endless drills, frame solid as the mountain itself, training blacks clung like a second skin, running from throat to wrist in an unbroken line of shadow. Only his gloved hands betrayed movement, fingers flexing and unflexing in a rhythm that matched his shivering.

The new muzzle catches what little moonlight filtered through the frost-laced windows, shaped like a snarling dogs snout, throwing silver patterns across the walls. Too new to have darkened with use, too rigid yet to have molded to his face.

Another wolf being broken to the bit, another hound learning to embrace his cage.

The closer you drift toward him, the more your father's warnings drum against your skull.

Never approach a new Grimguard alone. They're most dangerous before the muzzle takes hold.

The metallic chattering quickens like a death rattle, and the cold seems to deepen, carving into your marrow with ancient teeth, and memory washes over you as you recall exactly what they become — watched them train in the courtyards below your window, witnessed how they move like poetry written in violence, how they strike with the precision of winter's first killing frost.

But this one.

This one still trembles.

His control fractures with each shudder, and you remember how father once told you that a Grimguard is most lethal in the moments they're breaking.

Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

"Are you cold?" The whisper escapes before wisdom can catch it, and the transformation is immediate — his trembling ceases as if frozen in time, muscles locking into place with military precision.

Whether it's training or pure shock that stills him, you can't tell.

These new ones are always unpredictable, balanced on a knife's edge between their old instincts and their new purpose.

"I heard you whimpering," you continue, the words hanging dangerous and delicate in the space between you. Through the silver teeth of his muzzle, his breath comes in short, controlled bursts, each exhale creating ghost-white clouds that dissipate against the metalwork.

The pattern is deliberate now — mechanical — as if he's forcing each breath through a carefully memorized cadence, the same measured rhythm you've watched the veteran Grimguard use during their drills, when they're trying to master pain.

You wonder if he's already learning to lie with his body, or if he's simply too terrified to show weakness.

You hover in the uncertainty, unsure what response you're seeking.

The Grimguard are like shadows given form and function — you've spent years watching them from windows and walkways, learning their peculiar language of violence and restraint.

They move in packs through the fortress halls, all lethal grace and barely contained aggression, but you've also witnessed the moments they think no one sees.

A Grimguard pressing their muzzle against a packmate's shoulder after a brutal training session, the silent comfort shared between two hounds who lost their third to a snow bear's claws at the North Gate, and there’s something almost gentle in how they lean into each other then, these weapons your father has forged, finding warmth in the spaces between their brutal purpose.

But those moments are never meant for outsiders' eyes.

They're certainly not meant for the kings daughter, whose very presence reminds them of the hand that holds their leash.

You've seen how quickly they can shift from deadly grace to deadly intent, how the muzzles hide everything except the truth in their eyes.

He turns — slowly, deliberately — and you catch your first glimpse of eyes behind the silver latticework.

They're brown, almost gold in the dim light, and far too lucid for comfort. Not yet hollowed out by more training, not yet carrying that vacant winter-wolf stare that marks the veteran Grimguard.

These eyes study you with an unsettling clarity, as if cataloging every detail of your presence.

His head tilts, just slightly, reminding you of the hunting hounds when they catch an unfamiliar scent, and the motion is too natural, too human. Somehow that makes it worse, as most Grimguard move like they're reading from a manual of precise angles and measured steps.

The muzzle shifts as his jaw works beneath it, and you realize he's trying to decide if he's allowed to speak to you. New recruits often struggle with this — the complex hierarchy of who can command their voice and who must be met with silence.

The princess falls into a grey area their training hasn't covered yet.

Finally, his gloved hand rises, not toward you but to his own throat, fingers pressing against the high collar of his blacks where you know the control runes are etched.

The control runes are your father's masterwork — ancient symbols seared into the skin at throat and spine, binding each Grimguard to the fortress's will.

You've seen them during the marking ceremonies, watched how they burn with a cold blue light as they're carved, how they fade to silvery scars that pulse with each heartbeat.

They serve as both leash and collar, limiting how far a Grimguard can roam from the fortress walls, how much force they can use, who they can harm.

"My Lady." The words emerge like broken glass wrapped in velvet — smooth on the surface but jagged underneath. His voice carries that telltale distortion all new recruits have, as if speaking through layers of frost, but there's something else there. A tremor of defiance, perhaps, or desperation. "The cold is necessary. Part of our conditioning."

He swallows hard, the muzzle's intricate metalwork shifting with the motion. The runes must be burning now — you can see how his fingers dig deeper into his collar, tendons standing out against the black leather of his gloves, but he holds your gaze, those amber eyes still too present, too aware.

Most pups learn to lower their eyes by now.

You notice a tension in how he stands, like a bowstring drawn too tight, and you recognize the stance from watching new recruits, called the Unblooded, in the training yards.

"Necessary," you echo, tasting the word's bitter edge. You've heard your father use that same justification countless times in his workshops, watching dispassionately as fresh recruits screamed through their first exposure to the killing cold. The cold that reshapes them, hardens them, strips away everything warm and human until only the Grimguard remains.

His breathing hitches — just slightly — at your tone.

The runes pulse again, brighter now, a steady rhythm like heartbeats beneath his collar. You notice how his other hand has curled into a fist at his side, leather creaking with the strain, Fighting the compulsion to kneel, perhaps, or fighting the instinct to run.

Both would be equally futile.

"And who told you that?" The question slips out softer than intended, almost gentle — It's dangerous, this curiosity about their lives before the muzzles, before the markings. Your father has warned you repeatedly about seeing them as anything more than what they are now: tools, weapons.

But there's something about this one's eyes, about the way he still holds himself like he remembers another life, that makes you reckless.

You can hear the slight scrape of metal teeth as his jaw clenches beneath the muzzle. When he finally speaks, his voice has splintered, "The Keeper himself, my Lady. Your father."

You hear the sound of boots approaching, the groundslurkers making their rounds to assure everything is just-so.

"Inside," you murmur, touching the frozen door behind you. Not a command, but an invitation. A dangerous one. No Grimguard is allowed in the royal quarters unless specifically ordered by your father.

The punishment would be severe.

He knows this.

You see the conflict ripple across what's visible of his face, the way his fingers twitch toward his turtleneck collar, but the patrol's footsteps are getting closer, and you've already seen too much.

You push the door open wider, letting candlelight spill onto the frost-rimed stones. "Choose quickly."

For a moment, he's perfectly still, like the ice sculptures in the winter garden, then he moves — one fluid step through the doorway, silent as snow despite his armor, and you close the door just as the patrol rounds the corner, their heavy boots echoing past without pause.

In your chambers, he looks desperately out of place.

The black armor and cruel angles of his muzzle stark against the rich tapestries and furs. He stands rigid, carefully not touching anything, as if afraid his mere presence might taint the warmth of the room.

In all your life in the palace, you've never dared to get this close. The Grimguard are your father's shadows, his weapons — to be glimpsed from afar, never examined.

But now.

You circle him slowly, studying the way frost creeps along the joints of his armor, how it crystallizes in delicate patterns where leather meets metal. Up close, you can hear the soft crackle of ice forming and reforming with each breath, see how the cold radiates from him in barely visible waves that make the air shimmer.

The muzzle is even more intricate than you'd imagined.

Delicate silverwork overlays darker metal, creating a lattice of thorns and frozen vines that cage the lower half of his face. You can see now why they call it a muzzle rather than a mask — it's fitted precisely to his features, allowing just enough movement to speak when commanded, but designed to remind both wearer and observer of its purpose.

Control.

Your hand lifts before you can stop yourself, drawn to the impossible intricacy of it. His whole body goes rigid, but he doesn't step back. This close, you can see the minute tremors running through him — fighting against something you don't fully understand, or reacting to your proximity, or both.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, fingers hovering just above the metalwork. "All the time, or only when-“

"Yes." The word comes out rough, barely above a whisper. He hasn't spoken this long without a command in who can say exactly how long. "Always. But more when..." He trails off, eyes flickering to your still-raised hand, then away.

More when fighting whatever's been done to him, you realize.

More when showing any trace of humanity.

Your hand trembles slightly, caught between pulling back and closing that final distance. The cold radiates against your skin, a warning or an invitation— you're not sure which.

You've never heard one of them admit to pain before.

They're not supposed to feel anything at all.

But he does feel.

He hurts.

His eyes widen, a flash of something — fear, hope? — breaking through their frozen surface.

"Let me help you," you say softly, reaching for the intricate clasps of the muzzle nestled in his wavy, black hair. "Just while we're here. No one will know."

"You can't," he says, the words strained. Even this small act of refusal seems to cost him. "The cold will hurt you. And if the Keeper—"

"My father isn't here," you interrupt, your voice steady despite the way your heart pounds. "And I'm not afraid of the cold."

You're close enough now to see how the metalwork digs into his skin, how even the simple act of speaking makes the thorns beneath the sides of his muzzle bite deeper.

All these years, you never knew the muzzles were lined.

Never wanted to know.

His breath catches as your fingers brush the first clasp, but he remains perfectly still, caught between what he's been made to be and what you're offering him — a moment of freedom, no matter how brief.

The clasp comes free with a sharp click, and his whole body jerks as if struck. A soft sound escapes him — pain or relief, you can't tell, as frost spreads rapidly across the metal where your fingers made contact, but you refuse to pull away.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, working on the next clasp. "I'll be quick." The cold bites into your fingertips now, sharp and hungry, but you can see how the muzzle's grip has already loosened slightly, allowing him to take a deeper breath. “Are they all like this?”

His hands clench at his sides, trembling with the effort to remain still, and each release of a thorn seems to send shockwaves through him, as if the very act of being freed is its own kind of agony. But he doesn't stop you, doesn't pull away — and that tells you more than words ever could.

The facade of silver and shadow begins to come apart under your careful touch, revealing glimpses of what lies beneath; you try not to think about how long it's been since anyone has seen his true face, or why your father thought it necessary to cage him so thoroughly.

"No," he manages, voice tight as you work on another clasp. "Not all. This one is special." There's a bitter edge to the word that makes you pause.

The implications sink in slowly. Your father must have designed this one specifically for him — more thorns, more pain, more control. Because he was different somehow. Because he fought back.

You examine the cruel metalwork with new understanding, noting how the thorns are positioned to punish speech, expression, any hint of defiance, your fingers tracing a particularly deep puncture mark, and he goes completely still, hardly breathing.

"Almost done," you promise, though your hands are nearly numb from the cold now. Each clasp reveals more evidence of long-term torture disguised as restraint. The more you see, the more questions burn in your throat, “Why’d they give you one like this?”

He's quiet for so long you think he won't answer, the final clasp coming free under your trembling fingers, but he makes no move to remove the muzzle completely.

"I remembered," he finally says, "Something I wasn't supposed to. My name." His eyes meet yours, and there's something terrible in their depths — not just pain, but knowledge. "They take everything when they make us, but I kept one thing."

He stops abruptly, as if even this small confession costs him dearly, and you can see the thorns pressing deeper as he speaks, drawing pinpoints of darkness that might be blood, might be something else entirely, yet he hardly reacts.

The pain hardly registers.

A weapon isn't supposed to remember who it used to be.

But this one does.

“What’s your name?”

His breath catches at your question, and you can see him fighting against years of conditioning, against the very magic that binds him, and the room grows colder, frost crystallizing on the windowpanes.

"L-" he starts, then gasps as if the very attempt causes him physical pain. His hands clench. "Luigi," he finally manages, the name coming out in a rush of frozen air.

You repeat the name softly, testing its weight, and he shudders at the sound of it from another person's lips. How long has it been since anyone has called him by his real name? How many years of being nothing but a number, a weapon, a Grimguard?

This is where it began.

And soon, you find yourself inventing excuses to avoid Duke Aldrich of Brindsborough's tedious evening calls. Instead, your nights belong to these stolen moments; you and Luigi seated on the floor of your chambers, knees touching, sharing whispered confessions in the candlelight.

He teaches you how the Grimguards sleep — bodies intertwined for warmth in the cold stone kennels, finding comfort in the press of limbs and shared breath. The first time he shows you, hesitantly arranging your bodies so your back fits against his chest, you understand.

It's not just for warmth — it's about trust.

You learn to read the minute changes in his expression, the things he can't say even without the muzzle. He learns your tells, too — the way you twist your rings when you're anxious, how your laugh changes when you're truly happy versus when you're playing the perfect princess.

These evenings become your refuge whilst the rest of the castle prepares for your upcoming marriage to a man you barely tolerate, you and Luigi build something fragile and precious in secret candlelight.

You tell him about the time you were seven, and you snuck your injured falcon into your bedroom instead of letting the gamekeeper "take care of it." You'd splinted its wing with strips torn from your favorite dress and fed it scraps from your dinners for weeks. Your father had been furious when he found out — not because you'd ruined the dress, but because you'd shown weakness.

Mercy was unbecoming of a princess.

The next memory stands out sharp and clear — that particular night when everything shifted.

You'd barely managed to secure the door's heavy lock before Luigi abandoned his usual restraint, muzzle yanked off. One moment you were turning, the next your back hit the floor with a soft thump, driving a surprised laugh from your chest.

His movements were pure instinct, almost feral — nothing like the rigid control the Grimguards usually displayed. Cool lips and nose traced your neck once you’d pulled his muzzle away, your collarbone, your hair, erasing every lingering trace of Duke Aldrich's cloying cologne. Each brush of contact sent shivers down your spine, not from cold but from the intensity of his need to claim, to possess.

"Marking your territory, are you?" you whispered through breathless giggles, fingers threading through his hair. The words made him pause, and you felt him tense — caught between embarrassment at his display and a deeper, darker urge to continue.

You could feel his breath against your throat, quick and uneven. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "He touched you. I could smell him on you all evening. I couldn't. I can't-“

Instead of pulling away, you tugged him closer, understanding flooding through you. This wasn't just possession — it was protection, desperation, love transformed by whatever magic had remade him into something wild and fierce. "I'm here," you whispered. "I'm yours."

A sound rumbled deep in his chest — not quite human, not quite animal—and his grip on you tightened almost painfully. The temperature plummeted, frost blooming across the flagstones in intricate spirals, but you weren't cold.

Not where he touched you.

"Mine," he breathed against your skin, the word holding years of denied wanting. His control, already fragile, splintered further. You felt the magic that bound him surge and twist, fighting against this claiming that went against everything they'd bred him to be.

