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fxstpace · 4 months ago

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nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, developing relationship au, rivals to lovers au, pining, kind of suggestive? idk ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ warnings: profanity, making out ⇢ a/n: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. reposted from my old account.

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath.

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea.

Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Mingyu smiles widely.

23rd June Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons.

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over.

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted.

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Mingyu.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and

Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze.

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek.

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug. Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw.

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Mingyu,” you say, breathless.

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?”

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders.

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.

Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping.

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

#mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x you #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt x you #seventeen #kim mingyu #mingyu

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gojofile · 8 days ago

Text

nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

⇢ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, developing relationship, former rivals to lovers, kind of suggestive, making out, profanity, posted as a mingyu fic on my main account but i want an excuse to post pining gojo on my birthday :) ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ note: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’ diary. thanks for reading!

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Gojo Satoru is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

Satoru stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath.

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Satoru thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Wincing at the close call, Satoru glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea.

Satoru shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Satoru lets his tense shoulders relax.

But.

12th June

I fucking hate Gojo Satoru. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Satoru’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June

Ran into G.S again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Satoru actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June

G.S is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Satoru smiles widely.

23rd June

Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Gojo Satoru is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Gojo Satoru is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Satoru found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons.

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Satoru closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

Satisfied with his deduction, Satoru stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over.

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Satoru says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Satoru keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted.

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Satoru fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Satoru reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Satoru drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Satoru.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Satoru places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Gojo Satoru and

Satoru stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze.

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Satoru says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek.

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Satoru trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Satoru’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Satoru swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Satoru.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Satoru’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

“Satoru,” you say, breathless.

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Satoru smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

“Pfft,” Satoru says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

Briefly pulling away, Satoru sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Satoru stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Satoru lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?”

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Satoru, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Satoru wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Satoru’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Satoru says mischievously.

Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Satoru really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping.

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Satoru notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #satoru x reader #satoru fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x you #gojo satoru

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mutshippingcustomsus · 2 years ago

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Mut Shipping Customs

At MUT Shipping Customs we create custom embroidery that people love! We believe in quality work that makes people's heads turn. We are recent college graduates that wanted to work together and start a small business bringing you embroidered items that are personal and mean something to you, your business, and your loved ones. We are grateful for your business and cherish the bond with our customers.

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#Mut Shipping Customs #Los Angeles #Embroidery #Screen Printing #Embossing #Heat Transfers #Laser Engraving #Branded Company Gear #Custom Promotional Products

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genderlessghoul · 2 months ago

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Okay TOO MANY OF Y'ALL MF'S SAID IN THE TAGS OF MY PREQUELLE RAIN POST THAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THERE'S GRUCIFIXES ON THE TAILCOATS. THE FUCK YOU MWAN, YOU DIDN'T KNOW?!

I RAISED Y'ALL BETTER THAN THIS!!!

So for your viewing pleasure (and my own sanity) here's even more pics of the Prequelle tailcoats!

I spent a lot of time staring at that middle piece, because of course I have, and I came to the conclusion that the grucifix are not embroidery. I think the pattern is embossed on the fabric in a process that involves heating the negative space to burn the pattern into place. Assuming this is synthetic suede, like the rest of the coat, it would explain why that middle panel is so shiny compared to the rest of it. Also I cannot find a picture where I can see even just a single loose thread, which would be bound to happen over time if this was embroidered.

I really like that first picture cuz you can see the real buttons under the fake ones :3

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #meerkat talks about ghost costumes #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #aether ghoul

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gia-d · 5 months ago

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Back in October last year, I started reading This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja.

By the time I had made it to chapter 5, I had already started typesetting this story as I read because I knew this would be one of those stories that I needed to have on my shelf.

When I finally caught up to the story at chapter 31, I begged the author to let me bind this when it was finished.

Nearly a year later, and what is probably the most important bind of my life is finally finished. Check out these glamour shots, and if you want to hear more about the actual binding process and about how this fic actually changed my life, see below.

So funny story, before I get into the technical side of this bind, but this fic actually changed my life. Not as in I was greatly emotionally moved by the story, though don't get me wrong I absolutely was, but genuinely this fic introduced me to some of the best people I have ever had to privilege of knowing (Hello Class, you know who you are 🩷), and also, it introduced me to Freyja, the incredibly talented author, who, as I type this, is curled up in bed next to me fast asleep after flying half way around the world to go on a two week long date with me.

Moral of the story folks is comment on the fics you like. You might accidentally meet the love of your life on, and I can't believe I'm saying this, AO3.

Anyways, about the bind!

This bind was a challenge from day 1. I had to do the typeset for this 300k word fic 4 times, and had to split it across 2 volumes. This was the longest fic I have ever attempted to bind, and it was so thick I couldn't get it in the paper trimmer.

To make this book as durable as possible, I attempted a few techniques. I secured it with 3 tapes, I made an Oxford hollow, I rounded the spine, I made a slipcase and I used 2.3mm boards where normally I use 1.8mm.

The slipcase is covered with embossed faux leather, buckram and plain ribbon, and lined with gold satin fabric. I've never made a slipcase before so this was an experience.

The books are covered with an emerald green silk finish bookcloth which really gave the books the luxury they deserved. I foiled custom end papers as well as every chapter title page using heat reactive transfer foil on toner ink (never again I am never doing that again omg it took days). Huge thank you to @la-sera for letting me use her artwork which helped inspire this fic!

The grey flashback chapters I had to use HTV for the border decoration and I'm very happy with how that turned out because it was so easy and straight forward, unfortunately it just wasn't viable for the whole book.

It feels weird to finally have these books done. They have my blood, sweat, tears and my heart poured into them, and I've been working on them for so long that it's odd to actually have them finished. I'm so proud of this bind, and feel like I've grown so much as a fanbinder by making these.

Anyways, if anyone has any questions about the process, please don't hesitate to ask!

(and if you are an Linked Universe fan and haven't read Adjuration yet, this is your sign!)

#linked universe #bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #this is an adjuration #my binds #ivyring bookbinding #hi freyja!

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hyorijie · 3 days ago

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Sorry, I fucked your wife. | Alastor x Reader

Warnings Infidelity, reader is married to a sinner on the rise , before Alastor's disappearance, P in v, Obscenity, overstimulation, Alastor is an idiot, sexual tension, possessiveness, Breeding kink, aftercare, Your husband and Alastor are friends (not for long). Summary Alastor has always been a demon of umpredictable whims, but this time... his interest has gone too far. A beautiful doe has completely captured his attention, there´s just one small catch: She´s married. Of corse, that would be a problem... if Alastor cared...

In the comfort of your home, you glided swiftly over the drink bar, most of the time you didn't drink, but right now the situation warranted it. Your husband had been gone for days and the loneliness consumed you like a slow and cruel disease.

The faint sound of music in the background relaxed your tense muscles a little, a sigh left your lips as you stroked one of your shoulders with the intention of releasing the accumulated tension.

Again you took a sip from the glass, the drink pierced your throat with a warm welcoming burn. Again, you were feeling hot, something very normal from wine.

Your gaze immediately went to the table, where rested that mysterious envelope that your husband had left on his desk, why had he left it that way?

You put the wine glass aside and the base of the glass clinked against the surface.

You walked a little disorientedly to the envelope, you saw that it was open. Curiously you reached out your hand gently until you reached the envelope, your fingers checked the embossing, while your eyes scanned the scarlet seal that stood out against the paper.

Before you could fully recognize the seal it bore, the sound of the door being knocked made you jump in place and let go of the envelope. The paper fell onto the desk and one of your hands went to your chest.

— Shit, who the fuck is that? — You growl to yourself squinting your eyes, cursing under your breath at whoever is behind the door.

With obvious annoyance, you walk towards the door, the moment you opened it, the heat seemed to shoot through your body from surprise.

— Greetings, my dear! May I have an audience with your husband at this time? — The voice that came from him was tainted with too much static, Alastor, your husband's partner was standing in front of you with a wide grin that almost forced you to return it.

You looked him up and down, hoping he wasn't real at this precise moment. But one of his eyebrows rose curiously.

You pulled yourself together immediately shaking your head.

— I'm afraid he won't be able to attend to the request, he's out.— you answered with a superhuman effort, praying to any deity that your voice wouldn't be slurred or cut off by the effect of the drink.

You took a discreet breath, trying to hold your ground as you watched Alastor, who was still smiling with that sly expression that got on your nerves.

— As I told you, he's not here. You'd better come back another time. — you repeated with a slight nod, hoping he'd take the hint and turn around.

But instead, the demon cocked his head to one side and let out a short chuckle, as if you had just told him a charming joke. Before you could react, he took a step forward and, with overflowing confidence, crossed the threshold of your house without waiting for an invitation.

— Oh, my dear, how inconsiderate it would be of me to make you spend the night alone in this storm out there. — he said in a falsely mournful tone.

You looked over your shoulder and, to your misfortune, the sky was still overflowing with disaster. You pursed your lips, holding back the urge to yell at him to get out immediately. However, Alastor was your husband's partner, and the last thing you wanted was to create unnecessary trouble.

With a restrained sigh, you closed the door behind him, turning around with your arms crossed.

— May I ask why you are still here if you already know my husband is not here? — you ask in a dry tone.

Alastor had already settled into one of the lounge seats, as casually as a cat would take over someone else's house. His eyes, lively and attentive, lingered on the glass of wine on the table.

— Well, let's just say I couldn't miss the opportunity to chat with you. After all, we're hardly ever alone. —he replied with a playful air. Then he narrowed his eyes with a spark of amusement.— Although… I dare say it's not the best night for a serious conversation.

A shiver of embarrassment ran down your spine.

— Don't imply nonsense. — you said quickly, in a tone that was meant to be firm, but sounded more like a weak defense.

Alastor let out a light laugh and leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee.

— Oh, honey, don't take this the wrong way. We all have days like that. And if you're going to drink, what better than to do it in good company. — he said with his wide, impertinent grin.— Although, if I'm honest, I'm more of a whiskey man… but I wouldn't turn down a glass of wine if you'd be so kind as to share.

You pursed your lips, trying not to show your frustration. The last thing you wanted was to prolong his stay, but you couldn't be dismissive of someone so close to your husband either.

Resigned, you took the bottle and poured one more glass, pushing it to him with a light tap on the table.

—Here it is.

Alastor took it gracefully and raised it slightly in your direction.

— Here's to an interesting evening. — he gleamed with a glint of mischief in his eyes before lifting the wine to his lips.

You just watched, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell this Overlord was still doing in your house.

The bottle of wine was nearly empty.

You didn't know exactly at what point you stopped wishing Alastor would leave. Perhaps it was after the third glass, when the conversation stopped feeling invasive and began to feel… intriguing.

He spoke with a magnetic eloquence, with the ease of someone who had seen and understood more than he would ever admit. And you, with the warmth of the wine in your system, found yourself increasingly caught up in his words.

— It's amazing how little humans understand about true ancient magic.— Alastor commented, twirling his glass between his fingers with an almost lazy air.— Always wanting to pigeonhole it into books, rituals, symbols… but magic is not something that is locked into written rules. It's a living art, a contract between the one who invokes it and the one who responds.

Your eyes sparkled with interest. You had been trying for months to decipher certain fragments of forgotten spells, but the lack of results had begun to frustrate you.

— So, according to you, the key is not in the exact words, but in the intention behind them. — you said, leaning slightly towards him without realizing it.

Alastor looked you in the eye, as if amused to see you so absorbed.

— Exactly, my dear. It's like a conversation… only with entities that may or may not be in the mood to listen to you.

You let out a short, somewhat carefree laugh.

—And what do you suggest? That I sweeten their ears?

— Oh, some require it. Others, on the other hand, prefer a demonstration of power.— he shrugged.— But everyone, without exception, responds better to someone who knows what they want.

That last sentence left a chill on your skin, though you didn't know if it was because of his words or the way his eyes bore into yours with that brazen intensity.

You ignored him, or at least tried to, taking another sip from your glass.

— You speak as if you know from experience.

— Let's say I've had my encounters with the forbidden.— your tone became lower, more intimate. — But, my dear… What exactly do you want most?

