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surielstea · 13 days ago

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A Lesson in Lust

Inspired by a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.

Word count: 6.5k

A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.

I should have known better.

Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.

I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.

I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.

But he knows.

He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.

Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.

For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.

But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.

"Why did you fake it?"

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

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fushitoru · 6 months ago

Text

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers,

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor.

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write:

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo.

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation. Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense.

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions.

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1.

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet.

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer.

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes.

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue.

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.”

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest.

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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wandagcre · 1 year ago

Text

it's a trap (when you act like that) | wanda maximoff 🔞

(College!Perv!Best friend Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem Reader)

You cannot quite relate to the topic of pleasure. Being introverted and shy, your circle of people was limited, but you're more than grateful that Wanda - your best friend - is always there to help you out.

WARNING: corruption kink, pillow riding, first times, fingering, praise, wanda talking you through it - not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 4.2k

[perv!wanda series] | [masterlist]

For an hour, you settled on reading in comfortable silence with your best friend. Wanda laid on your lap comfortably, unlike you, she gave up skimming on her notes a few minutes ago.

You giggle each time you catch her gaze on you. It was inquisitive and sometimes Wanda made silly faces. Thoughtful as ever, she’d pop in some candy in your mouth.

Her auburn hair grew out – instead, her brunette tresses were back. It was tempting for you the way they were sprawled out, wanting to comb them with your fingers and drop your notes – only having to listen to what stories your best friend would tell.

Lately, you noticed it’s been hard to be around Wanda. You can no longer hold her gaze than usual and you physically want to be closer to her – which was no problem because your best friend was always attentive and touchy with you.

“Have you been working out? Look at these thighs,” You sharply inhaled as you felt fingertips, running feather-like on your skin. Wanda caught the act and it made her giggle softly.

You shyly shook your head. “N-no. I haven’t.”

She seemed not to buy your response. It’s the truth. Even if you indulged in some exercises, your workout routine was not strict about any type of weight lifting. Not like you had the time and all. In fact, it was one of the things that sometimes pulled you into your insecure thoughts, thinking that you’ve got an unattractive pair.

However, Wanda loves them as they were. She liked it when you got experimental with your wardrobe, changing it up with some short skirts that highlighted your legs and its curves. More so with your comfort in plain shorts, as it rewarded your best friend more of its exposure.

What Wanda didn’t like was winter and how it took away the sight of your gorgeous thighs.

You insisted, “I’m serious! If you consider getting food from the top and bottom shelf of the fridge as squatting, then, my answer is yes.”

“Well, they look good to me. Keep it up.” Wanda playfully remarked. You chuckled lightly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Want me to pull away?”

Her voice was hypnotizing – insanely soothing. Almost like a balm, you’d say. Enough to make you re-read the damn sentence on your notes because you barely understood them. It doesn’t help that she kept her ministrations – tracing circular patterns that ascend to your inner thighs, causing goosebumps to wake.

“Took me by surprise, that's all. You can keep doing that if you want.”

“Is it relaxing?” Wanda whispered.

You shudder a bit and it made you scuffle in your position. “Kinda like you playing with my hair…”

Wanda was amused. You briefly wondered what was the joy in this – riling you up in some way. Were your reactions too entertaining? She had always been full of mischief, but lately, hanging out with your best friend made you…tense. It was not uncomfortable in a way that her actions burned, maybe they did, but in a different context. A realm you’ve never touched on – spurring you to confusion furthermore.

Her forefinger grazed over the space between your eyebrows. “What’s got you all so worked up, honey? You got this crease going on – you’re too tense. Wanna take a break?”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds nice.” You gave in. You couldn’t even process them anyway.

You still appeared as bothered from Wanda’s point of view. She moved away from laying down between your thighs, looking at you who refused to meet her eyes. She was growing concerned. Had she overstepped this time?

Wanda was clueless. “Are you seeing someone?”

You looked incredulously at the woman.

“That’s out of the blue, Wands.”

“Can’t blame a girl for asking, (y/n/n). You’re usually reserved, I get that, but lately you seem to be always in deep thought? You know I can help, right?”

“I-I want to tell you but it can get weird.”

“Weird? Baby, we’ve known each other for years. How worse can it possibly get?” Wanda asked incredulously. Now she was concerned.

There’s nothing to hide. Wanda had a point, you thought.

You whisper, “Lately, um. I-I’ve been trying to discover something.”

“Okay…” Wanda hummed, eyes focused on your lips.

You weren’t hesitant out of fear of being judged, but you didn’t know where your boundaries stood.

Although, you remember how Wanda was so thoughtful that every time you bought some undies, she volunteers to come along and when you ask for her opinion, she carefully takes time to examine them.

You remember her fingers tracing along the seams, making you turn around, asking for permission to touch so she can examine the material further around your butt and how it clung to your hips. They shouldn’t be tight, Wanda said.

“And it’s about pleasure. You know, that stuff.” You flail your hands. Can this get more embarrassing?

Meanwhile, Wanda was absolutely having the time of her life. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Of course, as the role of best friend, she would be very ecstatic to lead you.

She starts with a lilt of teasing in voice. “Sorry, honey, but there’s many things that can go around the topic of pleasure. I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

Poor you, didn’t even catch up to her teasing. You had enough.

“Touching the southern part!” You blurt out.

“Oh!”

“Yeah,”

“Huh.” Wanda looked inquisitive. Her head tilted to the side in faux wonder. In truth, she was thinking of ways to help you – defile you in this very bed – if she’s sly enough.

You groaned. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“See, now it’s weird. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no. It’s not weird. In fact, it’s normal to be curious about that. What’s your problem with it?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. I feel bad because I heard discussions about it – overheard some girls from my class. It’s all the hype I can’t get onto– I just don’t seem to get there–”

You were rambling all things at once. Wanda had to process the thought of you touching yourself and getting frustrated, of course you wouldn’t know. You needed her – someone to get through it.

And Wanda was more than willing to step up.

With a glint in her eye, she suggests, “Want me to help you?”

Were you hearing things right? Surely, you misheard Wanda. Your mind couldn’t wrap the thought of it. How on earth can she help you? Maybe she’ll write them down or give you a video that wasn’t too explicit as porn. She knew that you hated them, after all.

“You–won’t that be weird between us? And how?”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s me, honey. You can always count on me. Even about these types of situations. Do you trust me?”

You answered in a heartbeat. “More than anyone.”

“Good. What do you think, do you wanna get started?”

Right now? Your eyes widened. But there won’t be another time, you suppose. “Shit. Okay, yeah, sure.”

“We’ll take things slow, hm?” She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement. Seeing you all bare for her – Wanda might as well cum at the mere thought of it. The way you nodded attentively made her stomach flip. “We’re going to test the waters. Since you’re having trouble with your fingers, we can do that later. Maybe we’ll try a different approach.”

Your cheeks burned at Wanda’s elaborate plan. “O-okay. I’ll listen to you.”

Wanda purses her lips and moves closer to you. You looked apprehensive, but not as much previously. Good.

“Have you ever heard about riding a pillow?”

“N-no…” You meekly answered. Porn was straight to the point. Too uncomfortable for your liking. It was penetration and done. You tried watching one or two, then that was it – you never thought about revisiting and looking further beyond that. “That’s a thing?”

Wanda, however, couldn’t help but scoot closer to you. How she was very elated to hear this – the woman couldn’t wait to introduce more things to you in the future, to be the one showing you the ropes of it.

“Yes it is. Some find it very rewarding. It’s so easy. ” She supplements.

Out of curiosity, you cannot filter yourself. “What about you… have you ever?”

“Yeah, I have.” She smoothly replied. Wanda was so self-assured, you can’t help but envy it a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be guiding you at every step of the way, honey. Exploration of what you like and how it works is nothing to be ashamed of.”

It did the trick for you; Wanda picked up a relief sigh coming out of you. She smiled, rubbing your thighs enough to create a comfortable warmth.

“Use my pillow – don’t worry, it’s easy to get them washed.” Your movements were slow and hesitant, continuously looking back and forth to Wanda’s piercing green eyes and to her pillow innocently hanging at the corner of her bed. Grabbing the item, she shoots you a proud smile. “Now, take your bottoms off for me.”

For Wanda. You felt the heat creep from your stomach, riding in waves, up to your neck and whole face. She nudges you by nodding her head. You’re entirely sure that you’re beyond stunned right now. Discarding your shorts and underwear at the same time, you quickly throw them away and cross your thighs. Wanda’s words being uttered in an authoritative and raunchy manner was enough to make you wet – you didn’t want her to see the proof of that.

“So good. You’re doing so, so well baby.” Wanda licked her bottom lip in anticipation. “Now, flip that pillow by its seams – the edges are an important part of this. Then, just mount it.”

Your heart raced – you can’t believe that this was happening – you’re about to ride a pillow in front of your attractive best friend and she’ll talk you through your first orgasm. Right here in her own cramped bed and pillow. Doing as Wanda says, you spread your legs apart and mounted the pillow that stood by its edges. You gasped at the sensation; it was the softest thing your core has ever touched and it was slightly cold.

Looking back at Wanda, she seemed lost in your center – who wouldn’t be, given this rare opportunity? She always had a crush on you. But you didn’t even notice. Now, your friendship was taken on the next level, she thanked any deity out there for her patience. ((And her power over you right now? It was hard not to revel in that.))

You looked so adorable. Wanda could compare you to bambi right now, especially when you thought you were being sly. She saw the slick forming on your pussy from earlier as you were stripping. It was mouthwatering that it drove Wanda insane, prickling through each nerve of her body.

“What next?” You shakily asked. It was intimidating to have her eyes fixated on you – you couldn’t decipher what was going on behind those green eyes.

“Gyrate your hips. Back and forth, slowly.” Wanda orders with a low voice.

She watches you try to move back and forth at the pillow. Your pussy grazed on the fabric, making your eyes flutter at each soft contact, but it wasn’t enough for your pleasure nor Wanda’s.

She waddled closer and placed her hands firm on your hips. You bite the inside of your cheek, slowing down your motion out of surprise. The least you can do was have an ounce of dignity, you couldn’t moan in front of Wanda.

You sweet thing, Wanda thought. It was evident how desperate you were in your soft and messy thrusts. She was focused on how you moved your hips clumsily and your folds wetter, the pillow darkening as your arousal stained them.

She couldn’t take it much longer.

“You’re almost bouncing, honey. Do it like this – in sliding motions.” A moan inevitably escaped your lips as she pushed your hips alone, quite literally guiding you. Wanda shuddered in delight. “Want that pretty pussy of yours gliding in, get that friction working already. Don’t be afraid to put all of your weight in it. It’s much better, trust me (y/n/n).”

Pretty? Wanda even used it in an inappropriate context. It affected you more than you thought it would, that you felt a spurt of liquid drip from your core. Was it supposed to be like this? It was better than previously. Maybe it was truly your form that made a better change. You thrust your hips more and no longer hesitated upon resting your lower body’s weight.

It was much better, just like Wanda had said.

Wanda’s bed creaked louder and louder. Of course, you were getting lost in your own needs – you didn’t even notice.

Your resolve was visibly breaking in front of Wanda which she absolutely relished on.

“Don’t let me stop you from moaning, baby. It’s all about your pleasure.” Wanda gently reassured you. It was all you needed apparently to let loose. “Thrust your hips harder.” She commands you. It sparked more need that travelled to your lower stomach down to your core.

Was this the feeling people always blabbered about? Because you’re sure that you understood it now. It completely took over your senses like crazy.

Your hands placed in front for balance, you do as your best friend said. She truly knows her way around here. You haven’t felt this needy before. The friction she mentioned was settling in quickly and it was addicting against your pussy. You close your eyes and arch your back. The softness soon burned – a delicious contradiction – and it was enough to make you feel soaked.

“Just like that…” Her hips have never left yours and matched the rough sliding motions, grasping firm around your bare skin. “It feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so great.” For me, Wanda wanted to add.

“M-mm, y-yes,” You whimpered and nodded dumbly.

“You can also experiment with other motions – try what’s best for you. You can do circles with your hips,”

You immediately try as she recommended. Wanda had to stifle a giggle right then and there. Her headboard was starting to hit against the wall with your messy yet hard thrusts. It was obvious that the pleasure was brewing already, to which Wanda deviously smiled at.

“Can I touch you down there? I bet it’s sticky already…” She whispered directly to your ear. You feel your best friend’s hot-white breath grazing satisfactory against your neck. It tickles!

It wouldn’t hurt right? It was a part of the lesson, you suppose. Wanda knew better and you trusted her. “Y-yes. You can touch me, Wands.”

Without further ado, your best friend immediately went in to trace your outer folds. Fuck, you were so wet. You immediately coated her fingers, terribly addicting that she had to stop herself from plunging in so suddenly.

You continued to gyrate harder and it seems that there was the ‘spot’ that everyone was talking about. You lost track of it, but you felt how the pleasure intensified and moaned unadulteratedly, louder than before, that spurred Wanda to repeat the motion harder. With every glide against the pillow that you do, Wanda’s fingers were there at the edge to stimulate your throbbing core. Your breathing pattern grew heaving.

It was so, so addicting to have your slit pressed against the once innocent material and the friction it provided you–

“Stop there,” Wanda firmly said. You halt out of concern, rethinking whether you did something wrong. Your best friend, however, was pleased at your expression.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” You gulped and weakly asked.

“No, honey. You did so well.” Wanda caressed your jaw and held you by the cheek with her clean hand. A pleased grin broke out of you to which Wanda duly noted. You liked praises. “That was the first lesson. You need something to stimulate you into the mood, it is very important. Now I’ll touch you first so you can mimic them later on. Is that okay?” Her hands descend to trail them at the center of your torso and stopped by the pelvic area.

This was going so well. You even forgot and thought how dumb it was to doubt Wanda and how she would embarrass you. It felt as though it was more than what you asked of her.

You wet your lips, “M-more than okay.”

At this point, you valued Wanda's opinion more than ever.

“Good girl. We’ll get started.”

She swept away the crumpling notes and the stained pillow. Wanda almost moaned at the mere sight. It was like an animal had rudely rammed through her room.

Wanda stared at your half-lidded eyes that beamed at her words. Your hair was frazzled and barely can manage your own breathing. She caused this. And hell, she can’t wait to ravish you further. You felt reassured with her comforting smile and voice leading you on.

Your best friend grabbed you by the thighs to pull you closer to her. Wanda hummed in delight, a crooked smile on her lips appeared as you released a throaty moan again as she pushed them farther apart.

“Now, listen carefully, (y/n/n). You have to tease your folds first and gather the wetness here,” Wanda sultry uttered and started to stroke your folds again and you helplessly nod. “It’s no trouble right now, considering how soaked you are.” She bit her lip and teased you by bringing up her fingers that were coated by your arousal. “Don’t hide them from me. It’s so pretty to see you like this, honey.” You arched your back for her and became flustered at Wanda’s words.

So warm and inviting. Wanda was flooded with glee, that she swooped in before anyone else could. With this, she also intends to be your last. No way in hell she can share you now after this.

You feel your cheeks and ears grow hot. You buck your hips for more as Wanda starts to stroke vertically and then random patterns at your soaked pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch the itch you’ve been longing for.

Your nostrils flared, “W-Wands, please..”

Wanda felt herself damp as you moaned her name. It was like music to her ears. She immediately changed your position, from your hips up to encouraging you to lay down flat on her bed and adjusting to settle on your side – her fingers not leaving the inside of your pussy.

“What do you need, baby?” She pressed a kiss on your ear. The gesture was meant to comfort you but you felt your body burning even more.

“I need you! It’s so sticky and tickling me- I don’t… Can you please h-help me?”

You were needy, just as Wanda wanted you to be. She riled you up enough that she even felt you drip more wetness as she plunged deeper inside of you and hit the spongy wall that her fingers could reach. You were more than compliant all throughout the session that it made her heart soar.

“You can also play with your breasts, it can add a better feel for you, baby.”

You hesitantly reach for your pair and Wanda’s awaiting (needy) eyes were the final nudge for you. You wanted to do good. At this point, the lines were blurred; you didn’t know if it was to achieve orgasm or praise from your best friend.

Hands skimming underneath your shirt, you also pushed up your bra and experimentally squeezed the flesh. You groaned and eyes half-lidded again, threatening to shut.

Wanda was ecstatic that she had convinced you through this. Her motions never faltered – if anything it was more determined – as she watched you play with your tits. She thought it was cute how your underwear mismatched, her eyes caught the sliver of the pale material of your panties and your bra in the color of a colder tone. Were you tugging on your perked nipples? You were so eager and feeling comfortable enough. Wanda almost demanded you to take them off, wanting to see them. Another time.

