#ignore that the brush is in the wrong hand for thinner

[mickedy]

I love that if you use Thinner during Hook's fight you just sort of ruin his whole thing. It's a funny visual

[satorhime]

on the ground ˚₊· gojo satoru + nanami kento. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : : f!reader, explicit smut, threesome + cuckholding, reader n gojo r in an established relationship, public foreplay (on an empty train), oral sex (m + f receiving), face sitting, spanking, degradation, teasing, praise, fingering, handjobs, double penetration (sort of), unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, cum play, squirting, snowballing, messy nasty smut w / lots of pet names lol ･｡･ w.c. 15.6k.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis & notes : nanami is awarded his apology, and more. part two of off the table, but can be read as a standalone. + ໒꒰ྀི ⸝⸝⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა ⊹ omg omg i finally, FINALLY completed this fic. i struggled a lot with the direction i wanted this story to go in, but i'm finally satisfied and can share it with everyone. i hope you enjoy it & expect errors because it's an absolute chunk of words. thank u 2 @fushisslut for beta reading <333

nanami kento is out of his mind. 

you see, he must be. that’s the only reasonable explanation for his behavior tonight. when people perceive him, they see him as a stable man with a level head on his shoulders. they take in the pristine cut of his designer suits, the glimmer of his luxury wristwatch, and they can’t help but see the prime example of a professional jujutsu sorcerer. his technique isn’t a lightshow to impress others, but consists of preordained, calculated mathematics for him to achieve the best results in a fight. even the higher ups trust him more because they’re soothed by his polite speech, strategic outlook, and solid reliability— because he can be summed up into one safe, khaki-colored box that will never pose a threat to their way of order, even if he disagrees with it. 

normal. standard. boring. 

but every sorcerer has a flaw, a trigger nestled deep inside of them just waiting to spring them into insanity. it can be anything, really— a fight with a formidable opponent or your favorite coffee shop getting your morning order wrong on a bad day. nanami’s own flaw is a crack in the perfect design of his foundation that can be exploited way too easily if you know where to look for it. 

and gojo satoru knows the exact location. 

while nanami has tried his best to ignore the tension crackling like a steady current between you and him, satoru sees everything. his crush on you is obvious though. written all over his handsome expression when you simply smile at him or your shoulders brush in a crowded meeting room and nanami makes the mistake of looking down to snap at you to give him space, only to be enraptured by the sight of your pretty face and lower, the print of your cute little nipples pressing through the thinner fabric of your tight sorcerer’s uniform. his ears pinkening up like strawberry syrup swirled on top of milk. 

the fact that he jolts awake almost every night from wet dreams about you, cock dripping wet in his briefs can’t be written on his face, but it happens. making him feel adolescent, green as fresh grass, when he has to slip a hand into his underwear and fuck against his dry palm with your name whispered desperately on his tongue until he cums, messy and full of shame, all over his belly. 

nanami kento’s weakness is a woman off limits. 

perhaps gojo should feel possessive and territorial that another man has such blatant feelings for his pretty girlfriend, but gojo feeds it like cupid with a heart-shaped arrow. only feeling like a winner in the long game he plays. and tonight, well, tonight is living proof of that. 

right now, you’re strolling ahead of nanami with gojo’s long arm thrown lazily around your shoulders. the three of you are heading leisurely towards the train station, as if you’re like everyone else out on a weekend night— casual colleagues walking home together after a boring company outing.

the city at this hour is alive, a kaleidoscope of movement and bright, twinkling energy. usually, nanami would enjoy a walk like this under the starlit night, tilt his head up and inhale the fresh breeze as he walks the long way home to unwind after a long shift but he just can’t, not tonight. not when he’s strung out and so fucking hyperfocused on your every move. not when the noise from the neon billboards flash loud advertisements, bustling shopfronts, and drunken giggles from twenty-somethings stumbling out of upscale bars washes away all rational thought from nanami’s skull until all he can think about is you.

it’s humiliating. his self-control over his own actions is usually adamant, an indomitable shell around his being that should have kept him from giving in to his desire to fuck all traces of gojo satoru from your body, but how can he really resist it? he should have known better than to get up from that table and follow the two of you home, but it’s too late to turn back now. especially when the colorful streetlights illuminate your frame to him, the late night breeze stirring the flowy hem of your expensive little cocktail dress— giving him a flash of the supple swell of your naked ass cheeks, panties still tucked away in gojo’s pocket. 

gritting his teeth, nanami tries to look away but he’s locked in. picking up on the slight limp in your walk instead— no doubt from the rough way gojo fingerfucked you under the table earlier. the memory of desperate tears glazing over your big doe eyes as you pleaded for them both, begging nanami to give you permission to cum, twists a serrated knife into the mass of hot arousal already simmering in the pit of his gut. 

you’ve got him entranced, just like that, staring at the soft jiggle of your ass until gojo notices and kisses his teeth, smoothing the hem of your dress down in mock chivalry as he glances back at nanami with a bright sparkle in his quicksilver blue eyes, blackout sunglasses slid low on his pretty nose and grinning with those fanged incisors gleaming in the moonlight like a predator.

god, nanami hates the way his mouth runs dry at that look. 

“it’s just like old times, eh?”

 gojo leers out as soon as the three of you pile onto the train. his crude vocals are too loud, slashing through the quiet to bounce against the big metal walls. blinding fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting an eerie green glow. 

“i don’t know what you’re referring to, gojo-san,” nanami lies breezily, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache forming behind his brow at the teasing sound of gojo’s voice. “if you could please be quiet now.” 

oh, but nanami knows exactly what the other man is referring to, doesn’t he? the unique moments in life when gojo satoru and nanami kento operated on the same wavelength. younger days before nanami left for university abroad at copenhagen, drunken nights in the dorm at jujutsu high after tough missions. dares and childish games that led to beer-flavored spit swapped between giggling peers. a lost bet. nanami never backing down from a challenge. suguru dutifully filming with a cracked flip phone as gojo mouthed down the length of nanami’s cock— 

he was a madman for playing gojo satoru’s games then, and he definitely is one now. 

“what’s like old times?” you pipe up with a question, breaking through nanami’s thoughts. your head bobbles between the two men rudely leaving you out of the conversation, confusion wrinkling your pretty features. “what are you two whispering about?” 

nanami grits his jaw, refusing to elaborate, but gojo huffs out the beginning of a chuckle and parts his lips to answer you. be it for dick, pussy, or spilling secrets better left buried, he can never keep his mouth shut, can he?

“mmm, nothing you need to worry that pretty head about tonight, angel,” he shrugs, a lazy smirk settling on his pink lips. the threads of patronization laced through his words makes you even more curious, though. “we’re just reminiscing.” 

his long arm curves around your neck after that, tugging you towards him. bending his head down to press his nose against your hair affectionately, breathing in the scent of your shampoo in a gentle kiss obviously meant to disarm your questions. 

and of course, it doesn’t work. 

“oh, i see,” you nod, like you’ve cracked the code. eyes fluttering down into narrowed slits at the both of them. “you two shared many women before like this, have you? is that what you’re talking about?” 

it doesn’t sound like an accusation. after all, you know how experienced your boyfriend’s appetite is, but the words come out a little more bitter than you intend. satoru quirks a snowy brow, still gleaming his signature grin. how would you react if you knew their truth, their history? 

“we have not,” that was kento, finally speaking up to clarify when it’s his reputation on the line, earnestly hoping that you’ll drop the subject. 

“but we’ve shared each other,” and that was satoru, cupping his hand to your ear like he’s spilling a juicy little scandal. 