Something about his question made you flinch. Not in the literal sense of magic, but in what he was suggesting with his velvety voice and indecipherable smile.

You tried to deflect the conversation, but then he changed the subject as lightly as he was moving his glass.

— Your husband has been gone quite a while, hasn't he?

You didn't expect that turn of phrase.

— What's that got to do with it?

— Nothing in particular… just that it must be difficult. — he cocked his head, looking at you with mock innocence.— Such a big home, so much silence. I'm surprised you haven't gone crazy with loneliness.

You pursed your lips, unwilling to acknowledge that he was right. Instead, you snorted with a sarcastic smile.

— You'd be surprised how well I get along with myself.

Alastor let out a laugh, one that rocked you without you expecting it.

— Oh, I'm sure you can entertain yourself very well, my dear. But even your own company can become… unsatisfying over time.

You choked slightly on the wine - had he meant it that way, or were you beginning to read too much into his words and that had another meaning?

You looked away, trying to concentrate on the bottle. It was almost empty, and in your head the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer.

But then something caught your attention.

Alastor was still perfectly composed. While you felt the heaviness in your eyelids, the slight tingle on your skin, he didn't seem the least bit affected.

You frowned.

— It hasn't had any effect on you at all, has it?

He blinked, feigning surprise.

— Me? Ah, my dear, wine doesn't have much impact on me. Not like it does on you.

He pointed to your empty glass with a lopsided smile, and you suddenly realized how vulnerable you might seem at that moment.

Your body was relaxed, maybe too relaxed. Your judgment, perhaps a little numb.

And Alastor, with his bright gaze and smirk, seemed fully aware of it.

Alastor set his glass down on the table with a casual motion, but his eyes never left you.

— It must be difficult.— he said, picking up the conversation as if he had never changed the subject.— Your husband, with all his ambition… making ever greater strides up the hierarchy of Hell.

You straightened up in your seat, leaning your elbows on the table as if that would help you keep your composure.

— It's what he always wanted.— you replied, trying to make your voice sound firm.

— Mmm, no doubt.— Alastor tilted his head, his smile barely perceptible. — He has determination. Firm convictions. He knows what he wants and will do what it takes to get it.

Anyone else would have taken those words as flattery. But you notice the tension in his voice.

You watch him more closely.

The way his lips seemed to twist slightly, as if he was pronouncing the words with more effort than necessary. If you knew him well, you would have said he was having trouble admitting it.

— He's loyal. — he added after a brief pause.— A valuable colleague.

You looked at him carefully.

— Yes… he's always been like that.— You smiled, a tinge of nostalgia in your voice. — He was a man of principle even when we were alive. He wasn't always this calculating strategist you know. He used to be… different.

— Different? — Alastor raised an eyebrow curiously.

— More… human. — you said, almost without thinking. — Passionate, but not just about power. He used to laugh more, used to care more about the little things. It wasn't just ambition. There was much more love in him.

Alastor let out a short, almost inaudible laugh. But something in his eyes darkened.

And then, without warning, he asked.

— Do you really love him?

The air left your lungs.

Alastor slowly sat up, setting his glass down on the table gently, as if the conversation wasn't about to cross a dangerous line. He took a couple of steps toward you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze locked on yours.

— After all this time… after all he's changed… do you still love him? — he insisted, his voice lower, more enveloping.

You opened your mouth, but the words got stuck in your chest. You didn't expect that question. You didn't expect him to ask it that way.

Your heart was pounding, you no longer knew whether from the wine or from Alastor's closeness.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

But you… you weren't sure what it was.

The silence that followed his question was dense, suffocating. But the burn of the wine in your system gave you enough courage to frown, feigning indignation, even as a part of you was still trying to process what you'd just heard.

— What kind of question is that? — you let out with a dry laugh, as if the very idea was ridiculous.— Of course I love him.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his expression barely changed, but his smile… faltered. Just for an instant.

— Yes? — He said in an almost casual tone. — Because you don't seem very convinced.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he tilted his head thoughtfully and continued in his usual silky voice.

— But now that you say it… I find it interesting. You say you love him, but when you talk about him, you mean how he used to be. Not how he is now.

Discomfort settled in your chest.

— That has nothing to do with it. — you quickly rebutted.

— No? — Alastor let out a small laugh, not taking his eyes off you.— I'd say it does. I'd say what you're feeling isn't love, my dear… it's nostalgia. Habit.

The way he said it, so confidently, as if he knew it better than you did, made you boil inside.

— And what the hell do you know about me? About my marriage? — you shot back harshly, standing up with a sharp movement.

Alastor didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, as if evaluating every detail of your reaction.

And then, without warning, he moved one hand fluidly, sliding it down your side until it rested on your waist.

The contact was an unexpected jolt of electricity. Not just because of the boldness, but because of the ease with which he did it. As if he had always had the right.

You gasped in surprise, your muscles tensing, but before you could react, Alastor applied firm pressure and pulled you to him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

For the first time all night, you looked directly into his eyes.

And what you saw made something inside you curl into a dangerous mix of fear and anticipation.

Hunger.

Desire.

Possession.

A look you hadn't felt on you in a long time.

Your pulse hammered against your neck, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But Alastor didn't move, just held your waist securely, leaning in just barely, as if waiting, as if savoring the moment.

— Tell me I was wrong. — he whispered, his voice vibrating in the air between you.— Say it's not homesickness you feel.

His closeness burned you. His presence filled everything.

But worst of all…you didn't know how to respond.

The air felt thicker, charged with something you weren't sure you wanted to name.

Your throat went dry, and when you tried to respond, your words came out slow, hesitant, as if each syllable would need to be precisely measured to avoid crossing a dangerous line.

— I… that has nothing to do…— you began, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

But Alastor wouldn't let you continue.

— When was the last time? — His voice dropped to a low, velvety tone, vibrant with that characteristic static of his. — The last time you felt loved. That you felt wanted.

His grip on your waist remained firm, a pressure intense enough to remind you that you were trapped in his orbit.

— When was the last time you experienced something real? Something that would make you feel alive?

You gasped, not only at his words, but because his voice reverberated through the air, sending a shiver down your spine.

No. You couldn't let it go on.

With both arms outstretched, you levered against his chest, trying to push him away from you. But it was like pushing against an immovable wall.

Alastor didn't even flinch.

Your frustration grew, and with it, anger.

— That doesn't concern you! — You snapped, glaring at him angrily.— Who the hell do you think you are to interrogate me like that? Your insolence is colossal!

But he just smiled.

Worse… he began to walk slowly forward.

And you, with no other choice, started backing away.

— You're not telling me because you don't even remember the answer, are you? — He continued, his every word pushing you further and further back.— Because you've spent so much time convincing yourself that you love a ghost from the past, you haven't even stopped to think about how you feel now.

— Stop it! — you demanded, but he didn't stop.

— Tell me… do you really think he still looks at you the way I do now?

His tone was a direct hit to your chest.

And then you felt it. The bar counter crashed against your back.

There was no more room to back up.

Alastor leaned in slightly, just enough so that his face was mere inches from yours, his smile now sharper.

— You know the answer. — he whispered, his fingers barely gliding over the fabric of your clothes, causing your skin to tingle again.— You just don't want to admit it.

Your breathing quickened. Your mind screamed a warning, but your body refused to move.

Because for the first time in a long time… you felt something you couldn't ignore.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing you tried unsuccessfully to regulate.

But you couldn't let him be in control. You couldn't let Alastor think he could push you wherever he wanted.

So you inhaled deeply and let the question slip out in a sharp, direct, blunt tone.

— Since when? — You blurted out suddenly.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile barely twitching, but the spark of interest in his eyes flared brighter.

— Since when, my dear?

You looked at him sternly, your back still pressed against the bar counter.

— Since when did you have me in your sights. Since when did you plan all this. Since when did I become an object of desire for the radio demon himself.

For a moment, his smile widened in a way that made you feel as if you had fallen into his trap without realizing it.

— Clever. — He murmured, his voice vibrating with dangerous satisfaction. — Of course, it wasn't hard for you to notice.

Before you could move, his hand slid with precision to your chin, grasping it firmly and forcing you to look directly at him.

His touch was not rough, but relentless.

— The truth… I don't know for sure.— he admitted, his tone lower, more enveloping.— But I do know one thing…

His thumb glided barely over your skin, an almost imperceptible brush, but calculated enough to make you hold your breath.

— Your husband is a hindrance in the equation.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

— A hindrance that has prevented me from coming directly to you as I have wanted so much. — he added with a softness that was in dangerous contrast to the meaning of the word.

A shiver ran down your spine. The seriousness with which he said it, the certainty with which he admitted it… took your breath away.

Nerves exploded in your chest, and the heat of the wine in your system did nothing to help you keep your composure. But you refused to give in.

You growled in obvious disagreement, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

— We may be in Hell. — you spat, holding his gaze.— but I refuse to give in so easily.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, but did not loosen his grip.

— I don't care what you feel. — you continued, in a tone you meant to sound cold, but which barely managed to mask the tremor in your voice. — I never cheated on my husband in life, and I will not do so in death.

For an instant, Alastor's face remained neutral.

But then you saw it.

A barely perceptible twitch in his eyelid, a shadow crossing his red eyes.

And then, his smile returned.

Only this time, it was tighter. Darker.

His grip on your chin intensified slightly, tilting his face just enough to make his every word feel more dangerous.

— You can say what you want, my dear… but we both know the truth.

— And what would that be, exactly? — you muttered through gritted teeth.

Alastor let out a small chuckle before whispering.

— You always look at me with a different gaze, perhaps, to other people's eyes it may seem like simple disdain… but to me…

Your body tensed.

— And that look was a gift from before I knew I would be your husband's colleague… from before I knew who you really were.

The air in the room became unbreathable.

Because his words were not an assumption.

They were a statement.

One that, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, was eating you up inside.

The air became thick as your mind was swept away without your permission, like a violent current of memories that had been buried until now.

A year ago actually.

You had barely been in Hell for a few months. Everything was an incessant chaos, a spiral of violence and decadence in which anyone could get lost. But you… you were living well.

Your husband had moved fast, establishing connections with powerful figures, making sure they lacked for nothing. And, indeed, nothing was lacking.

Except excitement.

Boredom had slowly begun to choke you. Even though you were in Hell, a place of chaos and madness, the routine had begun to devour you.

So you made an impulsive decision.

For the first time, you went out without your husband's company.

And you ended up in Cannibal Town.

It was as enchanting as it was dangerous. If you ignored the scenes of sinners being eaten alive in some corners, it had a certain intriguing air.

But something else caught your attention.

An enthusiastic murmur arose from a group of women with dark eyes and sharp smiles. They all seemed to be looking in the same direction, their red-painted mouths forming words of admiration and affable greetings.

Unable to help yourself, you follow their gazes.

A demon unlike any you had encountered before. Elegant, impeccable, with that presence impossible to ignore.

He was not a predator in appearance, but there was something about his appearance that made him more lethal than any of the beasts that prowled Hell.

Your eyes widened with surprise, and your heart….

It sped up.

You stood watching him without noticing the time passing, completely caught up in his image.

Until he turned around.

His bright eyes, red as fire, stared straight into yours.

They pierced through you.

As if they had been searching for you.

The air left your lungs in an instant, and an inexplicable nervousness came over you.

You looked away suddenly.

And without thinking, you fled from there.

Your memories scattered and again you forced yourself back to reality.

Your breathing was erratic.

You remembered him.

You had known him before your husband made any alliance with him.

And when your eyes returned to Alastor's, you found something worse than a smirk.

He was nodding. As if he had read your thoughts.

— That's right, my dear…— he whispered with dangerous delight. — From that moment… we both felt that spark, didn't we?

Your throat went dry.

— No…— You tried to deny, but the word came out choked.

Alastor tilted his head, enjoying your internal struggle.

— No, what? — he asked softly, as if he really wanted you to elaborate.

You drew in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to compose yourself.

— It was nothing. It didn't mean anything.

Alastor's smile widened.

— Oh… are you trying to convince me or yourself? — his tone was a venomous whisper, dragging you deeper and deeper into a game you had everything to lose.