Grimguards weren't meant to want.

Weren't meant to possess anything but their duty.

Yet here he was, trembling above you, eyes dark with need as they met yours. One hand cradled your face with impossible gentleness, even as the other gripped your waist with bruising intensity. The contradiction of him — deadly weapon and tender protector, ice and burning want — made your heart race.

"Say it again," he pleaded, voice rough with desperation.

You reached up, traced the scars where the muzzle had been, and watched his eyes flutter closed at your touch. "I'm yours, Luigi," you whispered. "Only yours."

The moment your fingers trace those scars, Luigi shudders violently, a full-body tremor that sends cascades of ice crystals shimmering through the air. His breath hitches, catches — no one has ever touched him there, not with such tenderness, not since they first bound him.

But then he does something that steals your breath — he leans into your touch. Like a half-wild thing learning trust, he presses his face against your hand, nuzzling into your palm.

His skin is cold as ever, but his breath comes hot against your wrist. When his lips brush your skin — tentative, questioning — you feel the ghost of frost patterns blooming up your arm.

"Warm," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk on the sensation. "You're so warm." His eyes are half-lidded now, tension melting from his shoulders even as his grip on your waist remains possessive, and the contradiction fascinates you — how he can seem so dangerous and so vulnerable in the same moment.

You trace another scar, and this time he makes a sound that's almost a purr, deep in his chest. The ice spreading across your chambers takes on a soft, pearlescent glow, as if reflecting his pleasure. It's intoxicating, this power to gentle him with just your touch, to make the fearsome Grimguard melt like snow in spring.

When his eyes open to meet yours again, they're heavy with an emotion that makes your heart stutter. The gold in them has darkened to midnight, pupils blown wide. "More.” he whispers, and it's both a plea and a demand.

With trembling fingers, you map the constellations of his scars, each touch drawing new sounds from him — soft gasps and broken whimpers that make your chest tight. The marks are smooth beneath your fingertips, silver-white against his olive skin. You trace them all; the deep grooves where the muzzle's straps cut in, the lighter marks across his jaw where they tested different bindings.

His control slips further with each caress, and frost flowers bloom and fade on your skin where his hands roam, leaving trails of delicious cold that make you shiver. When your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth — where the metal once forced his silence — he catches it gently between his teeth, eyes locked on yours as he presses a kiss to your fingertip.

"They told us we couldn't feel," he murmurs against your hand. "That the binding stripped everything but duty.” He presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged. "With you, I feel everything."

You curl your fingers into his hair and pull him down, eliminating the last space between you. His lips are cool against yours, but they warm quickly as you show him this new way to be close, to trust, to want.

He learns fast, desperate and eager, like a man who's been dying of thirst finally given water.

You feel it in every desperate roll of his hips, that untamed creature beneath his skin — the one the Grimguard could never fully bind. It surfaces in the frost that spreads beneath his palms where they bracket your head, in the way his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, hot despite his perpetual cold.

He's beautiful like this — composure shattered, cheeks flushed an impossible pink against his beautiful skin, and his eyes are blown wide, that ethereal chestnut brown nearly swallowed by black, and they catch the light like stars when he gazes down at you.

There's something almost painful in his expression — wonder and desperation and disbelief all tangled together.

The friction between you draws broken sounds from his throat, primal and unrestrained. His movements are instinctive, graceless — so different from his usual precise control, each roll of his hips against your thigh becoming more frantic than the last, his whole body trembling with need.

"Please," he gasps, though you're not sure what he's begging for. You’re almost certain he doesn't know either. His fingers curl against the floor, "Please, I can't- I need-"

You reach up to thread your fingers through his hair again, drawing him down until his forehead rests against yours, and he whimpers at the contact, hips stuttering in their rhythm.

This close, you can see every emotion flash across his face — vulnerability and hunger and love so intense it steals your breath.

The wild thing in him recognizes its match in you, and neither of you want to tame it anymore.

His voice trembles as he tries to find the words, years of enforced silence warring with raw need. You cradle his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

"Tell me," you whisper. "I want to hear you say it."

"I-" he starts, then breaks off with a shaky exhale.

"I need to be closer.” He whispers, his movements between your legs desperate and juvenile, but there’s something so, so sweet about it.

He’s reduced himself to raw and visceral need, and cares little for how it makes him look, this feared Grimguard, a hound who sleeps in piles with his pack, a weapon of mass destruction, a human being. He’s flayed himself open for you, guts spilling forth, red hot and oxblood — this primeval need, this unfiltered want.

It simply is not something you’d ever find in anyone else.

Specifically the Fiancé your father has hand-selected.

Luigi groans as you guide him where you need him, the sound low and broken against your throat. Your nightgown rides higher, silk cool against fevered skin. His grip on your hip tightens instinctively, and you gasp at the perfect pressure of frost-touched fingers.

Each roll of his hips is hungry, instinctive — like his body remembers what his mind was forced to forget. You wonder if he dreams of this, if behind those crystalline eyes he imagines all the ways he could unravel you. If during those long, cold nights in his chamber, thoughts of you haunted him like this.

The friction builds a delicious heat that makes your head spin. You arch against him, chasing more, and his breath hitches at the way you move. His eyes are wild when they meet yours — desperate and wanting and almost afraid of how much he needs this.

The etiquette mistress would faint if she knew the thoughts that filled your head during lessons now — memories of frost-touched skin and desperate sounds and the way Luigi says your name like a prayer.

You guide Luigi beneath you, and he goes willingly, eyes wide with wonder as you settle above him, his hands tracing paths of up your thighs, mapping you like something precious, something sacred, each touch leaving ghostly patterns on your skin that fade like morning mist.

The silk of your dress whispers between you as his fingers trail higher, catching on your collarbone where your necklace rests, transfixed by the way the pendant rises and falls with your quickening breath, by how the gold warms against your skin while his touch remains winter-cold.

"Closer," you echo, fingers curling in the hem of his black shirt. You draw it up slowly, exposing him inch by inch, the moonlight streaming through the window catching on old scars that map his abdomen like constellations — some precise and surgical, others jagged and cruel.

Your heart aches at their implications, but now isn't the time to count his wounds.

Not when he's looking at you like this, like you're everything he was told he could never have.

His breath hitches as your hands explore the newly exposed skin, and the temperature drops further with each touch, frost spiraling out beneath him in intricate patterns that match his racing pulse.

"Please," he gasps, and you're not sure if he's begging you to stop or never stop. Maybe both. The wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever, making his eyes glow like arctic stars in the darkness. "I need- I don't know how to-"

You lean down until your foreheads touch, breaths mingling in the frost-edged space between you. His skin radiates winter's chill everywhere except where his heart beats strong beneath your palm. You can feel him trembling, power barely contained.

"Let me show you," you whisper against his lips, cradling his face. His eyes are luminous in the darkness, filled with vulnerability and desperate trust. The temperature drops as his control frays further, delicate patterns of frost blooming across every surface.

"I've never-" he starts, voice breaking.

You silence him with a gentle kiss. "I know," you breathe. "I've got you. You're safe, Lu."

His fingers flex against your arms as emotions war across his face — years of isolation and fear battling with his need to be known, to be accepted exactly as he is. The wild thing in him strains closer to the surface with each passing moment. "Let go," you tell him softly. "I got you."

You pour all your love into another kiss, wet and hot, showing him that he's worthy of gentleness, of care.

That he doesn't have to hold himself back anymore.

And he doesn’t.

You watch in wonder as his composure fractures, that usually fixed expression melting into something vulnerable and raw, his hands grasping you like an anchor as his careful control slips further.

The temperature drops with each shared breath, but you've never felt warmer.

His face — usually so guarded, bearing scars that speak of battles fought alone - is transformed. Open. Trusting. His lips part on silent pleas as his eyes lock with yours, glowing like arctic stars, and the wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever.

You've never seen anything more beautiful than this proud, powerful man allowing himself to be soft for you. To be vulnerable. His fingers flex against your skin as another tremor runs through him.

"You're safe," you whisper, rocking your hips against his in a slow rhythm that allows the both of you to adjust. "You're mine."

The sound he makes is something between a sob and a prayer, raw with years of loneliness and need. You kiss him deeply, showing him with every touch that he's worthy of this — of pleasure, of care, of love freely given, and he takes just as his heart desires.

It hardly takes him any time before he’s got the hang of it, raw and needy, soft but strong.

He shoves his face in your neck once you’ve been laid on your back again, his teeth biting gently into the soft flesh of the curve in your shoulder, his instincts still lingering, but you welcome them and each mark he leaves against your skin, the rhythm of his hips sloppy and wild but achingly free, your own body cherished as if he’d come undone at your altar.

He worships you, just as the Grimguards are meant to worship their Keeper — his devotion raw and unfiltered, his gaze defiant and steady, “I love you.” He says, the words feeling like a foreign language, but one you had taught him to speak. “So much it hurts.”

[badasoneandonly]

𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘚𝘜𝘔𝘌 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,333𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

In-Ho finds Y/N lifeless—her pain unnoticed, her battle lost. Cradling her, regret crushes him. At her funeral, he shatters. Alone in their home, her absence drowns him. Too late. Too broken. Too alone.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: !𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘛 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖¡ 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘌𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙! 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛, 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘐𝘊 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌, 𝘗𝘚𝘠𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘖𝘎𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘎𝘌𝘋𝘠, 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘝𝘌 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘔, 𝘋𝘈𝘙𝘒 𝘌𝘔𝘖𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘈𝘓 𝘍𝘐𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕, 𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘎𝘐𝘊 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌, 𝘜𝘕𝘍𝘐𝘕𝘐𝘚𝘏𝘌𝘋 𝘎𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘉𝘠𝘌𝘚

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨/ 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘦(◠‿◠) 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥...

The days had been heavy lately. The weight of everything, of life, of her, had become too much to bear. Y/N had always been the one who smiled through her pain, who silently carried the burden of a world that seemed to crush her slowly from within. But over the past weeks, the cracks in her facade had started to show.

In-Ho could see the darkness in her eyes, but he convinced himself it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He tried to reassure himself that she just needed space, needed time. It was nothing more than stress, or so he told himself. But the weight of her silence was unbearable, and yet, he said nothing. He was too busy—too focused on their lives to notice how deeply she was falling apart.

The storm inside her mind had been growing, clouds forming and swirling within her, and yet, he never questioned it. He never asked the right questions. His love for her had never wavered, but he hadn’t seen the suffocating grip of her depression tightening around her until it was too late.

One evening, when In-Ho left the apartment to grab dinner, he kissed the top of her head as he always did. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice soft, warm. She didn’t look up from her book, her hands fidgeting nervously with the pages. Her response was barely a whisper. “Okay.”

Something felt off. But he didn’t stay. He left, with the usual quiet unease tugging at his chest, a feeling he had learned to ignore.

By the time he returned, the world had shifted.

The apartment was eerily still, and In-Ho’s footsteps seemed to echo, louder with every passing second. When he reached the bedroom, everything went numb. His eyes locked onto her—the woman he loved, his life, his everything, dangling in the silence of their shared space. Her body, cold and lifeless, swayed slightly in the air, a haunting reminder of everything he had failed to see.

"No, no, no, no..." he chanted under his breath, rushing toward her, his hands trembling violently as he tried to untangle the rope that had taken her from him. He fought, heart racing, panic surging through him. His fingers slipped on the knot, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

When he finally freed her, he cradled her lifeless body in his arms, holding her as if his very touch could bring her back. He rocked her back and forth, whispering her name like a prayer. “Y/N... Y/N, please. Come back to me.”

But there was no response. Only silence.

His breath caught in his throat as tears began to fall. He had always believed that love could save her. He had seen her pain, yes—but he never understood the weight she carried. Never saw the storm clouding her mind, suffocating her. He hadn’t asked the right questions. He hadn’t been the support she needed. He had been blind to the depths of her despair.

“I should’ve seen it,” he muttered, voice breaking. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve saved you.”

But no amount of should’ve, would’ve, or could’ve could bring her back now. And it tore him apart. She was gone, and it was his fault.

The funeral was a blur—faces he didn’t recognize, murmurs of sympathy, hands that shook as they pressed flowers into his palm. The church felt so cold, like he was suffocating under the weight of his failure. He stood by her casket, staring down at the woman he had loved, knowing he would never be able to say all the things he should’ve said before. He had failed her in the worst way possible, and now she was gone.

The pain of it was like a slow, unbearable burn in his chest. He couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t run from the truth that he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t been enough for her.

As the casket was lowered into the ground, In-Ho fell to his knees, the weight of the loss crushing him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with grief. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been stronger for you. I should’ve...”

But it was too late. The words, no matter how sincere, wouldn’t change anything. He was left with only the emptiness of the world without her.

Returning to the apartment was the hardest part. He stood in the doorway, looking at the place where they had shared so many memories, so much love. The walls seemed to close in around him. The silence was deafening.

Her scent still lingered in the air—the lavender shampoo she used, the faint hint of her perfume. Everything felt so alive, but so empty. He walked through the apartment, touching the things that reminded him of her—her favorite mug on the counter, the book she had been reading, the half-stitched sweater she’d left on the couch.

Each object, each trace of her, felt like a stab to the heart. She had been here, so full of life, and now—now it was just him. Alone.

As he entered the bedroom, his eyes landed on the bed they had shared, the place where they had whispered their dreams and secrets. He sank to the edge of it, staring at the empty space where she once slept beside him. His hand instinctively reached for her pillow, clutching it to his chest as if it could somehow give him comfort. But it was just a pillow—empty, like the life he had now.

Suddenly, something caught his eye—her notebook, left open on the nightstand. He reached for it, flipping through the pages that were filled with thoughts, dreams, and fears she had never shared with him. His heart ached as he read the words that she had written, knowing how much she had suffered in silence.

"I don't know how to breathe anymore."

“It’s getting too much. I can’t stop the storm.”

“I wish I could see the light, but it’s just too dark. I’m not strong enough. I’m not enough.”

In-Ho's breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him like a wave. She had been reaching out to him all along—through the tears she hid, through the quiet moments when she was breaking, through the words she couldn’t say out loud. And he hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t listened. He had thought her quiet moments were just that—quiet. But they were screams for help. They were cries for him to see her pain.

He failed her.

He dropped the notebook to the floor, the weight of the truth crashing over him.

“I wasn’t enough,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I wasn’t enough for you, Y/N. And I will never be enough now. Not without you.”