She kept on stimulating your pussy and with the addition of you playing with your breasts – it was impossible to even control your moans anymore.

You threw your arms quickly around Wanda’s neck and hands had wrapped themselves on her nape. Opposed to her firm and determined motions, you were gentle with how you caressed her skin. Wanda melted with no hesitation and now, her dorm room was reverberating with moans along you.

“It’s so sticky down here just as you said. Now,” Wanda’s own breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to listen to her. “I’m going for your clit. It’s in the uppermost area, covered by your hood. Need to stretch you more-” She grabbed your hand and made them trace the areas for you to pinpoint them better. Fuck, Wanda was right. You were soaking wet. “That better?”

You agreed furiously, “Y-Yes, but–”

“I know, I know. You need more.” Wanda kept her ministrations inside of you, stretched you better that you had to let out a guttural moan. The spot was back and she kept hitting it now mercilessly. “Is that it? That feels much better?”

“Oh, yes!”

Your needy core greedily swallowed Wanda’s fingers and you had no idea. So drunk in pleasure. So lost without her. You’re so lucky that you had her. Wanda was just as intoxicated as you, her dilated green eyes drinking up the warmth of your pussy and your writhing sight.

Upon making eye contact, you didn’t know how to react to the revelation of how those green eyes unashamedly looked at you. It was similar as Wanda would when she was examining you while fitting clothes – only now they appeared more hungry and she’ll devour you.

And the thing is that you will gladly let her. Another needy moan was ripped out of you, disturbing your rail of thoughts as Wanda added her thumb to the stimulation that circled around your clit, you laid there helplessly clenching on the bed sheets while you were in Wanda’s grasp.

“W-Wands… Wands! I think I’m going to pee,” You shyly inform the woman and the heel of your palm pressed against her clavicle to push her away, Wanda only shushed you.

It was familiar to you, you think that you’ve reached this extent but you always stopped because you were very unsure of what follows after.

You felt dirty and it was embarrassing how you were bucking your hips to meet Wanda’s plunging in your core. It halted your mood a little and Wanda immediately picked it up, as your walls clenched harder around her digits.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Wanda’s sultry voice spurred your gears again. You huffed and absorbed her words. “Don’t worry about it, you’re going to cum. Just listen to my voice baby, you’re doing so great for me.” It is more than okay, you repeat in your head. Wanda’s making you feel so good you felt like you were going to combust.

Your muscles grew tense around the abdomen area and all over your thighs - you feel the knot forming in there. You are frenzied to chase it.

“Cum for me, come on, my good girl.”

Wanda was sweating now as you were, and she kept ramming inside of your warm walls, a final hard stimulation around your clit did its job to untangle the knot you were feeling.

“Wanda!” A guttural moan was ripped out of you.

It was the most angelic sound that Wanda has ever heard.

Your eyes were still closed shut. Still whining as you fall apart, it was the most freeing experience you’ve ever encountered. It’s easy to say that you were beyond satisfied this time around. Your body was almost floating and your mind was lightheaded–you’re sure of it. Your legs were spasming a little and it was hard to ignore the vivid feeling of liquid oozing out of your core. It was never ending and Wanda was tempted to drink them all up.

“You looked so beautiful there, honey. I’m proud of you.” She cooed sweetly in your ears and pressed a kiss on your forehead that was glistening with sheer sweat.

You grew hot at her words. “Oh–!”

The bed shook again and creaked as Wanda rode out your orgasm. The squelching sound was more vivid to your ears. You cried out loud, feeling that it was too much, held your best friend’s wrist and finally Wanda pulled her digits out. Before your best friend can calm you down–

An aggressive banging resounded against Wanda’s dorm walls.

“It’s midterms week! Stop fucking!”

You froze. You completely forgot where you were and how thin the dorm walls were, making you cover your face with your palm. Meanwhile, Wanda couldn’t be more bothered – she simply laughed at how evidently embarrassed you are, threading through her own hair with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“I don’t think I can face the people outside anymore,” You admit, groaning as you sober up from the high.

Why did you have to be so loud?

“Mmm. Lucky for you, we’re staying inside for a while. I got some other tricks I wanted to show you.” Wanda bit her lip, crimson also spreading through her cheeks as she closed the gap again between you.

She can compare your gaze to a deer caught in headlights. Always so attentive and compliant.

With a little more touch from your best friend, you felt the hotness starting again in your lower stomach, making it twitch with familiar need – your studying session long forgotten and replaced with a different lesson.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

#gg.writes #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #wlw #lesbian #perv!wanda

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 10 days ago

Text

Please (Dean Winchester x female reader)

Dean has been acting out, and you decide it’s time to give him what he really needs: to let go.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 2.5k words. Dean gets the full sub experience - crawling, crying, begging. It's a hoot. Femdom. Some religious imagery.

Dean’s really fucked up this time, although you’re starting to suspect he’s doing it on purpose.

The last time he did it, chatted with a busty brunette in the bar where you could clearly see it, and you were done roughly fucking back at the motel, you let your head drop back, panting.

“You pull this shit again,” you said between deep breaths, “you’re seriously going to pay for it.”

And Dean, smug asshole that he is, had thrown you a look that told you that if it meant more of what you had just done, he’d let you catch him flirting with every woman between here and Alaska.

You don’t actually get jealous. You know Dean won’t actually do anything beyond chatting them up. And the reason he started doing that in the first place is to try to get a rise out of you, try to get you to the point where you are pinning his wrists over his head, fucking yourself down on him with no regard to his pleasure, only yours.

Cause. Effect. It’s simple.

But lately he’s been getting a little too cocky, a little too sure of himself. He still gets off, and he really likes seeing you the way you get, domineering and a little mean. He loves that someone cares enough about him to abandon their own control of themselves. It feeds something in him he didn’t know needed feeding, is your theory. But maybe it’s time to change up the game a little.

The two of you haven’t discussed this before, and a part of you thinks that maybe you should. But talking to Dean about sex is like talking to a dog about barking. He really doesn’t have that much to say about it beyond the doing of it. Plus, you cannot wait to see the look on his face when you do it, can’t wait to see his pretty face all confused. It makes you tingle just to think about it.

So it’s the usual, some sweet girl Dean chatted up, and he keeps throwing you looks over his shoulder, because of course he’s not subtle about. Thirty minutes later, you’re pulling up to the motel in the Impala. Your hair is already a mess from how roughly you and Dean have been kissing, but it’s nothing compared to what happens once you’re inside.

You haven’t even managed to take all your clothes off, only your jeans, your panties still dangling from one ankle, but Dean is already licking and fingering you so vigorously that you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck, yes, keep going,” you whine while you press the back of his head down roughly, his face against you, watch him with his eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed, like he’s in fucking heaven.

You come, your cry is loud and you’re distantly aware of someone banging on the wall that separates you from the next room, but you’re too busy having the top of your head blown off. Dean gets off you, basically rips his own clothes off in an effort to get to what will happen next. Boy, is he in for a surprise.

You’re still a little jelly-boned, but once Dean has taken off his clothes, he helps pull off your top, immediately leaning down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan, roughly grab him by the hair and he sucks harder in response. Then he moves off you and turns, lays on his back, all the while stroking himself. He doesn’t need to, he’s hard as steel, the head of his cock wearing a crown of pre-come. You get on top of him immediately, high on your knees so his cock is below your pussy.

“You like making me angry?” you say as you slowly sink down. Dean grunts and you almost forget what your plan is, because goddamn he feels good. You stop moving when he’s fully seated in you.

“I asked you a question,” you say. Dean has his head pressed into the pillow, eyes closed, and he blinks them open now. He looks confused and you could squeal at the sight of that.

“Do you like pissing me off?” you ask again, voice calm. Dean seems to gather himself, because he nods. As a reward, you roll your hips, making Dean’s breath hiccup. His hands shoot to your hips.

“Tell me, Dean,” you say, not moving again. “Tell me and I’ll move.”

Dean needs to get his breathing under control, since it’s all over the place. Once he does, he looks up at you.

“I like that you take what you want when you’re mad,” he says, and you clench a little, making him flinch, eyelids flutter.

“Love the way you just take from me,” he adds, and he actually blushes, blushes so prettily. You grin and begin rolling your hips in earnest now.

“You just have to ask, Dean,” you say, hoping he can hear you over his beautiful moans. “You don’t have to act out, just ask me to pretty please be a little mean to you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile at that, but he’s already got his eyes closed again, completely absorbed by your movement. So now, it’s really a race against time, because you’re not sure you’ll be able to do what you want to do if you don’t come again first.

Though there’s no need to worry. Years of sex with Dean, getting to know how your bodies work together, plus how absolutely crazy it drives you to see him like this, get you there quickly.

One hand is in your hair, one on your clit, and your hips are snapping back and forth, and you can feel it build in you quickly. There’s a light sheen of sweat on Dean’s forehead and he looks like he’s in pain, so beautiful, so perfect. You come, riding him even harder to prolong your release, and just as you recover, Dean lifts his head from the pillow a little.

“Gonna, fucking, gonna come inside you,” he groans and you can feel his hips buck up for the extra stimulation. Your hands land on his chest and he probably thinks you’re gonna ride him right into it, but instead you press yourself up and don’t come back down.

It takes about two seconds for Dean to understand what you’re doing. He blinks his eyes open as he slips out of you. You climb off the bed, grab his shirt laying close by and use it, just as an extra pinch of degradation, to dab the sweat off your body. Then you turn back to Dean, and it takes you everything not to burst out laughing at the view.

He’s still in the position he was in, hands up, as if he’s holding on to a ghost version of you. Cock flushed and angry and it makes your mouth water, but you know better. You drop the shirt on the floor just as Dean sits up, not touching his erection. Good.

There was a small chance that he might just get himself off, but while Dean can be an absolute brat, it all melts away as soon as the sex begins. Then he’s like a little kitten.

You sit in the armchair opposite the bed, the one you turned around before you left for the bar, just in case tonight was the night, the anticipation making you giddy. You sling one leg over the side of it, revealing your pussy to Dean.

“Babe?” he says, sitting up, tone questioning and, if you listen closely, a little nervous.

“I think I’ve been letting you get away with this shit for a little too long,” you say, and then raise your hand, collect a little bit of spit with your fingertips. The hand goes to your clit, barely touching it, just enough for Dean’s eyes to drop there and stare at it, like a man in the desert looking at a glass of water. He actually licks his lips. You could die from love for this man.

“I think you need to learn, Dean,” you continue, flexing your shoulders a little because you are feeling too damn good. “Need to learn that bad behavior doesn’t get you rewarded.”

Dean still seems shellshocked, swallows heavily. Good chance his brain is still fighting through the fog of arousal.

“So why don’t you come over here,” you say, voice low, “and show me how sorry you are?”

You see the moment it clicks in Dean’s brain, the moment he understands what you want him to do. And the second after that, you see that he likes it. He doesn’t look happy exactly, but instead he looks… needy. Hungry. Desperate. But also blissful. His shoulders go down, his face relaxes.

He hesitates for another second and then he moves, and you want to pray to the gods above when you see that he gets on his fucking knees, and then Dean Winchester, feared and famed hunter, the man monsters have nightmares about, is crawling towards you.

You could come again then and there, because it is the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life. His back and arm muscles ripple with the movement, you can just see his perky ass over his back, his cock hangs heavy and leaking under him and his face is so beautiful, so full of reverence, like he's about to sacrifice himself at the altar of you.

He reaches you and you pull your hand back, because damn it, he knows exactly what to do, falls into the role like he was born for it. He rubs his face against your pussy and you gasp. It’s uncoordinated, he’s not eating you out, it’s something else. Your slick is smeared over his face before his tongue finds your clit, presses against it, sucks on it but only shortly, because he is working himself into a frenzy.

You wouldn’t mind coming again, but the truth is, this is about Dean. It’s about giving him what you believe, and see now confirmed, he always wanted. To be told what to do. To make up for what he’s done. To be taken care of. To completely let go, which you’re pretty sure he’s never been able to do for a second of his life. To beg for what he wants and actually get it.

His hands go to your thighs as he holds you open, almost as if he’s worried you’ll close your legs, as if they’re the gates to heaven and he’s terrified of not getting in. He tongues and nibbles at you and you just watch him.

“Please,” he finally says, and you feel the breath of his words on your sensitive skin. “Please, please, let me come, I’ll be so good.”

Jesus Christ, this is better than you ever imagined it could be. It’s actually making you emotional. Your hand goes out, and you pet Dean’s cheek and he moans, presses his face against your palm, brow deeply knotted, eyes falling closed.

“Please,” he says again.

“You’ve been very bad, Dean,” you say and he nods vigorously, looks up at you.

“I know,” he says, glistening eyes pleading. “But I can be so good, I promise. Just let me come. Just let me come inside you.” You look at him, pretend you’re thinking.

“I always thought you were a bad boy,” you say, thumb gently stroking Dean’s cheek. “But you’re really a good boy, aren’t you?”

For a second it looks like Dean comes right then, without any touching, because the shudder that goes through him is that intense.

“Yes,” he says, and it’s more of a breath, voice raspy and deep as if he’s been screaming, his eyes falling shut again. “Yes, I’m good.” You nod, continue stroking his cheek.

“Come up here, Dean,” you say. He does it immediately, pushes himself up. Daddy’s little soldier. So good at following orders.

You pull on his arms to make him lean towards you, one of his knees going on the seat of the armchair for balance. But instead of guiding him into you, you guide him so that his cock is lying on you, across your mound, and you gently stroke it. Dean gasps.

“You want me to make you come, Dean?” you ask, studying his face. He’s torn up, torn between the promise of release and self-control.

“Inside, please,” he huffs, restraining himself from bucking into your touch. His chest is rising and falling, his shoulders are tensed. “Please, please, let me come inside you.” You raise your eyebrows as if you’re confused by his request.

“But you can come on me, Dean,” you say. “Isn’t that nice?” Dean nods then shakes his head. God, he is really losing it.

“Inside’s better,” he says, then swallows, like he’s correcting himself. One of his hands lands on your waist, like he’s begging for entry. “Nothing feels better than being inside you.”

You purse your lips, then press a hand against his abdomen, push him back a little. Dean complies. His cock drops off you, head now hanging close to your entrance. You reach down, line him up, and then you wrap your legs around him, and pull him in.

Dean looks like he’s seeing God for a second. He fills you up so perfectly and a little moan escapes you. When he’s all the way inside you, you cup his face, run your thumb along his lips.

“That’s where you belong, isn’t it?” you ask and Dean just barely nods.

“Yes,” he breathes. You clench down on him, against him and he moans, so you do it again, harder.

“Fuck, please,” he grunts. You wonder if you can make him come just from this. Something to try next time, maybe. Right now, you need Dean as much as he needs you. You loosen the grip of your legs around him.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you say, voice quiet. “Come inside me, you deserve it.”

Dean’s hands go to your sides for a better grip, and you see that they are actually shaking. He pulls out, then pushes in again, clearly trying to control himself.

“Faster, baby,” you say, biting your lip. “Fuck me good.”

And Dean does. He’s completely desperate at this point, and he pulls out quickly and pushes in again even quicker, until he’s fucking himself into you fast and shallow. A drop of sweat runs down his temple and you want to lick it away, but can’t reach.

You don’t come again, which is fine, but Dean does, quickly and violently. He leans his head forward and it lands on your chest.

“Please,” he groans as he comes, his entire body shuddering, his back tensing. You wrap your arms around him, stroke his back.

“Ssh,” you coo, and something like a sob leaves him.

“You did so good,” you rasp into his ear and he presses his face into your neck as he’s coming down. You’re not sure if the wetness you feel on your neck is sweat or tears, but it doesn’t matter. You just hold him, for a long time, stroke his shoulders and back, tell him how good he’s been.

Dean never pulls the stunt with flirting in a bar again. He doesn’t need to. He knows how to ask now.

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #spn #spn smut #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic

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applepiewinchesters · 7 months ago

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Every Universe (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This was written while I was slightly intoxicated, I regret nothing though and hope you guys enjoy it. It was proofread but I cannot say there will be no grammatical errors. Regardless, please enjoy!! :) Also, takes place in the Deadpool and Wolverine universe.

Word Count: 4,158 (this bitch is long, for me at least)

Warnings: None really unless you count angst and fluff as well as the mention of butt stuff

Finding out that not falling in love with a man being the sole reason you were sent to the void seemed like a pretty patriarchal reason to essentially be damned but who were you to question the TVA.