— You ran away that time.— he continued, his grip on your chin loosening just enough for you to speak.— But… haven't you ever really wondered why?

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Because the truth was devastating.

Yes, you had thought about it. You had felt something that day. Something you were terrified to accept in the present.

Inside you, the battle was merciless.

Denial.

You clung to it tooth and nail, looking for any excuse, any justification for what had made sense that day.

Intrigue.

That was it. Simple curiosity in the face of someone who seemed different.

Stupidity.

Yes, a passing foolishness. A moment of weakness in a new, chaotic world in which you were still learning your way around.

But not love.

No desire.

No… that.

But the more you dug into the memories, the more the barriers you had so painstakingly erected fell away.

You remembered how you spent weeks in a state of uncertainty, with anticipation growing in your chest every time you went out, hoping - without daring to admit it - to find again.

And there, in the bitterest depths of your soul, the truth waited patiently for you to accept it.

But not here .

Not in front of it.

Fury flared in your gut and, with a spark of courage, you summoned all your strength and pushed him with both hands.

The move wasn't enough to send him away, but it did send him staggering back a few inches.

You, on the other hand, crashed backwards against the bar, feeling the edge dig into your skin.

The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp as your hands shook at your sides.

— Go away. — The words came out harsh, laden with a panic you didn't want to show.— I will not do this to my husband.

Alastor remained in place, watching you with an intensity that made you feel naked, exposed.

But he doesn't move.

— Forget this whole damn circus and get out.

Your voice echoed in the room, but instead of an immediate response, there was a silence.

A different one.

One that didn't belong to Alastor.

It was in your own chest that you felt it first: a tremor.

Not in your hands, not in your legs.

In your heart.

And when you looked up again, you noticed it.

For the first time, Alastor wasn't smiling completely.

There was something subtle in his expression, something imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him.

But you saw it.

His refusal to accept your rejection.And then, without warning, he advanced with a single long stride.

You gasped for air.

His shadow covered you, and the distance between you shrunk to almost nothing.

It was then that he asked the unimaginable .

—Just one kiss.

Your eyes widened.

— What? — Disbelief cracked your voice. Alastor looked down at you, his eyes glowing like burning embers.

— A lasting kiss. A real one.

Your body tensed.

— And if we feel nothing…— he continued with a dangerous softness, — if this has all been an illusion, a foolishness… I will leave you alone.

His voice dropped a tone lower, like a promise.

— But if we get carried away….

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

The implication hit you like a punch in the chest.

— You're insane — you whispered, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Alastor smiling, but not mockingly.

— Maybe.

You instinctively took a step back, but the bar was still there, preventing you from escaping.

Refusing was the only option.

But before you could open your mouth to refuse, you felt the touch of your hands.

Not on your face.

Not on your waist.

On your hands.

His fingers intertwined with yours in an unexpectedly delicate grip, and when you looked up, his eyes caught you completely.

There was no longer arrogance in them.

There was something else, something devastating, something you never expected to see in him.

Supplication.

The radio demon, with all his power, with all his overpowering presence, was begging you.

Without words, with his eyes, with his touch.

Your heart gave a brutal flip in your chest.

— Yes… —The word escaped your lips in a barely audible whisper, so fragile you could almost convince yourself you hadn't uttered it.

But Alastor heard it, and that was enough.

Alastor did not rush. He did not advance with the abruptness of one who takes what he desires without waiting for permission.

No.

He approached with exasperating slowness, measuring every inch he reduced between you, giving you the opportunity to flee.

But you don't move.

Don't look away from his gaze, even if the anticipation made you gasp, even if the air around you seemed thicker, suffocating.

Alastor noticed it all, your tense jaw, the slight quiver of your eyelashes, the sway of your chest as the air caught in your throat.

But you don't back down. And that sold your fate.

His hand rose parsimoniously, and the pad of his thumb brushed your lower lip with almost reverential gentleness.

The caress was light, barely a brush, but a violent shiver ran through you. You did nothing when his finger slowly probed it, as if he wanted to memorize its texture, its shape.

You did nothing when he pushed off it with a playful touch, just a slight tug that sent a tingle straight to your stomach.

And when he tilted his face and pressed a kiss against your lower lip, as delicate as a whisper… You closed your eyes.

Praying to whatever divine force that it would end there. That you didn't feel anything.

Because if you did…

If you really did…

You were going to end up in his arms.

But the universe was cruel, because the void he left when he turned away hurt you more than it should have.

You didn't have time to analyze it, because Alastor leaned in again. And this time, there were no distractions.

This time, he really kissed you.

It was soft, leisurely, almost lazy, as if he savored every second his lips moved over yours.

As if he was drinking in something long longed for.

Your fingers clung to the edges of the bar behind you, searching for something to anchor you to.

But when the kiss became firmer, when the heat of his mouth became an irrefutable reality, an instinct stronger than your reasoning took over.

You let go of the bar and, without realizing it, your fingers became entangled in his sack.

It was a minimal, almost insignificant action. But to Alastor, it was the equivalent of a match lighting a forest fire. Because the need exploded in his chest.

And the containment crumbled.

His hands slid to your neck, catching it firmly, and the gentleness of the kiss became something much more ravenous.

You opened your eyes, startled, trying to pull back, to speak, to do something.

But Alastor took advantage of the opening, sinking deeper, and his tongue slipped inside your mouth without warning. A choked moan formed in your throat, drowned out amidst the mess that was now the kiss.

There was no control.

There was no caution.

Only the sound of ragged breaths, soft gasps and the static electricity emanating from your skin.

A tingle ran through your entire body as his hands left your neck to wrap around your waist, drawing you hopelessly to him.

And you…

You didn't stop him.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. Because your arms found their way to his shoulders and you clung to him with the same desperation with which he was devouring you.

As if your life depended on it.

And worst of all… It's that at that moment, you felt like he really did.

The only thing that mattered at that moment was the heat.

The burning that spread through every corner of your body, every nook and cranny of your being, as the wet sounds of both lips colliding echoed through the air with an obsessive cadence. For him, those discordant notes were a heavenly melody, a symphony of desires fulfilled and temptations realized. But to you…

To you they were the sounds of decay, of the abandonment of everything you once thought you could be. They were obscene, the complete opposite of any standards you once thought important. And yet, who are you to define what is right or wrong in a place like this?

He kept moving over you, parting for an instant only to take over another spot on your face.

First, a warm, wet kiss on your cheek, followed by one on your chin, then on your cheekbone, leaving a sensation that added to the volcano burning inside you. Then a kiss on your eyelid, as if he wanted to seal you somehow, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

And when he stopped on your forehead, he took you completely off guard. It was a soft, tender kiss… but the mixture of his warmth with his closeness made your legs wobble.

As soon as he could do this, he captured your lips again, leaving no room for doubt, the desperate need in his kiss burning hotter than any fire, every second consuming you insatiably.

Now, your hands didn't know where to go.

It was as if your whole body was in motion, touching what it could, clinging to what it found. Your waist. Your chest. His sack , which I had learned to want to feel in your hands. But your fingers didn't stop there, they slid down to her shoulders, running up and down her figure, searching for a stability that no longer existed.

Finally, your hands ended up in her hair, messy, intricate, and the desire to touch those deer ears, those details that only reminded you of her nature, became unbearable. You moved closer, wanting to sink your fingers there, to undo the only remnant of control left in him.

The thought of your husband… evaporated, almost as if it had never existed.

You don't think of him and you don't think of anything else either.

Because all there was at that moment was Alastor. His body, his presence, that electric tension that passed between the two of you, and the feeling that everything was so perfectly right . If you remembered nothing, if this was a new beginning, if Alastor was claiming to be the true lover in your life, you would feel that it could be true, no more questions needed to be asked.

This kiss… this was the only moment worth remembering, and the only truth you had left.

The last thing you remember, through the haze of arousal, is Alastor undressing you with delicate urgency, stripping you of every garment as if he were unveiling a work of art. And then, suddenly, you find yourself reclining on one of the leather seats, being fucked by him in such a delicious way that your moans burn your throat.

You don't know how many orgasms he has brought out of you, but you know you are overstimulated by the violent trembling in your legs and the pleasurable pain your pussy is suffering.

Your moans rise in intensity, tearing through the silence as Alastor rams you with unbridled passion. It's too much for you, that your voice shoots out with a plea.

It's a slow, exquisite torture. You feel the tip of his cock brush against your cervix, that sweet spot where all your nerves converge, and a choked cry escapes your lips. It's a pleasurable pain, an electric shock that makes you buck under his touch, feeling every cell in your body explode in an explosion of sensations.

— There? You like that, don't you? — Alastor whispers, his voice throaty and loaded with a possessiveness that makes you shudder. — You like it when I fuck you like that?

— Yes, there… M-more…— you hiss in a broken, shattered voice, tears in your eyes.

You open your eyes, your gaze lost in the haze of excitement. The world is reduced to him, to the intensity of his dark eyes and the way his body completely dominates you. Fear tries to creep into your thoughts, but pleasure is an unstoppable tide that drowns him mercilessly.

You lunge again like a madman, possessed by your own pleasure, arousal drenches you both and the smell of sex wafts through the room. And the wet sounds force you to roll your eyes back and paint them white.

Alastor, intoxicated by your surrender, watches you as he makes you his. A primal instinct overcomes him and, with a nimble movement, he shifts position. Now he takes you with abandon, with an unbridled ferocity that steals your breath.

He wants to see you cry with pleasure, to see you lose control completely. He demands it of you with words and actions, praising every moan, every spasm, every sign of your surrender. He kisses you voraciously, savoring your taste, and embraces you with a possessiveness that marks you as his own.

As he gazes at you, his eyes linger on your belly. An almost ravenous need invades him, and sharp words burst from his lips, "You're going to be the mother of my children," he exclaims in a throaty voice that runs down your spine. "You're going to be the sexiest mother in hell, sporting my seed."

And seeing that little bulge of his cock in your belly only slowly breaks the self-control he still thinks he possesses. And he grunts when he hears you moan, a long, choppy moan that seems so sweet to him.

Desire consumes him, the idea of procreating with you drives him crazy. Even though that is practically impossible in hell.

— Let me fill you. — he begs with a fervor that shakes you. — Let me sow my semen inside you and create a new life, a life that belongs only to us.

Sighs and low moans came from him as he uttered those words like a mantra, the climax approaching, so fragile you feel it inside you.

Melted and not really you, you look at him with tight eyebrows, clinging to the places of his thrusts and simply nod.

— Come… come inside me, please! — You cry out with heart-rending urgency, pleading for Alastor to bring you to the ultimate orgasm.

— Look at me, my love. — he hisses, his voice a dangerous purr, — watch me as I give you what you crave so much.

Alastor purrs, his static brushing against your skin and ruffling your hair. You, lost and sensing that at any moment you are both going to be finished, bite your lip trying to hold back the screams.

Alastor immediately notices this and leans in, a quick glance informing you what he's thinking.

— Scream… scream whatever you want, precious, just scream how good you feel, how good you take me… fuck — His voice came out raspy, demanding even.

Alastor, possessed by a perverse euphoria, grunts and gasps on you, each lunge a coup de grace against your last defenses. Your vision blurs, the world is reduced to him, to the heat, the salty taste of your own skin and the sound of your own pleas.

The climax hits you like a bolt of lightning. A torrent of heat and light bursts inside you, tearing apart any barrier that remained between you and him. You scream, a wild, primal sound, as your body contracts in uncontrollable spasms. Alastor roars over you, pouring his essence deep inside you, claiming you as his own.

When the aftershocks begin to subside, you find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath hitching, your body covered in sweat.

— You are perfect. — he whispers between gasps.

As you both recover from your climax, Alastor couldn't help but grab the back of your neck, pulling your face to his to kiss you with a hungry fervor. You accepted the kiss in response, surrendering to the passion still seething between the two of you. And as you kissed, Alastor slowly withdrew from inside you.

The contrast between the wild way he had possessed you minutes before and the gentleness with which he was now extracting his erection was mesmerizing. You gasped as you felt the emptiness in your body, a pang of longing mixed with the satisfaction of the pleasure just experienced.