His tears blurred his vision, but they didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop crying. Not now, not ever. He had lost the woman who had been everything to him, and he had no one to blame but himself. His heart felt shattered, broken beyond repair.

“I’m sorry...” he whispered into the empty apartment. “I love you. I love you so much... and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most.”

As he sat there, surrounded by her things, the weight of the loss pressing down on him, In-Ho felt completely lost. He had lost not only the woman he loved but a part of himself too. The world seemed a little darker now, a little colder. Without her, he was adrift, a shell of the man he used to be.

He didn’t know how to keep going without her. He didn’t know how to keep living in a world where her smile would never light up the room again.

And as he sat there, broken and lost in his grief, he knew there would never be a moment when he wasn’t haunted by the ghost of the woman he had failed. She was gone, and he was left to carry the weight of a love that would never be enough.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @warlabels @m0rtifiedg0th @ehcausewhynot @hwang-inhosb1tch @xcinnamonmalfoyx @filthygalli @multifandomgirllol @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @meow1007

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘪 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺... (𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬) 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯...

[wisteriasymphony]

"-Look, Ladybug, I think you're a smart guy. I respect you."

"You do?"

"…No. But let's pretend I do for a moment!" The stranger exclaimed, a fanged smile on their face. "You're a superhero—The superhero of Paris, might I add. I think you deserve better than just busting whatever pickpocket you find on the street. The city should get to see you take down superhero level threats!"

Ladybug looked off for a second, imagining just that, as the stranger walked over to place their hands on Ladybug's shoulders and spun her to face the open expanse of the city. "When you think of yourself saving the day—J-just picture it in your mind for a second, really let it marinate—what do you see?"

"I see myself defeating Hawkmoth, I suppose."

"Exactly! Little insignificant petty criminals like me aren't even in the picture! Frankly," the stranger added, giving Ladybug a pat on the shoulder, "going after us is below you! You deserve bigger, better things!"

Ladybug nearly caught herself nodding for a moment before their words actually hit her. "…Real funny," she sneered. "But the fact of the matter is that I caught you, and I'm going to take your miraculous."

The stranger's face fell for a moment, and where they were once all too eager to act chummy with Ladybug they suddenly slunk back.

"Now that seems like cruel and unusual punishment."

"You're operating a miraculous without expressed consent of a Guardian. I think that's pretty fair."

The stranger stepped back a few more paces, only to be snared by the ankle in the string of Ladybug's yo-yo. Their gold eyes flashed with panic for a split second, and their grin seemed to change context from that of a deliberate smugness to a panicked front.

"I-I didn't take you for a tyrant, Buginette," the stranger wheezed. "This one isn't even part of your little set, I don't think. You don't have a compartment for it in your little magic jewelry box."

Ladybug tightened her hold around the stranger's ankle. "Maybe I do. You don't know that."

"Aw, princess, this just seems like a waste of time! You should be off looking for akumas to stop, not worrying about me! If you let me go, you won't even know I'm here ever again!"

Ladybug noticed the stranger shift all of their weight onto their other leg, their trapped ankle growing unusually slack as if it no longer had any bones to hold it up.

"Besides, if we're really so worried here about stolen miraculouses," they added, pointing off into the distance, "You should be worried about him."

Ladybug wasn't sure what she expected to see when she followed the stranger's finger. Hawkmoth, most likely. If she had to stretch, maybe she would've accepted seeing another holder she recognized.

Of course, the correct answer was that the stranger was pointing to absolutely nobody at all, and Ladybug found herself quite irritated when she looked back to find her captive missing without a trace.

[rebelspykatie]

Part 5 - Steddie Angst Finale - Happy Ending!

ao3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

He settles back on the bench, apprehension clouding his features. “When you kissed me, I panicked. You’ve become such an important part of my life and I didn’t want to lose that. Something shifted in our relationship and I didn’t know what to do. It’s not an excuse for how poorly I treated you, it’s just the truth. I went into fight or flight mode, but I’m sorry for how I reacted that day.”

Steve hugs the blanket tighter. “You’re forgiven.” And he says it so simply. As if this hasn't been uniquely painful for Steve.

“It took me a while to make sense of everything. It never occurred to me that what I felt towards you was anything more than friendship. I know now how stupid that was.” He wants to reach out and touch Steve, connect them somehow, but he’s wrapped so tightly in the protective cocoon of the blanket, Eddie’s not sure how to reach him. 

“It’s always been different with you. Everything I felt came on so slowly I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. The thought of losing you scares me, more than most things- and I’m scared of a lot of things these days.” 

That gets a subdued laugh out of Steve. He’s all too aware of how much is out there to be afraid of. 

“I didn’t have a lot of examples of love growing up. Wayne’s been single my whole life. My parents were fucked from the start. My grandparents hated each other after having their kids.” Eddie shakes his head, “And I’m not using that as an excuse either, I just, well, I didn’t recognize what was right in front of me, man. I never had any romantic fantasies because I didn’t think life was going to give me any.”

At that, Steve finally leaves the comfort of his cocoon. One arm snakes out and takes one of Eddie’s hands, squeezing tightly. 

“But falling in love with you was so easy.” Eddie flips his hand over and laces their figures together. “You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. It was there the whole time, I just didn’t recognize it for what it was.”

Steve’s eyes rake over his face, taking in Eddie’s sincerity, a soft smile appearing for the first time since they stepped out into the frigid cold.

“I think about you all the time. You’re the first person I want to call when anything happens. You’re the one that holds me when I wake up screaming from a nightmare. You know that I like to put ketchup on my eggs, and the way I can’t stand black coffee in the mornings, so you add extra sugar just to make it bearable for me and get the ketchup out before I even ask.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is growing wider by the second. 

“You have my entire heart. You know me inside and out probably better than anyone but Wayne. Hell, Wayne already figured this all out long before I did. Lectured me and everything. Called me a late bloomer,” Eddie scoffs, “as if he has any room to speak as an old bachelor who’s never settled down.” 

“Well, he did have his hands full,” Steve chides. 

“I want to argue that I have never done anything wrong, but we all know that’s not true. I probably put every gray hair on his head.” 

“Probably,” Steve agrees. He shifts a little closer to Eddie, “so where does this leave us?”

“I’ve laid it all out there. Ball’s in your court.” Steve ducks his head, but Eddie tips his too, still meeting his eyes, “I’ve been miserable without you. Every time you’ve pretended to be okay and had to walk away because I hurt you, it felt like a knife to the gut. That alone was enough to tell me we were never just friends. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out, but if you’ll have me, I’m all in.” 

Steve reaches up with his other hand and cups the side of Eddie’s face, one cold thumb mapping the curve of his cheek. “Eddie, I’ve been all in.” 

With those few words, a lump forms in Eddie’s throat. He wasn’t sure how this would go, but here Steve is, offering an olive branch. Eddie leans in, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes and absorbing Steve’s heat, breathing in the same air. “You were never the problem, Steve. Not now, and not before.”

Steve breath hitches. The thumb stops its slow tracing of Eddie’s cheek. 

“You read everything right. You’re so much smarter than people give you credit for, sweetheart.” He hopes that Steve believes him. “I’m the fool. You were right there all along. One of the best things to ever happen to me and I almost lost you.” He pauses, “I haven’t lost you, right?”

Steve pulls back and shakes his head slowly, eyes meeting Eddie’s. 

“Good, because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you again.” A steamy bubble of air escapes between them before his lips meet Steve’s. It’s a short distance, but it feels like Eddie is reaching across miles.

It’s delicate and sweet, their mouths moving together and hands gently curling around each other despite the awkward angle on the bench. They’re a little too cold to get too into this, even if their body heat is trapped between them and Eddie feels like he might implode. He’s all too aware that anyone could come outside at any time. 

A part of him hopes that this erases the memory of how Eddie reacted the first time. A clean slate might be too much to ask for, but at least he can pour all his affection into this one moment and show Steve that he meant what he said. Just like the first time, Steve takes all the air with him. Rips it straight out of Eddie and leaves him panting, clinging to the lapels of Steve’s coat, if only that could bring him closer. They could freeze to death out here, but at least Eddie would die in Steve’s arms. 

When they separate, Eddie takes in the flush to Steve’s cheeks, and he’s not sure if that’s from him or the cold, but his pink, kiss-bitten lips are all him. It makes him want to dive back in and get another taste. But he also wants to memorize the look on Steve’s face. There’s an incandescent glow that Eddie’s never seen up close. And it’s never more evident than in this moment how much Eddie fucked up. He could’ve been putting that look on Steve’s face every day. How stupid was he? 

Nothing he can do about that now except move forward. 

“I’m gonna flirt with you for the rest of my life and it’s going to mean something, Steve Harrington.” He takes both of Steve’s hands in his and holds them in their laps. “I can promise you that.”

“Are you promising me forever?” Steve’s mouth has curved into a bemused smile, but there’s something fragile about it, like Eddie could break him. Like he holds Steve's heart in his hands.

“You’ll have me as long as you want me, Steve,” Eddie says, heartfelt and laying as much of himself on the line as he can. Maybe Wayne wasn’t so far off with his comments about love. 

“So forever, then?” 

Eddie’s breathless from that quiet declaration, but he manages to get out, “Forever, then,” as fireworks erupt in the distance and they start a new year, and perhaps a new life, together.

[writerspirit]

Classroom Visit

Pairing(s): Ava Coleman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Things get spicy on school grounds.

Themes/Warnings: 18+, smut, semi-public sex, dom!Ava (is she really a top??), sub!reader

A/N: This has been sitting in a google doc for a few months. Ava deserves more love in the fanfic world. I said what I said!

WC: ~ 1.82k

Taglist: @schemmentigfs @fandominstability

“Ava,” you say as you walk into Ava’s office. “Good morning.”

Ava groans. “What do you want?” She stands up from behind her desk and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Do you really want to be giving me attitude right now?”

“I don’t give attitude, Y/n. As a matter of fact, I keep my composure. What is it that you want?”

“If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll end up sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Ava raises her eyebrow, as the corner of her lips quirks upwards into a smirk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What that means is that your girlfriend doesn’t play. So, if you want that good lovin’ tonight, you better recognize.”

Ava’s smirk grows into a smile as she takes a seat. She leans back into her office chair, putting her hands behind her head. She blushes as she realizes you aren’t kidding. “So I take it you want to come home to me tonight?”

“I didn’t expect to go to my place tonight. And…,” you lower your voice. “Maybe I’ll show up in something sexy for you.”

Ava licks her lips nervously, as a smile once again spreads across her face. She nods slowly, her chest rising as her breath slows in rhythm. She crosses her legs before quickly uncrossing them. “I like the sound of that.”

You start to walk out before turning back to look at her. “Babe?”

She crooks her head to the side a bit, raising an eyebrow while looking directly into your eyes. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you come visit me in my classroom while my kids are at recess?”

Ava’s smile changes to a smirk as her mouth waters a bit. Just the thought alone got her to blush. “I think I’ll do that.”

You smile, knowing what Ava’s thinking about. “Okay. Until then.”

“Ciao, boo.”

— — — —

It’s just before the fourth period. Only one more period to go. You grow impatient, as your thoughts are flooded with Ava’s hands all over your body. This is a frequent occurrence that has been happening since the start of the school year, a pinch over five months ago.

You quietly thank yourself as you scroll through photos of you and Ava in bed together. You remind your students every few minutes that their test period is almost over. During your scrolling, you land on a video Ava took from your phone. One you’d know Ava would love to have in her camera roll. So, with the click of two buttons, the notification appears on her phone.

Babygirl 💋: 1 Video

“Hm, she better not be gettin’ on me again about some attitude this morning.” She looks into the camera before looking back at her phone. “Teachers not teach–” Ava’s sentence gets caught in her throat as she sees the video’s image before pressing it.

It’s from the point of view of your dresser, where your phone is perched from. You were laid on your bed. Ava was buried in between your legs, her hands holding them apart as you tried so desperately to squeeze them together. Your hands were glued to your breasts, pulling at your nipples.

Before she could gather any peeks from camera crew members, she quickly gathers herself, yelling at them to leave her office.

Before she watches the video thoroughly, she closes the blinds to her office and makes sure to close her door. “Sneaky girl,” she mumbles to herself.

— — — —

You smile as your students empty from the classroom. That’s when you get a notification on your phone. You look at your lock screen. Sure enough, it’s from Ava. You can’t help but chuckle, anticipating what she replied with.

Ava-lade ❤️: You thought you could sneak something like that during school hours? Sneaky girl.

There’s no time to reply as your focus is taken from your phone with the closing of your classroom door.

“Hey babe. I would’ve thought I would go to your office. I didn’t think you were actually coming to see me.”

She doesn’t reply, but rather adds to her actions with the locking of your door. She leans against the door and waits for you. “Oh, but I did.” She starts to saunter over to you, her eyes taking in every inch of you from your outfit to your body to your face. “I couldn’t deny myself this beautiful sight.” She reaches you, placing her hands on your hips and staring down into your eyes. “Especially after the video you sent me earlier. What, you thought I would just let that slide?”

You love it when Ava gets like this: authoritative. You snake your arms up hers, resting them around her neck. “I wanted you to be excited to see me.” Not even you would believe yourself if you were in Ava’s shoes.

Her hands pull you closer to her, now bodies touching. She leans down and places a kiss on your neck, to which you quietly moan. “Sit down,” she lowly says. “We’re going to watch the video together.”

She sits on your chair, and pulls you onto her lap, facing your desk. Her hands snake around your waist, holding you still. “Now, get it open and press play.” She says, her voice never shifting from her seductive tone.

You obey, opening your camera roll, and scrolling until you get to the video. Ava doesn’t take her eyes off your phone, seeing with you the other naughty pictures you two have taken. She quietly smirks at the memories playing in her head. You press play.

Your moans fill the room as the video’s volume is high. You go to lower it, when Ava grabs your wrist. “No. I want to hear you like that.”

“But someone could hear.”

“And if they have any complaints, they can come to the principal.” She smirks. Her fingers gently pull your attention back to the video, which you make sure to focus on.

Your hands grip the sheets as Ava finds her way to your entrance. Your memory along with watching the video together brings a pool to your panties.