The day you were sent to the void you’d seen the news, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AFTER ATTACK AT XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS, names such as Jean Grey, Marie D’Ancanto, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Logan Howlett were read out by the heartbroken looking anchor.

Being a mutant yourself, the news stung and left a pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was an attack by an anti-mutant terrorist group, if they were bold enough to attack the home of Charles Xavier, why not a shopping mall next, or another school full of mutant and non-mutant children alike.

Only minutes after the newscast on the tragedy started four rectangular, orange portals opened in front of and behind you. Four men dressed in odd looking military uniforms stalked towards you. You didn’t even have time to attempt to fend them off before they grabbed you, holding you down while you attempted to break free but even with your mutation, they were too strong.

All you remembered was one of them placing some weird stick against your stomach and you screamed as you essentially dissolved into nothing.

When you woke you were found by who you now knew as Blade, and were told you were in the Void, where you would stay until you died or were killed by a fellow member of said Void.

You’d been there for a what you thought was probably a few years when a couple of Deadpool and Wolverine variants were found by Laura in an absolutely fucked Honda Odyssey. She brought them there and Gambit and Blade brought them inside and laid them down. They appeared as if they’d just had a horrific fight or the most violent sexual encounter ever.

The Wolverine variant was the first to wake up, quite literally shooting up into a sitting position while breathing heavily. His claws extended quickly from his knuckles, and he made an almost animalistic sound.

“Easy there killer,” you almost teased, holding up your hands, you’d been the one unfortunate enough to be closest to him when he woke up, so his eyes immediately fixed on you.

Several emotions seemed to flash across his face at once, his look of anger changing to one of shock. His claws disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared just moments ago as you slowly put your hands down, now a little concerned for the man.

“Y/N?”, he asked, his head tilting slightly.

It was your turn to look confused, “Did we know each other?”, you asked.

Sure, you’d heard of Wolverine, of Logan, but you’d never met him personally, you had originally been set to attend Charles Xavier’s school when you were 18 but after an attack on the school the same year your parents had decided against it.

The Logan before you’ s face fell slightly; he seemed almost hurt. It took him a second to respond, “I, uh, I guess not.”

That was when Elektra cut in, explaining to Logan where he was and how she’d found him and Deadpool. While he seemed to only half listen, he got up and found the nearest bottle of Gambit’s booze and started drinking it.

When Deadpool woke up it was a completely different side of weird, you hadn’t had the pleasure of coming across a Deadpool variant, but you’d heard how odd they were, and unfortunately for you, you thought they were exaggerating.

After annoying literally everyone in the room, the Deadpool variant all got you to somehow agree to help him and Wolverine get back to the TVA to save his timeline, as well as a sneak attack on Cassandra Nova. The whole time Logan watched you from the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t completely convince himself it was you. The last time he’d seen you, you were lying dead on the front lawn of the school, killed by a large group of humans, along with almost everyone at the mansion. You were covered in blood and cold by the time he’d gotten there. He’d held onto you until the coroner was nearly begging to take you away.

Logan remembered almost everything about you. Your favorite movie, what food you hated, and even the feel of your hand in his. But when you looked at him with little to no recognition in your eyes, his heart could’ve broken all over again.

You had no idea the conflicting feelings he’d had while you sat only a few feet away. You looked practically the same, maybe older than you were when you’d died in his world, he was older too, maybe you just didn’t want to be with an old man and were pretending not to know him. He was the worst Wolverine after all, he wouldn’t blame you.

But then there were some things you did that reminded him of his version of you, the way your laugh sounded exactly the same, how you sat the same way in your chair, and you even made the same face when you’d taken a drink of Gambit’s whiskey as when you’d sip his occasionally while the two of you sat on the couch in the mansion watching some movie one of the others had put on.

It was you, just, one that apparently hadn’t fallen in love with Logan Howlett. Logan himself couldn’t help but wonder if that had been your reason for being sent here, but thought better of it, deciding he'd probably never have that kind of impact on any kind of world.

After a successful attack on Cassandra and her small army, Deadpool and Wolverine were gone, and you hadn’t expected to ever see them again. Then Cassandra almost destroyed every timeline to exist, and you’d thought for sure those two variants had gotten themselves killed.

But then the TVA came for you and brought you to said Deadpool variants world, which he had successfully and somehow saved with Wolverine’s help. You couldn’t help but notice Logan’s shirt missing this time around. Almost cursing yourself for not trying harder to go to Xavier’s school when you were younger, having a chance to meet your world’s Logan. A man’s abs can do that to a woman.

“Happy to not be in the void and all, but why am I here?”, you asked, eyeing the agents around you and taking in the cracked subway station.

“I thought I’d give a little gift to Wolvie here,” Deadpool replied in an overly enthusiastic manner, throwing an arm around Logan who instantly pushed him away.

“I’m not a gift to give you dumb fuck,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Deadpool ignored your obvious distain and continued, “Well I figured since he lost you in his world and you never falling in love in your world caused his death that you could stay here with us!”.

Your eyes widened and you had to think about what he’d said for a moment, “I-I got him killed? I got Logan and those other mutants killed?”.

Logan couldn’t focus on the other details once his name left your mouth; he hadn’t heard you say that in almost a decade.

You on the other hand turned to the woman beside you that looked to be in charge.

“Is that the reason I was sent there, because I didn’t fall in love with Logan Howlett and he died because of it?”, you asked, you felt like you could be sick.

The woman sighed, almost regretful, “Yes, it was,” she finally answered you. “Without your help of your mutation those mutants did not survive that attack on the school.”

“Oooooo, trauma plot twist,” Deadpool practically squealed.

“Shut the fuck up!”, you snapped back, making Deadpool whisper a bashful, “Sorry,” and take a step back.

The TVA agents left shortly after, and that was how you found yourself living in a small apartment with Wade, Logan, and the craziest old lady you’d ever met, Blind Al.

Wade and she shared a room as weird as it was, you were given the spare room Blind Al reluctantly let you use, as it was now formerly her grow room, and Logan elected to sleep on the couch.

You settled in somewhat nicely, you still felt awkward in a world that wasn’t yours living with a doofus that you'd grown somewhat fond of and a man you got killed in his other life, but you had new friends, ones that didn’t have a huge chance of dying every day so that was a plus.

Yukio and Ellie had gravitated towards you, you were somewhat close in age, with them being early twenties and you in your somewhat late twenties, they reminded you of your younger sibling’s friends from back home in your previous world.

So, when they invited you to go out a month after you settled in, you couldn’t say no, it would get you out of the house at least, you wouldn’t have to sit and listen to Wade and Logan argue or endure Logan’s kicked puppy look when he thought you weren’t looking.

You felt awful you weren’t the you he thought you were, and you knew it was nothing you could control but after Wade let it slip what had happened to you in Logan’s world you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.

So, to hopefully be able to forget about everything for a few hours you got ready, doing some easy makeup and hair, you put on a cute outfit you’d bought earlier in the week, Yukio had begged you to go shopping after finding out you didn’t own anything for “going out” yet on this world.

You relented and picked out a skirt, top, tights, and boots, it was simple yet cute enough to not be mistaken as any old outfit.

When you’d exited your bedroom in your shared apartment shortly before Yukio and Ellie were due to come get you, Wade looked up from whatever the hell he was doing on his phone, which could be anything from porn to angry birds.

His eyes widened slightly, “Got a date?”, he asked, only slightly feigning shock.

Logan had looked up immediately at the mention of a date, he was sipping a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table. His eyes traveled over your outfit when he thought you were busy glaring at Wade.

“Not that its your business merc but no, I’m going out with Yukio and Ellie,” you stated, tossing a lip balm you had in your hand to your small purse.

“Girls nightttt,” Wade sang, only making you sigh.

As if a divine intervention interrupted there was a knock on the door and when you opened it you found the two girls standing there waiting.

“Hi Wade!”, Yukio exclaimed waving at him.

Wade leaned back in his seat to look around you at Yukio, “Hi Yukio!”.

“Come on,” you told them, moving to leave but a hand on your shoulder made you turn around. It was Wade.

“Now honey,” he began, “don’t take drinks from strangers, don’t go off alone, and don’t hook up with anyone. You know what they say about beer goggles, you’ll be waking up next to the crypt keeper.”

While you rolled your eyes and pushed Wade’s hand off your shoulder although you knew he really did care. Logan on the other hand clenched his jaw. You weren’t his and he knew that, but Wade’s last comment set his teeth on edge.

“I’m a big girl Wade, but thanks,” you told him, turning around and leaving this time without so much as a glimpse Logan’s way.

When the door shut Wade spoke again, “She’s gonna get picked up by every hottie in the club in that outfit. Did you see her legs Peanut?”.

Wade then almost immediately flinched when he felt glass shatter on the back of his head, the alcohol in the now broken bottle staining the back of his My Little Pony shirt.

He didn’t even have to look back to imagine the look on Logan’s face, “Gotcha,” was all Wade replied, picking out a rather large glass shard from the back of his neck.

…

It was hours later when you were so drunk you couldn’t feel the cold outside, but you sure felt good on the inside. The only bad thing was that the other girls wanted to go to another club, and your social battery was just about gone.

You three stumbled out of the club, Yukio and you giggled at something Ellie had yelled at some perv leering at you when you’d walked out. Stopping the other two from turning the opposite way to another club, you spoke rather loudly despite being out of the crowd and loud music.

“I-I think I’m gonna go home! You girls go!” you told them, making Yukio frown.

“Don’t walk home by yourself, call Wade or something,” Ellie commented.

You nodded thoughtfully before gasping, “I’ll call Logan, Wade is doing butt stuff with Vanessa tonight!”.

Your loud comment sent Yukio into a giggling fit and made a guy near you wince, maybe he’d done butt stuff too.

Ellie only nodded, rolling her eyes as you pulled your phone from your purse, scrolling through the very few numbers you’d had, Wade had gotten both you and Logan phones soon after arriving, claiming he needed to be able to send you both funny videos every day. Which were no doubt ignored by Logan.

Pressing on Logan’s contact, you put the phone up to your ear, listening to it ring only once before the call was answered.

“You alright?”, was the first thing out of Logan’s mouth and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’m great!” you replied, “but Ellie doesn’t want me walking home alone and Wade is doing butt stuff so will you come? I’m only a few blocks from home.”

The whole sentence was sort of rushed and you thought maybe Logan hadn’t heard you correctly because the line went silent.

You were about to repeat yourself when Logan stopped you, “I’m coming,” he told you, you could hear him shuffling around and the sound of a door closing, “What’s the name?”.

Despite having been in the club for well over an hour you had to look up and squint at then brightly lit sign, “Uhhhh,” you mumbled into to the phone, before your eyes finally focused, “House of Yes!”.

You could’ve sworn Logan chuckled, “Be there soon,” was all he said before hanging up.

“Escort secured,” you told the two girls, slipping your phone back into your purse. “He’ll be here soon,” you added, attempting to replicate his gravely tone, only succeeding in making yourself cough and sending Yukio into a laughing fit.

It was only 15 minutes of standing around before Logan showed up, you spotted him first, having turned yourself that way to look for him. He was dressed in his usual jeans, button up, and undershirt, along with a leather jacket he’d picked up recently.

He looked good you had to admit, nearly every girl outside, and even some guys turned to look at him when he walked past. He didn’t give them any sort of acknowledgement though, earning some disappointed looks from a few of them when he walked up to you.

What was it Wade said about beer goggles? Logan was hot without alcohol though, so you shook off the thought.

“Ready to go?”, he asked, eyes scanning over you, not to be a perv but to make sure everything was the same as when you left, and it was, save for the way you swayed slightly and the way you smiled at him like you were so happy to see him. He thought he’d never see that again, but he has to remind himself for what felt like that hundredth time that it wasn’t you, not his you at least.

You nodded, turning around to hug both of the girls, telling them to be safe, although you knew Ellie wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit.

“Bye Y/N! Bye Logan!”, Yukio exclaimed, waving at you both before grabbing Ellie’s hand as they turned the opposite way.

“Alright, come on,�� Logan said, taking a step away from you and waiting for you to follow him to keep walking, he made sure to keep you closest to the buildings, it wouldn’t be too great to have you fall in the street in front of a car.

It was silent for a couple minutes, you stumbled every so often and Logan’s hand always shot out, ready to catch you, but you always righted yourself, giggling as you did, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound.

You caught him smiling after a couple times, narrowing your eyes, “What’re you smiling at grumpy?”, you asked, voice anything but angry.

“Grumpy?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, it’s what I call you sometimes in my head, Mr. Grumpy is also a good one,” you told him in a very serious tone.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Logan found himself repeating, only making you laugh, which made you stumble, nearly knocking into someone walking the opposite way of you both. Logan instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the almost collision and into his side.

You immediately noticed he was warm, you could feel it even with his multiple layers on, it was growing colder now outside as the days went on and you yourself knew without the alcohol, you’d probably be cold but here he was, a personal heater.

“Are you actually just a werewolf?” you asked him, making him stop walking completely and turn towards you, removing his arm from your shoulders, making you pout a bit.

“I am not a werewolf,” he told you seriously.

You groaned, “Okay but you’re really warm, you have claws, you can run on all fours, and you’ve got those little…,” you trailed off, putting your pointer fingers up on each side of your head, attempting to mimic the little swishes his hair made.

Personally, you had no idea if his hair just did that (because he’s a werewolf), or if he styled it that way. You couldn’t decide which option to like more.

When Logan didn’t seem to understand what you’d said, you reached up, lightly running a finger along one of the swoops of his hair. You jumped a bit when his hand caught your wrist as you were pulling your hand back.

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize but it soon disappeared as he let you go, “Sorry,” he quickly said. “Reflex.”

You shrugged, “No harm done,” you told him, and his eyes softened at the way you brushed off his behavior from years of enduring nothing even remotely close to the gentle way you’d just touched him.

Maybe you didn’t think so badly of him. You always seemed so wary, afraid to make him angry, to say something wrong, like he was a ticking time bomb. It put him on edge and made him want to steer clear of you, he didn’t want to scare you off either. But now, standing there staring at you while you just smiled at him made him relax a bit.

“Let’s go,” you suddenly said, beginning to walk away from him. He was back at your side in moments, and you found yourself bumping into him every so often, apologizing every time you did.

Finally, he wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you back into the warmth of his side. You smiled when he did, stumbling slightly but he held you up easily, not letting you fall.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you told him when you were only a block from home.

“No problem,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

There were a few moments of silence before you began to giggle suddenly, Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “What?” he asked, hopefully not regretting asking.

“So, you’re not a werewolf?” you asked, looking up at him.

Logan groaned looking away from you, “No, and if you keep asking, you’ll regret it.”

“Ooo what are you gonna do?” you mocked, poking his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart,” he replied, making you stumble at the nickname.

“I would,” you challenged, after righting yourself with the help of Logan’s arm around you.

Logan regarded you for a moment before shaking his head, “You’re drunk, another time.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, “Tell me!”.

“Not a chance,” Logan replied, smirking a bit. He’d been drinking since you left and was buzzed himself, he couldn’t help but smile at your behavior.

The you he’d known had always acted like this, at least when intoxicated. You were whiny, clumsy, and clingy. The way your fingers gripped the back of his jacket to stay up right made his heart ache though and his smile fell.

You noticed his attitude change and became concerned, “You okay?” you asked, attempting to stop walking, but Logan kept you going.

“Fine” he replied, his hold on you loosening slightly, you couldn’t help but notice.

So, you stopped, much to Logan’s dismay, moving to stand in front of him, swaying slightly as you very determinedly looked him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, did I do something?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice, he could almost feel his heart crack just slightly.

“No, it’s…,” Logan began, his tongue getting tied, he was never great at emotions, that’s why he drank so much. You didn’t have to feel anything then.

“I’m listening,” you reassured, resisting the urge to take his hand.

“You’re so much like…like her, like you,” Logan finally said, not really meeting your eye. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t, you even smell the same.”

Logan had rendered you with nothing to say, could you truly comfort him? Reassure him? You felt yourself sobering up a bit at the thought.

It was a few moments of silence before you found your words, “I know this has been shitty for you too, and I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. Honestly sometimes I think you hate the fact that I'm not her, me her, whatever...that you hate me. But then you do things like this and it makes me think otherwise. I guess I just don't know how to...approach you, Logan."

Logan felt his heart drop at the word “friend”, and the thought he made you feel inadequate. God he really was stupid enough to think he might have a chance with this version of you.

But he found himself lifting a hand to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up beneath his fingers, “I could never hate you, not in this universe, not in any, got it? Its my fault, for pushing that onto you, making you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “We’re both just fucked up in our own special way, aren’t we?”.