Alastor contemplated the mess you were now. Your flushed face, your skin covered in sweat and your body freshly sated by his lust gave you a wonderful glow. He let out a static-laden chuckle as he watched some of his cum slide down your thigh.

With his claw, he scooped up some of the substance and looked down at you, a mischievous smile curving his lips. You blushed even more at the sight of the semen on his claw, a tangible reminder of your intimacy.

— You shouldn't feel ashamed, cherie. —Alastor exclaimed, his voice echoing softly. — After all, we have already shared a very intimate moment.

You felt a faint spark of helplessness at his comment, but it quickly vanished as Alastor lifted you into his arms, as if you were a feather.

— I'll take you to a hot bath. — he said, his voice a warm whisper in your ear.— So you can relax and recover.

The aftercare Alastor was giving you melted your defenses, weakening the resistance you were still trying to maintain. Clinging to his neck, you accepted his offer, surrendering to his charm and the need to feel his closeness.

— You're amazing. — you whispered, your voice barely audible.— I don't know what you've done to me.

Alastor smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. As he carried you in his arms, you felt everything around you fade away.

In the depths of the pentagram city, a small establishment, an uncrowded place, was the ideal location for a meeting such as the one Alastor planned to have with his most promising associate

With a cup of tea in hand, he drank it neatly, savoring each sip as if it were the elixir of his victory. The sulphur-laden air and stale tobacco lent an aura of secrecy, a perfect setting for a meeting between men of his caliber.

The tinkling of the establishment's old bell resounded, marking your husband's arrival. Always punctual, always impeccable in his gait, he advanced with the confidence of a man who knows he is well received. He did not suspect, he had no reason to.

Alastor, with his perpetually stretched smile, received him with an elegant gesture. His mood was still high, his spirits renewed after the evening he had spent with you. He still savored the echoes of your presence, the memory of your skin, the timbre of your voice entwined with his on that special night.

— Alastor! — your husband exclaimed effusively, taking a seat across from him.— What a pleasure it is to see you again.

— And mine is even greater! — the demon intoned with his usual theatricality.— I'm glad to see you're still in one piece after your little excursion. I hope it was as… exciting as you imagined.

Your husband laughed, settling in with the ease of one who has good news to share.

— Oh, it was. From start to finish. Mercenaries, small-time demons, ambushes…— your husband exclaimed enthusiastically, pausing before continuing, —Violence at every turn, as expected. But you know what? It was all worth it.

Alastor tilted his head in mock interest, gently twirling the spoon in his tea.

— Ah, Yes? , And what did you find in the midst of such an odyssey?— he asked.

Your husband leaned forward slightly, and in one measured motion, pulled out a bundle wrapped in dark velvet. He held it reverently before unfolding the cloth and revealing his most precious find: a grimoire of infernal magic, its yellowed pages exuding a latent energy, its leather cover cracked and marked with symbols forgotten by time.

Alastor looks at the relic with a lopsided smile, interlacing his fingers on the table.

— Well, well… —he mused, slurring his words in his melodic tone.— It's not every day one stumbles upon a treasure like this.

— No, not every day. — agreed your husband with palpable excitement as he turned the pages with eager fingers.— But here it is. Lost magic, forbidden spells… and one in particular that changes everything.

Alastor did not react immediately.

He simply waited, letting the other man elaborate, let him drown in his own enthusiasm.

— One of these spells guarantees a conception in hell— he declared, his eyes glowing with a feverish intensity. — A pregnancy.

The silence that followed was almost imperceptible, a minuscule space of time in which the world seemed to hold its breath.

Alastor's smile did not fade, but something in his posture changed, a subtle tension in his jaw, a slight drumming of his fingers against the table.

— Oh… what a fascinating revelation,— he murmured with his usual sweetness, gently setting his teacup aside.— And tell me… who, exactly, will be the lucky one?

Your husband laughed with genuine warmth, oblivious to the storm brewing in front of him.

— Who else could it be? My wife.

Alastor felt the air grow heavy in his throat. The timbre of his laughter did not change, nor did the sharp glint in his eyes, but inside him, fury pulsed like a chained beast, clawing, wanting to escape.

No. Not yet.

Your husband continued to talk, rambling on about his love for you, about the future he planned by your side, about the miracle that was within his grasp. His enthusiasm was blinding. He didn't see the way Alastor settled into his seat, nor how the shadow of his smile took on a dangerous tinge.

And then, with absolute calm, the demon exhaled a sentence that split the conversation in two.

— I'm sorry, my friend… but. — said Alastor, his voice smooth as velvet, riddled with a steely edge. —…I fucked your wife.

The sound of his voice, though serene, felt like a thud against the table. Your husband stopped immediately. His words died in his throat, his face paled as if the blood had left him with a single jerk.

— Pardon? — he asked, a shaky laugh seeping between his lips.— I must have heard wrong… that was a joke, wasn't it?

Alastor didn't move. His smile was still there, relaxed, serene. His crimson eyes glowed with dark satisfaction, as if he enjoyed the bewilderment of the man in front of him.

— Dear colleague. — he whispered with a bone-chilling sweetness.— Do I look like someone who jokes?

The light of the establishment flickered over both men. The silence that followed the confession was thick.

Your husband, still incredulous, searched Alastor's face for some hint of mockery, a grimace that would disprove his words. But the demon only looked at him with that lazy and enchanted smile.

— No… — your husband muttered, his voice barely a choked whisper.— It can't be…

Alastor let out a light laugh, full of amusement, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

— Oh, but it can. — he crooned with delight.— And it was.

Your husband swallowed dryly.

— When? —His voice cracked slightly. — How?

The demon narrowed his eyes, his smile curving with pride.

— Ah, you want details? — he asked, with a venomous sweetness.— It's funny… I thought certain images would be overused in your mind.

Your husband's jaw tensed, but Alastor didn't stop.

— Although, if you insist…— he continued with mock innocence, stroking the rim of his teacup.— I might say it all began with the allure of loneliness. Poor soul, abandoned by her beloved on such a perilous travel… so, so far away. What was I to do but offer her a little company?

Your husband's eyes grew wide with horror as he realized the truth.

The travel.

The damn travel.

The letter the radio demon had sent him, with a destination that promised only advantages.

It was all Alastor's idea.

All this time, the whole odyssey, all the effort to find that grimoire… it had been nothing more than a distraction.

An excuse.

For the Radio Demon to get tangled in the sheets with you.

The chair slid back with a violent creak as your husband shot to his feet, his face flushed with anger, chest heaving with erratic breathing. He pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, while his other hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white with restrained force.

— How could you…! —he bellowed, his voice rasping with fury. — How dare you betray our alliance like this! To climb into bed with my wife!

Alastor did not flinch. On the contrary, he leaned back comfortably in his seat, raising an eyebrow haughtily.

— Betray the alliance? —he muttered, his tone overflowing with condescension. — I don't know why you're so surprised. After all… she's always been mine.

Your husband's blood boiled in her veins. But Alastor was only smiling. He was smiling as if he had already won.

Alastor brought the teacup to his lips with that infuriating grace of his, but before he took a sip, he dropped one last lunge.

— ¡Ah yes!, and actually…— he paused briefly, enjoying the anticipation on your husband's congested face.— It wasn't on the bed. It was on the couch.

The silence in the room was immediate.

For an instant, there was only the subtle tinkling of china as Alastor finally set his tea down on the wood with absolute serenity.

Your husband, however, felt the last strand of his self-control tear. The vein in his forehead pulsed violently before he let out a fierce curse, his voice so powerful that some of the demons present in the small room were startled.

Murmurs began to run through the patrons, some watching with morbid interest, others feigning indifference as their ears pricked up to catch every word.

— You damned bastard! — your husband spat, his chest rising and falling with furious breaths.

Your husband pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, his other hand clenched into a fist that rose as if at any moment he was going to hurl it at the demon.

— She's my wife!— he spat, rage exuding from every word.— As much as you have taken advantage of my absence, she is still my wife!

Ah, but those words…

Something bubbled up inside him, a dense, toxic emotion that began to seep into the atmosphere like a dark fog.

— Is that so? Your wife…— repeated the demon, his voice a silken whisper.

The teacup hovered in the air for a few seconds before disappearing in a distortion of static, as Alastor's silhouette began to change.

The lights of the place flickered, crackling with irregular frequency. His shadow, which until that moment had remained obedient under his feet, began to lengthen and twist, transformed into a creature with a will of its own.

Little flashes of his demonic form began to manifest themselves involuntarily: his smile, once playful, twisted into something sharper, more predatory; and his eyes, those glowing red eyes like burning spokes, crackled with barely contained rage.

— Ah… — he whispered, rising with an unsettling slowness. — No, no, dear friend….

— She… She's not yours. —he exclaimed, each syllable making the ground tremble beneath his feet.— She never was.

A flash of red and black flashed across his figure. The temperature in the place dropped sharply, and static electricity made the lights flicker with a sickly hum.

The murmuring in the room ceased. No one dared move.

And then Alastor bowed his head slightly, his smile curving into something that no longer looked human, but the ravenous grimace of a predator ready to feast.

— And now..—He uttered in a tone that was almost melodic. — I'm going to get rid of the nuisance.

Your husband barely had time to inhale before the shadows around him began to move.

The radio broadcast, transmitted from high above, echoed in every corner where Alastor's signal could reach. At first, only intermittent static could be heard, distorted like the wailing of a spectrum trapped between frequencies. Then, the screams began.

Heart-rending sounds echoed through the air, where the infamous red demon's radio broadcast was emitting a special edition.

Suffering permeated every note of that macabre symphony, and the listening demons shuddered, some with morbid pleasure, others with a visceral unease that made their skin crawl. But no one turned off the radio.

Alastor's distorted guffaws filtered into the transmission between each interval of screams, each word a mocking echo, a sadistic mockery of the fate of the wretch who had dared to defy him.

And the wretched victim had been your husband.

— What a… lovely evening, my friends! — He intoned enthusiastically, his voice buzzing with a hint of static.— Don't you think despair has such a… melodious ring to it!

More laughter. More pleading in the distant background, fainter and fainter.

Then silence, and then a click.

The program had come to an end.

In the demon's hands rested the grimoire.

His fingers ran over the ancient leather cover, feeling the dark energy emanating from the book. The mere presence of those pages, covered with infernal inscriptions, vibrated the air with a primal power, one he recognized all too well.

His red eyes glowed with keen interest. A spell of conception.

The idea was fascinating. In Hell, damned souls could not create life the way mortals could, but that book…that spell promised the impossible.

Could it be true?

Could there really be a being born of his essence, of his power?

A snap echoed in the air as he closed the grimoire with a firm movement. His fingers drummed on the cover as an smile widened with barely contained excitement.

Well…

There was only one way to find out.

And you… you would be the perfect person in his little experiment.

___________________

Oh god, I still don't forget this series of stories, misfortunes consumed my time and at last I can upload this work. I am sorry forever. T.T

#alastor x you #alastor smut #alastor the radio demon #alastor #smut #valentines day #hazbinhotel #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #the radio demon

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metalmiez · 9 months ago

Text

Ineffable Sleepy Babies

Beaming rays of sunlight, creeping their way through the gaps between the curtains, were slicing through the silent bookshop, dust dancing in the soft and simultaneously stinging light. A groan left Aziraphale’s throat as his head started to pound like a hammer that was slamming against his temple continuously. For his own confusion, he found himself hugging an empty bottle of wine. He felt that the cushion of the couch permanently embossed its crumply leather texture into his right cheek. Good Lord, he must have passed out last night. He couldn’t tell when exactly this had happened. The angel could not recall when the last time was, he was drinking that much without sobering up afterwards. As he woke up a little bit more, he froze as he felt a very unfamiliar pressure on his side and around his belly. He blinked in confusion and made a face, as he felt the warmth of another body weighting against his own. He slowly turned his head and noticed a glimpse of red hair poking out over his shoulder, a head leaned heavily against his upper arm.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so surprised about the fact that it was Crowley who was sleeping next to him – his long, slinky body draped over the shape of Aziraphale’s corporation, one of his arms wrapped around his waist, his head resting onto the angel’s arm, one leg draped over Aziraphale’s thigh.