You squirm on Ava’s lap as your loud moans are accompanied by hers now. One of Ava’s hands moves from your waist to your thigh. This makes you needier than before. Ava breaks from your center for a moment. “Not yet, baby. I’ll tell you when.” She resumes attacking your folds, only this time she enters a finger. You gasp at the contact.

Ava breaks eye contact with your phone and looks at you. Or rather, at your reaction as you shudder at her again. She moves your hair from your neck and places a kiss there. Her hand moves from your thigh to your center. She slowly unbuttons your pants and slips herself into them. You try to squirm away, but her other arm holds you in place. She leans into your ear. “Get on my thigh,” she mumbles.

You do as she says and shift to her thigh. Without warning, she bounces her thigh into you, applying pressure on your clit. Your moan gets muffled by Ava’s fingers that enter your mouth. “Suck them, baby.”

You moan as your tongue laps her digits. Ava’s eyes shut in pleasure as you start to suck on them. With the echoing of your pleasured moans and your mouth working on her fingers, Ava’s mind races with impatience. She lets out a moan of her own, which always lets you know she’s ready for you. You can’t help but smile against her fingers, as you love getting her as needy for you as you are for her. Seeing nothing but lust, Ava’s sinful eyes meet yours.

You release her digits with a pop. As if your role in the school was relinquished, she became the teacher. Inspecting her fingers, she smiles at the saliva running down them. Ava places a soft kiss to your neck before going further. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. Your eyes closed as you try focusing on your need for pleasure. “Please.”

You gasp at the sudden fullness you feel from her fingers plunging into you. Her pace slow and deliberate, you can’t help but whine at the torture. Ava’s smug grin lets you know that she intends on taking her time with you.

“Faster… please, Ava.”

“Shh, my girl needs to be disciplined for her unprofessional behavior.”

“I—I thought you’d like the video.”

“Oh, I do. But sending your boss a salacious video during school hours…” she sucks her teeth. “I’m doing you a favor, Y/n. If not me, then who knows what kind of trouble you’d be in.”

She adds another finger, earning a loud groan from you. “Too much… I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, baby. Let me play a little more.” Her thumb finds your clit, applying the needed pressure for you to go over the edge. Another gasp sends shivers down Ava’s spine. She starts circling her thumb, driving your attention farther away from the video still playing.

Ava notices and softly shushes you. “You can’t be too loud, Miss Y/l/n. We’re not at home.”

“Ava, please,” you breathe out. “Let… me…”

“Cum,” her tone is sharp. Commanding.

Unbeknownst to you, as you’ve completely spaced out from the video playing, your highs come in sync. Ava softly pulls her fingers out of you, earning a groan from you. A gentle kiss lands on your neck.

“So good, Y/n.”

“Fingers,” you mumble.

She smirks, feeling proud of your directness. Not commanding, as she. But… delicate. Soft, almost shy. She brings her juice-lathered fingers to your mouth. Almost immediately, your lips wrap around her digits once again.

Ava’s eyes lock onto your face, as though you were a portrait trapped in the frame of her eyes. The video ends abruptly, leaving the only noises in the room the ones your tongue makes sucking up your remnants.

You break from her hand, leaving a loud pop as you finish. You quickly glance at the clock that’s nailed to the wall. “I have to start prepping for the afternoon classes.”

“Of course. I’ll be here again after the second bell of dismissal.” Ava taps your hip twice, telling you to get up.

You fix yourself as much as you can, leaving no hint of your activities. “I’m good,” you say. “Do I look like I was just taken by the principal?”

Ava chuckles. She gets up from your chair, fixing herself as well. Her hands find either of her cheeks, holding you softly in her touch. “You look beautiful,” her voice softens with a smile. Her lips find yours for a peck.

She lets go of your face. Her attention draws to your desk. More specifically, your phone. “Make sure to exit out of the video before your students start getting in here.”

“Yes, Principal Coleman.” You smile as she catches your sensual tone.

[roachliquid]

An incredibly pernicious anti-transmasc argument that keeps making the rounds is that everything we do was plagiarized from trans women.

Coining a term to describe our unique and gendered experiences of oppression? We're just copying trans women.

Complain that we're often rejected from queer circles for our perceived violent maleness? We're just parroting what's happened to trans women.

Forcemasc fetish blogs? We're just copying One Specific Trans Woman-Run Blog that got popular.

These claims are annoying on their own, but together they paint a clear picture of what transandrophobes want you to believe: that trans men and transmascs are incapable of creating anything ourselves, or if we did, it would have nothing in common with what trans women and fems are doing. The function of these claims is to convince you that trans people of seemingly opposite identities are equally opposite in experiences, and any evidence to the contrary is actually cultural appropriation fueled by jealousy.

This is gender essentialism. It's fueled by the radical feminist belief that "woman" and "man" are not so much terms that get abused to justify people's oppression as they are positions in a class conflict, one where All Men seek and/or directly benefit from the oppression of All Women, and that indeed, manhood and womanhood themselves are defined by this relationship to one another. To be a man is to be an entitled parasite; to be a woman is to be an overworked victim.

That notion is racist and transphobic on the face of it, and that is equally obvious in these arguments about trans men - all of which are predicated on the idea that the average trans man is white, well-off, and able to go stealth whenever necessary, and therefore benefits from the maximum amount of male privilege a trans man can be afforded. Following from that logic, any trans man or that you encounter online can be reasonably assumed to share that experience, and any mention he might make of trans men who fail to meet those qualifications is nothing more than a rhetorical cudgel that we use to deny our own privilege.

I'm sure you can see the problem there.

It's not surprising that I typically see these claims made by white women, frequently about Black and Indigenous men. Speaking from the perspective of a white person, it can be very easy to fall into a trap of thinking that our specific experiences with oppression makes us general experts, and grow defensive when someone provides knowledge that shows we were wrong. It can like we're being victimized on the basis of the oppression we do have, and it can be incredibly hard to stop, listen, and admit that we fucked up. This is doubly difficult when the person criticizing us is a member of a demographic that seemingly contributes to the oppression we face.

But just because we think it's happening doesn't always make it so. Yes, there are times when people are acting in bad faith, or overlooking their own areas of ignorance - to err, as they say, is human. But often, we're the ones in the wrong, and need to recognize that fact before acting. So where do we draw the line?

The thing that I've always found crucial is to stop, breathe, and think. We have to honestly ask ourselves whether the other party is saying "your experiences are not real", or just "your understanding of these issues isn't as all-encompassing as you assumed". Simply asking yourself "am I really being harmed, or do I just feel like I'm being harmed?" can often save you from a massive foot-in-mouth situation.

It's necessary to remember that people whose identities are different from our own have their own experience and knowledge. Unless they are coming out and telling us what problems we do or don't have, we need to trust that they're coming from a place of good faith and genuine knowledge, and be willing to listen and change our minds if necessary.

We have to make ourselves comfortable with the fact that we are not always the most, or only, important voice in the room.

That's something that a lot of anti-transmasc women love to remind us, and I wouldn't say they're always wrong. Simply being a man can and often does incentivize people to engage in misogyny, to talk over women and disregard their experiences, when we find them uncomfortable or irrelevant. Again - everybody fucks up sometimes. But it crosses a line when you start demanding that courtesy from others while refusing to extend it back to them; when you treat any information they offer as automatically inferior or entirely invalid, based solely on their perceived relationship to privilege.

In fact, doing so is literally an ad hominem argument.

Aside from that, I must point out that these arguments are being employed specifically to silence trans men's and mascs' voices. This is not an honest misunderstanding; it's an act of profound self-centeredness at best and outright malice at worst. How do I know this? Well, stop me if you've ever heard one of these before:

"Women don't have real interests; they just like silly frivolous things. Men's hobbies are real and meaningful."

"Women are inherently wired to be emotional. Men are logical and level-headed. I'm not sexist, it's just science."

"If you hear a woman say anything smart, you can bet she learned it from a man."

These, too, are silencing tactics, historically (and currently!) used to devalue and silence the voices of women. In fact, they're things that I have personally heard and been affected by, as a trans man who has spent the vast majority of my life being seen and treated as a woman.

I didn't fall for it then, and I sure ain't falling for it now.

[biibini]

hiiii i love ur writing!!! if ur doing requests... can u do high school au teen mizu (like 16 or 17) x reader where the reader and mizu are in the same grade (preferrably with an artist/nerd reader) (this is very self indulgent) i would love that so much!!!

high school!mizu AU x artist!reader

tags: high school AU, teen mizu, reader is an artist, assume this AU is completely different from college!mizu that i usually write, cringy, vines are mentioned,

a/n: hs was a while ago but ooo i just have some thoughts on teen!mizu. writing this and looking back on high school made me internally cringe but i was free. currently tweaking from job apps like pls pls hire me plssss

teen!mizu is kind of… how to put in… an awkward loser mess of a student

in college, she def grows up more and becomes her own person and fades out of that awkward phase-ish

but in high school?

kinda maybe sorta pathetic loser behavior

(she’s just an awkward kid, like most ppl in high school… trust me, ive been there too)

but she won’t really make small talk with other peers that she doesn’t recognize,

awkward with eye contact,

she never really nailed that down until later on,

when called on, she doesn’t really pay attention so she ends up saying the wrong answer half of the time

and when she does get called on, all of a sudden she can’t get her hand up without having to fight for a say against her friend akemi, little miss know-it-all

teen!mizu references the most niche tiktoks, most notably, niche vines.

yes. u read that right. vine compliations on youtube.

there’s at least a playlist of 1 hour compilations with titles starting with “TRY NOT TO LAUGH Best Funny Vines of the Year!”

she would probably in one of her classes goofing around with ringo and rip a “whoever threw that paper, your mom’s a hoe”

(iykyk)

does it make ringo laugh? yes.

he would also be spitting the same thing, word for word, bar for bar with her.

but she would never reference that outside of her friends

teen!mizu would not care ab classes

yes, she’s smart but she wont apply herself too hard because at the end of the day, its whatever

don’t worry, eiji would always berate her ab her work ethic despite the A’s and a rare B he would see on her grades

taigen would always be a pain in the ass, constantly nagging her to at least try and “lock in” so he can get a better score than her

he ends up losing to mizu every time by 1-2 points

“This cannot be real, chat.”, Taigen yells.

The buzz of the school bells ring over Taigen’s bitching, thank god. The signal of the end of the school day meant to stop all thoughts about calculus, chemical reactions, or the meaning of the green light emitting from the lighthouse. Time to go home and be away from everyone, minus Ringo, of course.

Mizu shrugs, showing off her grade on the recent pop quiz. Written on her quiz was a 96%, circled in a bold red pen.

“It’s real.”, she claims, waving the quiz in front of Taigen’s beet-red face.

“Every fucking time bro.”, he groans.

In front of Mizu’s tracks was Akemi, waving her paper around like a flag, with a smug look plastered on her face.

“Oh, it’s real.”

She pushes her paper in front of Taigen and Mizu. Circled on her paper was her result: 100%.

“I can never win.”, Mizu sighed.

teen!mizu would NOT know how to act around crushes

a cute girl would pass by and she would end up staring too long,

get caught looking at their direction,

or end up bumping into the wall

totally doesnt happen often it happened 3 times

she has confidence in herself but the second she gets to the point of a real conversation, it’s out the window and dying on the floor

and when she does get a chance to talk, it typically doesn’t go the way she thought it would

and she’d end up asking the same question again

“What did you get on the quiz?”, Mizu asks, placing her hand by her scalp oh so nonchalantly.

“Didn’t you just ask me?”

Her eyes widen in panic, realizing her idiotic mistake.

“Shit, uhhh…I just uh… thought you couldn’t hear me.”

yeah she never talked to that girl for the rest of the school year…

although when it came to you, things were a lil different

teen!mizu kind of… maybe… lowkey… had a thing for you

not necessarily a huge romantic crush, but more of a friendly crush that stemmed from the little moments of interaction during art class

yes she would replay those moments again and again in her head

and prob go crazy over how idiotic she sounded

at first glance, you didn’t stand out to her

just another person she didn’t know

but your interest and focus on your artwork got her attention in a rowdy environment

while everyone else during the free period was ditching school, hanging with friends, or on the rare occasion: seeing their teachers for help, you were patient amidst the chaos in the art room

with akemi bickering with ringo over which glaze they should pick for their project

and on the other end of the classroom, taigen and his posse of bros cursing at their work

there in the middle of the classroom was you

Among the swarm of curses and bickering, the art room was usually the rambunctious classroom during free period. At Kyoto High, teachers and students were never familiar with the concept of peace and quiet.

You, however, were the rare few.

Mizu’s gaze went across the large industrial table, observing your calm movements amidst the chaos on your left and right. With Ringo pointing out all the flaws of each project choice and Taigen’s friends screeching in stress, you were focused on your carving as if no one in the world existed in that moment.

Your face, calm and focused, struck a dry chuckle out of Mizu. Her eyes glanced up to your eyes, gentle yet determined, while your head bopped to whatever song you were playing through your wired headphones. She then got distracted from the gloss from your lips, making them look rather soft and plump.

Maybe even kissable.

Wait what?

Mizu shook away the thought, placing her hands on her own project in order to distract her mind.

With a deep breath, her mind cleared. The scene in front of her was a comical one, regardless of your pretty face. However, this was the time to be focused…

Right?

teen!mizu would practically pray that you were there in the art room during every free period

hoping to find you at the same seat, surrounded by chaos every time

and every time, mizu would sit across from you in silence, partially in awe as well

although you’ve kept your focus on your handiwork, you weren’t oblivious to her presence

every free period would run like clockwork

it was comforting to know a familiar place but you never shared any classes with her

teen!mizu , eager to know you more, ends up confining in akemi ab her little art class crush for the sake of information

after getting another pep talk by akemi about how to just “relax and be yourself”, she finally spilled the beans

“From what I know, her name is Y/N and she’s a transfer.”, Akemi answered.

“From where?”

Akemi quickly types on her phone, her nails clanging against the screen. Before Mizu could even read the text, the phone immediately buzzed.

“Tokyo High…”, Akemi quickly responded, “Damn, you picked a smartie and a hottie.”

Akemi quickly whipped around her phone, showing Mizu a golden treasure: your Instagram account.

“How did you—”

“Don’t question my ways, just get to know her a little before you stumble your words.”

Mizu huffed in response, trying to focus on any signs of a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, if she’s lucky.

Thank god for Instagram highlights.