Logan nodded, dropping his hand, but you caught it in your own, “It’s not your fault either you know, I personally blame whatever bitchass overlord of the universe did this.”

Logan had to keep himself from solely focusing on the way your hand wrapped around his, “But…,” he went to argue.

You put up a hand to stop him, “Enough with the self-pity Howlett, its unbecoming of a man of your nature.”

“My nature?” Logan asked, titling his head at you.

“Yes, the nature of being absurdly attractive,” you admitted, looking away from him as you spoke, attempting to walk away, but he pulled you back, almost into his chest, but he kept you a few inches away, still concerned with scaring you.

“Absurdly?” Logan asked, the smirk returning to his face.

You swallowed hard, “Did I say that? I meant unappealing, completely unsightly.”

Your attempt at saving your future sober self from your drunk self was failing miserably, but Logan gave in after a few seconds, shrugging as he turned, placing his arm around you once more, guiding you towards the apartment building you could finally see in the distance.

“Whatever you say kid,” he told you.

This was the most at home you two had felt in a while, and when you sat next to each other at breakfast in the morning, Logan passing you whatever you needed when you’d asked, Wade gasped dramatically.

“Did you two also engage in butt stuff last night, or is that not your cup of whiskey Wolvie?” Wade asked.

This earned him a fork to the forehead, easily tossed across the table by Logan.

The way you laughed made Logan’s heart skip a beat instead of crack again. For the first time in quite a while he felt hope, and if being here with you meant putting up with Wade’s dumbass mouth, he could make an exception just this once.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I felt like Tumblr was seriously lacking in Logan fluff so here ya go!

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x reader #xmen #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff

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malewifesband · 11 months ago

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as big as the friend confession scene is i love this part best. laios is ofc still under the impression that kabru likes monster food and went thru this big effort to make something special for him and then kabru goes out of his way to be so warm and sweet, and frankly a bit flirtatious like i know he thinks that exit killed it

and hes kinda right bc laios cannot stop staring after him when he leaves and i cannot attribute all that to him being confused about what kabru meant by "dont forget me next time". like laios means it if he says something like "meeting you was the best part of this" those are not empty words even if hes under a false impression about kabru--i dont think its just that kabru shared his interest that has his attention either. i think its bc kabru really engaged with him. i dont think his opinion wouldve changed much if kabru said "nahhhh im good i wont eat a monster cool for you tho have fun" instead of saying he would try it

(and he really is trying the 'laugh at anything he says so he'll feel special' strat here huh.....)

and kabru despite being a stranger he helped get thru to shuro about falins resurrection

and he does it with a sensitivity and care that laios wishes he was capable of and he know it limits him as a leader

the thought laios keeps having about kabru isnt "wow he loves monsters too!" its "wow he is sooooo nice :3" which he is! at this stage he likes kabru bc he feels heard by him and kabru has qualities he knows he lacks but admires greatly and didnt make fun of him or call him weird for his interest in monsters

the way kabru acts and thinks about laios at this point feels allegorical to how people feel in new relationships. can i trust you? are you who you seem? if i tell you how ive been hurt, will you use this to hurt me or to protect me? i dont know yet, but i like you so far, so im going to show you the self that i think you'll like best. i want to impress you. i want you to trust me so maybe i can trust you

so much of dungeon meshi is about the way that we accidentally hurt our loved ones because we cant always understand them, or we dont know whats best for them when theyve been hurt in such complex ways, or because were too scared of being hurt again to tell them not to press into the bruise (see: chimera falin, falin giving up parts of her life to suit/protect marcille and laios bc she loves them, laios driving marcille deeper into the winged lions grip TWICE with his advice in the nightmares and again with the dungeon rabbits, everything chilchuck has ever done in his whole life, laios' father's everything also, and this is a labru post so ofc kabru lying about wanting to eat monsters to impress laios) i wouldnt be surprised if the allegory was intentional

anyways this part of their relationship budding into a toxic little flower theyll have to prune later is very cute to me and i really like reading it again knowing how they turn their relationship around later into one built on a mutual understanding and trust

#labru #i love the mutual crush phase of relationships

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dazzlingjaeyun · 5 months ago

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𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 – 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

bestfriend!jay x fem!reader

୨୧ genre: f2l, fake dating, fluff & a tiny bit of angst | words: 5.7k | cw: mentions of food, skinship, curse words, a tiny bit suggestive at some points ୨୧

hanna says: short mention of &team's nicholas for the sake of the plot; he can literally be read as any other guy, i just needed another name lol

hanna says more: i know this is the second f2l au i've written about jay but i just can't help it

────────────────────

you were just about to settle down on the sofa next to jay for your usual friday night movie marathon when you heard a low groan escape his lips. his hand was tangled in his hair, frustration evident on his furrowed brows as he stared intently at his phone screen.

“someone’s not excited about movie night?” you teased. “i promise, i’m not making you rewatch finding nemo for the tenth time!”

your best friend shot you a glare, clearly not in the mood for your humor. “it’s not the movie night, idiot,” he said with a low voice. “i have to go back home for family dinner tomorrow…” he explained.

your amused expression shifted to one of confusion. “what’s so bad about that?” you asked.

after all, his family was insanely sweet, and the food was immaculate. you knew that from years of friendship. ever since the two of you had become friends some time in high school, you’d always looked forward to being at his place – specifically when you knew there would be food. and there’d always be food, both of his parents being not only skilled cooks but also very passionate about it. luckily, these traits rubbed off on jay, so now, after you both had left your hometown for college and decided to move in together for the sake of sharing rent, you had your own personal chef.

“nothing usually… but they haven’t stopped asking about my love life ever since we moved here, and it’s so annoying,” he whined, throwing his head back into the cushions of the sofa in frustration. “my mom keeps on asking; i swear she’ll set me up with a random girl if i don’t show up with a girlfriend in the next two months.”

you put your lips together tightly, trying not to laugh at his words. he noticed despite your effort to hide it and took the nearest pillow to throw it at you. “it’s not funny! they just don’t stop.” the tone of his voice grew more desperate.

you successfully dodged the pillow, letting out a small chuckle. “well, why don’t you just tell them that you’re not into girls?” you asked, breaking out in laughter as you saw the bewildered expression on his face. “you’re a terrible friend; you’re no help at all!” he complained, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

your laughter died down soon after, and you looked at him with a more sincere expression. “no, but i’m serious, jay. just tell them that you’re not looking for anything right now. you’re focusing on college, and you’re doing well… and that’s what they’d want for you, after all.”

he sighed. “yeah, no. i tried, but they just don’t stop asking.”

you hummed, thinking about how to help him out of the constant questions. “i mean… it’s not like you haven’t gotten to know any girls,” you started, remembering some nights that he’d asked you to stay over at a friend’s house, or you cursing him for waking you up in the middle of the night when he was busy with a girl next door to your room. “you can tell them you just haven’t found the right one yet. you wouldn’t even lie.”

before he could reply, you blurted out the next idea that came to your mind. “or just ask one of them to join you?”

he shook his head without hesitation. “no way in hell, that would be so awkward. i cannot appear with a girl who i know nothing of and pretend to be her boyfriend? they’ll catch on immediately,” he protested. “besides, i don’t even have the numbers for half of them.”

you raised an eyebrow, looking at him in surprise. he wasn’t the type to fool around, and you knew he hadn’t been with too many girls, but it still surprised you – you wouldn’t have thought your best friend since high school turned out to be this type of person after all.

"you’re terrible, jay,” you laughed.

silence stretched between you for a while. jay’s forehead wrinkled, showing he was deep in thought, before he suddenly looked at you with an expression you didn’t quite understand.

“stop looking at me like that; you’re scaring me,” you said, half joking, half serious.

“you could help me,” he blurted out, before even processing his own thought.

“i already gave you all my ideas,” you replied.

“no, i mean…” he paused as if searching for the right words, “you can pretend to be my girlfriend.”

your eyes widened at his suggestion, the air getting stuck in your throat, forcing you to choke out a cough. “what the fuck?”

“doesn’t it make sense? i mean… i know you, so it won’t be hard to answer any questions. they won’t even ask many. we’re not awkward around each other, and you also know my family, so it won’t be weird either,” he explained, but you shook your head.

“they know me as your friend, jay. and besides that, how the hell do you want to explain it to them once you found a real girlfriend? you’ll just tell them we went back to being friends? or you’ll lie to them and say we ended the friendship too? for the rest of your life? it’s just complicating things much more,” you protested.

another sigh came from his lips. “i don’t know either, but can’t we figure that out later?” he looked at you with a pleading look – one you usually couldn’t resist.

“no,” you crossed your arms, “as your best friend, i have to stop you from making dumb decisions… and there’s nothing in it for me either way so–”

“a month of free coffee,” jay interrupted you quickly, and as you raised an eyebrow, he corrected himself, “two. two months.”

you squinted your eyes as if thinking about his offer.

“and i’ll cook and do the dishes for the next two weeks. please, y/n,” he pouted, which drew a sigh from you.

“fine,” you agreed after some time, “but don’t make it weird. only in front of your family. and don’t you dare kiss me!” you said, a playful disgust in your voice.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

as it was time to get ready for the family dinner, you rummaged through your closet, feeling a wave of panic wash over you. “what am i going to wear?” you muttered, tossing clothes aside like they were useless scraps. you felt the pressure of the evening ahead, the weight of pretending to be jay’s girlfriend pressing down on you.

“relax, y/n. it’s not a big deal,” jay said, leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile on his face. “you’ve been to my house a million times.”

“yeah, but this time it’s different. it’s not just a casual hangout. they’re gonna think we’re dating,” you replied, running a hand through your hair, which had suddenly become a tangled mess from all your fidgeting.

“so what? just wear something you’re comfortable in. trust me, my mom just wants to see you,” he reassured you, stepping into your room to help. “how about that blue dress? it always looks great on you.”

you paused, glancing at the dress hanging in your closet. “i don’t know… it might be too much.”

“it’s perfect,” he insisted, plucking it off the hanger and holding it up to you. “just put it on. and besides, you want to impress my mom, right?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile at his playful tone. “fine, but if i look ridiculous, you’re the one who picked it out.”

after a few moments of back-and-forth, you finally slipped into the dress while jay waited outside your door. when you stepped out, you saw his eyes widen slightly. “wow, you look amazing,” he said genuinely, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. “like, really amazing.”

“thanks,” you replied shyly, feeling butterflies start to swirl in your stomach, before you forced them to die down. “but now i need to do something with my hair.”

“don’t stress about it. you can just leave it down. it looks great that way,” he said with a casual wave of his hand, but you could tell he meant it, so you left your hair and instead busied yourself with a quick makeup touch-up, trying to ignore the fluttering nerves that came with his soft remarks.

when jay was driving to your hometown, the familiar sights began to flash by the window, memories flooding your mind. the drive was a bit long, but it was filled with easy conversation and laughter, although tension simmered just beneath the surface.

“you sure you’re okay?” jay asked as he glanced at you.

“yeah, just… nervous,” you admitted, biting your lip.

“you’ll be fine. you know my family loves you. just act like you always do. they won’t suspect a thing.”

as he pulled into the driveway, you could see the warm glow of the porch lights illuminating his family’s home. jay parked the car, and you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was to come.

when you stepped inside, jay’s mom was already in the hallway, a huge smile spreading across her face. “y/n! it’s so good to see you! it’s been a while, come here!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. you felt the warmth of her embrace wash away some of your nerves.

“hi, mrs. park,” you replied, grinning as she stepped back, looking you up and down.

“but why did jay bring you? is everything okay?” she asked, a hint of concern lacing her words.

you shot him a nervous glance. “did you not inform her beforehand?” you whispered.

“uh, well…” jay interjected, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “actually, mom, i brought her as a surprise. we’re dating now.” he took your hand in his and intertwined your fingers, a confident smile on his face as he glanced between you and his mother.

you felt your heart race, the sudden admission leaving you momentarily speechless. you shot him a look of uncertainty, but he just shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, her expression brightening. “i’m so happy for you two!” she clapped her hands together excitedly, and you could see the genuine joy in her eyes. “you know, i always thought you might end up together… ah, you two make such a cute match!” she brought her hand up to softly squeeze jay’s cheek between her thumb and index finger. your heart dropped just slightly at her happy demeanor; guilt creeping up on you for lying to her.

after you went inside and greeted jay’s dad, you helped his mom to set the table, feeling more at ease with each passing moment. you chatted with her about various things – college, work, the food she was preparing – anything to keep the atmosphere light.

jay hovered close, keeping his hand on your waist as you moved around, grounding you as you tried to navigate the situation. every touch sent a rush of goosebumps down your skin, but you quickly brushed it off. it felt strangely natural, though, and you could see how easily he seemed to slip into this role.

“you’re really great with my parents,” he whispered as you stood by the kitchen island, layering plates with napkins. you glanced up, meeting his gaze and feeling the warmth radiate from him.

“thanks, jay. you know i love your family,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but for a strange reason, your heart was racing.

a few minutes later, as you helped jay’s mother to bring the dishes to the table, you overheard jay talking to his dad. “she’s just incredible, dad,” he said, and you couldn’t help but catch the hint of pride in his voice. “she’s smart, funny, and just gets me.”

you felt your cheeks heat up, your heart fluttering at his words – especially because he had said them when you weren’t even in the room. it was a little embarrassing, but in a good way. yet, you tried to shove the feeling aside, sitting down to start eating.

“so, how long have you two been dating?” his dad asked, looking between you and jay, a curious glint in his eyes.

“about two months,” jay replied casually, but you could see the slight tension in his shoulders.

“why didn’t you tell us sooner?” his dad pressed, an amused smile playing on his lips.

jay shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “i just wanted to make sure everything worked out before telling you. didn’t want to jump the gun.”

you glanced at him, appreciating how easily the lies slipped over his lips, until a pang of guilt hit you again. it felt wrong to be lying to his parents, who seemed so genuinely happy for the both of you.

throughout and even after dinner, as the conversation still flowed, jay’s hand remained on your thigh, and you felt the tension in your body slowly dissipate. jay felt good to have you close to him, the touches coming naturally, without him having to think about it. he loved how you felt against him – the way your body fit perfectly by his side.

you caught him glancing at you with a soft expression, and for a brief moment, it felt like you shared a silent understanding. it didn’t feel as weird as you thought it would; instead, it felt oddly comfortable, just a little more domestic than usual. maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

a few days after dinner – things had returned to normal between you two – you found yourself sitting in the small kitchen of your shared apartment. you sat across from each other, quietly sipping the coffee jay had bought, as he promised, both of you occupied with your phones rather than talking.

suddenly, a loud ringtone broke the silence, startling you. you glanced at jay, who briefly met your gaze before answering his phone.

"what's up, ki?" he asked.

"is y/n with you?" you could make out riki’s voice on the other end. jay raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"yeah, why? let me know if i need to step out, in case you're gonna say something gross," he teased.

"no, actually put me on speaker," riki instructed. after jay signaled he had done so, riki continued, "you two are so fake. first, you come back home for a day without saying a single word about it, and now you're dating?"

your eyes widened in shock, turning to jay with a hundred of questions written over your face.

"what do you mea–" jay began, but riki cut him off.

"bro, your mom asked me how long we’ve known you’re together."

it suddenly clicked. riki had grown close to jay’s parents too. after leaving his home country without his parents, and befriending jay at school, they had taken him under their wing, ensuring he was looked after, fed, and had a place to spend the holidays when he couldn’t return to japan.

"you two better get your asses here next weekend and explain. the others already know," riki said, hanging up before either of you could respond.

there was a silence between the both of you, yet it was so heavy with unspoken words, both of you knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

“we’re fucked,” you broke the silence, eyes still fixated on the phone in the middle of the table.

jay let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “my mom being nosy as always and riki’s big mouth didn’t help either.”

“should we tell them that we faked it to get your parents off your back? they’ll never leave us alone. plus, riki can't lie to your parents if his life depended on it. they'll catch on immediately,” you said, your frustration evident as you brought your fingers up to massage your temples.

“exactly,” jay muttered, staring at the floor.

you rubbed your temples harder, feeling a headache coming on. “so, now what? we’re screwed either way.”

jay hesitated, his eyes narrowing in thought. “what if… we just go along with it for now? let them think we’re dating.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “you’re kidding, right? we can’t keep up this act with our friends.”

“no, hear me out,” jay said quickly, leaning forward. “if we pretend for a while, they’ll lose interest eventually. it’ll be easier to ‘break up’ later when it’s not fresh gossip. less drama that way, no?”

“fake dating in front of our friends?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “jay, this is a terrible idea.”