They had been sitting next to each other last night, like they never did in the shop before. This physical closeness washed a wave of anxiety over the angel, and he sobered himself up immediately, getting rid of the hangover and the bad aftertaste of the remaining alcohol leaving his corporation. His mind cleared and thoughts were starting to race around in his head. Simultaneously, he didn’t dare to move, to not wake the demon from his slumber. Crowley’s body, in hard difference to his hands which always felt freezing when they touched Aziraphale’s in the past, was radiating a comfortable, calming warmth, seeping through the angel’s clothes like a heating blanket.

You can read further on my AO3.

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cupidologys · 2 months ago

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⸻ THE PRINCE(SS) & THE PROTECTOR [PT. 2]

pairing: zoro x reader

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: refer to the first chapter: HERE

note: this is the SECOND part of this fic: TPATP

^^please read the first part before this chapter, as it will be confusing otherwise :)

and yes this is the final part !

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

ZORO

Three months had passed along the winter winds. Spring was just behind the proverbial corner, peeking its blooming head around, awaiting the final frost’s imminent leave. For Zoro, this shift was taking far too long.

Why?

Because when the seasons changed, he would finally be able to see you again.

The message arrived last week. A letter, embossed with molten gold and folded into perfect fours, found its way onto the deck by way of carrier falcon in the early morning. It had been addressed to Luffy. For some reason, disappointment struck Zoro when the sender was revealed to be you.

He shook the strange feeling away and snatched the thick paper from Luffy’s hand to read over its contents. There was only a single sentence written on the sheet, penned in careful, familiar cursive.

Luffy jumped around, craning his neck—which was quite easy for him—to catch a glimpse of the message. “What is it? I want to see.”

Zoro ignored his captain, instead he folded the paper and carefully pocketed it.

“Well?”

A huge grin spread across Zoro’s face. “It’s time to get our crew back together.”

The Spring Solstice is approaching.

I hope to see you all there.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

The Merry docked in the sparkling harbours of a bustling metropolis. It was early morning—too early—and Zoro could feel the grogginess of a sleepless night weigh his limbs down. Despite the ungodly hour, the marina was buzzing with activity. People milled around, conversations floating seamlessly through the air. Some were setting up shop for the day—rows of all kinds of stores lined the inner docks and stretched far into the heart of the city. Others roamed about in various fashion; some were tourists and merchants, and others native citizens. No matter the purpose or the cause, everyone had the same buzzy manner to them. As if something electric was in the air, charging the atmosphere.

Zoro felt it too. That energy. That excitement. His blood thrummed with it.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting the glossy buildings and shores in rosy hues. Your native kingdom was a modernist's dream. A glowing hub of glass, electricity, and the constant momentum of new, inspired invention. The technology here was all encompassing. Neon lights lined the sides of glittering buildings—some of which occupied their own space in the sky, suspended above the first foundational skyline. The vehicles zipping around, at least what Zoro thought were vehicles, were strange, sleek models equipped with an array of digital enhancements. They could fly too.

It seemed everything here belonged more to the sky than the earth.

Twenty minutes swiftly passed, and the crew slowly filtered away, each member marching off with their own designation in mind. Luffy wandered, led by his nose, down the streets filled with food stalls. The others offhandedly mentioned their own plans and each went their separate way. They made a promise to meet up in time for dinner, which was when they’d planned on surprising you at the palace.

The invitation itself was vague, but the shiny embossment at the bottom of the paper was the royal seal, a symbol which would, at minimum, grant them an audience with the king—and subsequently you.

A familiar groan made Zoro look up as he readied his own supplies to head out.

Sanji was off in a corner conversing with one of the store owners. They were engaged in what looked to be a heated transaction of sorts where the prize seemed to be a mint-coloured fish the size of a pencil and just as slim. The cook waved his hands in exasperation as the short, stocky salesman stared up at him in defiance.

Zoro shook his head, unable to muster any enthusiasm as he left the two bickering men to their devices. Instead, he ambled away and toyed with the hilt of his swords as he did so, rolling the smooth leather against the calloused skin of his fingers in an effort to expel the frayed nerves that rolled through his veins, causing his anxiety.

The city, alive as it was, had a strange air about it. As Zoro gradually made his way through the harbour and down the smoothly paved walkways that led to the heart of the metropolitan core, it became clearer to him that something had occurred—something important.

Shops had [CLOSED] signs put up despite it being late morning, flowers of all kinds were strewn around and fashioned into careful decorations, and many wore outfits of muted colours—a sea of grey and black trickled through the nation’s paths.

It was as if the city itself was in mourning.

Zoro shut those thoughts away. Perhaps those were the trends of the time. Perhaps the flowers were a cultural custom. Perhaps he was imagining it all and the foreboding thoughts invading his mind were nothing but unwarranted paranoia.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

Miraculously, the crew congregated at the palace entrance relatively on time. Getting through the gates was surprisingly easy, and gaining an audience with the king—your father—was even easier.

The tall, imposing man greeted the crew with a wobbly smile. His hands, weathered and wrinkled with age, gripped his staff tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Something was wrong. Zoro was sure of it. Where were you?

“I did hope to meet you all under better circumstances,” he began. His brows furrowed as he worked his next words out. “[Y/N] always spoke so highly of you all.”

Zoro’s entire body tensed. Something was very very wrong.

Robin spoke up. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but what do you mean by that? Where is [Y/N]?”

The king’s expression falls. “I’m sorry… I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Zoro demanded, the thought of propriety forgoed. Anxiety bubbled up his throat like acid.

“The invitation was sent so long ago… I assumed that you received my letter regarding the news…”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The letter of…” His lips trembled. “Of passing. I am sorry. [Y/N] is gone.”

The room fell silent.

“What? What are—what do you mean?”

Luffy stared straight at the floor, still as a rock. The rest of the crew looked shell shocked.

Zoro whirled around on the older man, eyes flashing.

“Tell me!”

Despite the obvious tension rolling off of Zoro, the man’s expression only softened in pity.

“I’m sorry.”

“What… what happened?” Sanji rasped from behind. Zoro turned at the sound of his voice and blanked at the sight.

Why were they looking at him like that? Like their hearts were breaking?

“Zoro.” Robin rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort, which was strange considering the tears in her eyes. It seemed she should be the one comforted. But why?

Why were they all…

Realization dawned on him. Heavy. Precise. A shot to the heart.

The tributes.

The singular letter.

A city in mourning.

Zoro dropped to his knees. His ears rang as blood rushed through his head. The reality of it was hitting him all too fast.

No.

He had never known grief like this before. It didn’t come slow. It didn’t creep up on him. It was there. Raw. Searing. Instant.

Sobs broke out from behind, but he barely took notice.

There was no room to breathe, much less think or speak. He tried anyway.

“…dy.”

Robin furrowed her brows, confused. “What was that?”

“The body.”

When no one answered and the tense silence persevered, Zoro lost it.

“I said show me the damn body!”

The swordsman was yelling now, fueled only by pain.

Hate. Regret. Despair.

Such foreign feelings with such an intimate touch. They rolled through him in waves, never fully dulled, ebbing and flowing with the motions of thought and time.

His chest was hollow. Everything was hollow. Empty. Zoro didn’t think he’d ever feel whole again.

How could this have happened?

This couldn’t have. They were mistaken. They had to be.

He had to see the body. It couldn’t be you. It couldn’t.

The screams continued. Curses. He cursed the gods… the heavens… anyone and everyone. He must have looked insane.

He must have gone insane.

The king only shook his head, sadness clouding his expression.

“The fire… nothing was left. Only…” he trailed off, eyes wide and glistening. “Only bones.”

“Oh…God!” Nami gasped and covered her mouth. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep her cries at bay.

The rest of the crew weren’t faring much better. Each crew member was equally just as shocked and devastated at the news of your death. Most hadn’t stopped crying.

Zoro didn’t cry. He didn’t say another word until they made it back to the ship hours later. The moment he reached the hallways leading to his room, he collapsed. Robin and Luffy, who had been with him, rushed to their friend's aid.

Zoro felt nothing. Numbness had spread throughout his body, paralyzing what little control he had over himself.

The two others tried to help—to console him—to no avail.

They were at Zoro’s door, hands on his shoulders in comfort and solidarity, when he finally spoke up. His voice was rough and cracked; his palm was splayed flat against the wooden panel in an attempt to keep himself upright.

“Leave me,” he gritted out. A final plea. An incontestable order.

And so they did. They left him to that room—to the privacy of the oak door that did little to obscure his pain or muffle the echoes of silent suffering.

For weeks after, the ship was haunted by the ghost of you—of the memories and people left behind, forever tainted. Life, as static as it felt, still moved forward. The motions of the everyday cycled through spring until summer made its way across the horizon. The crew worked tirelessly, taking on odd jobs here and there as they sailed to their next destination, far from the land you once called home.

An accident, the king had said.

Unpreventable.

Inescapable.

You were merely at the wrong place at the wrong time and dealt a tragic hand by fate. Zoro had never quite believed in fate, but now he held a newfound hatred for it.

“[Y/N] was supposed to come back.”

“Zoro…” Nami hesitated. This was the most Zoro had spoken in days.

“Some time would pass. Maybe longer than I wanted, but not more than half a year.” His voice faltered on the last part.

“Everyone would make up. Chopper would cry. Sanji and Usopp too, probably. The awkwardness would linger, but only for a little while. I had it all planned out; what I’d say when we were reunited. I’d apologize. Grovel. Beg on my goddamn knees if that’s what it took. It didn’t matter. I would have crawled through the dirt if asked.”

Zoro’s eyes were unfocused, gazing blankly into the far horizon. The crew stood across from him near the ship’s helm, uneasy and somber, blocking most of the view. Zoro continued to stare forward, unmoving. He wasn’t looking at them. Rather, he stared past them. Through them. Like they weren’t even there. He just…watched. Waiting in silence for something that would never appear.

Time moved forward still, stubborn in its momentum against those so desperate to stay tethered in its past.

It was early morning and not many of the crew were awake yet. Robin and Sanji were the only ones awake aside from Zoro, though they were more preoccupied with the swordsman than their own responsibilities.

Zoro was training on the upper deck. He repeatedly slashed his swords in a sharp movement against a steel mannequin. The poor thing was in tatters from the relentless onslaught of strikes and hits.

Robin, who was watching from a short distance away, asked: “Has he slept?”

Another slash. The training dummy rattled from the force as another gaping hole appeared in its extremity. It wouldn’t last much longer.

“No. But he doesn’t do much of anything. He drinks, sleeps, and trains to the point of exhaustion every day,” Sanji sighed, hand ruffling through his hair in frustration. “He barely even eats. I tried making his favourite meal last night but he couldn’t keep it down for longer than five minutes. I’m… concerned.”

“He’s lost some weight,” Robin noted with a frown.

“Yeah, well… he’s lost a lot of things recently.”

A pause.

“So have we.”

Sanji swallowed. The loss was still fresh in their hearts. Still raw and painful and devastating. Sometimes he’d forget for a little bit. He’d prepare a meal, share a laugh, or lose himself in a job, and for a second he’d forget all about the pain. But seconds were seconds and life moved fast—too fast for them to grasp those moments of peace and hold onto them like lifelines, which they so deeply resembled.

Zoro didn’t have the privilege of those moments.

Sanji turned to face Robin to address her, but kept his eyes on Zoro. “I’ve never seen him so…”

“Out of it?”

“I was going to say ‘crazed’. His screams… god, it sounded like he was the one dying. Right there. Right in front of us.”

“Sometimes, I think he might have been,” Robin answered, a sad finality in her words.

“How do we help him come back from this?”

“I don’t know if he will.”

Zoro could hear them, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

At least, not until a certain day, near the end of summer, when the sun hung low and the breeze turned kind. Luffy had convinced his first mate to accompany him to a small town for a supply run when Zoro had inadvertently found himself lost in the midst of the countryside.

After an hour-long trek, he had all but given up. In a bid to return to the ship, he had tapped the back of a stranger, prepared to ask for directions he inevitably would’ve confused as well, but as the hooded figure turned around, all thoughts emptied from his mind.