It didn’t take long for Mizu and Akemi to find your love life. An old highlights section with a little heart as the title, showcasing your history of significant others, including a girlfriend.

A smug smile grew on Akemi, always proud of her spy work.

“Bingo.”

teen!mizu, now filled with hope, interacts with you more, little by little with a “you’re here for free period again?” or a “how was your day?”

those little interacts continued to grow her crush on you

although its a friend crush, she couldn’t help but grin a little when you asked to sit next to her during the free period

after finding out you were in the same grade, teen!mizu‘s heart definitely exploded in glee

“Are you okay? You look a little hot?”, you question in concern, looking at her flushed cheeks.

“Oh, um… yeah, it’s a little hot in here.”, Mizu quickly responded, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

Underneath her totally normal response, she was in panic because:

A. You’re in the same grade as her. That increases the chance of you guys potentially spending more time together.

B. You just called her hot.

C. Your leg is currently 4 inches away from her leg…

“It’s okay!”, you reassure her, “It’s probably from this weird heatwave. The art room can get a bit stuffy from the shitty AC.”

She somehow thanked the universe and the sun rays at that moment. Mizu zipped down her jacket, pulling the entire thing off and playing along with her response. Little did she know a pair of familiar eyes next to her was watching.

Did you also have a crush on her? Maybe.

Did you want to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Did you stare at her arms, well toned from fencing, as if they were the last piece of juicy meat on earth? Mm…Yes.

You quickly whipped back into place as Mizu fixed her posture, now facing her upcoming project. However, Mizu caught a glimpse of your gaze without notice. Her heart skipped a beat.

One quick glance at your stiffened posture confirmed her curiosities: mutual (potentially romantic) interest.

She looked up at you to meet your gaze. Although everyone was talking, it had felt like time had slowed down between the two of you.

Before Mizu could open her mouth, the bell buzzed, signaling all students to move on to their next class.

You quickly gathered your things, before basically sprinting out the doorway.

“See you tomorrow!”, you waved goodbye, smiling at Mizu.

Mizu waved back, her heart practically palpitating from whatever just happened 30 seconds ago.

Oh, how she couldn’t wait for the next free period tomorrow.

[gs29]

Red Light, Green Light: Baby Edition

Squid Game Master list It was a surprisingly calm afternoon on the island. The usual haunting echoes of silence were replaced by the soft sound of wind rustling the leaves and the distant laughter of Joon, your baby, who had managed to make the playground his new domain. He had already explored every corner of the sandbox, taken a ride down the slide, and made several attempts to climb the swing set. He was a curious little thing, always on the move, much to the dismay of the usually stoic guards who were tasked with watching over him.

Today, the guards had decided to introduce a bit of fun into their duties. They had witnessed your son’s growing energy and curiosity and figured—why not teach him a game? Red Light, Green Light.

The idea had come from one of the younger guards, who had remembered how his siblings used to play the game back in the day. The thought of getting a baby involved in it was definitely a stretch, but they were willing to give it a shot. After all, Joon’s giggles and innocent eyes had made the otherwise grim island seem just a little bit brighter.

The guards, lined up at one end of the playground, stood in their typical formation—rigid, military-like. But today, they weren’t standing at attention, ready for combat. No, today, they were ready to play. And they were going to teach Joon the rules.

"Okay, so here’s how it goes," said one of the more senior guards, crouching down to Joon’s eye level. The baby, crawling toward him with a curious gaze, had no idea what was going on but clearly loved the attention. "When we say 'Green Light,' you move forward, okay? And when we say 'Red Light,' you have to stop."

The baby giggled, his little hands reaching up as if trying to grasp the guard’s explanation. He looked like he was ready to start moving, but the guard, unsure how much the baby actually understood, just smiled gently and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, Joon, you got this,” said another guard, equally as amused by the situation. He was always the more lighthearted one of the group, and his teasing tone made it clear that this was a fun break from their usual tasks.

At the opposite end of the playground, another guard stood, hands on his hips, trying to make the “starting line” official. "Alright, Joon," he called out. “We’re ready when you are!”

Joon, who had already started crawling towards the nearest toy, paused, looking up at the group of towering, masked figures. For a moment, he seemed to understand the importance of the game—at least, he recognized that everyone was staring at him. A tiny grin spread across his face, and with a determined squint, he began to move toward them.

"Green Light!" the guards called out in unison.

Joon, delightfully oblivious to the rules, crawled forward at full speed. His little legs wobbled with excitement, and he reached the halfway point of the playground with impressive speed. The guards, who had expected a little more confusion, found themselves laughing as Joon powered ahead, determined to "win."

"Green Light!" one of the guards cheered, only to be met with Joon speeding up, as though he were in an actual race.

"Red Light!" another guard shouted, and everyone froze in place.

The baby, caught mid-crawl, looked up in complete confusion. He had no idea what just happened but was perfectly happy to keep moving. His little legs gave a few more determined pushes forward, but when he noticed that everyone had stopped, he too halted, looking between the still figures and the empty space ahead of him. The sight was so innocent, so pure, that it made even the toughest of the guards chuckle.

“Joon, stop!” one of the guards called softly, trying not to laugh. But the baby seemed to be doing his own thing. He remained frozen for all of two seconds before a loud giggle escaped his tiny lips, and he started crawling again, completely ignoring the "Red Light" command.

"Green Light, I guess," another guard said with a smile, unable to contain his laughter. "He’s just too fast."

The moment was heartwarming, the guards struggling to keep up their stoic appearances while watching Joon's unfiltered joy. The rules of the game didn’t matter to him—he wasn’t playing to win, he was simply playing for the fun of it.

“Alright, alright,” the senior guard said, shaking his head with a grin. “Let’s try it again.”

The group readied themselves, calling out, “Green Light!” in a sing-song manner. Joon, now fully aware that he was the center of attention, started crawling again, but this time, he turned his head to look back at the guards. He paused and giggled to himself, then turned and slowly, dramatically, started heading toward the slide instead of the line of guards.

“Red Light!” a guard shouted quickly.

But Joon wasn’t listening. Instead, he moved around the playground, climbing toward the slide as though the game didn’t apply to him. The guards exchanged confused looks.

“Where’s he going?” one of the guards asked, still crouched down.

“Maybe he thinks he’s the one in charge now,” another guard said, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh.

The baby, now fully at the base of the slide, tried to pull himself up. His tiny hands grasped the metal structure as he made little determined grunting noises.

“Guess he’s trying to start his own game now,” one of the guards remarked. “That’s not how it works, buddy.”

But instead of stopping him, the guards only watched, entertained by how Joon was turning the situation into a spectacle all his own. After a few more moments of climbing the slide, Joon looked back at them with that same adorable grin, as if to say, “This is more fun than the game!”

“Alright, I think we’ve lost him to the slide,” the guard chuckled. “But at least he’s having fun.”

As they all circled around, unsure whether they should keep playing or let Joon have his way, Gong Yoo appeared from the distance, walking toward the playground with you by his side. The sight of Joon at the slide, with the entire squad of guards standing around, their hands on their knees, clearly exasperated but happy, made you both pause.

You exchanged a look with Gong Yoo, then smiled, your heart swelling with love. "Well, I think he's having a good time."

“You know, he’s definitely the one in charge here,” Gong Yoo said with a small laugh.

The guards, still trying to get Joon back in line, were now laughing openly, enjoying the chaos more than any drill they’d ever been part of. Joon, ever the little leader, sat proudly on top of the slide, glancing down at the world below.

One of the guards raised his hand. “I think we need more practice.”

Another guard nodded solemnly. “Yeah, maybe next time we should teach him the rules before we play.”

And so, the game continued with more laughter and little Joon running the show, completely unaware of the world around him. The island, for once, didn’t feel like a place of cold rules and grim faces. It felt like a playground—warm, filled with the sound of innocent joy, and full of moments that made everyone, even the most hardened guards, feel just a little bit more human.

[soluversworld]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 5!)

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words:10000

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

(Reader is G.N)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You’re his and he’s yours…

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

This part will contain the Arcade Scene in Sol’s Route so…Proceed with caution.

Mentions of Pet-names, Blood, (Implied ATTEMPTED S/A),

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

The school bell echoed through the hallway, signaling the start of the next class. Hyugo groaned loudly, stretching his arms dramatically.

“I don’t want to go to class. I hate my History teacher almost as much as I hate my archery coach.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Weird. Doesn’t George of the Jungle like archery?” you quipped without thinking.

Hyugo froze, his baby-blue eyes narrowing slightly as his pout deepened. “Well, that’s his thing! It’s not like he shares everything with his big brother, you know. But I’m the star now, Y/n.” His tone was defensive, but the look on his face said something else entirely: How the hell do you know so much about us?

You didn’t respond to his unspoken question, simply smiling to yourself. Keeping tabs on the secrets of the brothers had its perks, even if you were cautious not to push any boundaries. They weren’t people you wanted to turn against you. Dangerous as they were, having those secrets up your sleeve felt oddly empowering. And with Sol on your side, you weren’t too worried about the fallout. Hyugo clearly adored Sol, and Sol? Well, he wasn’t letting anyone mess with you.

It was to make sure, Geo won’t diss your ass.

“Why don’t you just skip class then?” Sol suggested, almost too casually.

Hyugo’s entire face lit up, his eyes practically sparkling. It was as if a literal lightbulb had turned on above his head.

Both you and Sol immediately recognized that look.

“Don’t tell me—” Sol started, but Hyugo cut him off with a dramatic wave of his hand.

“I am skipping class! That’s it. Fuck this school!” he declared triumphantly. “If they’re going to treat us like crap, we might as well be the bad guys. Right, Y/n?”

You sighed heavily, already seeing where this was headed. Sol mirrored your reaction, exhaling loudly with a look of resigned annoyance.

Hyugo leaned closer, his grin widening mischievously. He was practically glowing with chaotic energy as he nudged you. “Come on, Y/n. Don’t tell me you’ve never skipped class before. It’s a beautiful day to break a few rules.”

Skipping class? As if you’d never done it before. Honestly, you’d lost count of the times you’d avoided lectures just to stalk observe Solivan Brugmansia. And now? The man himself and his overly enthusiastic counterpart were inviting you to join them. The temptation was palpable.

It wasn’t just tempting—it was irresistible.

Hyugo turned up the charm, grinning at you like the devil himself.

His expression screamed to you. But you know he doesn’t know.

C’mon, Y/n. Look at this—your dream guy, Solivan Brugmansia, right here. All we’re missing is you. Come to the dark side—we’ve got rooftop vibes.

Your lips twitched. “Stop reading my mind,” you muttered under your breath.

Skipping class actually sounded pretty good. The teacher was dull, Crowe would be there—ugh, not worth the effort. You glanced at Sol, who stood quietly, waiting for your decision. His expression said he’d go along with whatever you chose, but there was a certain edge of don’t make me regret this.

Hyugo’s voice interrupted your thoughts again. “So? What’s it gonna be? Stay here and suffer? Or join us in sweet rebellion?” He leaned in closer, his grin practically daring you.

“Fuck it. We skip!” you said with finality, throwing caution to the wind.

Hyugo cheered, throwing his arms into the air like he’d just won a championship. “That’s the spirit!”

Even Sol couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He sighed again but nodded, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he turned to follow Hyugo toward the stairs.

Well, you were already falling. Might as well enjoy the descent.

“But how the hell do we even pull this off? Obviously, we can’t go through the entrance. The vents are blocked, and—”

Sol’s lips curled into a small smile, one so rare and heart-stopping that your brain short-circuited on the spot.

“I know a way,” he said calmly.

Wah! Huh?! Ehh?! Your heart was practically exploding as your face turned a deep, humiliating shade of red. You could barely think straight. Sol didn’t even seem to notice your flustered state as he turned and began leading the way.

Hyugo, oblivious as ever, dashed ahead, his energy as wild as ever. If either of them caught a glimpse of your lovesick expression, you’d never live it down.

The path Sol chose led to the back of the school, near the edge of the gardens. Towering iron fences barricaded the perimeter, but Sol confidently navigated through the greenery until he stopped in front of a large bush. He crouched and pushed it aside, revealing a decently sized hole in the fence.

Your jaw dropped. “Wait. Did you… make this? Sol?”

Before he could answer, Hyugo interjected with a proud grin. “He didn’t.”

Sol cast Hyugo a sharp look. “He did.”

Hyugo’s grin only widened. “I did,” he admitted smugly before dropping down and crawling through the gap without hesitation.

Sol gestured for you to go next, his golden-crimson eyes scanning the area to make sure no one was watching. “Go on,” he urged softly.

Why is he so sweet?! you thought, practically combusting on the spot. Trying not to overthink his protectiveness, you crouched and squeezed through the gap in the fence.

Leaves and twigs clung to your uniform as you emerged on the other side, brushing them off as Sol followed behind. The three of you maneuvered past bushes and shrubs, the crisp crunch of fallen leaves underfoot marking your escape. Finally, you reached the pavement on the other side of the grounds.

Sol stepped forward and held out a hand to help you up from where you crouched. You took it, your heart doing backflips at the gentle way he pulled you to your feet.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing at Hyugo, who was already fumbling with his phone.

Hyugo’s eyes suddenly widened as he stared at the screen. His fingers flew across the screen in panic before he let out an overdramatic gasp and grabbed Sol’s shoulder in a vice-like grip.

“SHERLOCK HOLMES IS OUT?!” he practically screamed.

Sol winced, rubbing his ear. “My ears, Hyugo.”

“The movie’s out?” you asked, raising a brow. Then, with a teasing smile, you added, “Did you set the date wrong again, Hyugo?”

“How could I?!” Hyugo shouted indignantly before bolting off at full speed, leaving you and Sol behind.

Sol pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation bubbling just under the surface. “For the love of—” he muttered, hands on his hips. With a heavy sigh, he began walking after Hyugo.

You trailed alongside him, sneaking glances at his exasperated expression. Sol looked utterly defeated, like a parent chasing after their wayward child. It was hard not to laugh.

“Why are you smiling?” Sol asked, casting you a suspicious look.

You shrugged innocently, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “No reason.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t press further, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite himself.

Hyugo kept tapping furiously on his phone, but as his shoulders slumped, you realized it—he got the date wrong.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he turned to you and Sol with a dramatic sigh. Then, clasping his hands together, he pulled out the biggest pair of puppy-dog eyes you’d ever seen.