“o-oh-” 

whatever answer you expected, it wasn’t that. 

your mouth opens to ask another question, but a safety recording cuts the conversation short before the train lurches forward, speeding out of the station. soon, you’re out in the city— skyscrapers and bright lights blurring past the windows at breakneck speed. 

gojo’s cue now that you’re temporarily sealed away from civilization. 

he leans against a pole, smirking against your hair. his hand caresses a path down your front slowly, and you momentarily forget how to breathe, sucking in your tummy because it’s starting again— his nasty fucking game. 

and for the first time, there is a third player. 

“remember the last time you tired putting your hand up my skirt on a train, gojo satoru?” you remind him as his hand begins to slither into the cleavage of your dress, disappearing under the fabric to shamelessly cup one of your breasts, giving it a gentle knead and making you bite down on a gasp. “not to mention, there’s cctv right there-” 

“how was i supposed to know there was an officer right across from us?” 

“you literally have the six eyes, satoru.” 

“shut up.” he huffs. “what are you so worried for anyway? we’re alone, and that guy won’t tell anyone what we’ve been up to. he wants you just as much as i do, right nanamin?” 

“i was under the impression you invited me back to your home, not to get arrested,” nanami retorts dryly, but his tone is a complete contradiction to the look in his honey brown eyes. he is staring across the train car at you with so much open lust, his intensive gaze simmers heat all the way underneath the surface of your skin, making you squirm even more. it’s that look in his eyes alone, like he wants to ruin you for your own boyfriend, that makes each move of gojo’s a little more than proprietorial. a farewell to his darling baby before he auctions you up for the taking. 

only, he surely intends on taking you back at the end of the night because you belong to him. but only after he checks off a certain box— after he burns the vision of you getting fucked on another man’s cock while he watches into his temporal lobe. 

“i’m not worried about nanami-san,” you frown, rolling your eyes, “i’m worried about the cctv.” 

“i’ll handle it,” he promises, his voice dark and low. he kisses your ear with a whisper that sends a hot shudder down the curve of your spine. “why don’t you go and greet nanami properly while i do, sweet girl? he’s over there all by himself.” 

your head whips around, eyes wide at his suggestion. nothing can really surprise you about the six-foot-three smirking egomaniac you’re dating at this point. that limp in your walk, the cooling slick still coating your sticky thighs from your last orgasm, and your missing pair of ruined panties are a testament to his want to fuck you in every location, in every way possible. to etch his mark into the world that stands at his feet, one drop of cum at a time. 

even if it means offering you up to nanami kento like a sacrificial lamb plump and ready for the slaughter. 

and you? you’re perfectly fine with being a sacred contribution left at his alter. 

“or are you scared?” gojo wonders, glancing over at the other man.

it’s not just a meaningless taunt. both you, and nanami can hear the weight behind the question. it’s a chance to back out. a consent form. he may be a greedy, overpowered sorcerer with an insatiable love for dirty fucking but he respects nanami, and he respects you above all else. you’re the love of his life, a little piece of his soul living outside of his body, and he knows how many steps he can take outside of the box before he runs into boundaries. and though you never back down from one of his challenges, though your mind is honey coated in lust, you lift your gaze to the ex-salaryman and you consider him, one final time. 

anyone with a pair of eyes can appreciate the beauty in nanami kento. he is all sharp contours and deep tenor. timeless handsomeness that reminds you of an old money heartthrob from the sixties, or a classic comic book hero. nanami may be the complete opposite of your boyfriend, austere and jaded, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him, that you did not enjoy the steadiness of conversations with him and the few, ill-delivered dry jokes he indulges in from time to time. perhaps it was the throb in your clit convincing you, or the memory of him demanding you be a good girl and cum for them both back at the restaurant, but god, you fucking wanted him.

no, you wanted them both, and you would deal with your shame for it in the daylight hours.  

“don’t you know me at all, gojo satoru?” you finally break the silence with a confident smile, making gojo snort at you before he shoves you off the deep end— hands on your shoulders to nudge you into stepping across the train car until you stop in front of nanami. 

he is the only one sitting down, watching you approach with that stoic expression of his. at first glance, he looks utterly unimpressed, but you should have known better as your legs bump his spread knees and you glance down, getting a glimpse of the outline of his hard cock bulging against the tight inseam of his khaki slacks. 

your breath shortens into a needy pant. wondering what it would feel like weighing your tongue down after you’ve wriggled him out of that boring designer suit of his? or how much it would make your hips ache as it stretched your cunt out until you soak gojo’s expensive sheets down to the last thread? 

warmth blooms over the skin of your cheeks as his sharp eyes follow your line of sight. he quirks an amused brow, catching your shameless stare locked on his lap. he barely shifts under the attention, no slouch in the posture he holds with an easy confidence. “didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare at a cock you don’t plan to sit on, young lady?” 

“who says i don’t plan to sit on it, nanami-san?” you mouth off, even as your knees weaken under the weight of his authoritative tone. you hear gojo scoff in amusement, still leaning against that pole, arms still folded as he watches the scene unfold— playing out just how he wants it. 

“you’re still standing, obviously,” he points out, and how he makes such simple words sound like honey spread over velvet you don’t know, but the deep, flat timbre of his monotone flutters a lick of arousal through your belly. 

“do you want me to?” 

“come here and sit, back facing to me,” he instructs, gesturing to his lap. he doesn’t even think about putting his hands on you, no matter how desperately he wants to, letting you build up the courage to obey someone new. instead, he unfastens the buttons on his blazer slow, one by one, before removing his goggles and tucking them away into an inner breast pocket. sandy hair tinted slightly green under the lighting in the train as he waits for you. it isn’t easy for him to fight the more reckless part of himself when you’re standing there, staring at him like this, and he’ll be ashamed tomorrow to say that he didn’t even try. “well?” 

behind you, gojo wears a dangerous smirk. temple of his skull resting against the cold steel of the balance pole, content to watch his girlfriend climb into the lap of another man. you’re thankful that the subway car the three of you are in is deserted. you had kept your head down when satoru shamelessly flicked his wrist at the mechanical sliding doors as other passengers tried to board, slamming it shut in their confused faces and twisting the metal into a makeshift lock with cursed energy so that no one else is around to witness what you’re doing. 

you settle until your back meets nanami’s firm chest, your heart beating erratically. the sorcerer’s muscled arm feels warm through the sleeves of his tailored jacket as he wraps it around your torso, pulling you securely against him. embarrassment makes you shy as you realize that you’re sitting on your coworker’s lap with no panties on underneath your dress, his wide stance forcing your thighs to spread— rucking your dress up past your hips and exposing your pretty pussy to gojo’s twinkling gaze. 

“the cctv-” 

gojo nods, and you whimper softly as he shifts to stand a little taller, smartly placing his massive stature in front of the camera embedded in the beam above your heads. “that’s that,” he claps, then he lifts a brow, “oi, oi. you gonna take all night? our stop is next.” 

“not everyone is quick as you, gojo-san,” nanami snorts at his own little joke before he dips his head, pressing his nose to your pulse point. his eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he breathes in a gust of your perfume. scented like ruination, supple like forbidden fruit laid over his lap— he can’t resist pressing his lips to your neck first, his veined hand cupping your face, thick fingers curled under your chin to guide your head in his direction afterwards. “she deserves my patience.” 