All Zoro could do was stare as you turned to him, familiar eyes locking onto his own glassy ones.

“[Y/N].”

You gazed at the man before you, a warm but confused expression graced your face.

Zoro didn’t look like he was breathing. He didn’t feel like he was either. He was too focused on you.

You who stood in front of him.

You who was alive.

You who was real. Not the imagined version that haunted his dreams on the nights he managed an hour or two of sleep.

You who looked at him like he was a stranger.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

—

˚ · . tags: @synchronised-beat @96jnie @guridoodles @metonimia-de-bellota @stranger-chan @sp1ng @diarythroughmylens @mitsureigen @kateswone @idx-xv @leafyturtle @lupidetenebris @captainsolare

#zoro fic #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro fanfiction #roronoa zoro #zoro x y/n #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro #one piece #one piece angst #zoro x you #zoro angst #op zoro #one piece x reader

225 notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 7 months ago

Text

Shattered

Hockey AU

Series Masterlist Part 3 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 5 - Burning Desire

word count: 8k content: [ explicit sexual content, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, praise, degredation, dominance/submission, biting, group almost sex?, 5 guys but it isn't a gangbang sorry | infidelity, alcohol mention, strong language, emotional conflict, verbal conflict] summary: At a lavish party you're reluctantly attending on behalf of your boyfriend, who's occupied with a pressing PR matter, temptation proves too alluring to resist. A heated encounter with several teammates in a secluded room is quickly shattered, forcing you to face the consequences of your actions. author's note: :)

The invitation had arrived in a gold-embossed envelope, signaling the kind of wealth and excess only a notorious socialite like Ianthe could muster. When the team saw the invite, their collective groan was almost comical.

“Oh, come on,” Azriel had grumbled, tossing the invitation onto the table. “Does she really expect us to show up to one of these again?”

“You know how she is,” Rhysand had replied with a roll of his eyes. “She’ll throw a fit if we don’t, and then all of her fans’ll spam our comments.”

Despite their reluctance, Cassian had insisted on attending. “It’s good PR,” he had said with a smirk. “Sadly, I can’t make it. I’ve got a prior engagement.”

Eris had raised an eyebrow. “What engagement?”

“A press event,” Cassian had replied smoothly. “To address your… inappropriate use of the team’s Twitter and make clear that the rest of us had nothing to do with it.”

Eris had looked defensive. “How was I supposed to know it would blow up like that?”

Cassian had stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, how would you have known? The Vipers tweeting, ‘Calling all baddies with fat asses, slide into my DMs if you want a real man tonight,’ and then following it up by replying to half of them with ‘ayo shawtay’—with five y’s—‘hit me up.’ Not unusual at all.” He paused, letting the absurdity of the situation sink in. Laughter bubbled up around the room, the tension breaking as Cassian continued, “Some outlets reported it as ‘disturbing,’ so now I’m on damage control. Important stuff. You’ll manage without me.”

So, you found yourself amidst a sea of opulence, far removed from your usual comfort. The penthouse was alive with celebrities, influencers, and high-profile guests. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, casting reflections off designer clothes and extravagant jewelry. Conversations buzzed around you, a mix of superficial small talk and name-dropping that made you feel even more out of place.

Ianthe had greeted you with an overly enthusiastic hug, her perfume almost overwhelming. “Oh my goodness, (y/n)! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you and Cassian!” she exclaimed, her voice loud and piercing. She wore a shimmering gold gown, the fabric hugging her every curve and sparkling under the dim lights. “Where is he?”

“Babe, you should go. Someone needs to make sure they don’t embarrass themselves, and since I can’t, you’re the only one I trust to handle it,” he had said, brushing a stray bit of hair behind your ear. “Besides, Ianthe will make it a whole thing if I don’t show up or at least send someone in my place. I’ve got that press thing to handle.”

“Do I really have to go?” you had asked, frowning. “I don’t know anyone there well enough to enjoy myself.”

Cassian had sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be over before you know it. Plus, the guys’ll be there. Just stay for a bit, make an appearance, and then you can leave. Ianthe will appreciate it, and so will the team.”

You had huffed, certain they’d appreciate your presence. “Fine, but you owe me.”

He had laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“He couldn’t make it,” you said with a forced smile, smoothing down the fabric of your elegant but understated dress. “But he insisted I come in his place.”

Ianthe’s laugh had been high and tinkling, grating on your nerves. “Of course he did! Well, you’re here now, so make yourself at home! Enjoy the party!” She flitted off to greet another guest, leaving you feeling even more adrift.

Despite her warm greeting, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. As the night wore on, you tried to mingle, but the crowd was overwhelming. You watched the guys make small talk in their circles, but the noise and the crowd became suffocating. Seeking refuge, you slipped away from the chaos, your steps quickening as you wandered through Ianthe’s penthouse.

The further you ventured from the bustling noise, the more the laughter and music faded into a distant murmur. You eventually discovered a quiet hallway upstairs, offering a welcome escape from the revelry below. Following the corridor, you stumbled upon a study, its shelves lined with immaculate rows of books, each seeming more decorative than practical. You stood in the center of the room, the serene atmosphere wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The soft glow of a nearby lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls, and the muffled sounds from the party below felt like a world away. It was a rare moment of peace, a chance to collect your thoughts and find solace in the stillness of the room.

Your gaze drifted around the dim room, but your thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in a web of regret. Cassian's face flashed in your mind, a painful reminder of the trust you had shattered. The memories of what had transpired were vivid: stolen moments in the locker room with Azriel and Rhysand, the rooftop terrace with Helion and Tarquin. It had all started with light touches and innocent flirtations, things Cassian tolerated, but you had crossed a line. The reality of your actions pressed heavily on you, each encounter a mark against your integrity. Every touch from Tarquin, every whispered promise from Helion, only served to deepen your regret. It wasn’t just the physical betrayals that stung but the realization that you had allowed things to spiral out of control. What had driven you to push the boundaries so far? Was it the thrill of the forbidden, the chase of something new, or simply a frantic attempt to fill a void you hadn’t fully acknowledged before? The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder of the damage you had done.

The sudden rush of music and laughter from the party downstairs broke the silence, flooding into the study as the door creaked open. You turned, startled, and saw Rhysand and Tarquin step into the room. Rhysand’s gaze was sharp, a mixture of curiosity and something else flickering in his eyes. Tarquin’s expression was equally intrigued, his attention immediately drawn to you.

“What brings you up here, alone, with all the fun downstairs?” Rhysand’s voice was smooth, almost curious, but there was an undercurrent of something more in his gaze.

“I needed a break from all the noise,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tarquin leaned casually against the doorframe, amusement evident in his eyes. “Ianthe does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t she?” His tone was light, almost playful.

Rhysand nodded, his expression almost sympathetic, but his eyes never left yours. “Must be hard without Cassian here.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension in the room. “Yeah, it’s... different.”

Rhysand chuckled softly. “Tarquin and I were just chatting, and your name came up.” He stepped closer and brushed a hand down his sleeve, as if casually dismissing any pretense. “He mentioned something interesting about you.”

He took a final step, closing the distance between you. His presence was that of danger and allure. “So, I told him something interesting in return.” His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “And, well,” he continued, his lips curling into a predatory smile, “we just had to share what we learned with Azriel and Helion.”

As if on cue, the door opened again — Tarquin’s doing, you noticed — and Azriel and Helion walked in. Helion’s grin widened as he sauntered over with an easy, confident stride. “When they came over, we were just having a little chat about you,” he remarked, his tone light and teasing. But there was something in the way his gaze lingered on you, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous amusement.

Azriel’s sharp gaze lingered on you. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice the way you’ve been acting?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was a subtle edge to it as if he were piecing together a puzzle you hadn’t meant for them to solve. It wasn’t that you were intentionally hiding anything; it just seemed to happen that way. He paused just a few steps away, his presence quietly commanding.

Tarquin idly traced his fingers along the edge of a nearby bookshelf, his gaze drifting back to you with a casual curiosity. “We’ve noticed you’ve slipping away whenever one of us gets too close. Almost like you’re avoiding something... or someone.” His voice was light, but it was clear he was feigning ignorance.

Rhysand’s voice dripped with mock indignation. “You’re even avoiding eye contact with us. How do you think that makes us feel?” His gaze was intense, holding you in place.

The room was charged with tension as they closed in on you, their questions relentless. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words amidst your rising anxiety. “Look, it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve just been... overwhelmed.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “Overwhelmed, huh?” His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that made your heart race. He moved around you with a quiet, deliberate grace, his hand settling on your shoulder with a firm yet almost tender grip. “You know, running from one fuck to another isn’t exactly a solution.” His fingers trailed slowly up your arm, the touch deceptively gentle, but there was no mistaking the intent behind it.

Helion closed the distance with a casual, almost lazy grace, his smile never fading. “Avoiding us won’t make the mess you’ve made disappear,” he teased, his voice laced with playful mockery. His hand brushed over your shoulder lightly. “Now that you’re here, though, maybe we can have a bit of fun sorting it out.”

Rhysand’s voice softened as he leaned in, his expression mockingly sympathetic. “So, (y/n), was it worth it? Playing these games, sneaking around? Did it give you what you needed?” His hand brushed against your jaw, a gentle touch that belied the weight of his words.

“Answer him, (y/n),” Tarquin chimed in, his voice nonchalant as he flipped through a book without really looking at it. “We’re all ears.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat of their scrutiny. “I... I just didn’t know how to handle everything,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady. “It was a mess, and I didn’t think it through.”

You met each of their eyes, trying to make them understand despite the teasing edge of their demeanor. “But you know what?” you added, a spark of defiance igniting in your eyes. “It takes more than one person to fuck. If you’re going to judge me, take a look at yourselves. You’re supposed to be his friends, but you’re betraying him just as much as I am. Don’t act like I’m the only one to blame.”

Azriel’s brows rose in amusement, clearly entertained. With his lips trailing the side of your neck, he murmured, “She’s got a point, doesn’t she? We’ve all played our parts in this.” You shivered at the sensation.

Tarquin closed the book with a snap and shelved it, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, if we’re all to blame, maybe we’ve been too harsh,” he drawled, standing beside Rhysand, finally joining you all.

Helion’s fingers began a slow, deliberate trail along your waist, his touch possessive. He let his fingertips graze the fabric of your dress, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Let us make it up to you?” When you didn’t respond, he added, “I’m surprised Cassian let you out in something that makes you look so… delicious,” he purred, his voice low and sultry.

You shot him a look. “Cass doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything. I do what I please, and he’s secure enough not to care.”

Helion’s smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Misplaced security, then,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mockery and desire.

Azriel watched the exchange with a predatory gleam. He moved his hands to your hips, the touch light but purposeful as he pulled you back into him. “Maybe he should be more worried about how easily you slip away,” he suggested, his voice a dangerous whisper. Tarquin stepped closer, his gaze fixated on you as he reached out to run his fingers along your exposed neckline. A chill ran up your spine.

Without warning, Helion’s hands slid from your waist to your hips, resting on top of Azriel’s, pulling himself closer. He leaned down for a heated kiss, his lips insistent and demanding. As his kiss deepened, Azriel ground himself against your ass, groans of pleasure from both of you filled the relatively quiet study.

Tarquin leaned in next, his lips finding your neck. Rhysand, standing on your other side now, placed a hand on your shoulder, letting his lips graze your ear before trailing down to your jawline. Azriel’s hands moved from under Helion’s to your ass, grabbing and squeezing and pinching and spreading. “Oh, God,” you gasped breathlessly into the kiss, your voice trembling as you pressed your chest against Helion. “I can’t… I can’t handle this.”

But his kiss only grew more fervent, his tongue exploring yours as he murmured against your lips, “You’re doing just fine, you’ve handled much more.”

With trembling hands, you reached down, your fingers deftly finding their way to the two men at your sides. Your fingers brushed against the smooth, warm fabric, feeling the outlines of their arousal. Tarquin's pants were dark navy, contrasting sharply with the crisp white of his dress shirt, and his belt was a sleek black leather that made the bulge even more pronounced. Rhysand wore a tailored charcoal suit, the fabric fitting him perfectly, showing off his powerful frame.