“We have got to watch it! Can we, Y/n? Can we, Sunny?” he pleaded, his voice bordering on a whine.

“I’ll pass,” Sol replied, crossing his arms. “You can go enjoy the movie. I’m planning to hit the arcade while you’re at it.”

Hyugo’s pout deepened, the sparkle in his baby-blue eyes dimming into a pitiful half-lidded stare. “Aw, come on. Don’t you like crime movies, Sol? Isn’t Sherlock right up your alley?”

You bit your tongue, realizing too late what you’d just said. That tidbit of information? You’d learned it from stalking Sol. The way his eyes flicked toward you with a mix of surprise and suspicion told you he’d noticed.

“Y/n’s right!” Hyugo exclaimed, unknowingly coming to your rescue. “You’re always watching those crime videos, so come on, it’s perfect! Let’s go see it!”

But Sol’s face was set, his disinterest plain as day. “I’m not in the mood for a movie right now,” he said simply.

Hyugo groaned before turning his attention to you, desperation flashing in his eyes. “How about you, Y/n? Would you like to watch it with me? The ticket and food are on me, of course!”

You hesitated, glancing at Sol. His gaze was unwavering, almost expectant.

“I’ll stick with Sol,” you said finally. “The arcade sounds like fun.”

Hyugo raised an eyebrow before shrugging, his pout quickly replaced with a mischievous grin. “Alright, go on your little impromptu date, then! I don’t want to third-wheel anyway.”

“Date!?” you sputtered, your face immediately heating up.

Sol rolled his eyes, looking unfazed. “You’re the one who decided we should skip class and do whatever we wanted,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it!” Hyugo waved dismissively. “I’m off to the theater, then. Don’t let me stop you two lovebirds!” He stuck out his tongue playfully before turning to leave, his laughter echoing as he jogged away.

Sol let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “He’s impossible,” he muttered.

Meanwhile, you stood frozen, your cheeks burning. Date…?

Sol turned to you, ready to move on, but his gaze caught you fiddling nervously with your hair, fingers twisting the strands like they held some hidden secret. Your lips moved in barely audible whispers, your voice trembling.

“D-Date…? D-Date?! DATE?!?!”

Your face had turned such a deep crimson that Sol immediately furrowed his brows, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern. Before you could react, his cool hand pressed against your burning forehead.

The sudden touch sent a jolt through your entire body, your nerves firing like a storm. You screeched, a mix of surprise and overwhelming emotion, and nearly stumbled backward.

“Y/n!” Sol exclaimed, his other hand darting out to steady you, but you quickly waved him off.

“I-I’m fine!” you stammered, your voice shaky. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. The thought made you panic even more. You reached out, gripping his arm with both hands as if tethering yourself to reality, and pulled him closer.

“Let’s just get going!” you blurted, tugging on his arm as you started walking. Sol stumbled slightly but followed, his face tinged pink now. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

But inside, oh, inside was a very different story.

Your grip on his arm was firm, almost possessive. You could feel the fabric of his sleeve under your fingers, could feel the warmth of his skin beneath it. It was grounding, intoxicating even. His scent—a faint mix of lavender and something uniquely Sol—wrapped around you like a blanket.

Your mind churned with chaotic thoughts, obsessive and dark but cloaked in a sugary sweetness that made them feel almost…innocent.

He’s mine. No one else can touch him like this. No one else can make him blush like I can. Hyugo can call it a date all he wants—it’s not just that. It’s more. So much more. He’s perfect, isn’t he? Perfect and mine.

Your grip tightened slightly as you walked, but Sol didn’t seem to notice.

But what if someone tries to take him away?

The thought slithered in unbidden, souring your moment of happiness. You glanced at Sol from the corner of your eye. His calm, handsome face made your heart swell again, but the fear lingered.

You tugged him closer as you walked, your pace slightly faster now, as if putting distance between him and anyone who might come too close. Sol gave you a curious glance but didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed content with the silence, his steps steady beside yours.

He didn’t know. He didn’t notice the way your thoughts spiraled, the way your mind painted scenarios of keeping him close, of ensuring no one ever got between you two.

No one ever would.

The bright neon lights of the arcade’s exterior came into view, their vibrant hues reflecting off the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. You paused for a moment to admire the sight, turning to Sol with a curious tilt of your head.

“Is this place new?” you asked, your tone a mix of wonder and excitement.

Sol, standing casually beside you, shook his head. “No,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of his usual calm exasperation. “It’s hidden in the city. Hard to notice unless you know what you’re looking for.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And how do you know about places like this?”

Sol sighed, his annoyance barely masked. “Because Hyugo drags me to places like this all the time,” he muttered, his tone dry.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression, earning a small shrug from him. Without another word, he reached into his pocket and handed you a few tokens.

“So, which game are we starting with?” he asked, his crimson-and-orange eyes glinting faintly under the arcade’s colorful lights.

Your heart skipped at how effortlessly he seemed prepared. “Wow, you were ready for this, huh?”

Sol smirked slightly, his voice soft but teasing. “As always.”

Then, without thinking, he held out his hand toward you, not for the tokens, but for you to take. Your breath hitched, your heart thundering in your chest. Hesitating only for a moment, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

Together, you stepped into the arcade, the cacophony of beeping machines, upbeat music, and excited chatter enveloping you both.

The two of you roamed the arcade, hopping from game to game. Sol was surprisingly skilled—his reflexes sharp, his focus unshakable—but you knew, you just knew, he was letting you win most of the time.

When you pointed it out, pouting, “It’s not fair—you keep letting me win,” Sol’s lips quirked into a faint smile.

“Maybe you’re just that good,” he said smoothly, his tone making your cheeks flush.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “You’re such a flatterer.”

But then, in the next few rounds, something shifted. Both of you started losing games—repeatedly. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Sol was purposefully holding back, trying to make sure you won, and you, in turn, were doing the exact same for him.

Neither of you said a word about it.

Instead, you both exchanged bashful glances, silently acknowledging the unspoken game within the game. The warmth spreading in your chest was undeniable.

Eventually, you found yourself at a claw machine, fishing out the last of your tokens to insert into the slot. The machine beeped in denial, signaling you were out.

“Hold on,” Sol said, already turning toward the token exchange counter. “I’ll grab some more.”

Before he left, he pressed the remainder of his tokens into your hand. “Use these in the meantime,” he said softly.

Your fingers closed around the tokens, and as he walked away, you couldn’t help but stare after him, your heart full. He’s so… thoughtful, you mused, biting back a smile.

You moved through the rows of arcade machines, the excitement of the games buzzing around you. Your eyes scanned each one, but then something caught your attention—a claw machine, with a plushie horse sitting inside. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you remembered Hyugo mentioning that Sol liked plushies, particularly ones shaped like horses. Perfect, you thought to yourself. This could be the perfect surprise for him.

You made your way to the claw machine, carefully inserting a token and adjusting the joystick with precision. Your eyes locked onto the horse plushie, and you steered the claw expertly, watching it descend and grab onto the toy. Your heart skipped a beat as the claw began to lift, bringing the horse towards the chute. Almost there…

But then—SMACK!

A sharp sound echoed in your ear as someone suddenly slapped your ass. You whipped around, fury bubbling up inside you as you glared at the man who reeked of alcohol, his breath sour and sloppy. The two men flanking him were equally obnoxious, their laughter cutting through the air.

“Hey, beautiful,” the man slurred, his grin crooked and nasty. “You’re looking a bit lost. Let me show you how to play the game.”

The words made your blood boil. You couldn’t stand these assholes, thinking they could just take what they wanted. Without hesitation, you spun around, your foot swinging up sharply and connecting with the man’s crotch.

“Ahh!” He groaned, doubling over in pain.

Without another word, you bolted, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your body. You dashed through the arcade, glancing back to see the drunken fools stumbling after you. The guy who’d slapped you shouted, his voice slurring but still full of aggression, “Don’t let them get away!”

The chase was on, but you weren’t about to let them catch you. You rounded a corner, slipping through a gap between machines, and immediately dove into the crowd of people. You kept your head down, weaving through the arcade, trying to lose them in the maze of flashing lights and clinking tokens.

The sound of their footsteps was close behind, but you managed to stay one step ahead, your mind focused and determined. You didn’t know what they would do if they caught up to you, but you sure as hell weren’t going to find out..

You ran desperately, your heart hammering in your chest as you darted through the arcade, weaving through machines and crowds, but the clattering noise of the games drowned out your calls for help. The panic rose in your throat. Where the hell is Sol?

You kept running, your mind racing for a solution. Your fingers brushed the glass shards scattered near a broken machine, and your heart quickened with an idea. You grabbed one of the shards, feeling the sharp edge in your grip as you ran towards the restroom. Your legs burned, but you didn’t dare slow down. You had to get away from those bastards.

Slamming the door behind you, you locked it as best as you could. But just as you pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling, you cursed—no signal. The frustration and fear made your heart sink, and your anger boiled over. Shit, shit, shit…

You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breath, but then the unmistakable sound of banging hit the door. They’re coming.

And then it happened—the door slammed open with force, crashing into the wall. The man who’d slapped you earlier and his two buddies stood in the doorway, their grins sickening. They were too close, and you backed up instinctively, the glass shard tight in your hand.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, darling,” one of them said with a slur in his voice, his smirk crooked. “All we want is a little favor.”

Your anger flared up. A favor? You’re out of your fucking minds.

You swung the shard at the closest guy, the blade aimed for his neck. But before you could connect, one of the others kicked you in the stomach. The impact knocked the wind out of you, sending you crashing to the ground with a sharp gasp.

You tried to push yourself up, your body aching from the fall, but the man who had kicked you grabbed your arm, dragging you to your feet. “Come on, baby. You’re gonna make this easy on us, right? Be a good little pet.”

The words were too much, the rage coursing through you. Pet? You’re gonna regret this.

You struggled, kicking out at the men, but your strength was fading, your body bruised and aching. With everything inside you, you fought back, pushing them away as best as you could. But your legs buckled from the pain, and you collapsed onto the cold floor. Desperation clouded your mind as you curled up instinctively to shield yourself, closing your eyes, hoping for anything.

Sol… please… The thought of him rushed into your mind, but the darkness surrounding you felt so suffocating.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal.”

You barely registered the words before you felt the force of the man’s body jerked off of you, thrown aside like a ragdoll.

A sickening sound filled the room—the sound of flesh slamming against flesh, followed by another impact. The harsh noise made you flinch, your body trembling as you lay on the cold floor, the shards of glass still clutched in your hand.

“That’s enough, Sol…” Hyugo’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding, but still there was an edge of worry underneath.

The sound of bones cracking echoed in the room, making your stomach churn. Is that…Sol?

“No,” came Sol’s voice, colder than ice, sharp with authority. “Not yet.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to move, paralyzed with fear as the sounds of violence continued. Every punch from Sol, every crack of bone, made your heart beat faster—faster in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You should have been terrified, but part of you… part of you was strangely calm.

“That’s enough, Sol! You broke his nose already!” Hyugo’s voice raised, his usual calm demeanor cracking as he shouted at Sol.

But Sol didn’t stop. He was relentless, too consumed by whatever dark emotion controlled him in this moment. The thudding of his fists hitting the man reverberated in the small space, making you wince with each strike.

“Not yet.” Sol’s voice was like ice again, his tone unmistakable.

Hyugo’s voice was tinged with panic now. “That’s enough, Sol. Y/n needs your help.”

Your heart skipped at the mention of your name. The icy grip of fear surrounding you melted for a split second as you opened your eyes, only to be met with the familiar sight of Sol’s intense gaze, his reddish-orange eyes wide with something between concern and fury.

He froze. His body stiffened, and for a moment, everything went silent.

The way he looked at you—the way he always looked at you—it wasn’t like anything else. It wasn’t just concern, nor was it just anger. His eyes softened for a brief moment, his pupils slightly dilated, his hands still clenched into fists, but now… it was like he was seeing you—really seeing you—through the chaos.

Sol kneeled beside you, his hand reaching out hesitantly. His fingers grazed your cheek, brushing away the tear that had fallen in the heat of the moment.

Sol quickly moved to your side, his eyes wide with shock, and without a word, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. His shoulders shook as he held you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he were trying to control his own emotions. You didn’t speak—couldn’t speak. Everything was spinning, the sounds of the scuffle still echoing in your mind, but Sol’s warmth and the way he clung to you helped you focus.

The man who had threatened you now lay still on the ground, a pool of blood slowly spreading around him. His goons were scattered around the corner, unconscious and out of the fight. Your eyes flickered to Hyugo, but the look he gave you wasn’t the usual playful kindness. His gaze was hard, his jaw tense, his eyes twitching as he let out a long, annoyed sigh. The irritation was clear on his face, but there was a sense of worry beneath it, too, as he looked at the mess Sol had made.

Hyugo finally broke the silence, his voice unusually flat. “It’s getting quite late. We should head home.”

He tapped Sol’s shoulder, prompting the taller male to pull away from you. Sol hesitated for a moment, his face burying deeper into your neck as if he were reluctant to let go. It was only after a few seconds that he finally loosened his grip, his hands lingering on you as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go completely.

“Y/n…” Sol whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was rough, like he was fighting something deeper inside him. He pulled back slowly, not meeting your eyes but still close enough to you that you could feel the intensity of his presence.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his actions—of everything—press down on you. He had protected you… in his own way. But you didn’t know what to feel, didn’t know what to think.

Sol’s eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed—whether from anger or worry, it was hard to tell. But what was evident was the silent pain he tried so hard to conceal. His emotions had broken free, and now, tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you…I…” His voice wavered, hesitant, as he struggled to find the right words.

“Sol…” You spoke softly, gently reaching out to cup his cheek. He flinched at the touch, as if the comfort was too much to bear. The tears he had fought to hold back now poured down his face without restraint.

He relaxed after a moment, closing his eyes and leaning into your hand. He held it gently, as though he feared letting go.

“I don’t know what I’d do if…” His words trailed off, the weight of his unspoken fears pressing down on him.

“It’s okay… It’s alright…” you reassured him, your voice calm, offering the quiet support he desperately needed. The atmosphere between you both felt heavy, yet there was an understanding, a sense of safety, in the silence that followed.

You held Sol’s hands to your face, tears spilling freely from your eyes as the overwhelming emotions finally broke through. It was a short, breathless cry, but it was enough to shake you to the core. You felt his warmth, his presence grounding you as the fear and pain that had built up in you over time began to dissolve.