“tch.” gojo rolls his eyes.

nanami has always been a quiet man. he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and barely then, refusing to make idle small talk and declining offers to mingle after work with his colleagues, but you know what he wants without words. your own fingers move, brushing over the buzzed wisps of hair at the nape of his neck as he parts his lips. tender in the way he finally tastes you, in the way he suckles your plump lower lip into his mouth.

you’re unfamiliar, but your kiss feels decadent to him and already, he’s determined to learn you. how many times had he lost focus in a meeting, wondering how you would feel on his lips, his tongue, his cock? the blond sorcerer presses his thumb against the middle of your cheek, keeping your jaw parted so that he can pet his tongue over yours until you gasp desperately into his mouth. 

the kiss is slower than what you’re used to, but nanami gives you passion, even though he’s a stranger to your body— a scene that your boyfriend watches with hungry, almost envious eyes. you can feel the burn of his stare from across the metal car. seeing you writhe all over his kouhai’s lap, twisting your fingers in his short hair, sucking his lower lip into your mouth, makes hot need churn in the pit of gojo’s gut to take his place.

he’s supposed to be blocking the cctv, but he can’t help it. before he knows it, he’s crossing the space of the train in a few strides, taking a seat next to you and nanami. 

you jolt when you feel the familiar weight of satoru’s big hand splay out over your thigh. heart beating erratically. saliva coating your lips and you whine because you’re desperate for more, but you don’t have to wait long. 

“my turn, sugar,” satoru grins, tucking a finger under your chin to pull your head away from nanami and towards him.

you go to him easily, no care at all that the security cameras are watching you bounce between the two men and their touches. letting your boyfriend smooth your hair away from your face before he cups your cheeks, sparks dancing down your spine as he kisses you insistently, urging you immediately into a hungrier slide of your lips against his own. 

“oh,” you sigh, and satoru shushes you with his wet tongue between your lips. he loves tonguing you down, leaving you breathless with the hunger he feels for you. sweetness of the dinner wine he spit into your mouth earlier lingers in the kisses he gives you.

it’s easy to get lost in him, to bathe in the attention when someone like gojo satoru is willing to give it to you. you’re so lost in his kiss that you almost miss the sound of nanami’s sudden, muted groan; a needy throb pulsing between the seam of your cunt as you realize you’ve been squirming over his lap without meaning to, the hard weight of his clothed cock pressing snug between your bare ass cheeks, the tip rubbing against your clit. 

“this isn’t the place for that. be still.” 

“but i want to.” 

nanami grunts in the back of his throat as you ignore him, plush hips swiveling down, grinding against the sensitive head of his cock beneath his khakis, his rough fingers squeezing your thigh desperately in reprimand. 

“can’t handle her already, nanami?” gojo taunts in a drawl, redirecting his kisses down your neck affectionately so that nanami can claim your lips again. they’re swollen, bitten by kisses, strawberry rouge smudged and ruined as they build a routine, taking turns sharing your kiss, stealing the breath out of your lungs to draw into their own.

you know that comparisons are against the natural rules of a threesome, but you can’t help yourself. they touch you so differently, vintage and brand new— opposites like the burning rays of the summer sun and the cool beams of the moon during winter, but their intensity is the same. 

satoru... satoru kisses like a man out of time because love has a habit of being snatched out of his hands, and life is fleeting in the world you live in and he needs to show you just how much he feels for you before it’s too late. he’s impatient and a little forceful, digging prints into your skin, leaving marks and love bites that sting in the aftermath— so you’ll never forget him, he thinks. he’s not shy, never ashamed to touch you in the middle of a crowd because your taste is just that fucking sweet to him and he won’t waste a minute of time he has with you. you can always feel his desperation, the urgency to prove his devotion embedded into each, skilled kiss. 

and then there’s kento, who kisses like he’s stopping to appreciate a masterpiece in a museum. there should not be so much reverence in his touch, not when you belong to someone else and he’s just an extra in your movie, the thrill of the hour for a sexually adventurous couple— but he is unhurried and thorough in the face of your greediness. feeding you by hand what he wants you to have. if you surge forward to take what you want, he counters and nips the tip of your nose in a bite that startles you, that makes you giggle, leaving you soft as putty in his grasp. and when he kisses you . . . when he kisses you it feels like he alone can stop the hand of the clock itself. as if he’s got all the time in the world, even though he is a man who only has the pleasure of your body for one night. 

if he can survive a train ride with you, that is. 

“stop moving.” 

“pretty please, nanami-san. i need jus’ a little... jus’-” you plea, and despite his warning, you plant your heels on the edge of the train seat. leverage to grind your pussy over the weighty print of his cock. back and forth, choking on little whines against nanami’s lips while satoru kisses at your collarbone and stares between your thighs. it’s frustrating to have nanami sitting there under you with a barrier in the way, the friction a tantalizing itch that makes you want to dissolve into sobs. you can hardly find it in yourself to care that you’re wetting the fabric of his pristine clothes with the sticky arousal dripping out of your little hole as you angle your hips down, dragging your clit over the cool zipper of his pants. 

“you want it that badly? you’ll writhe all over my cock, on a train no less, with your boyfriend sitting right next to you? you should be ashamed,” nanami tuts, reeling back to press his voice to your ear. “but there, there. i’ll give you something proper to rub on.”

“that’s not fair ‘cause you told me to sit, mmfgh-” you pout in petulant protest, nanami’s words causing your skin to blister under the heat of them, but satoru cuts you off once more by suckling your lower lip, grinning a little when you choke on a whine.

though the ex-salaryman’s tone burns a lick of shame down your arching back, one of his hands hitch up to your breasts to soothe the sting, squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric of your silky dress. and then, his other hand fondles your thigh and you inhale because he’s so fucking close— rough, calloused fingers slipping along the joint of your hip to brush over your mound. 

“here it is,” he announces, pressing his wet mouth to your cheek, reveling in the whimper you give him as he pushes a stiff thumb against your clit, pressing it down hard. keening, your hips twitch forward eagerly. his finger doesn’t offer much friction, but you rut against the palm anyway until he draws his middle finger down, spreading your folds and swirling an unhurried circle around your entrance, causing your breath to fan out of your chest in a rush.  “don’t be shy about it. rub against my finger and let satoru watch.” 

satoru isn’t interested in just watching though. 

he takes your hand and guides it to his clothed crotch first, a ruined moan punching out of his chest when you immediately wrap your fingers around the outline of his cock. it’s hard against your palm, and though the angle is awkward, you make due; rubbing your hand over him until his hips jerk up off the seat. as a reward, you feel satoru’s index finger join kento’s between your thighs, rubbing figure eights into your wet, puffy clit. you have to squirm helplessly between the two men playing with you like a pretty doll. delighted sounds leaving gojo’s lips as he mouths at your breast, flicking his tongue over your clothed nipple until the front of your dress is damp with spit. 

all three of you know that this is going too far. that the two men are devouring you in the middle of an empty train car, and you need to stop this before the security camera records any more of your sins. but how can you, when gojo pinches your clit at the same time nanami dips the very tip of his finger inside you, a low groan rumbling from his throat at the way you greedily squeeze around the thick digit, wanting to suck him in further. he clenches his jaw, staving off a groan. knowing you’ll feel so fucking heavenly around his cock when he spades you on it—

but just as the both of them are about to give you what you want, push two long fingers into your needy cunt, rub soreness into your clit until you cry, the train screeches to a slow, metallic stop at the next station. you startle, eyes flying wide open in mild panic as the doors prepare to slide open. 

“oh, well, i do believe this is our stop,” satoru says nonchalantly like he’s back to pulling the strings, like he wasn’t about to fucking cry at being interrupted when all he wants to do is make you cum again. whistling the melody to one of your favorite songs as he dips in to press one last kiss to your cheek before he stands up, stretching his arms overhead to pop stiff joints. “if you two are finished giving the security guard material to fuck himself with during his shift, let’s go.” 

the air is thick with cloying tension, oppressive enough that you can hear the ragged breathing from both sorcerers. once you exit the train, you know what’s waiting for you. your belly lurches in delicious anticipation at the mere thought of it.

gojo satoru fucks like a god and that’s when he is alone. his competitive streak will have him trying to ruin you, not satisfied until you’re fucked out and bruised and crying, with another man sharing the field. and nanami... nanami kento is an enigma, a paradox you could have never pictured agreeing to share a woman for the night with someone he is seemingly annoyed by all day, all night.

but proper, orderly men like him have a tendency of harboring the darkest desires of them all, and you have a feeling discovering what they are tonight means having trouble getting out of bed the next morning with stiff thighs and an aching cunt. 