As you palmed them through their pants, you couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly sexy they all looked. Helion’s suit was a rich, deep burgundy, the color enhancing the warmth of his skin and exuding an air of refined elegance. The fabric shimmered subtly under the soft lighting, and the tailored lines of his jacket accentuated his every movement, making him look irresistibly captivating.

Though Azriel was behind you, you knew he wore a classic charcoal-grey suit, the dark color highlighting his powerful build. The suit’s fitted cut accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Calling it elegance, you thought, would not do him justice.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, your voice a ragged whisper as you felt the heat and hardness of their cocks through the fabric. “You all look so… fucking hot, it’s driving me crazy.”

Azriel groaned quietly behind you, his grip on your ass tightening as he hissed, “That’s what we wanted to hear. Keep talking, angel, tell us how much you’re enjoying it.”

Your breaths came faster, each one a ragged gasp as the intensity built. “I... I can’t,” you moaned against Helion’s lips, your voice trembling. “It feels so good, it’s too much...” You turned your head to lock your lips with Rhysand, the hand you used to please him now tangling in his hair. “You’re all so fucking perfect,” you breathed, your words spilling out in a torrent of need.

Tarquin bit down on your neck, making the skin there tingle in pleasure and pain. You gasped, your voice breathless. “I want all of you, I need every bit of this... fucking addicted.” Azriel placed kisses against the back of your neck, and your words became a fervent plea. “Please don’t stop, I need more, I need all of you.” You were overwhelmed, your mind a haze of need and desire. “Just keep going, don’t stop... I’m yours, just take me, use me,” you begged, your voice raw with need.

“Well, this is a scene,” a smug voice cut through the charged atmosphere. The room went silent as every head turned toward the door.

“Seems like you’ve all been holding out on me,” Eris drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. His eyes swept over the room with a mixture of amusement and hunger. “Didn’t realize you were all getting so… wrapped up in each other tonight.” His gaze lingered on you with a dark, knowing smile. “Seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

The tension in the room shifted, grew heavier with Eris’s presence. Your heart was racing, caught between the intense pleasure still pulsing through you and the fresh wave of anxiety his scrutiny brought. The others froze momentarily, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort.

Helion, having maintained his composure, tilted his head with a nonchalant grin. “Eris, what a surprise. Care to join?”

Eris’s grin widened as he stepped further into the room. “I’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m disappointed. I’ve made it very clear how much I want you. So tell me,” he murmured, his voice gaining a roguish tone as he continued, “if Cassian wasn’t satisfying you, why didn’t you come to me first, baby? You know I would’ve fucked you so much better.”

As he closed the distance, you eyed him with apprehension. Eris’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your flushed skin and the desperate look in your eyes. “If I can’t have the privilege of being the first in this room to fuck you, I’ll just have to be the best, won’t I?”

With that, Eris pushed his way through Rhysand and Helion, his presence commanding and overpowering. His fingers brushed against your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And trust me,” he said, his voice brimming with a fierce intensity, “I plan to make up for every second of those three years. Think you can take that?” His tone was a blend of seductive confidence and genuine desire.

Before you could respond, Eris’s lips were on yours, his kiss wild and demanding. His hands tangled in your meticulously styled hair, pulling you closer as his tongue explored your mouth with an urgency that matched his frustration. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts—how wrong this felt, knowing Cassian hated Eris with a passion. They’d seemed almost friendly at the club, though. Maybe they’d become friends after that night. Which was worse? But as Eris's lips moved against yours, you couldn't help it. You found yourself clinging to him, craving more.

Rhysand’s hands roamed with deliberate slowness, slipping beneath your dress to explore the bare skin of your thighs. Each caress sparked waves of pleasure that had you gasping. His lips found your neck, tracing heated, lingering kisses that made you moan in response.

Helion’s hands roamed over your front and sides, brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your dress. His lips followed a path from your shoulder down your arm, leaving a trail of kisses that made you whimper with every touch. His touch was both teasing and possessive, a stark contrast to the yearning you felt.

Behind you, Azriel's hips pressed firmly against you, lifting your dress to reveal the lacy, barely-there underwear you wore. His breath was hot and intense against your skin, his kisses on the back of your neck growing more insistent. Tarquin, on your left, knelt down, his lips placing open-mouthed kisses up your smooth leg, his hands gripping your thigh with relentless, demanding pressure.

The room was soon filled with the symphony of your moans, the fervent kisses, and the hands exploring every inch of your body. The line between pleasure and chaos blurred as their combined touches drove you to the brink of madness.

Eris pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with an intense desire and a wicked glint. “This dress... it’s in my way,” he growled, his voice rough with urgency. “It needs to go.”

Azriel swiftly undid the zip, and without a second thought, Eris grabbed the hem of your dress and tore it up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air of the study hit your exposed skin, making you press closer into Eris's arms, now completely vulnerable.

“God, fucking look at you,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as his hands roamed over your newly exposed skin. He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hands moved with renewed fervor over your body, exploring every contour.

Rhysand, Azriel, Helion, and Tarquin took full advantage of the moment, their hands and lips everywhere, driving you to the edge with their combined touches. Your neck, your chest, your arms and legs, your ass; you couldn’t keep track of who was where anymore.

The room was filled with the sounds of your breathless moans and their low, appreciative growls and hums. Every nerve in your body was alight with sensation, the heat and intensity of their touches washing over you completely.

Eris’s hands moved to your breasts, which had been freed from your bra at some point, kneading and teasing them while his mouth claimed yours with a wild intensity. His lips traveled down to your neck, and your face flushed with embarrassment as you realized you were left in nothing but your panties and heels. The remaining fabric clung to you, highlighting your vulnerability amid their consuming attention.

“Go ahead and say those pretty words for me again,” he growled against your lips, “like you were when I came in. Let me hear you, baby.”

“I want it so bad,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “I need it, I’m begging you, please.”

“Azriel, fucking move,” Eris commanded with a low, vicious growl that was unlike anything you’d heard from any of them. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, your back was shoved against a bookshelf behind you, Eris’s hand cradling the back of your head. The sensation of the others being ripped away left you feeling startlingly exposed, emptiness washing over you.

Eris’s eyes pierced into yours, hunger and dominance in his gaze. His hand moved from the back of your head to the front of your neck, his grip surprisingly gentle, almost like a caress. “I want to hear you say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. He placed his other hand on your bare waist, squeezing. “Tell us how much you want it. Tell us how badly you need to be fucked by all of us.”

Your breaths came out in ragged pants, your body trembling with anticipation and need. “I want it,” you repeated, your voice cracking with desperation. “I need it… Please.”

Eris’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile as he pressed his body against yours, the heat and hardness of him making you moan. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

The heat in the room surged as Eris's words hung in the air, his confidence palpable. The intensity of the situation seemed to reach new heights with his arrival. His fingers traced your lips, and you parted them slightly with a quiet exhale. The way he looked at you, with that dark, predatory glint in his eyes, made you feel like a prey caught in the snare of a hunter.

Rhysand and Helion exchanged glances, the challenge in Eris's demeanor stirring a competitive edge among them. It wasn’t until now that you realized Azriel still had a hand on your hip, his touch now more possessive, as if he were staking his claim. Tarquin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he observed the scene unfolding.

Eris, now firmly in your space, didn’t wait for a response. His hands moved with a practiced ease, his grip on your jaw guiding you to face him fully. His eyes were dark, almost hypnotic, as they bore into yours. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “what do you need right now? Let me hear it.”

His warmth was enveloping, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin. Every touch seemed to heighten your awareness of just how far you'd let things go, and yet, you found yourself unable to pull away.

“I need...” you began, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension. You tried to glance at the men in the room, at Azriel, but Eris gave your head a firm but controlled shake, forcing your attention back to him. “I need all of you… All of you, Eris.”

His smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He took your hand, which lay limp at your side, guiding it to his abdomen and laying his hand over yours. You could feel every muscle under his dress shirt. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He then turned his gaze towards Azriel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You heard her,” Eris said, his tone brooking no argument. “Take a break. She’s mine now.”

The room seemed to pulse with energy when Eris gently spun you around by that same hand, his presence a commanding force as he instructed you to place your hands against the large oak bookshelf. His hands slid down slowly, along your sides, caressing your hips and waist with a deliberate, almost reverent touch. You felt his lightly calloused fingers grazing your skin, igniting a fire that made you ache with need.

The rest of the group watched with fascination and anticipation, their eyes never leaving you. The room was charged with competition and desire that seemed to fuel the intensity of the moment. As Eris knelt behind you, his touch grew more demanding. His hands roamed possessively, squeezing the curve of your waist, tracing the swell of your hips, and gripping your thighs with a fierce intensity. Every touch ignited a fire within you that made you surrender completely to him. With your hips pushed out and your back arched, you let out a moan that sent a jolt of arousal through the room, leaving the others subtly adjusting themselves as their growing need strained against their clothes.

When he bit down on your ass, the sound pulled from you fell somewhere between desperate and strained. Just when you were on the verge of demanding — not begging for — more, Eris pulled the lace of your underwear aside and teased a finger through your arousal.

“Look at how nice and ready they got you for me,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. After lining two fingers up to your entrance, he continued. “Thank them for me, baby?”

Though you stumbled over your words trying to steady your breaths, you managed a quiet “thank you” as he eased his fingers into you with an aching slowness. The groan he let out had you squeezing around them. Eris's fingers moved with a slow, tantalizing rhythm that left no room for haste. Each caress was meticulously timed, creating a sensation that felt intensely intimate yet firmly under his control. His touch was not just about pleasure but also about power, each stroke conveying his dominance.

Eris looked around the room, fingers still pumping slowly in and out, his gaze meeting the eyes of his teammates who watched with rapt attention. He smirked, fully aware of the effect this display had on them. With a casual but commanding tone, he addressed them without breaking his rhythm. “Sit back and take it in,” he said smoothly, standing back up. “Once I’m done with her, you won’t be seeing her like this again.”

You would’ve glanced around the room to gauge their reactions, curious despite yourself, but Eris didn’t give you the chance. His free hand came up to grasp your chin firmly, turning your head to the right to face him. “Eyes forward, or on me,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, his breath ghosting across your lips as his fingers inside you curled just right, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sharpness of the motion had you gasping, pulling your focus solely to him.

Your lips parted to respond, but instead, another moan escaped as his fingers flexed inside you, sending pleasure radiating out from your core. The slow, deliberate pace had you trembling, every nerve drawn tight as you clung to the edge he was carefully holding you on.

"I..." you started, but the words were swallowed by a sharp intake of breath. "You–" The sentence dissolved into another gasp as his thumb slid over your clit in a slow circle. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire, and you couldn't help the way your hips pushed back against him, seeking more.

Eris's smirk widened, and his grip on your chin shifted, thumb trailing down the column of your throat. "What's that?" he taunted softly. "I didn't quite catch that."

You fought to catch your breath, tried to gather your thoughts, but it was no use.

"You're... taking your time," you managed to murmur, a half-hearted attempt at regaining some ground. But the way your body betrayed you — arching toward his touch, trembling under his fingers — made it clear that he was the one in control.

Eris hummed, clearly pleased with himself. "And you love it," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as if it were a secret meant just for you.

Another moan escaped your lips, but you gritted your teeth, trying to stifle it. You felt the weight of the others' stares on your skin, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Eris inside you, stretching you, teasing you. The pleasure was too much, and yet somehow not enough. It was a cruel balance that he had perfected.

Eris’ lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and velvety. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I can feel how ready you are, how much you want it. But I’m going to take my time with you, is that okay, baby?”

You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips, the sound more of frustration than anything else. The way he moved inside you was maddeningly slow, calculated, as if he wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure he could. Your body responded eagerly, hips instinctively pushing back against his hand, craving more, needing more.

Helion’s voice drifted in the background, but you were too lost in those smoldering amber eyes to pay it any mind. “Come on, Eris. Give her something to remember.” Chuckles and murmurs of approval echoed around the room.

Eris chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. “Patience, gentlemen. You’ve all had your turn.” His fingers slid out of you with a slow, deliberate motion, leaving you feeling unbearably empty.