“Thank you… thank you, Sol…” you sobbed, your voice shaky. You almost flinched, not fully prepared for the rush of emotions, but before you could pull away, you pulled him into a tight hug. The weight of everything seemed to lift just a little as you pressed yourself into him, letting the sobs rack through your body.

Sol was frozen for a moment, shocked by the sudden outpouring. His body tensed, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His own tears continued to fall, soft and almost hesitant, as though he didn’t know what to do, but instinctively, he was there for you.

Hyugo stood nearby, watching the scene unfold. He was quiet, giving you both the space you needed. The tension that had hung between you and Sol seemed to ease as you held each other, though Sol’s quiet sobs still lingered in the air. You could feel the raw emotion, the vulnerability between you, and it only made you hold on tighter.

the three of you stood there, the tension in the air thick and heavy, you felt the warmth of Hyugo’s hand slip into yours. His touch was gentle, yet firm, like he was trying to ground you in that moment, as if to reassure you that everything would be okay. But your eyes were on the plushie in his other hand— the horse plushie you had won for Sol earlier at the arcade. It seemed almost too perfect now, as if it were a symbol of everything that had happened, and everything that had changed.

You didn’t say anything about the plushie. You couldn’t. It felt strange to speak after everything, and it almost felt as if the words would break the fragile bubble that had formed between the three of you.

Sol, still lost in his guilt, stepped back. His gaze never quite met yours as he looked at the ground, a mix of regret and something deeper written across his face. His breath was shaky, his usual cool demeanor shattered. You could tell he was still processing everything, still fighting with the weight of his own emotions.

You were about to say something, Hyugo spoke up, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “It’s getting dark now. We should head back,” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

Sol’s hand, which had been loosely holding yours, suddenly tightened. You flinched slightly, surprised by how possessively he gripped you now. It wasn’t protective, not this time. It was as if he needed to hold onto you, as though afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.

You didn’t say anything in response. Instead, you let your fingers curl tighter around his hand, instinctively drawing closer to him. The need to stay near him, to feel his presence, was overwhelming.

Hyugo noticed, though he said nothing, his eyes glancing from you to Sol, as if understanding more than he let on.

Sol didn’t pull away, his grip on you more desperate now. His body was stiff, but you could feel the tremor in his hand. It was clear: Sol wasn’t just protecting you. He was holding onto you because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

Sol’s grip on your hand remained unrelenting, his knuckles white from the intensity with which he held you. It was clear he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon. Hyugo let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes scanning the surroundings before looking back at the two of you.

“I guess the arcade’s off-limits for a while,” Hyugo said with a hint of concern in his voice. “Those guys might come back, and we don’t need any more trouble.”

Sol’s grip tightened even more, a subtle growl in his voice as he spoke, “If they come back… I’ll give them more than just a broken nose.”

Hyugo chuckled nervously, his hands raised in mock surrender. “You’re pretty scary when you’re like this, Sol.”

A dark smirk flickered on Sol’s lips, his gaze never leaving the ground as he muttered, “Good. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Hyugo shook his head, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Sol wasn’t having it. He rummaged through his pockets, pulling something out before handing it to Sol. You couldn’t see what it was, but from the look on Sol’s face, it was clear he wasn’t pleased.

“I told you those don’t work anymore,” Sol grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at whatever Hyugo had given him.

Hyugo rolled his eyes, looking unamused. “It’s because you’re not taking them, you fool. Now, take it tonight.”

Sol scowled, like a child being scolded, but he took the object from Hyugo’s hand with a reluctant sigh. He stuffed it into his pocket without a word, his expression darkening even further.

Sol slipped the small, plastic package into his pocket, the faint sound of the crinkling plastic reached your ears, and your heart skipped a beat. You tried to shake off the feeling, but your mind couldn’t help but race. The thought of the small pill container now hidden in his pocket lingered in your thoughts.

It must be sleeping pills for Sol…

You quickly glanced away, trying to push the unsettling thought out of your head, but it only made the darkness within you swirl more intensely. Sol… You knew him. His obsession, his need for control. You didn’t want to think it, but the idea that he could use those pills on you, to make you fall asleep so he could whisper his sweet nothings… That thought lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t deny the twisted thrill that sparked within you.

How cute, right? The thought of him being so controlling over you, his obsession so deep that he would go to such lengths to ensure you never left his side, even in sleep. But you knew better than to turn a blind eye. You couldn’t afford to.

You need to watch out for your food and drinks.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, the idea of Sol having complete power over you creeping up again. The way he was so gentle, so caring on the surface, but you knew better. You knew he wanted more, and you weren’t sure how far he’d go to keep you close, to make you his. But it didn’t stop you.

You want to see all of his sides.

All of his SIDES

Your hand tightened around his, and despite the dark thoughts swirling in your mind, you kept your eyes on him, on every small movement. You couldn’t let it happen. You wouldn’t let it.

You consent to him, your body is HIS.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t watch him. Watch his every move, keep track of every little thing he did to you.

“Anyway, your place is just around the corner… You should head back as soon as possible. I’ll be taking Y/n home,” Hyugo said, his voice light as he tried to steer the situation.

Sol’s eyes narrowed instantly, his grip shifting from holding your hand to wrapping his arm around you possessively. His gaze turned dark, a silent challenge in his eyes as he glared at Hyugo.

“I can walk them home,” Sol’s voice was low, almost a growl as he squeezed your waist tighter, pulling you closer to him.

You winced slightly at the pressure, a soft hiss escaping your lips, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. The way Sol was acting, so protective, so obsessive—his possessiveness was palpable.

CUTE… CUTE… MINE… MINE…

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, your eyes fluttering slightly as they softened, the world around you blurring into nothing but Sol’s grip, his possessiveness. Your gaze turned distant, pupils dilating, heart racing as you lost yourself in the intense focus of his touch.

His arm wrapped around your waist tighter, squeezing you closer to him, and you shivered, a rush of warmth flooding through your body. CUTE… CUTE… MINE… The words reverberated in your mind, the pull of them drawing you deeper into the madness. His obsession with you was so consuming, so perfect—and you wanted more.

You stared at him with hearts in your eyes, a twisted sense of euphoria blooming in your chest. Each second, each possessive gesture, it was like a drug. You didn’t care how dark it was—this was what you wanted. You didn’t need to escape, not when he was right there, keeping you his. His jealousy, his obsession—it was all a delicious game, a dance of power and control, and you were more than happy to play your part.

Hyugo noticed the shift in the air, his gaze flicking between you and Sol, his usual carefree expression replaced with a hint of concern, though the look didn’t quite reach his eyes. Sol, however, was unwavering. The two exchanged a look—a glare full of tension, but neither one was willing to back down.

And you? You could hardly contain yourself. Watching their interaction, feeling Sol’s arm tighten, the possessiveness pouring from him, you were drunk on it. You wanted him to tighten his grip even more. To show the world you were his, that no one else could touch you. You wanted him to break anyone who dared to even look at you wrong.

Your thoughts spiraled deeper, you couldn’t help but press yourself into Sol’s side, letting him hold you tighter, letting the dark satisfaction flow through you.

“I want Sol… to accompany me home. Hyugo, you must have something to do, right?” you said, your voice sweet yet laced with an undeniable finality. Both men froze at your words, their expressions shifting like ripples in a storm.

Hyugo’s brows furrowed in visible disapproval, his baby-blue eyes narrowing as if searching for the logic in your decision. Meanwhile, Sol’s face transformed. His surprise melted into something smug, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk, Cocky as he slowly turned his head toward Hyugo, his crimson-and-orange eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of delight and triumph.

“You heard them, Hyugo,” Sol began, his voice dripping with false sincerity, though his amusement was impossible to hide. “I can handle this. I can walk Y/n home. Y/n trusts me. I want you to trust me, too.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly, feigning an air of genuine concern. But you could feel the smugness radiating off him, his grip on you subtly tightening as if staking his claim.

Hyugo’s disbelief was palpable. His jaw tensed, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging under the strain. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing for a moment, the silence between the three of you thick and charged.

Finally, Hyugo sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “If that’s what you want, Y/n,” he said, though his tone carried an edge of reluctant acceptance. “I can’t force you.”

You gave him a soft, almost apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, Hyugo. I’m fine with however Sol is,” you said, your voice gentle but deliberate. The words hung in the air, a quiet affirmation that twisted the tension into something sharper.

Hyugo’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, but he nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel and began walking away, his footsteps heavy against the pavement. You and Sol stood together, watching his retreating figure grow smaller and smaller until he disappeared into the shadows.

The air shifted once Hyugo was gone, and you felt Sol’s smirk grow wider as he turned his gaze down to you, his hand slipping into yours, possessive and warm. His grip tightened just slightly, and your heart raced—not from fear, but from the intoxicating thrill of knowing you had chosen him.

Sol rubbed at the lingering redness in his eyes, his gaze shifting to meet yours. His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. “Why is he so bossy? Especially with you… I always thought he was the carefree type. Guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover. Funny… that’s something I tell myself all the time.”

His words trailed off, his eyes flicking back to the empty path Hyugo had taken. His expression darkened for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. You knew what was running through his mind. Sol wasn’t just observant—he was obsessive, possessive. He knew more than he let on, always watching, always waiting. It should’ve scared you. Maybe, once, it had. But now…

You found it thrilling.

The knowledge of his fixation, his relentless need to keep you close, stirred something deep inside you. It wasn’t fear—it was desire. The darker, twisted part of you craved it, craved him. You loved the way he obsessed over you, the way his need for you bled into every little action. You wanted him closer, deeper—wrapped around you entirely.

There was no love. It was the love for his obesseion

As if sensing your thoughts, Sol’s hand found yours, his fingers curling tightly around them. His crimson-orange gaze softened as his lips curved into a boyish smile, a stark contrast to the shadows lingering in his eyes.

“What matters is that you’re here with me right now,” he said, his voice filled with a strange, innocent warmth that tugged at something dark within you. “Shall we get going?”

That smile—so deceptively sweet, so utterly his—made your chest tighten. You reached out, your hand brushing through his hair in a soft, almost tender gesture. “Let’s go,” you murmured, your voice carrying a faint edge of something you didn’t care to define.

Without waiting for a reply, you led him forward, your fingers still entwined with his as your other hand slipped to his arm, holding onto him as if anchoring him to you.

If he noticed the way your grip was a little too tight, your steps a little too deliberate, he didn’t say anything. Instead, his smirk lingered just long enough to let you know—he was just as lost in you as you were with him.

He doesn’t know but you knew.

“Please excuse the mess,” you said with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of your head as you opened the door and gestured for Sol to enter. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight, so it’s not exactly spotless.”

“I don’t mind,” Sol replied softly, stepping inside. Yet, once he crossed the threshold, he didn’t move any further, lingering near the door like a statue.

His stance was stiff, almost awkward. You tilted your head, watching him curiously. Why was he acting like he hadn’t been here countless times before, sneaking in and lurking in your shadows?

“Come on, don’t just stand there,” you said, taking his hand gently but firmly, leading him to the living room. Sol followed, his hand warm in yours but his body still rigid. You guided him to the couch, nudging him to sit.

He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself onto the cushions. Placing the horse plush you’d won for him carefully on the table beside him, his crimson-orange gaze flicked toward you, unreadable.

“You don’t need to be so stiff, Sol. Relax! Make yourself at home,” you said, your tone soft and teasing.

“…Sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… not used to being in someone else’s space. Let alone their home.”

Liar.

You bit back a knowing smile, folding your arms as you stared him down. Sol had probably been in every corner of your apartment at least once. When he stalks.

“Not even Hyugo’s?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sol shook his head silently, his gaze dropping to his hands. His knuckles were bruised, faint traces of blood still visible from earlier. Your heart clenched at the sight, and without thinking, you reached out to take his hand again.

“Stop that,” you scolded, catching him flexing his fingers like he was testing their strength. “Wait here. I’ll get the medical kit. And don’t you dare make things worse by straining your fists!”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly, almost regretfully. His voice carried a tinge of sadness, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“My house, my rules,” you shot back, planting your hands on your hips. “And I insisted on treating your wounds. So sit tight, no arguments.”

Sol didn’t argue. He sat there, his body still tense, but at your words, you noticed his shoulders ease just slightly.

“Stay here,” you repeated, your tone gentler this time as you turned to grab the kit.

You rummaged through your cabinets until you found the medical kit, a bit dusty from lack of use. With it in hand, you returned to the living room, where Sol was sitting exactly as you’d left him—his gaze unwavering and fixed on the spot where you had disappeared.

“Hands,” you said firmly, kneeling beside him as you opened the kit.

Sol gave you a pointed look, his crimson-orange eyes narrowing slightly. “You treat me like a dog sometimes,” he grumbled, holding out his bruised hands reluctantly. “But fine. Here.”

You giggled, unable to help yourself at his petulant tone. “Aww, poor Sol,” you teased. “But it’s not my fault you obey like one.”

His cheeks flushed instantly, a deep crimson spreading up to his ears. “Y-you’re ridiculous,” he muttered, turning his head slightly to hide his embarrassment, but he didn’t pull his hands away.

“Sit still,” you said softly, smiling as you began to work.

Step by step, you treated his wounds. First, you gently cleaned his knuckles with a damp cloth, wiping away the dried blood and dirt. His fingers twitched in your grip, and you glanced up to see him staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

“No,” he said quickly, his gaze darting away. But the way his hands tensed told a different story.

Next, you dabbed at the cuts with antiseptic. His breath hitched, but he didn’t complain, only biting his lip and watching you carefully.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, the words slipping out unconsciously.

His eyes widened briefly before softening, his lips parting as if to say something. Instead, he just nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Finally, you wrapped his knuckles in gauze, your fingers brushing against his skin as you secured the bandages. Every touch felt electric, and you swore you could feel his pulse quicken under your fingertips.

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “All done. See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Sol flexed his fingers experimentally, then looked down at his bandaged hands. “…Thanks,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “Anytime, Sol. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly still. “Always,” he said, his voice low and earnest, his gaze unwavering.

Without thinking, as if guided by instinct rather than reason, you raised Sol’s bandaged hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss against the gauze. The motion was slow, deliberate, and almost reverent.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock, his cheeks immediately flushing a deep crimson. He froze, utterly unprepared for the gesture. “W-what are you doing?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

You smiled softly, letting his hand linger against your lips for a moment before lowering it. “Just showing my appreciation,” you said.