“are you alright?” nanami murmurs, as cordial as ever. he barely seems affected at all, except for the unsteady hitch in his breathing— and, of course, the fact that his cock is dripping uncomfortably wet against the too-tight fabric of his briefs. his hand abandons you, sliding around to smooth your dress down before he sets you to your feet on the floor. 

nodding, you step forward on shaky legs, and satoru stretches out his hand for you to take. but before you follow him this time, through the automated doors and onto the platform, you look back and offer a hand to the 7:3 sorcerer with a grin that nanami knows you had to have picked up from satoru. 

“coming, nanami-san?” you repeat gojo’s words from earlier, offering yourself up to them both for the night. 

nanami huffs out a snort, glancing down at his fingers in consideration. the thick digits still glisten with your glossy cum under the fluorescents, the knot in his throat bobbing with starvation. he feels insane for crossing a boundary and getting involved with gojo satoru again (and now... now, you) but he’s lost all fucking sense, all self control at this point. any other day, he would be too dignified to even bring a woman home after a date but tonight, he raises his fingers to his mouth to suckle them clean without ever taking his eyes off of you before he dries them on a handkerchief, ever the gentleman. god, he wants to weep at the taste of your pussy on his tongue, but he stands to his full height and curls those long digits around your waiting hand instead. 

“after you.” 

gojo’s penthouse in shinjuku is dark and chilly when the three of you walk inside. nanami doesn’t pay much attention to the living space as he trades loafers for guest slippers with pandas printed on the top at the door, but he feels out of place when he finally does glance around.

nanami never had any reason to think about gojo satoru’s living situation or interior decorating skills, but he’s surprised at how... human it looks.

to him, gojo is a curse. a curse that he respects, tolerates, and trusts, but a thorn in his side nonetheless. it is a childish thought, but he had expected to find the space to be as annoying as he is during the day. though it was obviously a bachelor pad meant for a man who never intended on settling down, there are signs of you all over it, turning it into a real home.

he passes by polaroids decorated with stickers and framed photos of you with his students at the beach in okinawa, presumably snapped by satoru himself. pastel pillows and plushies mismatch with the cool design of deep sea blue and sleek black furniture. he has to avert his eyes with a disbelieving scoff when you hurry past him to snatch one of your bras off the back of the couch, as if you and your freak of nature boyfriend didn’t invite him back here for one reason and one reason only. 

“are you hungry, nanami-san?” you ask suddenly to shatter the ice, glancing around the apartment nervously. you’re trying, okay? how are you supposed to know how to start a threesome with your colleague? “i, uh- i know you didn’t get to finish your meal at the restaurant and i’m not the best cook, but oh-! we do have leftover takeout in the fridge-” 

“what she means,” gojo begins, clucking his tongue at your awkward hospitality, not phased in the least bit when you shoot him a murderous glare that could level a city, “is to ask if you’re ready to finish what you started on the train. she’s wet for you- i bet she wants to know how different your fingers feel from mine when they’re fucking her.” 

he pauses with meaning, letting it hang in the air like a fat, full moon, grin widening as he drags that salacious blue gaze down right to nanami’s crotch. “how different something else of yours feels too.” 

“you are unbelievably crude.” 

“why don’t we show nanami to the bedroom?” gojo suggests, eyes on you now. you have no choice but to nod, a nervous bubble trapping your words inside of your throat. you spin around, heading down the long hallway and to the main bedroom, your red bottoms clicking against the lacquered marble floors. 

the entire penthouse stands for what being the precious scion of jujutsu society can buy you in a rich city. gojo’s bedroom is nearly the same size as the main living area itself, an open space with high ceilings, glass walls, and warm amber lighting. the furniture is sparse so as to not overwhelm his senses. there is a sitting area of chairs by the big glass windows that display a perfect view of tokyo’s glittery skyline, and a california king bed sits focal in the middle of the room, the memory foam mattress dressed with expensive bamboo sheets the color of rich chocolate.

it’s all familiar to you, a second home, but when the doors shut behind the three of you and you’re truly alone with them, the presence of two powerful sorcerers watching your every move, their lust humming around your body in a chokehold and threatening to devour you whole, makes you feel like you’re walking into this room for the first time.

as expected, gojo wastes no time when the doors are closed. he closes the space between the two of you, pressing the lean line of his stature against your back. you welcome him happily, desperate for his actual touch and not the teasing he does when he wants to make you cry. he lowers his head, pressing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder that earns him the tilt of your head to allow him more access, eyelids fluttering shut as he reaches the junction of your neck. 

“satoru...” you breathe out his name in the softest of sighs, and he makes a sound that he hears you— wrapping an arm under your breast as he bares down with his teeth, sucking a bruise into your skin while his fingers pinch the zipper of your dress. dragging it down until the fabric crumples to the floor and you’re the first one completely naked. 

“is this the real reason you took me to dinner with you, gojo satoru? to get me out of my dress?” 

“i don’t know what you mean, princess,” he says, and then he twists your body around to face him. cobalt blue orbs drinking down the sight of your naked body, darkening as he watches the way your nipples stiffen under the cold blast of air from the vents overhead. “i can get you out of your dress anytime i want.”

nanami almost rolls his eyes, but finds the restraint not to. he has enough confidence to make himself at home, too, while gojo undresses you. removing his blazer, he folds it neatly over the back of an armchair before moving to the silver drink cart on the other side of the bedroom where your boyfriend keeps alcohol he is too lightweight to actually consume, but you can feel his attention on you even though he makes himself scarce.

“are we being rude?” you whisper, only for satoru’s ears as he thumbs over one of your nipples, swallowing dryly. satoru follows your line of sight to nanami, and scoffs as if you’re being ridiculous.

“don’t worry about him right now. he knows what to do and he’ll come over when he’s ready. look at me.” gojo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze up and forcing you to look up into the twin pools of his blue eyes. at the sight of your plush body, his chest becomes so tight with want that it takes every last ounce of his self restraint to not flip you over, press you into the mattress, and split you on his cock. “that’s it. keep those pretty eyes on me.” 

“attention hog,” you roll your eyes. 

“gonna be a brat in front of our guest?” he hums, backing up until he sits on the edge of the bed. legs spread so that you can settle in between them. even though you’re no stranger to being naked in front of satoru, you feel exposed with the other man in the room. it doesn’t help that nanami is so quiet and observant— the sharp cut of his stare prickling against your skin from where he stands at the window, sipping dry scotch from the glass he poured himself. just knowing that he is waiting to make his move has your cunt pulsing with need, sweat beading along your hairline. 

hands resting on gojo’s shoulders, you lift a leg and climb into his lap. his hands drop down to gather the seat of your ass into his palms— shamelessly kneading the fat roughly between his fingers before delivering an open-handed smack that’s so fucking hard it gnashes your teeth together, your cunt clenching desperately around emptiness.

“o-oh-! what was that for-”

“for neglecting me all night,” he whines, and brings his hand down once more— quick, dirty slaps to your ass that bounces off the hollow walls of his bedroom until tears spring to your eyes, a bittersweet mixture of pain and pleasure that you love. “for holding out on me. not letting me fuck you on top of that table where everyone could’ve watched. for being a smartass.”

“dirty old exhibitionist.” 