The hand cradling your face moved to trace a path down your back, over your ass, the touch firm and possessive. He didn’t rush, didn’t give in to the urgency that was building in the room. Instead, he took his time, savoring the feel of your body beneath his hands.

Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as silk. “Don’t tease her too much. We want her desperate, but let’s not break her just yet, hm?”

Eris’s grin widened, a wicked glint in his eyes as he turned his attention back to your face. “Oh, I have no intention of breaking her. Just bending her a little.” His fingers found their way back between your legs, brushing against your swollen, sensitive flesh with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “We’ve got all night, after all.”

You were drowning in sensation, every touch, every word pulling you deeper into a state of raw, aching need. The way they watched you, the way they spoke about you as if you were theirs to play with, only made the heat pooling in you grow stronger.

“I… I need it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Eris… please.”

Eris’s smirk softened, just a fraction. “Look at you, begging so sweetly,” he murmured, but his eyes held that predatory glint you’d come to recognize. He brushed a thumb over your lower lip and leaned in close, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I want you to show them, baby. Move those pretty hips for me—let them see how badly you need this.”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air, the command settling in. The way he looked at you, his gaze intense and unyielding, made it clear this was no request—it was a demand. “Go on,” he urged, his fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against your aching core. “Show them how much you want it.”

A surge of anticipation coursed through you at his words, the need to satisfy that growing ache overpowering any lingering restraint. You were acutely aware of their gazes on you, the weight of their expectation filling the room. Slowly, you let your hips roll forward, the movement tentative at first, but as Eris’s fingers pressed more firmly against you, a soft moan escaped your lips, urging you to continue. You arched your back slightly, pushing your body back toward him, the desire becoming impossible to ignore.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the room, the men watching you with hunger and admiration. The sensation of Eris’s touch, combined with their heated gazes, sent a thrill through your veins.

“That’s it,” Eris whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You moved with growing confidence, your hips swaying in a slow, deliberate rhythm, designed to show them just how badly you craved them. The room seemed to grow hotter, every brush of his fingers against you intensifying the ache. You were fully aware of how exposed you were, how much you were giving them exactly what they wanted, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself.

Eris’s other hand slid down your back, his touch firm, guiding you to continue. “Do you see this, gentlemen?” he called over his shoulder, his voice thick with pride. “This is what it means to truly want. To be so consumed by need that you’d do anything to be filled.”

A fresh wave of arousal surged through you at his words. The others murmured in agreement, their voices low and appreciative as they watched you move under Eris’s command. And as you continued to grind against him, the heat between your thighs growing more intense with each passing moment, you realized there was no turning back. You were completely at their mercy, and it felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

Eris’s gaze held yours, unwavering and intense as if he could see every thought, every desire running through your mind. The others seemed to fade into the background, their presence still felt, but distant, as Eris commanded your full attention. He slowly removed his hand from between your thighs, and you bit back a whimper of frustration at the loss of contact. The smirk on his lips told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that sent a shiver down your spine. “So eager, so desperate. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the implications of what he was asking. You could feel the weight of his dominance pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly. Still, you found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

Eris’s smirk deepened, his hand reaching for the waistband of his pants. “I knew it,” he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “You want to be mine, even if it’s just for tonight. You want to feel every inch of me inside you, don’t you?”

A tremor ran through you, the anticipation nearly unbearable as he slowly undid his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise silent room. “Yes,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He freed his cock from the confines of his pants, stroking himself slowly as he watched your reaction. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, “how you want it. How you’re going to let me fuck you.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you tried to find the words. “I want…” you began, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. “I want you to take me, Eris. To make me yours in every way.”

Eris’s eyes darkened with lust, his hand moving faster as he stroked himself, the sight sending another wave of heat through your body. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with approval. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll still feel me inside you tomorrow. You’ll be so full of me, you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

The way he claimed you with his words as if you were his possession, only stoked the flames of desire within you. You knew you should be ashamed, embarrassed by how easily you were giving in, but all you could feel was the overwhelming need to be consumed by him.

“And when I’m done,” Eris continued, his voice low and dangerous, “you’re going to thank me. You’re going to tell me how much you loved every second of it, how you haven’t been able to stop thinking about my cock.”

“Go on and get dressed for me, baby. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

The words cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife, and every head in the room turned toward the doorway. Cassian stood there, hands resting in the pockets of a suit that fit him perfectly. He stood upright, his posture conveying an unsettling calm. His eyes, though steady, held an intensity that made your stomach twist.

You froze, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together. Eris, momentarily taken aback, pulled his hand away from you in a swift motion, his expression caught between surprise and frustration. The men around you were already moving, hastily tucking themselves away. You reached for your clothes, discarded a few feet to your side, hands trembling slightly as you dressed under Cassian’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t hurry you, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. Meanwhile, the others couldn’t seem to settle their eyes on one spot, their gazes flickering restlessly around the room.

As you dressed quickly, your mind spun with fear and a dizzying confusion. Cassian’s gaze was a constant weight on your shoulders, and every movement felt slow and surreal. When you finally made your way toward him, he extended his arm, guiding you toward the door with a firm, steady hand. The steady warmth of his arm beneath your hand was the only thing anchoring you against the whirlwind of your mind.

You stepped into the hallway, the noise of the party growing louder as you and Cassian descended the stairs. The space felt cold, the walls closing in around you as you moved with a sense of dread. Cassian’s silence was a heavy shroud, his presence almost forbidding. His eyes remained fixed ahead, devoid of any warmth, though his face remained perfectly composed. He gave brief, casual waves and polite nods to those who greeted him, his demeanor impeccably maintained. His silence was almost chilling; the way he pointedly avoided looking at you only heightened your sense of unease.

As you approached the exit, Cassian was stopped by a man who must have been a colleague. They spoke in low tones, most of the words indistinguishable to you through the blood pumping in your ears, but you caught Cassian’s voice cutting through the din with cold clarity. “Seems she’s had one too many espresso martinis tonight,” he said, his tone smooth and effortlessly charming. “We’re heading out.” The words seemed to echo in your ears as you walked alongside him, your arm still looped through his. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on your chest as you tried not to stumble.

You and Cassian made your way down the sleek marble hallway, the ambient noise of the party fading behind you. The elevator was just a few steps from the penthouse door, and you held tightly to his arm as he guided you. Every movement felt deliberate, his grip firm but impersonal. Waiting for the elevator felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out and amplifying the anxiety in your stomach.

The elevator ride was a blur of metallic walls and muffled sounds. You stared straight ahead, unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze, each moment stretching into an unbearable silence. When you finally reached the ground floor, the lobby greeted you with its polished elegance. The sound of your footsteps and his seemed to reverberate through the space, each echo amplifying your trepidation. The building’s doorman greeted you with a nod, and Cassian responded with a brief, detached smile.

As you neared the entrance, Cassian pulled out his phone with his free hand, making a brief call. The minutes dragged on as you stood by the sleek glass doors. Soon after, a black Audi A7 glided up to the curb, its glossy finish gleaming under the streetlights. Cassian had brought out the luxury car tonight, a stark contrast to his usual red F150. The polished finish and the soft purr of the engine seemed to mock you.

Cassian opened the car door for you, his gesture polite and deliberate. You slid into the plush interior, the cool leather seats enveloping you as you settled in. He closed the door behind you with a soft click, then slipped a tip to the valet before making his way around to the driver’s side. With an unreadable expression, he slid behind the wheel, taking his time to adjust himself before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was shrouded in an oppressive silence, the only sounds being the steady hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Cassian’s profile was set in a rigid line, the stern set of his jaw betraying none of his inner thoughts. You fidgeted with your hands, trying to make sense of the situation, but every attempt to gauge his mood seemed to lead only to deeper confusion.

Your gaze dropped to your hands in your lap. They were trembling. betraying the turmoil churning inside you. The silence in the car felt suffocating, pressing down on you with each passing second. Your mind raced with frantic questions: Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he already know everything? The more you tried to steady yourself, the more the uncertainty gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the rhythmic thrum of the engine, the soft vibrations through the leather seat. But even the steady hum seemed to amplify your anxiety, making the silence feel even more oppressive. Each street you passed blurred together, a series of indistinct shapes and shadows. Your thoughts spun in a relentless cycle of worry, and you couldn’t escape the growing dread that was settling heavily in your chest.

Then a new wave of mortification crashed over you. The image of Cassian opening the door, his eyes taking in the sight of you practically naked against the bookshelf, filled your mind. The sheer embarrassment of being caught in such a compromising position—the heels, the underwear pulled aside, leaving you exposed and vulnerable—was almost too much to bear. You had been so caught up in the moment, so lost in the haze of the night, that you hadn't fully processed how degrading it must have seemed. The thought of him seeing you so utterly exposed, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat, was a sharp, humiliating jolt.

You considered what you might say when the time came. Would apologies be enough? Could explanations make any difference? The questions tumbled through your thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. Now and then, you’d steal a glance at Cassian’s profile, trying to read something—anything—into his stoic expression. But he remained a solid, unyielding presence, leaving you to confront your anxieties alone.

You glanced at the passing street signs, noticing they were not leading toward your apartment. Your brow furrowed in concern as you watched the roads change. Cassian made a sharp turn, and you could no longer ignore the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach.

“Cassian,” you ventured cautiously, your voice barely cutting through the heavy silence, “where are we going?”

He offered no response, his focus straight ahead, his expression inscrutable. The tension in the car grew almost tangible as you fidgeted in your seat, trying to make sense of the unexpected detour.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each intersection and street sign passing by in a blur. The initial confusion of the detour slowly gave way to a creeping sense of recognition. You noticed that while the roads were leading you further from your apartment, they were somewhat familiar. The familiar landmarks began to settle in your mind, and you felt a growing realization.

As the streetlights flickered past, you finally identified a landmark that confirmed your fears. The realization hit you with a jolt, and you swallowed hard, feeling a lump of anxiety form in your throat.

Cassian pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the familiar house, its warm lights casting a soft glow on the front lawn. You stared at it, stunned, as he unlocked the doors.

“Cass, please, we need to talk about this,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned to face him. “I know things look bad, but I can explain!” But why should he let you explain? What would you even say?

He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road ahead, responding with a cold calmness. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re staying with your mom for a bit.”

The impact of his words hit you hard; this was the first time he had spoken since you left the party. “No, wait,” you pleaded, the tears that had been brimming your eyes finally falling. “Please, just let me explain. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen—”

Cassian cut you off with a firm tone. “I’m not interested in your excuses, (y/n).”

Your hands gripped the seat as you struggled to find the right words. “Cass, please, it wasn’t what it looked like. I was just—”

“Just what?” he cut in, his voice as cold as ever. “Drunk or not, and it seems like you’re not, the situation was clear. Get out.”

You stared at him in shock, your voice trembling. “Please, just listen to me! I’m sorry for everything. I never meant for any of this to happen!”

He gave you a hard look, his face set in stone. “You made your choices. Do us both a favor and fix your hair before you walk in. Wouldn’t want your mom to think her daughter’s a cheap fucking whore.”

The words hit you like a punch, leaving you in stunned silence as he waited for you to get out of the car. You stared at Cassian, your heart aching with each passing second. “Cassian, I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I…” Your voice trailed off. You weren’t getting anywhere.

With a resigned sigh, you reached for the handle and slowly opened the car door. Each movement felt heavy with your defeat. As you stepped out onto the pavement, you cast one last glance at him, the weight of the night’s events settling heavily on your shoulders. Cassian's face remained impassive, his gaze fixed ahead.

You pushed the door shut, and made your way to the front door, the cool night air biting at your exposed skin. The stillness of the quiet neighborhood seemed to press in on you, the pitiful realization of your vulnerability sinking in more with each step.

Standing on the doorstep, you hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the doorbell. The stark contrast between the warm, inviting glow of the house and the cold, dark night around you felt almost surreal. The weight of your earlier actions and Cassian’s harsh words seemed to bear down on you.

Finally, with a resigned breath, you pressed the button on the Ring camera. The chime echoed softly through the night, a jarring reminder of how far you had fallen from the comfort you once took for granted. As you waited, you could only hope that your mother’s response would offer some semblance of solace amid the wreckage of your evening.

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