“yeah, but what’s our other option? tell them the truth and get mocked for the next five years? and having to explain the lie to my parents?” he asked, meeting your gaze with a raised eyebrow. “at least this way, we have control over the story.”

you bit your lip, considering his words. “and then we just… ‘break up’ when it feels right?”

jay nodded. “yeah. we’ll keep it simple, no big gestures or anything. and whenever the time comes, we ‘end it’.”

“and go back to casually hanging out with them how?” you questioned.

jay stayed silent for a while, but only shrugged when he couldn’t find an answer. “i don’t know, we’ll figure that out when it’s time.”

you exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “fine,” you said reluctantly. “but this better not get any weirder than it already is.”

“deal,” jay said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “we’ve got this.”

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

the next few days after riki’s call were filled with tension. you and jay had barely discussed the fake dating plan beyond a few vague strategies, but as the weekend loomed, the reality of keeping up appearances with your friends started to weigh on both of you. that afternoon, you stood in front of your bedroom mirror, adjusting your shirt nervously while jay lingered near the door, arms crossed and expression thoughtful.

“are we really going through with this?” you asked, glancing over at him. there was a hint of hesitation in your voice, the weight of pretending gnawing at you.

jay met your gaze, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile, though his own unease was clear. “it’ll be fine,” he said softly. “we’ll just play it cool. stick to the plan, that’s it.”

you let out a deep breath, nodding slowly. “yeah…”

he chuckled lightly, moving closer to offer a comforting squeeze to your shoulder. “we’ve got this. it’ll be over before we know it.” with one last shared look of uncertainty, you both headed out the door, ready to sell the lie.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the familiar neighborhood, you found your friends sitting in a booth at your favorite diner. the place was bustling, the air filled with laughter and the smell of food. it felt nostalgic, like slipping on an old sweater you hadn’t worn in ages.

the six guys were already teasing each other, their easy banter filling the space as they welcomed you and jay.

“look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!” heeseung exclaimed, a playful grin stretching across his face. “and look at you two, all cozy and couple-y. what’s up with that?”

you shot a glance at jay, who merely smirked, intertwining his fingers with yours under the table.

“just uh... making it official,” he replied.

“official? since when?” sunoo chimed in, raising an eyebrow as if riki hadn’t told them the entire story already. “you guys just moved in together, and now you’re dating? what’s the story?”

“oh, come on. it’s not that complicated,” jay said, casually shrugging his shoulders. “we decided it was time to take things to the next level. right, babe?”

your heart dropped slightly at the nickname, and although you tried to play it cool, you couldn’t hide your smile as you squeezed his hand back. “sure, let’s go with that,” you replied.

“i knew it! this was all just part of the plan to share rent, wasn’t it?” sunghoon asked, leaning back in his seat with a grin. “just to save on bills?”

jungwon laughed. “moving in and immediately jumping into a relationship, what a move."

“that’s not all he jumped into,” jake quipped, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “so, you broke the promise you made to her about no funny business?”

“hey! that’s not what happened!” jay shot back, a mix of amusement and embarrassment creeping into his tone. “we just figured it made more sense to have someone to... keep me grounded, you know?”

“sure, sure. whatever helps you sleep at night,” riki teased, a playful smirk plastered on his face. “but seriously, how did this whole thing start? was it an ‘oops, i guess we’re dating now’ moment?”

you couldn’t help but laugh along with them, the easy-going atmosphere easing the tension from earlier. “more like a ‘you got caught making googly eyes at each other’ moment,” heeseung chimed in, and you felt your cheeks flush.

“okay, okay, back off! enough,” you defended playfully, and jay chuckled beside you, clearly enjoying the light-hearted teasing.

but then, as the conversation flowed, sunoo leaned forward, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “so, y/n… i thought you were seeing that other guy. you know, the one before jay? what happened with him?”

you felt a shift in the air, the teasing laughter fading slightly. you caught jay tensing beside you, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit. “oh, uh, he was… nice?” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual, but your heart raced as you sensed the subtle change in jay's mood.

“nice? that’s it? what happened?” jungwon pressed, his curiosity piqued.

“just… didn’t work out,” you said quickly, wanting to avoid any deeper conversation. he hadn’t been nice exactly. but luckily it had taken you only three dates to understand his intentions weren’t exactly good, and you could cut him off before things started to get more complicated.

“probably because she was just waiting for me to swoop in,” jay added, his voice light, but you noticed the edge to it. the banter continued, but you could feel the tension hanging in the air, especially from jay.

once you were both in the car heading back home, the mood was quieter, more contemplative than on your way there. jay’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, and a silence settled between you.

“what’s wrong?” you finally asked, glancing at him.

“nothing,” he replied, a bit too quickly.

“jay, you were tense when they brought him up,” you pointed out gently.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, a habit of his when he was stressed. “just had to act jealous, that’s all,” he said, his voice lacking the usual ease.

“then why are you still tense?” you pressed, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

he glanced at you just for the blink of an eye before he focused back on the road. “i’m still your best friend, y/n. it’s just… i don’t like that some guy didn’t treat you right,” he explained, his tone steady but slightly strained. you had told him about it. after all, he had been the one to pick you up from the disastrous third date before things could get any worse.

you both fell into silence again, but this time it felt different – like there was an invisible thread binding you both just a little closer.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

as the weeks went by, the line between pretending and reality started to blur. each time you met jay’s parents, you found yourselves slipping effortlessly into the roles of a couple. laughter accompanied every shared meal, and you could almost forget that this was all an act – until you caught jay’s mother gazing at you with such warmth that it made your heart ache.

it was the same when you hung out with your friends; you’d find yourself nestled against jay on the couch, feigning casual intimacy, but the warmth of his body next to yours sent actual butterflies racing in your stomach.

video calls with them were no different. the moments where you’d curl into him, your head resting on his shoulder while your friends still joked about you, felt increasingly real. you both pretended not to notice the way your cheeks flushed when he’d casually drape an arm around you or whisper something sweet in your ear.

jay often replayed moments in his head – like the way you lit up when he surprised you with yet another coffee (although the two months deal had long passed) or how your laughter could fill the room and make his chest feel lighter. these were the times when it was hard for him to remember that you weren’t really together. there was an undeniable chemistry, something that felt so natural, yet he couldn't shake the underlying sadness that came with it. pretending to be a couple seemed to slowly but surely blur the lines of your friendship, and he found himself wrestling with the fear of losing you entirely.

at times, when you’d catch him looking at you, a shy smile would spread across your face, and for a brief moment, he would allow himself to entertain the thought that maybe this wasn’t just an act. that maybe, you felt the same warmth he did. but as quickly as that thought came, he would shake it off.

still, whenever you both met his parents, he felt an ache in his chest when he saw the way they treated you – like you were already part of the family. it was a bittersweet reminder of how perfect everything could be if you weren’t pretending. he couldn’t help but picture what it would be like if you really were together, how natural and easy it would feel to call you his girlfriend in front of his parents, to wrap his arms around you without feeling like he was crossing a boundary.

after hanging up from yet another video call with riki, a comfortable silence enveloped you both as you lay in your bed, your head resting on jay's chest. the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was soothing, and you savored the warmth that came from being so close.

as you stared at the ceiling, your phone lit up beside you, a notification interrupting the moment. glancing over, you noticed a message from nicholas. he was a classmate, no one significant. a friend, yet not too close. someone to talk to when you felt the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“who’s nicholas?” jay asked, his voice breaking the silence. you could sense a slight tension in his tone, even though he tried to keep it light.

“just a guy from college,” you replied casually, but there was something in the way he said the name that made you feel a twinge of guilt.

“are you... are you guys close?” he pressed, turning slightly to glance at your phone. his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he tried to mask it, keeping his expression neutral.

“not really. we just text sometimes,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

“just texting?” he echoed, a hint of skepticism in his voice. you could tell he wanted to know more, but you didn’t want to open that door.

“it’s just distraction, okay?” you finally admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“distraction from what?” he asked, confusion knitting his brows together. the unease in his chest only grew as he studied your face, searching for answers.

you hesitated, your heart racing at the prospect of being vulnerable. “it’s nothing,” you replied.

“c’mon, y/n. you can’t just say that,” he urged, propping himself up on one elbow to face you more directly. “what do you need distraction from?”

the question hung in the air. it felt terrible – knowing jay was always the first person you came to when you needed to talk, and not being able to do so this time.

you felt tears welling up in your eyes, and a lump formed in your throat. “i… i don’t want to talk about it,” you managed to whisper, fighting the emotion that threatened to spill over.

“y/n, please,” he said gently, concern etched across his features. “just tell me what’s going on.”

the tears finally began to fall, and knowing you could never really hide from jay, you couldn’t hold back any longer. “i want distraction from you, okay?” you blurted out, your voice breaking.

his heart dropped at your admission, and for a moment, he felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. “from me? why? what did i do wrong?” the vulnerability in his voice surprised even him, and he hated how desperate he sounded.

the sight of your tears broke him a little, and he felt a mixture of anger and fear. he wanted to pull you close and wipe away your tears, but he felt paralyzed by your words. “you’re hurting, and i don’t want to be the reason for that,” he said, his voice so gentle, as if he was scared his words would break you otherwise.

“you’re not the reason,” you said softly, but the cracks in your voice betrayed you. “it’s just… everything feels too intense. i can’t pretend anymore, jay. i want to stop this whole fake-dating thing.”

panic surged through him. stop? his mind raced, but he forced himself to remain composed. “why? what do you mean?” he asked, his voice steady, though he felt like he was on shaky ground.

you took a deep breath, your heart pounding. “because i feel more than i should, and it’s scary. i need to get myself together.”

the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. “more than you should?” he repeated, a mix of fear and hope igniting in his chest. “y/n, are you saying you have feelings for me?”

you looked away, tears rolling down your cheeks as you nodded reluctantly. “but i’ll get myself together, i… i just need space.”

jay’s heart sank further, torn between the relief of knowing your feelings mirrored his own and the dread of losing you. he took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. “i don’t want to lose you, y/n. please don’t do this.”

you shook your head. “you won’t lose me. but you have to understand,” you said, your voice trembling. “if we stop now, i can get a grip on everything. i promise i’ll figure myself out. just... just give me that space.”

he felt a rush of emotions – fear, sadness, longing – but as he looked into your tear-filled eyes, he knew he had to be honest. “i feel the same.”

your eyes widened slightly, surprise mixing with your heartache, as you opened your mouth to reply, but he beat you to it.

“and that’s why i don’t want to stop. i can’t just let go.” he hesitated a little, almost as if searching for the right words, before taking a shaky breath and continuing, “or... what if we stopped pretending, but instead made it real?”

your brow furrowed in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“let’s take things slow. we can still be together, but we don’t have to rush into anything. we can experience it step by step.”

you hesitated, the thought both exciting and terrifying. “but what about our friendship? what if it ruins everything?”

“i’m still your best friend, y/n. i'll always be,” he reassured you, his gaze steady and sincere. “if we both have feelings for each other, why should we suffer and pretend we don't?”

his words settled in the air, and you felt a warmth spreading through you, despite the tears still glistening in your eyes. “you really think we can handle it?” you asked, a flicker of hope igniting within you.

“i know we can,” he replied, his voice softening.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

a week later, you found yourself back at the familiar table at the diner, enveloped by its nostalgic aroma and your friends' chaotic energy.

“what’s going on with you two today?” sunoo asked curiously, popping a fry into his mouth, “you both look happier than usual. any good news to share?”

“yeah, it’s almost sickening how cute you are,” riki chimed in, pretending to gag dramatically.

“no, seriously, what’s up with you guys?” jake dug deeper, a playful smirk on his lips.

you rolled your eyes before turning to jay, sharing a knowing glance.

“guys, let them be,” jungwon defended. “why don’t we all focus a little more on our own lives, hm?” he exchanged a quick smile with you and jay, and soon everyone returned to their usual conversations.

jay leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing against your ear, before he whispered, “it might be worth ruining the friendship, don’t you think?”

join my taglist here | masterlist

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#enhypen au #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #engene #enhypen fluff #jay au #jay x reader #jay fluff #dazzlingjaeyun writes

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vexxandra · 4 months ago

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for those scared of love (timeless pick-a-card)

recently had someone come into my life, this pac is for me <///333 01-11-24

pile 1 > pile 2 pile 3 > pile 4

pile 1

i feel this hyper independance about you. perhaps you have a serious appearance or a stern personality, but i get the sense that you do not like relying on others. this may be where your fear comes from. love requires co-operation, but how can you entrust your heart in the hands of another? you are so smart, strong and confident, able to pull anyone you so desire, so why are you so scared?

i feel like love is the one problem you cannot face. it's like the sun, so beautiful yet blinding- you can't help but look away. that is okay. it is okay to be scared. love is scary, i understand; what if you fall? oh but my darling, what if you fly? opening your heart will do you more good than bad, and i can tell you this with the utmost confidence.

pile two

the heartbroken pile, i see you. i feel you. i feel your fear. i feel your jaded cynicism, the soft beating of your glass heart, pieced together back and back again. i feel the tears on your cheek, faded, but flowing like the carvings of bark on a tree. you most likely either have someone in mind right now, or are recently recovering from something. regardless, you are overthinking so very much. and how could you not? you feel as if the world is against you- that you in particular never seem to get the greener grass or the brighter stars.

this situation you are living is scaring you, but is it really all that scary? are the monsters beings of your mind, or are they real? you are thinking too much i feel. take a breather, tap into your heart and slip away from the moment for a while. everything will turn out wonderfully, you will be so happy in the end. (ps: i recommend listening to some ambient noises like pink or brown to help quiet the worry thoughts).

pile three

im confused pile three, are you? there were a lot of contradictions in your cards, they were so hard to read. do you know what you want? asking with love of course. perhaps you are an indecisive person, and i feel like you don't like staying in the same place or situation for too long. you have this beautiful energy, but it all goes out the window when it comes to love. by which i mean you tend to self-sabotage yourself in the endless pursuit of answers.

i feel like this reading in particular is less about love and more about your mindset. i feel like you must work on this part of you that keeps you trapped in your brain, and you will be so much happier in all fields. i feel like you must work on this before getting into a serious relationship with a person, because it'll cause unnessecary worry for you, and i do not want you to suffer.

pile four

have you felt called to pile one? i see some similarities there, so feel free to check it out if you so desire. i feel as if your fear stems from insecurity. im getting the vibe that you dont know if people are being genuine with you or not. a specific example that will most certainly not apply to everyone is being rejected constantly during your youth, but after glowing up, everyone is flocking towards you. i feel as if you try to convince yourself you dont need love, that it is better if you stay single. there are truly so many similiarities between this pile and pile one. all of these piles have corresponding pairs which i think is cool

you are guarded with your heart, unwilling to let the wrong person in. good news is, i think you are more than emotionally mature enough to have a secure partner if you so desired it, and i see that someone intelligent and able to match your standards will be coming in soon. take care pile four, and remember that you are beautiful from the inside out, always and forever.

#pac #pick a pile #tarot #pick a card #tarot reading #pac tarot #pac reading #intuition #intuitive readings #intuitive messages #intuitive #tarot free reading #tarot readings

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iiping · 2 years ago

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kaveh snapping at alhaitham for buying another ugly wood carving… except he forgot it was his birthday 👀

read my short fic on twitter here or see more below! 🫶

—

“This looks absolutely nothing like me!” Kaveh snaps at the rough-out Aranara carving that suddenly shows up one morning, looking so blonde and angry.

Alhaitham comes out of his room at this moment and walks over to their common shelf where the architect stands.

Kaveh has a meeting with a particularly frustrating client today and he’s feeling so anxious that he cannot help but snaps at Alhaitham too, “How many times do I have to tell you not to bring ugly wood carvings into our home!?”

Alhaitham looks at Kaveh, his lips tightens. Something unfathomable flashes across his eyes and disappears just as suddenly.

“Do whatever you want with it then,” Alhaitham says finally after an awkward silence. Then he grabs his key from the shelf and turns his back to walk towards the front door without saying another word.

Kaveh looks at him leaving the house in puzzlement. It is not a rare occasion to see the Scribe not bothering to argue with him but Alhaitham never walks away after saying only one sentence before. He looks as if he’s angry or even…pouting? Kaveh is not sure if that word can describe Alhaitham.

Maybe Kaveh did something wrong? He gasps at the thought.

Is it because the smell of the cream soup he made yesterday was too strong? Or maybe it was the fact that the house is now so messy because he’s in the middle of tidying up things? Or maybe he moved or touched some books he wasn’t supposed to?

Kaveh ends up thinking for the whole day. He even spaces out during the client’s meeting and almost drops the model when he tries to present his plan.