His lips twitched, forming a pout as he glanced away, his ears burning red. “You need to stop treating me like a little kid,” he mumbled, the sulkiness in his tone doing little to mask his embarrassment.

“Do you hate it?” you asked, tilting your head curiously, watching as his blush deepened.

He didn’t respond immediately. The pout on his lips faded into a silence that spoke volumes.

You chuckled softly, holding his hand against your cheek. His fingers twitched slightly, and you could feel the warmth of his skin even through the bandages. Your voice dropped to a soft, soothing murmur. “Thank you, Sol… for saving me back there. For being there when I needed you the most.”

You leaned your face into his hand, closing your eyes briefly as if savoring his touch. “You were incredible,” you whispered, your tone filled with admiration. “You’re always so strong, Sol. Always there to protect me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your words were carefully chosen, each one designed to feed the storm of obsession you knew was brewing inside him. And oh, how he reacted.

His breath hitched audibly, his gaze fixated on you. His crimson-orange eyes were wide, shimmering with something between adoration and disbelief. His blush deepened further, spreading to his neck and ears.

“You… you mean that?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling slightly.

“Of course I do,” you said softly, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. The way his face flushed, his lips parted as if he were about to say something, and the sheer awe in his expression—it was intoxicating.

He looked at you like you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed. And you loved it.

He pulled his hand away slightly, but only to cup your face with both hands, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. His gaze burned with intensity now, his earlier shyness replaced by something darker, more consuming.

“I’ll always protect you,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. “No one will ever hurt you again… I won’t let them.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I know,” you whispered. “I trust you, Sol. Completely.”

The corners of his lips curved into a shaky smile, his eyes glimmering with devotion—and something even deeper, more dangerous.

You didn’t need to say it, but you both understood it:

You belonged to him, and he belonged to you.

You held Sol’s hands against your face, your voice soft and trembling just enough to make it seem vulnerable. “You’re the only one who’s always been there for me, Sol,” you murmured, letting your gaze lock onto his, wide-eyed and glimmering with sincerity. “When things get dark, when I’m scared, it’s always you.”

His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on your face grew firmer, as if anchoring himself to your words. His eyes were searching, desperate to believe every syllable that fell from your lips.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you continued, tilting your head slightly to nuzzle his palm, your voice just barely above a whisper.

The effect on him was immediate. Sol’s entire body tensed, and a faint tremble ran through his fingers as he cupped your face. His eyes were swimming with emotions—guilt, adoration, obsession—all tangled together into something raw and overwhelming.

“Y/n…” His voice cracked, and he bit his lip, struggling to hold himself together.

You smiled sweetly, leaning forward just a fraction, your gaze never leaving his. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks or says. You’ve always been the one who understands me, who truly sees me. I feel safe with you, Sol… only you.”

His reaction was everything you wanted. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as his breathing became uneven. His possessive grip returned, his fingers trembling slightly as if he was holding himself back from something primal.

But that wasn’t enough for you. His obsession was addictive, and you wanted to see more of it. To feel the heat of it consume you.

You let out a soft laugh, almost teasing, as your gaze dropped momentarily to his lips before meeting his eyes again. “You’re so good to me, Sol… so perfect. It’s almost unfair how much I need you.”

His eyes widened, and his face flushed crimson. “N-need me?” he stammered, his voice trembling.

“Of course,” you said, tilting your head and smiling like you’d just confessed a harmless secret. “Who else could it be? You’re the only one who’s ever truly been there for me. I can’t imagine trusting anyone else the way I trust you.”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching as if he wanted to pull you closer but wasn’t sure how much closer he could get without losing himself entirely.

And that’s when you saw it—the flicker of something darker in his eyes. A hunger, a desperate need to keep you as his, to prove he was the only one you needed.

Inside, you felt a surge of satisfaction. His reactions, his obsession, his love—it was all so deliciously intoxicating.

You leaned into his touch, your voice softening to a whisper, dripping with sweetness. “You’re all I need, Sol. Just you.”

And as his trembling lips curled into a shaky smile, his eyes shining with devotion and possessiveness, you couldn’t help but think: Perfect.

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze just a fraction, feigning shyness. “I… I know it might sound silly, but after what happened, I… I don’t want to be alone. The idea of being around anyone else… guys, girls… it scares me.”

You felt his hands tense against your skin.

“But with you?” You lifted your gaze to meet his, your eyes shining with unshed tears, perfectly calculated. “I feel safe. You’re the only one I trust now, Sol. The only one.”

He swallowed hard, his throat visibly bobbing, his expression torn between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

“Sol… Can I… Can I stay near you from now on? Please?” You tilted your head, your voice trembling as if the thought of rejection might break you. “I just… I’m scared, Sol. Scared of everyone else after what happened. But I know you’d never let anything bad happen to me. Right?”

His face was a mixture of awe and something darker, almost feral, as if your words were wrapping around him like chains he didn’t want to escape.

“Of course,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. “You can stay close to me. Always. I won’t let anyone—anyone—hurt you again.”

Your lips trembled into a small pout, and you reached up to clutch his hands tighter against your face. You tilted your head slightly, acting as though his words were an anchor for your frayed nerves.

“Thank you, Sol,” you whispered, your voice breaking just the tiniest bit. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re so… so good to me.”

He was utterly lost in your words, his gaze unfocused and dazed, the sheer depth of his emotions cracking through the careful control he tried to maintain.

You pouted, your tone softening further, almost as if you were the one being manipulated. “I’m sorry if I’m being a burden… but I just—”

“Never,” he interrupted, his voice fierce. His hands slid down to hold yours, his grip firm but trembling. “You’re never a burden. Never say that again.”

Your lips curled into a small, trembling smile, and you nodded.

“I only trust you,” you whispered.

Sol pressed his hand over his heart, his voice soft but firm, he swore an oath, “Let me repay your kindness, Y/n… Let me take care of you.”

For a moment, you thought he was about to declare his love for you, the words hanging heavy in the air, but his gaze shifted—soft and sincere, yet with a dark undertone that made your heart race. The way he said it, with such quiet conviction, made your insides twist with longing.

You opened your mouth, ready to dismiss the idea—I don’t need you to cook for me, you were about to say, but before you could, your stomach betrayed you.

It rumbled loudly, echoing in the quiet room. Your face immediately flushed with embarrassment, and you quickly raised your hands to your cheeks, hiding the red tint creeping up your skin.

Sol’s eyes softened immediately, his lips curling into a smile as he gently reached for your hands, pulling them away from your face. His expression was so gentle, yet his eyes gleamed with that possessive, dark affection you knew all too well.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and tender as he gazed at you with that intoxicating intensity. “You don’t have to be ashamed… you’re perfect.” His words hung in the air, thick with affection and something far deeper, a touch of madness lurking beneath the surface.

You couldn’t look away from his face, the overwhelming wave of love and obsession clouding your thoughts. Your heart hammered in your chest as your stomach growled once more, and you instinctively reached out to clutch your face, like you were posing in the way you’d seen in shows, but this was real, and he was here.

“Sol…” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “No cooking. You don’t have to do that.”

But he didn’t listen. He wasn’t the type to back down when he had a plan.

He pouted, a playful, childlike expression crossing his features, and it made him look even more endearing—if that was even possible. “I want to, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice now a low, adoring murmur. “Let me take care of you… let me make you happy.”

His words, so sincere and desperate, sent a shiver through you.

With a final, tender glance at you, Sol turned and walked toward the kitchen. Each step he took seemed deliberate, as though he was placing himself further and further into your world, making himself indispensable.

You stood frozen, your eyes wide and heart heavy with a mixture of longing and something darker—an obsession of your own that mirrored his.

You blinked at Sol’s grumpy face, his pout so endearing it nearly made you want to melt. He crossed his arms in that way that made him look both cute and frustratingly determined. “Alright, fine, I’ll cook for you.”

He still looked a little upset, but his eyes softened slightly when you said it. “Okay,” he mumbled, a slight pout still lingering on his lips. You smiled inwardly at how adorable he was when he tried to act tough, especially for you.

You both moved toward the kitchen, and you asked softly, “Anything you like? I can make whatever you want…”

Sol thought for a moment, his eyes flicking away, as if he were deliberating. Then, with a whisper barely audible, he said, “As long as it’s from you, Y/n…”

Your heart skipped a beat. His words were a quiet confession wrapped in a thread of possessiveness that sent a thrill through you. As long as it’s from me, he wanted nothing more than something made by your hands. The thought of him depending on you, wanting you in this way, made the dark thoughts swirl in your mind.

You felt the weight of the moment, suddenly aware of the kitchen, of what you were about to do. You hadn’t cooked for anyone before. Your mind raced as you stood in front of the sink. What the hell am I doing?

You were never the type to entertain guests. You were just a lonely little thing, someone who spent their time sketching, daydreaming, and obsessing over people like Sol. Did he really want this? Did he really want me to cook for him?

You felt the panic rising in your chest, but before you could overthink it any further, Sol stood up from the table, his movements casual but with a focused intensity. He began inspecting the cupboards, muttering under his breath.

“Your cupboards are pretty empty,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of concern. “No groceries?”

You shrugged slightly, not wanting to go into details. No groceries… no one to buy them for. “I’ve been busy,” you said, your voice trailing off. You didn’t mention how you had been busy sketching his face, obsessing over him, imagining every detail of his being.

Sol gave you a questioning glance, but then he let it slide. His eyes scanned the shelves again, and then his gaze softened when he reached for something in the back.

“Not completely empty,” he said with a small, amused smile. He pulled out a box of curry powder and handed it to you. “Here. You can use this.”

Your heart fluttered, but it wasn’t just the fact that he had given you something to cook with—it was that he knew you hide that curry where exactly.

IM so sorry for dividing this next part will be last!

also, yes if it’s not clear by now, Reader only likes his obsession on them than himself </3 i guess the talk abt crowe already made it clear

[nicawlette]

At this point in their relationship, it's not as though she expects him to simply brush her off, but he's always been a little clumsy with things like this; sometimes frustrating, other times hurtful, but usually endearing, Wang Yi's slow, yet steady, progress towards discovering his own ability to feel and recognize emotion is one she prides herself on helping encourage.

Still, to be pulled into his arms so quickly is a surprise. The warmth of his cheek, heat trapped between their bodies and voice murmuring soft words directly to her ear saps all the tension from her rigid shoulders. Nicolette seems to melt into him without a fight, eyes falling closed as she tucks her face into the curve of his neck. As he speaks, the vibrations lull her into a comforting sense of safety.

It feels so nice to be held like this, as if something cherished and beloved.

He squeezes her tighter, and she raises her arms to hold him back. Fingers press into his clothed back before clutching into the fabric like they're afraid he'll slip away. Wang Yi manages to say all the right things. Surely he can feel the smile forming as she breathes out a long, relieved sigh. ❝ You really mean it? ❞

The smile grows, brushing the question against his skin. ❝ The sounds perfect, ❞ she whispers, rewarding him with a single press of her lips to his throat. ❝ It doesn't matter if he doesn't want you there— I do, and I always get what I want. You could never get between anything, when I want you by my side. ❞ If anything, she trusted that Break would prioritize her happiness over his grudges.

❝ And Sao Ling is always welcome— I'll bribe him with treats to keep his claws in check. I'll spoil him. I'll spoil you both rotten, but especially you. ❞ Nicolette expresses her satisfaction by pressing herself against him completely, peppering the expanse of his neck and jaw with audible, quick fluttering kisses.

His guilt is misplaced, for he only missed the signs she intentionally kept hidden, but it warms her heart all the same. It had been her own foolish cowardice and pride that kept her silent, but she sees now how unnecessary it had been to fear the fragility of her place in his heart. ❝ Thank you, Wang Yi, for hearing me. I like you so much. ❞ I might even love you.

Growing up, Wang Yi had studied his share of psychology books and classmates just to learn how to fit in. Imitating them had been a part of life until he could echo their expressions and tone perfectly. Sometimes he fancied he actually felt what they were feeling. After all, his body was human. It breathed like them, spoke like them, and he had eyes that were capable of tears.

He calls upon all of his experiences now to decipher what he's feeling at this moment: cold one second, hot the next. Nicolette is standing in front of him and baring her heart out, and Wang Yi recognizes that she's telling him that she's lonely.

What was loneliness?

Solitude without peace, a beginning without an end. A hole in your heart, he thinks, so that even when it's beating, a piece of its warmth is still missing. Of course he knew that Break and Zhilan were gone too, but his sensations were duller, more muffled. He and Nicolette were still living well, he assumed, so the best thing was to continue like they always had.

I thought you were doing fine, he thinks guiltily, brows furrowing. She had smiled and teased as always—but of course. Asking him to sleep over, inviting him to stay.

He's stupid for not getting the memo until she tells him outright.

"You know..." Wang Yi leans in. Nicolette is staring at her shoes, so he just rests his cheek against the side of her face while pulling her closer to him. "Anywhere I go, Sao Ling's coming along too. If he scratches up the furniture and Break comes back, I'm counting on you to defend me, yeah?"

He tosses that out to lighten the mood, but his next words are quieter, murmured right by her ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"All this time you were in the mansion I was thinking, 'Nicolette's living like a queen by now, she can sleep in a different room every night.' The fact that the house is still there after Break left—I figured it was his gift to you and Zhilan. You guys are close in your own way, so I didn't want to get between that."

He's used to being the odd one out, an extra that doesn't quite fit in. Even if he tries, something inevitably sours—so it'd been him in the condo and them in the mansion, and everything had been fine.

"I'm pretty sure the guy doesn't want me there, but," his hold on her tightens, and a low laugh interrupts his next time. "if you invite me as a permanent houseguest, then I'll stick around until he kicks me out himself. I'll pester you everyday and pay my rent with the cooking and cleaning...sounds good?"

[julijbee]

don't you recognize me? don't you see yourself in my face?

[todayisafridaynight]

Dude ur cosplays are genuinely so good 😭. I don't think I could cosplay anyone from RGG because I look too fem for it, but you're killing it!

AW thanks fam that means a lot :']] tbh if you really want to cosplay a character, you should go for it! even if you dont plan to go anywhere or do anything crazy, even just putting on the outfits is pretty fun :]