“damn right,” he grins, like a madman. edging back on the bed and dragging you with him until you’re straddling his hips now. his cock pressing deliciously up against your pussy through his slacks and somehow, you’re no further in getting what you want than you were back on that fucking train. it frustrates you, knowing that he would rather tease you out than let you sit on it. but you know that satoru is good for it, and the only thing you can do right now is grind your hips down in a slow circle, rubbing a sticky spot into his designer slacks. 

“there’s just no satiating you, is there?” he sighs, one hand leaving your ass. thumb dipping between your folds to brush over your clit, the little nub oversensitive, puffy with need, and you squirm at his fleeting touches. “sit on my tongue then, huh? been dying to taste this pretty pussy all night long, angel.” 

“but i want-” your lips part to whine, but gojo sweeps in to kiss you quickly, sucking your bottom lip against his warm tongue that shushes your protests so quickly, it’s embarrassing. 

“you want my cock in you, i know,” he drawls, as if he feels sympathetic for you— as if he’s your liberator and not your executioner. this is nothing for him. oh, he’s plenty aroused. been aching to be buried in your cunt since the beginning of the night, but he could tease you for hours with his relentless touches and mocking words because it’s that much better. he’s a giver, and your pussy is so much sweeter to him when he’s got you swollen with need, cheeks streaked in tears. “or maybe . . . maybe you’re begging for nanami’s now?” 

you feel your heart flip, and you’ll never really get used to the feeling of knowing that you’re here, agreeing to get fucked out by your boyfriend and your colleague and they’re both denying you. head spinning into a dizzy twirl with arousal as you squirm over satoru’s clothed cock, desperate for friction. you try to bat your eyelashes, make it pretty, make him relent into skipping steps. “want you both, ‘toru. need you both. i’ve been so good for you, right? i deserve it.” 

“you deserve it, baby. and you’ll have us. after you sit on my tongue.” he says, adamant in this. 

“ugh!” 

gojo is so nonchalant about it, waiting expectantly for you. despite how confident you are in your sex life with him, it’s one of those positions that you’ve always been a little too shy to do often, but it’s hard to even think about refusing the skill of his mouth when he looks like that.

he’s reclining on the bed now, propped up on one elbow with those pretty summer eyes smoldering under wintery lashes and the peaks of his snowy hair falling over his forehead. pressed shirt all wrinkled now with the buttons popped open so that you can see glimpses of his strong chest and the ridges of his toned abs— just beckoning for a pretty girl like you to crawl up his broad chest and smother his face with your plump thighs and intoxicating scent. 

“what if i smother you?” you try one last time but the words sound ridiculous to even you.

“dare you to try,” he taunts, bravado on full volume but he squeezes the flesh of your thigh in reassurance as he reads between the lines of your words; catches the real meaning. “you shouldn’t worry about that, angel. i can take it. know why?” 

“not this again-” 

“know why?” he insists, like a bratty child.

you roll your eyes, but an endearing smile cuts through the thread of anxiety worming its way into your confidence. gojo’s talkative nature isn’t always annoying— sometimes, he knows exactly the right thing to say. “because you’re the strongest?” 

“that’s my girl. now get up here already. nanami is getting impatient.” 

nodding, you listen to him. inching up his body until your thighs cage in the handsome angles of his face, those striking azures glittering like gems between your legs as he smirks up at you like he’s got the best seat in the fucking house when in reality, it’s you. 

you screw your eyes shut as gojo leans forward, bracing yourself for that first warm lick of his tongue over your sensitive nerves— 

but instead of putting his mouth on you, the sorcerer presses his nose right up against your mound and takes a long, lewd whiff of your pussy— the sweet and sour musk of your slick clinging to the curls at your mound, filling his nostrils with a heady scent that makes a hoarse whine stumble out of his chest. 

“you’re so gross, satoru! behave-” you squeal, reaching down to tug painfully at the messy white strands of hair on his head, but the twinge of pain that shoots through his skull only causes him to grunt even more in pleasure. 

“and you smell like heaven, angel.” his nose nudges against your clit as he licks a long, rough stripe up the length of your slit. he’s not surprised that you taste as sweet as you smell either— you always do. sticky honey smearing all over the inner parts of your thighs and he makes sure it coats his tastebuds just as good too, appeasing your pretty cunt with starter flits that makes you grow hot. 

one of his hands trail up your tummy, landing right on one of your tits. he twists your nipple between the rough pad of his thumb, a whimper choking off at the base of your throat at the pinch.

pleasure blooms slow between your hips. it’s so gentle, so deceiving that you almost forget who you’re fucking. gojo satoru is never really gentle . . . sometimes he forgets you’re not as strong as him, that you can fall apart at the seams if he fucks you the right way. he’s just warming up, and you fall for it every time. relaxing into his grasp, a rabbit ensnared. letting him lick you into submission, and by the time you begin to squirm, intending to run from his oncoming onslaught, your boyfriend is locking you into place with his strong arms roping around your thighs. 

giving you no choice in it but to curl your fingers around the headboard in front of you and endure another round of the cruel pleasure awaiting you. 

“f-fuck, i could drink you dry,” he whispers under his breath, the low rumble of his baritone muffled by the press of your puffy pussy smooshed against his full lips, the vibrations tightening your hips with stinging jolts of arousal. 

you’re still so sensitive, gummy and docile in his grasp. body too tense and unable to move as gojo’s sadistic streak kicks in and takes advantage of your weakened state. he stiffens the tip of his tongue to a hard point, wriggling it right under the hood of your clit where he laps over the oversensitive, used nerves before suctioning the nub into his mouth so tight that you can feel the pull in the veins underneath. it burns. it’s everything. heat seething molten in the pit of your tummy, behind the skin of your clit, up the base of your spine. 

“gentle... s-satoru, gentle. i’m so sensitive-” 

“take it for me, baby. just for a little while.” 

gojo satoru eats pussy like it’s his breakfast of champions, like he’ll lose his mind and wage wars on the streets of tokyo if he doesn’t begin every morning and end every night with his snowy head buried between your thighs. he’s so messy with it too, spitting and smacking to wet up your pussy. saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, down his chin, into the collar of his shirt— unbothered that the lower half of his face is glossed up in your honeyed juices as his hands force your hips into a slow grind over his lips and tongue. 

and then, as if you’re not already burning from the inside out, your breaths choke off in your throat when he suddenly drags his tongue down, lapping over the entrance to your drooling cunt before he pushes it up into you. 

“o-oh- oh my god.” 

even though it’s nothing more than bothersome pressure, it feels so fucking good that it makes you want to collapse. thighs trembling and burning with the effort to hold up your weight. gojo makes languid, hungry pushes of the soft muscle against your walls that has you whimpering and gasping out. hips jerking as you forget yourself, bouncing down on his tongue like you’re fucking on his cock. and it’s exactly what he wanted, too— his moan is ragged, full of approval. cock throbbing against the tent in his slacks at the little sounds you make. 

you’re so caught up in the feeling of gojo fucking you with his tongue, eyes squeezed shut and knuckles aching around the grip you have on the headboard, that you had forgotten all about the other man in the room until he’s standing right next to the bed. his glass of scotch held in one hand while the other reaches for you, two fingers tucking under your chin to force you to look at him. 

nanami’s gaze roams all over your body. from the swell of your breasts to the tremble in your thighs as your tight cunt twitches around gojo’s tongue. your skin prickles over with goosebumps, swallowing nervously under his open scrutiny. his history with satoru and his apparent crush on you aside, you wonder what he thinks of you now? if such a proper, virtuous gentleman can keep up with insatiable freaks writhing on the bed in front of him. 

will he still dream about holding your hand on tuscan beaches after watching you grind on satoru’s face while begging nanami to touch you with big, pretty eyes, whimpering his name for mercy? 