He thinks and thinks but nothing comes to his mind. They have been on unusually pretty good terms lately, so he cannot think of something recent that might have made Alhaitham upset.

Kaveh is so deep in thought he almost bumps into Collei on the way home.

“Ah! Sorry!” Kaveh exclaims then realizes who it is, “Collei! I didn’t know you were in town today!”

Somehow, the trainee Forest Ranger looks shocked to see him. She quickly picks up something that fell to the ground when they bumped into each other earlier. Kaveh catches a glimpse of a small green box with yellow ribbon before Collei swiftly hides it behind her back.

“It’s so good to see you! Wanna grab something to eat?” Kaveh asks, ignoring her suspicious behavior. He’s not ready to go home just yet, not when he still hasn’t figured out what he did wrong.

“Uh, sorry I have somewhere to be today,” Collei replies nervously, avoiding to meeting his eyes, “If you will excuse me, I really need to get going.”

Then she takes off before he can say another word.

Kaveh ruffles his hair in confusion. What is going on today?

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, he decides that he has no other place to go except the good old Lambad’s Tavern.

He sits down at a table and orders a drink even though it’s merely 5PM.

“Hey, Kaveh!” Lambad shouts his name from behind the counter, “That one’s on the house! Happy Birthday!”

Oh. Shit.

A realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“How could I forget!” he cries, standing up abruptly, “It is my birthday!”

He tells Lambad that he’ll take a raincheck on that glass of wine before leaving the tavern. Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can and finds Alhaitham standing in front of the shelf with the Aranara carving on one hand and a bag on another.

Alhaitham raises his eyebrows when he sees Kaveh practically flying from the front door.

“No, wait—-“ Kaveh tries to catch his breath, “D-don’t throw that away!”

“Oh?” Alhaitham puts down the Aranara and turns to face the architect. “Seems like you finally remember something.”

“Sorry for what I said this morning,” Kaveh blurts out, “I know it sounds like an excuse but that client’s project kept me frustrated all night and I shouldn’t have taken it on you.”

Alhaitham looks at him silently.

“Alright, alright,” Kaveh puts two hands in the air, “I apologize for calling it ugly.”

The Scribe lets out a chuckle right this second. It is clear that he does not intend put up any fights with Kaveh on his birthday.

Alhaitham hands him the Aranara in question and asks, “Will you also stop calling my other wood carvings ugly?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Kaveh replies with a beaming smile. His eyes light up as he takes the wooden figure in his hands.

Alhaitham gives him birthday presents every year but they are usually books or drafting tools. This is the first time Kaveh has received something custom-made. Well, from anyone, really.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning,” he mumbles, feeling the rough wood under his fingers. “Sure, it looks a bit cruder than that one in your bedroom which I kind of like, but the more you look at it, the mor—- Hey!”

“I changed my mind,” Alhaitham announces with a straight face, the Aranara is now back to his hand. “I’m taking it back.”

Kaveh blinks.

“What did you just say!?” he raises his voice.

“I don’t see any reasons why it should be in the possession of someone who doesn’t appreciate it,” he replies simply while putting the wooden figure in the bag, then starts to walk to the entrance hall.

“How do you know I don’t appreciate it!?” Kaveh follows him, trying so hard not to yell at his back, “This is ridiculous! You just gave it to me literally a second ago!”

That does not make Alhaitham slow down one bit. In the heat of the moment, Kaveh charges at him without thinking.

Next thing he knows, they are both on the floor with Alhaitham being beneath him. He quickly snatches the bag from the Scribe’s hand and sits up.

“Ha!” Kaveh exclaims, raising it in the air in victory. “You cannot walk away from me this time! Don’t you know that it’s rude to take back what you have given!?”

When there isn’t any response, Kaveh glances down, only to see that Alhaitham is covering his face laughing.

Kaveh looks at this scene in disbelief.

“Were you just teasing me!?” he asks with a high-pitched voice, “Oh my god, who are you? What have you done to my Alhaitham?”

“I couldn’t help,” he is still laughing, “You should’ve seen your face.”

It’s extremely rare for Kaveh to see a silly side of Alhaitham, let alone seeing him laughing like this. Kaveh stares dazedly at him, completely forgetting why he was mad in the first place.

“You can have the Aranara,” Alhaitham says with a smile, “Will you get off me now? Although I don’t really mind—-”

Kaveh interrupts this sentence with a cough, just realizing what a dangerous position they are in. He shifts to move out of the way, but at this moment, a small piece of paper falls of the bag and lands on Alhaitham’s chest.

The Scribe’s eyes widen as he moves to reach for it, but Kaveh is quicker.

Seeing what’s on there, he is speechless.

Alhaitham covers his face again, but his ears are turning visibly red. The worse thing is, Kaveh can also feel his face burning too.

“You carved this,” he asks softly, “for me?”

After a while, Alhaitham admits with a sigh, “Yes.”

Kaveh is dumbfounded. He assumed that it was merely a commission. Never has he ever thought Alhaitham would go that far to do something like this for him.

“That’s why you’ve been coming home late for the past week!” Kaveh just remembers how unusual it was when he said that he needed to work overtime.

“You knowing this wasn’t part of the plan, I was too careless.” he says flatly and decides to pull himself up, unintentionally getting closer to Kaveh. “Now it’s good time for you to forget you have seen that workshop receipt.”

“Nuh-uh,” Kaveh pokes his chest, “This Aranara is now worth a million mora to me.”

“You have just burdened yourself with a new enormous debt then” Alhaitham teases.

“Hey!”

“I think wood craving has grown on me.” Alhaitham smiles, “So I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with these ugly figurines for now.”

“Come on, they are not that ugly,” Kaveh chuckles, “But we do need to set up a proper corner for them so they don’t disrupt the current aesthetic.”

The Scribe can’t help but roll his eyes at this comment.

“Seriously though, thank you” Kaveh softly touches his shoulder and looks directly into his eyes, “It’s the first time someone did something so special for me. I will always treasure it.”

The Scribe stares back at him and without a warning, Alhaitham pulls him into his arms and whispers to his hair, “Happy Birthday, Kaveh.”

After that, Collei, along with Cyno and Tighnari, burst open their front door right when they are still hugging in the hallway. Kaveh’s face turns as red as a tomato as Alhaitham helps him up on his feet.

The night cannot be more perfect. The house is filled with the smell of good food, laughers and joy. His most favorite dishes are laid out on the table and the gifts are waiting for him to open. Wine never tastes better and even Cyno’s jokes are funnier than usual.

Kaveh watches as everyone starts to eat and cheerfully discuss about what games they are going to play tonight. His heart aches a bit thinking of how much he does not want to ever lose this; his friends, his happiness, his home.

And when his eyes accidentally meet with Alhaitham’s, he cannot help but wonder, would things turn out differently if he hadn’t met the Scribe at the tavern that night where he had taken Kaveh in?

He tries harder now to stay happy, to actually listen to some of Alhaitham’s advice, the sensible ones at least.

“Don’t burden yourself with something unnecessary from the past and from the future”, he would say.

So instead of dwelling on the past regrets and unknown future, Kaveh thinks he is ready now to find comfort in the present happiness.

(END)

#happy birthday kave uwuwuwuwuw #the love of my life #genshin impact #kaveh #myart #alhaitham #kavetham #haikaveh fic #kavetham fic #mywriting #haikaveh #haikavetham #just realized i spelled kaveh wrong in the first tag like wat

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muxshwriting · 2 months ago

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articulate

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd realises how much he misses his wife despite seeing her everyday || warnings: grovelling?, guilt, violence, anger || word count: || masterlist

read the precursor to this: voiceless

REQUEST: would you be able to write a part two to voiceless, where feyd becomes more interested in spending time and being seen with his wife, even around others while she grows more content without him (maybe finding other people/friends for company). kinda like a “falling in love too late” kinda thing? thanks sm ❤️

You had withdrawn from your husband, done the bare minimum that was expected of you. It was what was expected of you, and the members of Harkonnen High Society were glad to see you taking your proper place. It seemed the only person not enjoying your new role was you. Even your husband was far more contented by having his days without bother and to not be questioned everytime he did anything.

But as time wore on, it started as the little things Feyd noticed he now lacked: the small glances you shared with him across the table, a squeeze of his hand before he stood, a gentle kiss to greet him. Now he ate alone, with you eating in your own chambers. You greeted him in the morning with a cold nod, no words exchanged.

He wondered what you did with your days, supposing you now lived a very lonely existence. He supposed that was the life of all noble woman, for that was the tradition of Geidi Prime and House Harkonnen, their women were nothing more than grabs for power and means to an heir.

But the more he thought, the more he doubted his family’s tradition. His familial tradition was to murder one another, why should he follow a tradition that would have his son murder you once he came of age. Perhaps tradition needed changing, perhaps he would pay you a visit, invite you to join his some days. Then again, maybe that was guilt. And Feyd-Rautha didn’t feel guilt, for anything or anyone.

“Wife!” His voice echoed as he walked into your shared chambers one evening. You were sat reading a book and glanced up as he entered.

“Yes husband?” You replied to him, placing your book down and moving to stand.

“I want to accompany me tomorrow.”

His words sent a wave of confusion through you. There were no noble visits scheduled in the coming days, nothing that would require you by his side. “Accompany you? May I ask where?”

“To my duties.” Feyd said it like it was obvious. “I have been neglecting my duty to you. Is it an offence for a husband to require his wife’s company?”

The words were said without true care behind the words and you felt your stomach twist as you reached for your book once more. “I regret to inform you that I have engagements tomorrow that I must attend to.”

“Cancel them.”

You look up at his incredulously. “Excuse me? I cannot simply cancel my plans on a moments notice because of your whim.”

Feyd bit back his anger at your rejection, ignoring the sting of pain that sat at his heart. “Very well. When do your engagements cease?”

“I am a busy woman, I barely spend a day alone nowadays. Forgive me for not keeping my schedule free and spend my time wallowing in loneliness. I can free up the day after tomorrow. Is that satisfactory for you Na-Baron?”

His wife’s coolness towards him made him doubt his intentions in the first place. Finally, he nodded solemnly, turned on his heel and exited the chamber.

Unknown to Feyd, his wife had been finding her entertainment and pleasure in other ways, finding any way to spend a day with others. It had began with her handmaiden, just a few hours helped a friendship blossom that then extended to her friends within the servants. They had created a bond that could not be broken, a space where they were not servants and she was not Na-Baroness.

Many of the servants were slaves from off-world, much how she was a slave to her husband and had been ripped from her own home and her own family to join his. There was a solace in their space she knew Feyd would not understand.

True to her word, she joined Feyd days later, sat in her seat at the breakfast table, and followed three steps behind as she did in the beginning. But there was no longing threaded into every move she made. She did not long for his love anymore, there was not a begging for attention and affection. You didn’t go out of your way to squeeze his hand or press a kiss to his cheek.

Feyd had been expecting your affection. And yet you showed him none. He was your husband but he would not be your lover.

He wished he could be, an affection from you only to him. He wanted the devotion of his wife the same way he wanted air to breathe but you would not be his air. You had found a contented life on Geidi Prime that did not involve bending to your husbands will and crawling at his feet for his love. You would perform your marital duty and spend your days in your chambers or in hidden rooms with your friends where your duty would escape you and your title would be worth nothing.

now this also has a part three!! compelling

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd #dune #dune x reader #dune part two #dune part 2 #muxsh #muxshwriting #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader

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senanatheskenana · 10 months ago

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Being Their Soul Mate <3

Tanjirou, Zenitsu, Inosuke x reader (separate)

Tanjirou Kamado

From the moment you got close enough for Tanjirou to smell, he knew you were his soul mate. And before you know it, he's sprinting towards you, following the perfect smell. He stops in front of you, blushing like a fool from head to toe.

You can feel the pull towards him, even without an introduction. Your eyes can hardly leave each other, basking in the overwhelming silence. You smile at him, your own cheeks tinted pink, holding out your hand to him. He jumps out of his daze and grips your hand enthusiastically, bringing it to his lips to place a heartfelt kiss on your knuckles.

"I'm sorry to be so forward, i really should have introduced myself before. Please forgive me!" he bows deeply- so deeply you think his head may hit the floor. You fight back a sheepish laugh, shaking your head.

"My name is Tanjirou Kamado, it's beyond a pleasure to meet you," he still holds your hand carefully, loose enough for you to pull it away should you desire to. You don't.

"I'm (f/n) (l/n). I never imagined my soul mate to be as sweet as you, Tanjirou," you can see how his face turns even redder at your words, stuttering out broken sentences.

You gently squeeze his hand, "Did you want to join me on my walk? we have a lot to talk about, I feel"

He nods eagerly, letting you pull him through the streets, all while staring bashfully at the way your hair sways as you move. He thinks he might already be in love.

Zenitsu Agatsuma

'Marry me!'

Those were the words inked into your wrist. A brash, scribbling handwriting. Admittedly you were worried about the circumstances of you meeting your soul mate, given the intense first words.

Evidently, the situation was not nearly as sad as you worried it could be. You weren't being married off, no.

Your soul mate was just super weird.

You shake your leg, hoping to remove the boy from his hold. He's sobbing on the floor, mumbling incoherent pleas at you, still shaken up from the demon he would have been attacked by, had you not struck.

"W-what the hell? You can't just spring that on someone!" you squeal. Finally, he lets go, a look of shock on his face. A moment later a shockingly warm sensation takes over the two of you. You grip your wrist, and he scratches at his shoulder, letting out yelps of 'ouchies'

You look down at your wrist to see the letters glowing gold, pulsing against your bones. Zenitsu gazes up at you momentarily before bawling and returning to clinging onto your legs. You take the time to help him up while his two friends watch in confusion and embarrassment at his actions.

He holds both of your hands and brings them to his cheeks, and you can feel how hot his face is. "Y-you're my soul mate. That means you have to marry me"

You sigh but smile. At least he was enthusiastic, you guessed.

"Maybe let's just start with a date and we can go from there" His tears disappear at your words, replaced by a gigantic smile, not even you can resist.

Inosuke Hashibira

For as long as Inosuke can remember, he's had the name (f/n) (l/n) engraved into his collarbone. Too bad he couldn't read it without Tanjirou's help.

"(f/n) (l/n)..." Tanjirou taps his chin in thought for a moment before gasping, "I got it- that's the ice pillar's name! "

Zenitsu fawns at the idea, "Wow, imagine having a soul mate strong enough to be a Hashira"

He hears the word strong and immediately puffs out his chest, "If they're strong, I'm gonna beat 'em!" Tanjirou now realises that Inosuke doesn't know the concept of Soul Mates.

By the time he tries to explain it, the boy is sprinting through the courtyard, dodging pillars and kakushi.

"Inosuke-" Tanjirou cannot finish his mortified plea.

"ICE HASHIRA COME HERE AND FIGHT ME!" everyone turns towards him in shock and confusion.

"Don't be so loud! if you really wanna see them, they're sitting on that bench" Sanemi scowls at the group of boys, making Tanjirou blanch, uttering apologies.

You're peacefully lying across the bench, nose planted firmly in your book when a shadow falls over you. Slowly you gaze up at the man towering over you before moving to sit up straight.

You recognise the boy in the checkered haori, smiling "Hello Tanjirou. It's nice to see you again. Are these your friends"

Before a smiling Tanjirou can respond, Inosuke brings his sword down beside your hand.

"FIGHT ME!" his face flushes with blood as he seethes under his mask.

You give him a serene smile, "I'm sorry but I believe it would be dangerous for you if I were to fight back."

He pays no mind and swings his sword above him. He looks down only to find you gone in the blink of an eye. In less than three seconds, his katanas are wrenched out of his hands as he is pinned to the ground.

Tanjirou gasps at the embarrassingly short battle- if you could call it such. "Inosuke! Are you both alright?"

'Inosuke?'

You glance down at the man under your foot, "Is your name Inosuke Hashibira?" you ask as calmly as ever, gently releasing him from the hold.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" he scowls under his mask. He doesn't know why he's so nervous around you but it's pissing him off.

"My name is (y/n), the ice Hashira," your smile has an unanticipated calming effect on inosuke, "it would seem we are soul mates"

he blushes at your giggle, still not understanding what a soul mate is. He looks at Tanjirou for help, who sighs.