“nuh-nanami-san, please-” 

“kento,” he murmurs, correcting you. and he doesn’t need the liquid courage— nanami kento is a man full of surety, but he drains the last dregs of his scotch anyway. “address me as kento tonight.” 

“kento,” you breathe and nod, like a good girl. “want you now. want somethin’ in my mouth.” 

visibly shivering at the sound of his given name leaving your lips, at your pleas, the ex-salaryman sets the empty glass down on the nightstand and then he’s reaching for you again. he traces your face, and then the underside of your breasts. his gaze briefly dips between your legs, too. and something in you stirs at the heated look that passes between the two men you’re in between. intense coffee brown meeting mischievous ocean blue before gojo smirks and looks away first to put his attention back on you as his tongue spears up against your sensitive spot, flicking and wriggling against it to spread warmth all along your hipbones and make you cry out desperately. 

reaching forward with greedy hands, you grip onto the front of kento’s dress shirt, needing a distraction from the tight coil winding slow in your gut. you tug him down to an angle where you can meet his pretty lips in a messy kiss. 

though you may have been the one to initiate it, nanami overpowers you easily. he makes the blood rush from your head, leaving you dizzy as he indulges you with his tongue. pausing to kiss over your jaw, sighing soft in the back of his throat like he’s coming home after waiting years to be able to fucking do this. it’s an overwhelming feeling, having one man lick into your mouth while the other challenges your sanity with his tongue against your pussy, his only goal to have you gush all over his face.

“finally,” kento breathes hotly, cupping your cheeks gently in his big hands as he kisses along the corner of your mouth, nipping at your upper lip like he can barely hold himself back to speak, his big hands palming your breasts. “i can become acquainted with this sweet mouth of yours without that one interrupting.” 

but oh, he shouldn’t have said that. 

gojo grunts in offense, but he doesn’t dare stop when you’re so close. if anything, it makes him worse. his hand replaces his mouth, and you barely have time to protest before he pushes three long fingers into your sopping pussy, curling them and fucking them back and forth with a quick pace that makes you ache, the tip of his tongue back to wriggling under the hood of your clit to spear right against those burning nerves again, causing you to thrash and bite down on nanami’s bottom lip, orgasm cresting too fucking fast, washing down over you like a strong tide ready to wipe out your mind—

“give me one right now, and i’ll let nanami fuck your mouth. come on, angel face, give it here-” 

“s-satoru, don’t-!” it would be a scream, but nanami drinks it down in a kiss. breath stolen right from your lungs as gojo forces the orgasm out of you, clenching and squelching so violently your cunt pushes his fingers out and you splash wetness all over the lower half of his face even though your clamp your knees together and try to hold it. tremors lock up the muscles of your thighs, and the pleasure chokes you out. high swirling in your head. you feel swollen, fucked out in the aftermath. knowing that satoru did it to prove a point, and not for your pleasure because you’re barely satisfied from it. your fingers are tangled in kento’s shirt, nearly tearing the fabric as satoru smirks victoriously between your thighs with his face soaking wet.

you push his head away from you weakly, but you know that he won’t let you off with just one. 

you don’t want him to. 

“y-you didn’t have to force it,” you whine, still shaking. “i fucking hate you.” 

“that wasn’t very kind, sweetheart,” kento is the one who speaks next, clucking his tongue. and you’re not sure if he’s talking about you insulting gojo, tearing his shirt, or nearly biting his lip in half or all three. but his lips look so fucking good all bitten and swollen, a dollop of blood pooling where you broke the skin that you ignore his scolding. at least until nanami takes your hand, pressing it firmly against the crotch of his slacks— letting you get a feel of just how painfully stiff his cock feels underneath the fabric.

“i expect that apology i was promised now.” 

god, you don’t need to be told twice. 

watching nanami through fluttering eyelashes, you work through unbuttoning his shirt and pants. the buckle of his designer belt clinks as you wriggle them down his hips just enough to free his cock. you can’t help the whine that leaves you, breath leaving your chest in a whistle at the way it slaps against his abdomen. it’s pretty. he hisses at that first contact of your hand wrapping around the base, moving it out of the way as you lean forward to press a kittenish kiss to his sharp, defined hipbone. 

“your cock is almost as handsome as the rest of you,” you breathe, voice the weight of a siren’s call. “can i taste it?” 

oh, you could pull him underneath the sea with the way you’re looking at him. he barely gives you a nod, and you smile. only a man as pristine as nanami would look this dignified with his pants tucked under his ass cheeks and his expensive shirt hanging off his shoulders, barely held out of the way as you stroke him slow from root to tip, wetting your palm with his sticky precum, opaque over your fingers for an easier slide. 

it’s not surprising that he is beautiful everywhere. a dusting of sandy hair on his defined chest and a sculpted adonis belt that tapers off into a pale and veiny cock. it’s not too long, slightly curved up towards his naval. perfectly heavy and thick— weighing your wrist down with body and strain. it feels scandalous and forbidden, like you shouldn’t be here stroking another man’s cock while your boyfriend watches, but then you remember that he is enjoying this most of all. 

“put your mouth on him, angel,” gojo instructs suddenly, pressing sticky kisses along your inner thigh to remind you of his presence. he barely sounds winded, nipping bruises into your pillowy skin as his salacious gaze locks onto the visual of your hand working over nanami’s leaking cock. “i’m almost done down here.” 

with that, he suckles your puffy clit back into his mouth. his throat flexing as he drinks down the pretty juices leftover. your hips jerk in surprise, but you try your best not to fall. to focus on your part in all of this. you grip onto nanami’s hip for purchase as your swollen lips part for the dripping, thick tip of his cock. sheathing your teeth like gojo taught you and sucking nanami between them slow, letting the 7:3 sorcerer feel the warm slide of your cheeks, fulfilling his darkest little desire of getting to fuck your mouth. 

and nanami hates to admit it, but gojo satoru being there to witness it, all six eyes on him, is like an added summer bonus. 

nanami is such a patient man. he would never think about forcing your pace, but he does place his hand on the top of your head, gently rubbing his thumb over your soft hair. it makes you want to please him further, sinking the tight ring of your mouth down on him until he grunts. the rough texture of your tongue scraping against the sensitive underside of his cock. you’re always such a good girl when it comes to sucking dick that satoru feels that familiar lick of envy burn fury-green in his sternum at the thought of his own erection sitting neglected in his slacks, but he wouldn’t miss the sight of his darling angel struggling to fit nanami’s girth fully into your little mouth even if the world was burning. 

“don’t suck him in like that or he’ll cum too fast and ruin it for all of us.” 

you’re about to reel back, smart off and tell gojo that you know how to properly suck a man off, that you’ve brought his ass to snot and tears with your mouth before, but something in your belly warms with lust instead and your words die under the weight of nanami’s cock pressing your tongue down as you remember what gojo said on the train. that maybe he’s instructing you because he already knows what makes nanami’s knees weak. that those pretty pink lips of your boyfriend’s have been right where yours are now. stretched obscenely around nanami’s thick cock, tongue flicking over the slit of his leaking head, swallowing like a good boy when the 7:3 sorcerer paints his throat white—

oh. 

“that’s it,” kento murmurs under his breath, low and gravelly. ruined. he bends at the waist, cupping your cheeks in his big hands, thumb brushing over the bulged outline of his girth pushing against your cheeks as you suckle around him. “i dreamt of this. laid awake at night thinking of how you would look when i touch you, how you would look with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.” he thinks he was a fool for saying that he does not praise or disparage, because he can’t help himself now. how can he not praise you, sweet, perfect you, when you’re suckling on him like that? staring up at him through coquettish eyelashes with a mouth so fucking molten, it makes his stomach churn.

he’s almost nauseous in his pleasure. huffing out low groans as you bob once, twice, swallow around the tip of his cock and repeat. trapping nanami in an endless cycle that makes his knees buckle out. falling too fast for the hot brand around him that burns straight through his skin. eventually, he has to draw back. huff out a groan as he lets himself slip out with a wet pop. “stick your tongue out for me, love. say ah.” 

curling your tongue down to your chin, smiling impishly when the sight makes him groan. he moves forward after a moment of reprieve, slapping the heavy tip of his cock against your flattened tongue— smearing sticky precum all over the surface. you barely have time to swallow it down, slide his sweet taste down your throat before he cups your cheeks in warning and his hips surge forward. widening your eyes in surprise as he widens your jaw at the same time. 

nanami kento isn’t at all what you expected. you figured he would be gentle and slow with you, almost boring in his romanticism. but your hands fly to his hipbones as your throat flexes and you choke around the thick stretch your colleague lodges down your esophagus. 

“that’s it. let me in.” he whispers, and he makes the words sound like heaven when he’s committing sin. you’re only granted a moment to breathe when he springs back, grunting deep in his chest as you part so obediently for him. spit bubbling down your chin, pooling to drip between your breasts and onto satoru’s cheek where he distractedly plays with your clit underneath. your jaw aches, but you let him bruise your throat without complaint. 

“fuck, fuck. you’re so good for him, baby. can’t wait to feel that pretty throat struggling ‘round my cock too.” 

“you’re neglecting her, satoru.” nanami chastises above the volume of your wet gurgles and gargles, jaw locked tight in pure pleasure. he places his hand on your shoulder, bearing down to add weight and force you back onto gojo’s waiting tongue. your boyfriend smirks against your skin, encircling his lips around one of your puffy folds, nibbling it with his teeth before he laves you with long, wet stripes of his tongue. it becomes a push and pull of how long they can tease you. every heated lick at your frayed, overstimulated nerves and every thrust of nanami’s cock against the gummy patch of your throat threatens to make you faint. 

“pw-pleashe-” you blubber around the stretch of nanami fucking into your mouth, fluttering your teary lashes up at him— hiccupping desperate gulps of air into your lungs when nanami eases his hips back immediately, pulling off your tongue so that he can listen to your sweet pleas. 

“i think she has something to say,” satoru muses as nanami wipes his thumb over your lips to wipe away the dribbles of spit drooling down your chin and connecting you to the flushed, aching head of his cock. 

“what is it, love? go on.” 

“i can’t take it anymore. please please please-” 

“been thinking ‘bout it since we left that restaurant, huh?” gojo swipes an indulgent, selfish lick of his tongue over your clit one last time before he’s lifting you off of him and moving out from under your body, letting you settle amongst the pillows instead as he kneels on the bed. “you’ve been nothing but an angel for us tonight so how can i deny you?” 

you should be embarrassed the way your heart leaps in anticipation, heat swarming in your belly and you shamelessly open your legs for him, but satoru doesn’t move an inch to touch you.

you’re convinced he enjoys watching you suffer when he moves to stand behind nanami instead, resting his chin on the younger man’s shoulder so that he can look down the long expanse of his torso while he boldly curls his fingers around nanami’s cock with a firm grip, just to make his entire body pitch forward with a startled grunt—

“gojo-” 

“look how hard you’ve got him, princess,” he muses gleefully, bright eyes shining as he swipes the wide pad of his thumb over the head of nanami’s cock. and you can’t help but look, watching the way clear precum bubbles out of the slit and smears between the joints of satoru’s fingers as he strokes him slowly. nanami’s cheeks flush, his lips parting on a groan before he seems to remember himself and clenches his teeth.

you’re reaching down before you know it, slipping a hand between your own thighs and petting two fingers over your folds but satoru’s gaze whips over to you so fast your heart drops to your gut, his eyes darkening as he catches you with a red hand. “don’t you dare, you little slut. wait your turn.” 

he waits until you nod meekly, move your hand and curl your fists to your chest and then he’s back to his task.

satoru’s hand is different, it’s always been like that. while your touch had been soft, warm, unfamiliar— satoru’s is intense and vivid, like a bad memory. his palm is calloused friction as he drags his hand up the thick length of nanami’s cock, spreading your leftover spit into his skin. no kind of rhythm in his movement, just enough to make the blond man’s hips buck forward before he’s ripping his hand away and chuckling to himself.

“you just couldn’t wait to get your hands on my cock,” nanami bites out through gritted teeth. 

“you’re right,” gojo purrs, a teasing grin on his lips, and then his attention slides to you. “i think nanami wants to fuck you first, sugar.”

at this point, you could care less who gets there first— as long as you’re given what you want the most. glancing at gojo with watery eyes, you look over at him for approval. wondering if he’ll edge you to the brim and snatch it away from you again, but he nods, giving you a soft look that melts your insides to goo. “i’ll admit, i’m reluctant. i’ve been dying to get into this pretty little cunt all night long, but i’m gonna be nice and put you both out of your miseries.” 

“i’ve got something else you can do for me, anyway,” he continues. his nimble fingers move to pop the button on his own slacks then, sliding them down with little effort. he isn’t wearing any underwear, and you swallow greedily around a dried-out tongue as you get your first glimpse of the night of his pretty cock. it bobs out— flushed bubblegum pink and pearling at the tip between strong thighs frosted over by white peach fuzz. unfortunately, you don’t get a chance to reach out and wrap your fingers around it because nanami is crowding your space, letting you breathe in the spicy scent of his expensive aftershave. 

“you’re so eager to do whatever he asks. will you do the same for me tonight?” he wonders, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and mussed hair. 

demure in the way you press your knees further apart until they brush the sheets, making room for his hips to slot in between them. scooting into his lap until your ass cheeks nudge against the wet tip of his cock— legs draped over his muscled thighs so that he can see everything. nanami’s eyes droop down, raking desperately over that pretty little cunt of yours. he swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing under the thin skin before he reaches down to spread your slit apart, all slicked and gooey in strings of wet and the remnants of satoru’s spit. 

“such a pretty pussy,” nanami breathes out the compliment like a prayer, like he’ll die if he doesn’t bury himself in your cunt within the next few minutes. “but i didn’t think you were so tight here.” he marvels, the tip of his cock just barely slipping past your entrance and catching. “how you manage to take that idiot is beyond me.” 

“that almost sounds like a compliment,” gojo quips, but his sky blue attention is distracted between your legs. 

it’s funny how a simple night out to a birthday dinner for principle gakuganji turned out like this— with your stoic, antisocial colleague wrapping his veined hands around your squishy thighs and laying the length of his cock, fat and leaking, on the top of your puffy mound to compare the difference.

the man in front of you is nothing like your quiet colleague. where you expected soft serve missionary and whispered praises from him, you got a fucking size kink and him sucking his cheeks against his teeth before letting a warm glob of spit trail from his mouth to drizzle onto his cock. it’s lewd, how he lets it cool there, watching it spread down the side until it drips onto your pussy as you squirm under the perverted scrutiny from both men. he grips the base of his cock and taps the tip against your clit to make you squirm, smearing his spit as he moves. 

“kento,” you breathe, the tight ring of your cunt twitching because he’s so fucking close to where you want him.  “fuck me already.” 

“be patient, love,” he coos, and you feel the calloused pad of his thumb shift from holding your folds open to dipping his thumb into your cunt briefly, making you jump. “how long does satoru usually make you wait and beg for what you want?” 

“too long. oh, he’s so cruel to me, kento,” you simper, batting those wet eyelashes to get your way, your hands grasping at nanami’s tapered hips. 