It was going to be an agonising conversation. He drags the boar boy away, inosuke still staring at you as you wave them goodbye. He wouldn't admit that he missed you already.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #tanjiro kamado #tanjiro x reader #zenitsu x reader #inosuke x reader #demon slayer imagine #demon slayer fluff #kny #kny x reader

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ladytie · 3 months ago

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i keep seeing peter in gotham fics (i love them send me more pls) but i cannot stop thinking about if he & nat both got sent to gotham… just stick with me okay!!!

so it would start off with something like:

“a soul for a soul, the price to pay was steep and unrelenting. it was unfair and unforgiving, and yet without hesitation, natasha romanoff flung herself from the side of a cliff. this universe no longer needed the black widow to keep earths mightiest heroes humbled and steady. it squandered it’s soul away the same moment as she did, but perhaps— well maybe there was another place, another world and realm who could use a little soul. maybe, in a city of bats. a couple of spiders would be just what they needed.

because, well… plucking a soul from an infinity stone can’t be too hard. no. not for me. not for the watcher. and while the bats may need natasha romanoff, natasha romanoff needs peter parker. she needs something, someone to fight for and with. for she may have grounded the avengers, but they also grounded her. kept her on the straight and narrow, and peter parker could be just that for her once more. yes,”

the deep timber of a strikingly calm voice echoed in the recess of her mind, she could almost picture who was speaking to her. could almost see the god-like figure in a blue cloak with whitened eyes. and yet? no memory of the man when she had awoken, gasping for air, sucking it in and holding her breath as if it could be stolen from her at any moment, she had no idea how she was wherever the hell she was.

it had taken her approximately ten seconds to come to, catch her bearings and stand up. she was in a darkened alley way. it was dingy and she could hear sirens in the background, and a slight groan from behind her. quick to action she turned, her eyes widening in the slightest of perception when she caught sight of the little spider before her.

his hand was on his head running through his hair and rubbing a sore spot, his eyes still closed but he was clearly awake. she was besides him in a moment, squatting down to help him up. when he felt her hands on his arm, he looked at her, startled and unsure— but certain senses were calm.

“misses black widow ma’am… where are we?” he asked her, his voice was robbed of a certain innocence and the sound almost broke her heart. it was so unsure and confused she had to fight the urge to run her hand through his hair in a comforting way.

“i don’t know, kid” she huffed, helping him to his feet.

“but i’m sure as hell gonna find out,”

—|

the following ensues: nat & peter figuring out their in another dimension. nat seeing child soldier robin and immediately boxing batman assuming he’s a bad guy. peter making the joker cry by making fun of him the way spiderman does. nat stealing cass from batman. tim drake and peter parker friendship. dick grayson looking a lil too much like richard parker. natasha immediately being reverse-adopted by the batkids, as in they claim her as mom. “mom and dad are fighting again” one of them says when nat is yelling at bruce for something “ten buck says mom kicks his ass” “you’re on” “???she’s not ur mom. i’ve actually legally adopted you. betrayers” “you didn’t adopt me. so she can be my mother” “YOURE MY BIOLOGICAL SON” natasha immediately clocking batman is bruce wayne bc of brucie wayne

should i write this??? i feel like i should???? is there someone who would read this????

#peter parker in gotham #spiderman in gotham #natasha romanoff in gotham #batfam #brucie wayne #batfam adopts nat and peter #dick grayson is richard parker

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amongemeraldclouds · 10 months ago

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Fresh Out The Slammer

A questionable kidnapping leads to a revenge plan backfiring (fluff).

Lorenzo Berkshire x f!Reader

Warning: fluff, one use of y/n, cursing, mildly violent thoughts. Has one magical rule that’s not canon, using my creative license here to drive the plot. Based on the Taylor Swift song with the same title.

✿ Masterlist | 860 words

“I need to see my Cormyyy!” You whined, trying to twist away from Enzo’s grip on your shoulders as he led you down the hall.

Mattheo saw you struggling against Enzo and walked towards the two of you with a smirk. “We’ve been through a lot of shenanigans over the years, but I never imagined kidnapping would be one of them,” he whispered to Enzo as he and Blaise joined you.

“Stop sounding so pleased,” Blaise chided Mattheo.

“Cormac, that wanker had the gall to give y/n Amortentia the day after she publicly broke up with him. I’ve got to help her,” Enzo whispered back, explaining.

“Enzie’s got a little crush,” Mattheo teased, poking him on his side.

“Piss off if you’re not going to help,” Enzo huffed.

“What are you whispering about? Take me to my Cormyy!” You whined.

“Nothing, your bloody Cormy is right this way,” Enzo replied quickly. He grit his teeth as he fantasized a literally bloody Cormac after he beat him up with his fists.

Never mind the amusement and hope he felt when he witnessed you finally come to your senses and realize what a tosser Cormac was. All that was crushed when the potion took over your mind tonight and you forgot you asked Enzo to meet up because you needed to tell him something.

“Theo would know what to do,” Mattheo suggested.

“I just saw him at the common room,” Blaise added and the four of you headed there.

Theo looked up from his book when you approached. Noticing the struggling girl, he lifted his eyebrow, “we’re kidnapping now?”

“Who’s being kidnapped? I’m here to see my darling, Cormyy!” You squealed, clasping your hands together, giggling at the thought of how wonderful he was. Theo’s eyes widened, he was with Enzo when they watched you dump him.

“We need your help,” Enzo declared.

“Clearly,” Theo said, thinking through his knowledge of Amortentia. You weren’t exactly friends with the infamous Slytherin boys, but Enzo had drooled over you, his partner in Divination class, long enough for them to know about you.

“Do you know how we can undo the potion’s effects?” Enzo asked.

“Well it would take too long to brew an antidote and we don’t know if we can get all the ingredients,” he replied.

Theo’s knee bounced as he willed himself to remember something useful. “Some texts say that because Amortentia cannot actually produce real love, a kiss from someone who loves her might break the spell.” At least that’s what Theo probably read, the gears in his mind continued spinning as Enzo approached you.

Everyone looked at Enzo expectantly and his cheeks blushed. “Come on, you did not go through all this trouble just because she’s your Divination partner,” Mattheo encouraged.

“Okay,” Enzo approached you and you scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion. “I’ll take you to Cormac after this. I just have to save you first. Also because I want to,” he admitted, “but if you hate it then punch me or hex me when you’re better.” Before his words could sink in, his lips were on you.

“Wait!” Theo called out, “I remembered it wrong. It has to be someone she loves! Not the other way around.” Enzo quickly pulled away, but it was too late. He did not need to get rejected indirectly by a potion. Never mind you hexing him, he might as well hex himself in shame.

That was until you blinked. You placed your hand on your head as the world spun for a second and Enzo quickly caught you. “Bloody potion,” you spat, wrinkling your nose in disgust as you recalled your potion-induced obsession.

Blaise grabbed Mattheo and Theo’s arm, leading them to the dorms. “Come on, seems there are things they need to discuss.”

“Then we beat up Cormac,” Mattheo called back.

“Count me in!” You exclaimed as you stood upright.

“She’s a keeper!” Mattheo mock whispered to Enzo, pointing at you.

Enzo chuckled, “already looking for trouble?”

“Oh my punches won’t just be for the potion. When I’m done with Cormy,” you shuddered at the nickname, “he’d regret even breathing in my direction.”

“Before that, can we talk about what happened?” Enzo asked. “You said you wanted to tell me something tonight?”

You blushed, your anger giving way to butterflies in your stomach. “Well, the potion probably said it better than I could have,” you recalled Theo’s words just as the potion released you from its grip. “I really like you, Enzo. I broke up with Cormac when I realized that. He may have actually helped me with his foolishness. Maybe I should thank him,” you considered.

“No,” you decided after a moment, “I still want to beat him up.” Enzo chuckled in response.

“Don’t worry, we’ll deal with him. First,” he said moving closer to you, “I really like you too. We make such a great team in class, I’d love to see what else we’d be good at as partners. For instance, are you certain the potion completely lost its effect? Maybe we should break the spell again a few more times to be sure.”

Your eyes glinted with mischief and desire. “Oh yes, we need to be thorough,” you agreed as his lips crashed into yours.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: I haven't written for Enzo in a while, glad I could add him to my series of TTPD one shots!

#lorenzo berkshire fluff #lorenzo berkshire imagine #lorenzo berkshire x reader #fresh out the slammer #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire fluff #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #theodore nott #blaise zabini #ts ttpd #taylor swift ttpd #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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inkedtae · 3 months ago

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xiv. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter fourteen : the edge of us ⤑ ❝ you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous and taehyung’s words are the only anchor keeping you from falling–or so you hope. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, angst, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 5.5k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, corruption kink, aftercare, mentions of sexual activity, mentions of bdsm themes, and lots of angst

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ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very giant thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading this until no matter how late it is and always being there for me. i love you babes 💕

The gym is quiet–save for the gentle trickling of rain, your panting and his groans. Taehyung’s fingers brush lazily along your back, tracing shapes you’re too dazed to decipher. Eye fluttering shut, you melt against him. You hold onto this feeling of utter contentment, even if you know it is fleeting, and let it engulf your fretful heart.

Taehyung’s deep, indulgent groan cuts through the comfortable silence. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Absolutely ruined. What am I supposed to do with such a messy little thing?”

You breathe a chuckle. Nestling against the crook of his neck, you press yourself further against him and let his sweaty, musky scent overwhelm your overstimulated senses. In this moment, you are his– you are completely wrapped in warmth and comfort. He trails his fingers along your spine, kissing your temple and lulling you out of your post-orgasmic state of exhaustion with quiet shushes. You allow yourself to forget the photos, the lack of labels, all the stuff he said to EDEN or his friends and just be his.

“So desperate, so needy—it's almost cute," he teasingly whispers before trailing kisses down your neck.

Steadying yourself against his shoulders, you lean back to meet his gaze. Playful indignation twinkles in his gaze. He presses his forehead against yours, nudging your nose with his own. You cannot help the soft moan that sounds in response, the gentle shift of your hips against his as you finally catch your breath.

“I can’t help it,” you admit in a whisper, voice still frayed with vulnerability.

Taehyung’s gaze softens– or rather, sobers. You’re not sure if it was your words, the sound of your voice, or the unbridled sincerity in your tone, but he stiffens beneath you. His grip around your waist doesn’t squeeze you against him either. Whatever warmth you felt moments ago disappears, leaving nothing but the cold to comfort you.

Swallowing thickly, you part your lips to ask if everything is okay, but the words die in your throat, shackled by fear, panic and disappointment. He’s been so responsive the last few times he came with you, been so open and forthcoming about how good it felt– how good you made him feel. Is he pushing you away again? Are you hurting him?

Heart in your throat, you try to stop yourself from thinking the worst whenTaehyung rasps, “Neither can I.”

With a furrow of your brows, you study his gaze. You search for any notions of anger, sadness, or even mischief but can only find hardened sincerity. Is this part of his game? His words only leave you more confused and disheartened. You wonder if he is upset by this revelation. Perhaps he doesn’t like admitting that you have that kind of power over him, or that he is capable of feeling this way for someone.

Taehyung holds you close as he stands up. Your eyes widen at his strength and you grip tightly onto his shoulders, suppressing a surprised squeal. You knew he was strong from the way he picked up the weighted bar with ease earlier, but that weight was evenly distributed. And while there were several other occasions where he effortlessly lifted you, he usually had a wall or tabletop to press the better part of your weight against. He’s never picked you up without support before this moment. You wait for him to grunt or groan, or for his features to scrunch in concentration against the weight but he never makes a sound or bats an eye. He just stands with you firmly in his grasp, then turns to set you down on the bench with practised ease.

You squirm in his previous seat. Your eyes follow his brooding frame to the towel rack. His back is wide and strong, flexing as he rolls his shoulders back. However, it’s the faint red, jagged lines that captivate you. Biting your lip, you try not to moan at the sight–at the fact that you just marked him. You can even see the indents of your nails in his shoulders and biceps.

Taehyung turns back, holding a small, damp towel. He raises his brow at you as an amused smile plays on his lips. You know you must look absolutely enamoured, innocently peering up at him.

“Spread your–”

Your legs part before he can even finish his sentence, and Taehyung cannot hold back any longer. He barks a laugh before looking down at you with condescending pity.

“You’re so eager,” he teases. “Is one round not enough for you, Angel?”

You can’t resist playing into his game, slightly leaning back to give him a better look at the mess you made of yourself. “Why don’t you get on your knees and find out?” you ask, sure to keep your voice submissive despite the brattiness of your words.

Even still, you expected him to bend you over the bench, gag you with the towel, and spank you until you’re raw… or perhaps you hoped he would. To your surprise, he does kneel in front of your spread legs.��

Taehyung leans forward, pushing your skirt even further up to examine your arousal-smeared thighs and swollen folds. A throaty goran escapes him at the sight. He licks his lips when your hips buck ever so slightly in response. For a second, you wonder if he might lean in and clean you up with his mouth instead. He is so still, so focused on the way you clench, you want to ask him why he’s hesitating. But then, he starts to wipe the stickiness from your inner thighs, slowly moving inwards towards your folds. His touch is gentle and soft and you tighten your jaw to keep from moaning under his touch.

“You’re not spanking me?”

“Do you want to get spanked?”

Heat floods your cheeks. You try and fail to fight off a guilty smile as he meets your gaze. Biting your lip, you tuck your chin towards your chest, attempting to use the loose strands of hair framing your face to escape his playfully assertive glare. You wonder if you should confess that being spanked is all you can think about right now. You want him to sit on this bench, bend you over his knees, and land open-hand smacks on your cheeks until you’re in tears and on the brink of another needy orgasm–one he will probably deny you from experiencing if you continue to act out.

That thought alone makes you pout.

“No, sir,” you finally whisper, succumbing to his dominance all over again. “I’m sorry.”

The corner of his lips twitch but Taehyung does not allow his smile to overtake his features at your submission. He doesn’t even praise you for being a good girl like he always does. Instead, he continues to gently clean you up. When he’s done, he sets the towel aside to grab your awkwardly bundled g-string and tights. He untangles them within seconds, making you wonder if he’s just good at everything or if he’s done this before. You’re too scared to ask, instead allowing him to dress you one leg at a time.

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr Kim,” EDEN sudden voices, drawing your attention to the speakers on the ceiling.

Taehyung helps you stand, continuing to pull your tights up as she continues, “Jimin would like to know if you and Angel will be joining him for breakfast. Jungkook made some vulgar remarks. Would you like me to relay his message?”

“For fuck’s sake, no,” Taehyung replies, finally pulling your skirt back down.

You try to stifle your laughter with a bite of your lip. Parting your lips, you’re about to ask Taehyung how he met someone as unserious as Jungkook when he adds, “Tell them to go out without us.”

“Jungkook has already made breakfast, Mr Kim. Would you still like me to–”

“Yes.”

“Certainly, Mr Kim.”

Your amusement falters. He didn’t even let her finish the sentence before replying, as if the speed of his reply will erase the fact that the food is already set and waiting for them. You stand motionless, studying his expression to find it unnervingly neutral.

Taehyung avoids your confused gaze, bending down to grab the soiled towel. As he tosses it in the dirty hamper by the sanitation station, you can’t help but wonder if perhaps your presence here is more of an intrusion than the wonderful surprise Taehyung made it out to be earlier. Guilt festers in the pit of your stomach again.

“I really didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” Taehyung reassures again. “They’re leaving.”

Your brows furrow. Watching him walk back to the bar he removed earlier, you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to soothe your racing heart. You cannot help but wonder why he has been so insistent on them leaving since he realised you were here. At first, you thought he might have just wanted to get you alone to comfort you about all the crazy attention you’ve been getting. However, as you think about how he curved his friends’ questions and how he now has EDEN ushering them out of the building, you wonder if perhaps he does not want you to talk to them.

Maybe you’re overthinking it… Taehyung doesn’t say things he does not mean, especially to you. If he thought that you were intruding, he wouldn’t have told you otherwise when you first arrived. And if he didn’t want you to talk to his friends, he probably wouldn’t have taken you to Jimin’s show or even introduced you to him and Jungkook not even twenty minutes ago. He could just be protective– he did say that to EDEN, right?

There is no need to panic, you tell yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you try to act natural and put your heels back on. “You know, I don’t mind them,” you carefully say, sneaking a glance at him as you put on your other heel. “They seem fun. I can see why you like them.”

Taehyung retrieves another towel after returning the weighted bar in place. You stand back to your full height and watch his back muscles tense as he wipes his face and neck down from his sweat. His sweat didn’t bother him before, when he was pressing himself against you and talking you through grinding against him.

He’s hesitating, you realise. Why the fuck is he hesitating?

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he finally replies.

You take a step closer, your heels announcing your movement. Taehyung instantly discards his towel and makes his way to his water bottle. You stiffen, watching him avoid your stare– your presence. You wonder again if you should have not come, if you should have called. Did you say the wrong thing? Was the sex not enjoyable?

Your heart constricts in anxiety and humiliation. You wrap your arms around yourself again, swallowing thickly. If he didn’t like it, why did he cum–lose himself in you the way he did? Why did he help you cum? It can’t just be because you’re friends– he clearly doesn’t treat Jimin and Jungkook like this. You wonder if all this is only for sexual gratification. Maybe he is just using you to get off and he has some sort of weird kink around helping you cum but not cumming himself. But he always says he never pays you for sex so how could both those things be true?

You can’t do this anymore. The second-guessing, the passive aggressive behaviour, the cryptic responses– you’re done. You don’t want half-hearted replies, handsome smiles or captivating eyes. You just want him. You want his warmth and sincerity. You want everyone to know that you are the cause of it. The whole country is talking about you, looking for you, wanting to catch the briefest glimpse of you because they think you mean something to Taehyung. For a while, you thought you might have. But standing in this empty gym, with him effectively ignoring you as he takes gulps of water, you cannot help but wonder if anyone means anything to him.

Your realisation stirs the echoes of several distant memories on a swaying yacht in the middle of September. Mr Kim doesn’t have friends. He has obsessions and they never last, Marina once told you. You thought she was just jealous and bitter, and perhaps she was. But maybe there was some truth in her declaration. Mrs Gelardson then attempted to comfort you, including you into her generalisation of women Taehyung had bedded. She’s not fond of any of us, she said. Even now those three words, any of us, make your stomach churn with disgust and despair. You didn’t believe you were one of them then. However, the way Taehyung evades the topic of his friends, gives you pause.

Are you really just like the others?

Frustration bubbling over, your fists clench and jaw sets. Tears prick your eyes and you do your best to blink them back, but it’s no use. Soon, a pair of rouge tears fall before others stream down your face. Your stomach knots with misery, chest tightens under the pressure of the emotional storm roaring within you. What makes matters worse is that, in this humiliating moment of passive rejection and fear, you still crave his touch. One embrace against his strong frame and you know everything will be okay.

Taehyung snaps his head up at the sound of your sniffles. His once perfectly neutral features morph into concern. He takes a step towards you only for you to take a step back.

“Don’t,” you firmly order, despite the impression of a heavy sob in your voice.

“Did I hurt you?”

You know what he means. You know he’s referring to the way he thrusted against you, but still nod your head, holding his gaze with conviction. “Yeah, you did,” you confess in the steadiest voice you can muster. “All you ever fucking do is hurt me, Tae.”

Taehyung scoffs. He shakes his head, as if he’s the one exasperated with your behaviour. “This again? Do you even hear yourself? All I ever do is hurt you? I–” he cuts himself off with a groan, clenching his jaw. “Stop twisting–”

“Twisting?” you question, voice trembling with anger. “What is there to twist? You barely say two fucking words to me about your life! You were just avoiding me two seconds ago because I brought up your friends and you wanna stand there and tell me to stop twisting things.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” he orders. His voice is tempered, but a soft impression of a growl still softly resonates in the room.

Any other day, you would have whimpered at the sound and apologised. You might have even pressed yourself against him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, allowing his strong arms to hold you close and sweet scent to soothe all your worries. But the twinge of pain in your chest refuses to be pacified by the mere sound of his deep, dulcet voice any longer.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” you reply, raising your voice even more. “Not when you’re hiding me from your friends like I’m some secret whore.”

“When have I ever said that to you?” He questions, matching your volume. “When the fuck did you hear the words ‘secret whore’ leave my mouth?”

“Oh, are we going to stand here and pretend that your actions don’t speak louder than your stupid words?”

Taehyung does not take kindly to your sarcasm. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back as he glares at you. It’s not the same glare he gives investors or pitiful women who try to get his attention. It is a glare of pure, unbound rage. Eyes dark, jaw tight, he seethes with frustration, clenching his fists at his side.

You return the glare with every bit of conviction, every notion of pain within you. If he thinks he can intimidate you with nasty looks, he’s sorely mistaken. You will not be deterred this time– not until you get the answers you want.

“All my actions have been selfish, have they, Angel?” he asks, stepping forward.

You hold your ground, steeling yourself against the way he continues to use your nickname even while he is so obviously annoyed. You firmly plant your feet to keep from moving towards him, refusing to give into his sensual power. Tears continue to pool in your eyes as you watch him draw nearer. You do not waver your stare as your mind rages with profanities and the unforgivable realsation that: this is not fucking fair.

“Even when I take you out–”

“That’s for work,” you correct. “We have an agreement.”

“Even when I make you cum?”

You stiffen.

“Is that part of our agreement?” he mockingly questions, now only an arm’s length away. “You’re standing here crying and acting like I’m the fucking bad guy. I want you around, Angel. I want you all to myself.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, momentarily discarding the frustration it once held. His selfishness might be why he pushed his friends away, but it doesn’t not explain why he was avoiding your gaze before. He was being cryptic and distant when you brought them up. That is not the behaviour of someone who just wants to monopolise your attention.

Still, Taehyung must see your resolve wavering in your eyes as he finally towers over you. He doesn’t dare touch you yet, though. And for that you are thankful. You’re not sure you’d be able to completely reject him if he did.

“That’s not good enough,” you whisper. “What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?”

Another heavy exhale escapes him and he averts his gaze to the left for a moment. You tilt your head to force him to maintain eye contact– the same way he often does with you. He can sigh and purse his lips all he wants but he will look at you while he does so. He must–because if he is going to stand before you and act like his avoidant behaviour has not been damaging, then he will do so while maintaining your cold stare.

“I know nothing about you, Taehyung,” you continue, tone sharp but voice wavering. “Before I met your family, I had no idea what I was walking into because you never told me anything about them. I didn’t even know you had a niece and a nephew or two brothers or that your grandparents basically raised you. I’m not even sure if that’s true because you never explained anything to me.”

Taehyung flinches.

Your lips twitch into a sneer at the sight, momentary satisfaction soothing your frustrated heart. Good, you think. You want him to feel the agony of never knowing, the tormenting thoughts of what this all means– if it even means anything.

Huffing softly, breathing jagged from suppressed sobs, you steady yourself to add,“But, you know all about me. You know about how my mother–” you cut yourself off to swallow a sob.

Taehyung reaches out to rest a hand to cup your face, but you take a step back with a shake of your head. He retreats with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets instead.

Finding your voice again as tears freely stream down your face, you continue, “You know my mother’s addicted to painkillers. You know how she hurt me, how she blamed me for it. You know I don’t talk to my family anymore and they don’t care enough to call. You know I don’t have any friends of my own and that I hate work and I feel like burden on Mrs Chu, nearly every fucking day. You know everything about my life and all I know about you is that you build things and have money.”

“That’s not–”

“Oh right, sorry,” you sarcastically shout, cutting him off, “You have some daddy issues but I barely even understand what they are because you refuse to talk about anything remotely personal.”

“I don’t owe you my past,” he shoots back, voice calm despite that bite in his words. “You don’t get to demand that like you’re entitled to it. You told me about yours willingly.”

You remember that day vividly– about four months ago. While scrolling through social media, you stumbled upon a post from an old high school friend. It was a repost from your older sister’s account accounting her pregnancy. Disbelief twisted in your gut as you clicked on her page. Wiping your tears, you scrolled through all the images of her new house, her trips with her husband, even the progress of the nursery. Each milestone was a sharp reminder of the moments you were denied.

Your anxious curiosity hadn’t stopped there. You used her account to stalk your mother’s account, then your father’s–even your freeloading brother’s. They have all moved on with you, effectively shunning you from their lives just as your mother promised. No one called, no one asked, and no one cared. You had and will always be their greatest disappointment. You knew that when your mother neglected you, abused you. You knew that when your father pretended not to notice all your bruises and scars she left. You knew that when your lazy brother, who is all but one year younger than you, was rewarded for simply existing in a cis-male body. But looking at their social media accounts at that moment, you felt it deep in your bones too: you do not have a family anymore.

And when Taehyung called that night, you couldn’t stop sniffling or hide the pain in your voice. You told him everything, sobbing into the phone as he shushed and comforted you.

You were grateful for his support at the time. You remember thinking he was the sweetest, most caring person in the world and all you wanted to do was curl up against his warmth.

Now, standing before him, his audacity stings like salt in a wound. Suppressing a roll of your eyes, you breathe a humourless laugh. “Are you kidding me? You would not stop pestering me about what’s wrong.”

“You answer the phone upset and you expect me not to ask you what’s wrong?” Taehyung questions, a smile of disbelief playing on his lips. “Right, I forgot– I’m the asshole here. Next time, I won’t give a shit about you.”

“You already don’t!” You scream, voice slightly pitching. Blinking back tears, you ground yourself long enough to get it all off your chest. “What kind of person, let alone a friend– because that’s what we are, right?– would hide someone they care about from their friends? You were laughing with them! They’re obviously your friends, so don’t you dare deny it, Kim Taehyung!” You spit, standing on your toes in a poor attempt to solidify your own dominance.

Taehyung does not take well to your use of his full name. He tilts his head, tonguing his cheek only to tighten his jaw. “You have–”

“I’m not done,” you seethe cutting him off. You almost don’t recognise your own voice, so sharp and full of contempt.

He blinks and you swear you catch him shiver under the icy tone of your words.

“If I meant anything to you, you’d stop pretending like I don’t exist in front of your friends. You’re not the asshole here but you’re treating me like you’re embarrassed to be with me?” you ask with just as much vehemence in your tone.

“Embarrassed?” He repeats, baffled. His shoulder previously slouched under your steeled gaze, square as he towers over you. “You’re my plus-one, Angel. Why would I drag you around with me if I was embarrassed to be seen with you?”

“You–”

“I’m not done,” he hisses, matching your previous tone.

You curl inwards, lowering your chin towards your chest and peering up at him with tear-brimmed eyes. Taehyung’s strong resolve momentarily wavers at the sight. He slowly raises his hand as if he’s about to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear, but then lowers it– as if thinking better of it.

A quiet sigh of relief escapes your pouty lips. You’re not sure what you would have done if he touched you so gingerly.

“I’m not embarrassed by you, Angel– I’m not,” he emphasises when you scoff. “I am not trying to hurt you, eithe– Don’t look at me like that.” He orders, voice gruff with exhaustion and annoyance. “I want you here with me– I want you here all the fucking time!”

“You’re so full of shit!”

The word tumble out of your mouth, laden with hurt and resentment. You don’t stop them, nor do you regret them, puffing your chest out and holding your head high. Tears stream freely down your face and you don’t try to blink them away anymore. Exhausted, you cannot handle another second of his half-truths anymore.

Taehyung stiffens. His eyes darken in a way that is not greedy nor indulgent but rather sinister. He stands so still, so tall, staring at you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist with desire and fury. His face is a portrait of calculated calm, as though the heat in his gaze sparks with simmering anger.

“Excuse me?” He quietly questions, voice so deep and tempered. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again.”

You shake your head.

Taehyung raises a brow.

You press your lips together to hold back a sob. It slightly breaks through a stifled sigh. You shake your head with more certainty, asking in a voice so frayed,“What are we doing?”

A notion of confusion settles on his features. “What do you mean?”

“What is this? What are we?” You finally ask, shakily inhaling.

The flaming wrath that once burned in his gaze slowly diminishes. His jaw slightly slackens, tension softening– upon your questions or the sound of your broken voice, you don’t know and can’t be bothered to care.

Licking your lips, you swallow the lump in your throat, let out a trembling breath and conclude, “Taehyung, I am not your friend.”

“That’s not–”

“We stopped being just friends a long time ago!” You suddenly shout over him. With a gentle shove against his chest, you exasperatedly add, “You know that, don’t pretend you don’t!”

Taehyung does not budge even an inch from your shove. His chest is a wall of strength, which you regret to realise still makes your toes curl. You push aside your neediness, holding on tightly to your anger.

“Tell me what to do one more time,” he roars, “I dare you!”

Goosebumps prick your skin, despite yourself. You know he doesn’t respond well to being ordered around and that maybe, if you really want him to understand you, you should have approached this with a more level head. You should have calmly expressed your frustrations and not shouted or sworn. However, you’ve tried to be patient before and he always says he will be better only to disappoint you some other way.

You can’t keep doing this.

Letting out a loud groan of frustration, you push him again, not caring if he doesn’t move at all. “This isn’t a game, Taehyung. I don’t want this anymore,” you gesture between the two of you. “I want to know where we stand. I want to walk into a room with you and not have to worry about how to introduce myself or which lie to sell,” you grip onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his soft skin, “I want you! I want us!”

“Why would you even want that?" He shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

Your hands drop to your sides in defeat.

"If you think the media’s bad now, it’ll be worse the moment they know we’re anything more than friends,” he continues, “And don’t get me started on my grandparents. They'll expect every little detail about you.”

The idea of being his grandparents prodding you, doting over you and accepting you as one of their own fills you with a warmth that makes you sick to your stomach. You swallow back the rising bile in your throat at the realisation that this reality of a serious relationship is ridiculous to him. He doesn’t think it’s worth it and you realise that every worry you have ever thought about him leaving, ending this friendship is suddenly materialising before your eyes.

There is no use in holding back now, you decide. If you are going to walk away from this, from him, you might as well get it all out.

“I want that!”

“Why would you want to put yourself through that?” Taehyung asks again, his patience thinning with the sharpness of his baritone voice.

“Because I like you, you idiot!”

“I swear to God, Angel– Insult me one more time.”

An incredulous chuckle escapes your trembling lips.

Did he just threaten me?

You just bore your heart to him. You told him what you want, hurt and furious and afraid of losing him. You confessed your feelings as best as you could. You told him what you want and he threatens you because you gave him a well earned insult.

Shaking your head, you take a step back. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, before turning towards the elevator. You don’t bother wiping your tears or fixing your makeup, not sparing him a second glance as you pick up your pace. You want–need to put as much distance as possible between you and him.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he orders, following after you.

Whirling back to face him, you summon the last bit of your rage from deep in your chest and demand, “Don’t tell–”

Taehyung closes the distance between you within two strides. He cups your face with a soothing tenderness that ignites shivers down your spine. His lips collide with yours without hesitation– combusting your heart with divine delight. For a moment, the world trickles away like raindrops on a foggy window, slow and then all at once. You cannot remember how you got here or what prompted this grand gesture or what your name is as he sears his own upon your lips instead.

Soft and sweet, his hands trail down your body to your waist, pulling you closer against him. You melt into his touch, arching your back to mold yourself into him. Running a hand through his hand, you use the other to steady yourself with a grip on his shoulder.

Taehyung breaks the kiss with a quiet moan. His chest heaves heavily against yours, eyes searching.

You furrow your brows. Licking your lips, you feel the heat his mouth left. “You…You kissed me,” you murmur. “Why–”

“Are you sure you want this?” Taehyung asks again.

Confusion folds your features. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself as humanly close as possible to him and fervently nod. “Yes,” you practically beg. “Tae, I want to really be yours. I don’t want to keep second guessing us anymore.”

He sighs, nudging your nose with his. ““I don’t either,” he mutters.

Your eyes widen at his confession. You wonder how long he’s been thinking about this– about you like this. “Why didn’t you say something before?” you can’t stop yourself from asking.

Taehyung swallows thickly. He licks his lips before replying, “I don’t know.”

You raise a brow. That’s not something Kim Taehyung often admits. Searching his eyes for deception, you inhale deeply and shake your head. Your noses brush, coaxing a small smile on his lips. You suppress your own at the sight, intent on waiting for a serious response.

Sighing, Taehyung tongues his cheek. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have,” he finally confesses. “And I really did want to keep you to myself, Angel. I like the way you look at me when it’s just us.”

You shift against him, legs pressing tightly together. “And how do I look at you?”

A smile tugs on the corners of his lip, and he hovers them over yours again. “You look at me like you don’t know anything but me,” he rasps, voice thick with possession. “Like I’m the one thing you need and nothing else matters.”

You bite back your whimper, not allowing yourself to completely succumb to him just yet. You can feel his hot, minty breath panting against your parted lips and, despite the intense urge to feel his tongue pushing against yours in your mouth, you fight against kissing him again.

You cannot ignore your lingering doubts at the fact that he has yet to define what you are. If he simply calls you his friend again, you might throw your shoe at him in frustration.

“So where does that leave us then?” you question.

Taehyung brings a hand up to wipe away the last of your tears. He gently swipes his thumb under your eyes, removing your smudged mascara. “Together,” he whispers, “as a couple.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, struggling to contain its excitement. “So you’d be my boyfriend?”

Taehyung smirks at the label. Nodding, he hums, “That’s right, princess.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

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