“i’m not like that,” he reassures. “if you want something, i’ll provide it for you.” 

and then, nanami’s hips angle down before sinking forward, the push of his cock spreading the walls of your cunt apart agonizingly slow.

“nghhhh-”  

it feels like heaven, and both of you let out a groan. it’s everything nanami dreamed of. pleasure scrapes up his spine, numbing everything else around him and burning his nerves raw until all he can feel is your pussy, splitting open nice and sweet for him.

“so good for me, just a little more,” nanami clenches his jaw, fingers digging into your hips as his lidded eyes stare down at your pretty face— eyes wide and swollen lips suspended in a silent moan. 

immediately though, nanami knows that you’ll be a fucking problem. for all your begging for him, you don’t take it well. he’s barely in as it is, only just past the fat, flushed crown and you’re already choking on gasps and gurgles. slipping out of his grasp and scrambling further up the bed, running to gojo— running away from that first, twinging stretch of the blunt weight of nanami’s wide cockhead. 

“oh, no you don’t- where are you runnin’ off to, sugar?” satoru is the one who reaches down, hooking his hand behind your knee and keeping your leg pinned open for nanami, halfheartedly twisting a fist over the head of his own cock as he watches the other sorcerer force himself through the tight walls of your pussy.

“god, fuck-!” you whine, pressing your forehead against gojo’s knee. 

“what’s wrong? is this not what you begged me for? begged us both for?” 

“y-yeah, but i- c-can’t take it. ‘s too big, ken. w-won’t fit.”

“now you’re just flattering me to get what you want, love,” he murmurs, voice soothing over your frayed nerves like melted chocolate; his soft, nasally voice vibrates against your skin as he dips his head down, pressing his lips to the valley between your sweaty breasts before angling his head to wrap his lips around one of your peaked nipples. “don’t you worry now, i’ll make sure it fits. i’ll make sure you take every inch of my cock.”

you hate that his words sound oddly reassuring, like he’s soothing a frightened animal— like he’s not wider, heavier than satoru when he reels back before fucking himself into you again, to the hilt this time. snorting under his breath when your knees close up, clacking violently against his hips. your first instinct is to push him out, thighs shaking with the effort to take him but he’s sinking with so much weight that it knocks the breath out of your lungs, giving you no choice but to let him split you open.

gojo doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is enjoying your struggle. he’s scratching the itch of a longtime kink of his, mumbling to himself like a madman about how you look so fucking hot like this, how you take nanami like the good girl you are. this is exactly what he wanted, and he always gets what he wants; but it’s what you wanted too. you wanted satoru to watch the way you thrash against the sheets, the way your pretty lips part to moan your coworker’s name— how fucking beautiful you look arching your back off the bed, hair splayed out on the pillows with another man’s cock fucking inside you.

“how does he feel, angel?” 

“so big, s-so fucking wide-!” you squeal, your words hiccupping off into a throaty moan, “i can’t-” 

“why don’t you be a big girl for nanami? show him how good you are at taking cock, baby,” satoru purrs, stroking his hand across your soft cheek. you nod a little, bite down on your lip, curling your fists into the sheets as nanami fucks steady, raw soreness against the walls of your cunt. the soft swell of your breasts bouncing with each calculated, hard thrust. you muffle the sounds you make against satoru’s knee, but nanami seems to enjoy your gasping cries. practically cooing in response each time he drags one out of you. 

“show him that you can take two at once.” 

before you can comprehend what he means, kento is the one who pauses his strokes, encapsulating your hips in his big hands before he tips you onto your side to give satoru easier access. it’s strange, seeing two men who don’t get along work together to fuck you to tears but it also warms your cunt, a feverish flush traversing through your veins because they’re taking care of you so well. nanami hooks your ankle over his shoulder, bending you until the joints in your hips ache and then he fucks back in, his blunt fingernails digging bloody moons into the doughy skin of your thighs at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him up once more. 

when gojo shifts his hips forward, you know what he wants and you loll out your tongue like a good girl, waiting until your boyfriend wraps his fingers around the back of your head, spindly digits tangling in your hair painfully as he guides your head forward, running your tongue across the leaking slit of his cock, let you gather up his precum on your tastebuds. groaning. sucking in his gut as you let him use your mouth for his pleasure, letting him control you like a little rag doll. and when he tugs on your hair, your swollen lips close around the tip of his cock, suckling on it obediently. whining when you suck just right and the salty taste of his watery precum coats your tongue. 

“look at you, you’re filthy,” nanami mutters, and though the degradation should smart, it makes your hips buck up against his in response because nanami says it with so much fucking veneration, it sounds like he’s praying to god. “i should have known because of who you’re dating, but look. at. you- you’re worse than he is. thrashing all over my cock while you suck another.” 

“k-kento-” 

you don’t need a mirror to know how you look under them. vixenish. a thing out of fantasy, a greedy little cockslut happily splitting open those honey thighs for one man while your pretty mouth is wide open for another; wedged between both of them to be used for their pleasure.

and you couldn’t be happier— you dip low, tonguing at the seam of satoru’s balls, spit congregating at the corner of your lips before he shakes his head, cheeks candy cane red and blue eyes lidded. fingers tightening in your hair with a brutal twist of his wrist, hips fucking forward to sink himself further into your mouth. 

“f-fuck, sweet girl. just like that.” 

nanami’s watching the entire thing, his gaze fixated on the two of you as you suck gojo greedily between your lips. his heart thumps wild, and he can’t help but fuck a little harder at the sight, a little faster, a little meaner, because he knows what you’re tasting right now from experience. salt and sugar at the tip, precum gathering against your tongue that never ends because satoru is messy. his throat dries up, sandy hair falling over his forehead as he tucks his chin against his chest and forces his eyes shut. 

“how does she feel, nanami?” satoru goads, voice breathless, lidded eyes flickering to the man fucking between your legs. “better than me?” 

“better than you ever have. look how easy she’s opening up for me,” nanami shoots at the white-haired man, his fingers holding one side of your pussy open so both men can watch nanami’s cock slide in and out, your cunt expanding to take him with each sink before squeezing down when he presses deep. he’s made a mess of you already— the thick root of his cock coated in a ring of white cream, flecks of it splattered over his lower abdomen.

it’s too much— fuck, he can barely keep his composure. he’s losing control and it’s too much and that’s why nanami does it. he’s overwhelmed. you run too hot, and his gut feels like it’s on fire. each sink of his heavy cock against the warm, squishy walls of your cunt, combined with satoru’s low groans and the sound of you choking around his cock up front threatens to send him over the edge too early. that’s why nanami’s honey eyes darken, why he reaches for satoru— gripping him hard by the nape of his neck and tugging him forward. 

gojo grunts in surprise as nanami yanks him in, but it isn’t as if he doesn’t want to go; as if he doesn’t want to chase the thread nanami is weaving right now. they barely share a heated look before gojo dips his head, locking them into a kiss. 

the first thing that crosses your mind is that it’s so fucking hot, and the second is that the way they kiss each other is not the gentle way they coaxed you into letting them explore your mouth. they aren’t delicate with each other, and you should not have expected them to be.

gojo usually has so much control over nanami— being a stronger sorcerer than him, dominating the conversations they have by annoying him to no end— but when they kiss, it’s different. nanami grips the back of gojo’s neck in a vice, keeping him in place while his long fingers tangle in the short strands of nanami’s hair. it’s all heated licks into satoru’s mouth, lewd sucks against nanami’s tongue. like they’ve waited so fucking long to do this again. one drunk on your pussy and the other drugged out on your throat as they kiss each other vigorously. 

their lips are wet with spit, and at one point gojo bites down on nanami’s tongue hard enough to nick it, groaning at the metallic tang that rides over his taste. you don’t miss how nanami’s hips drive into you harder after that, forcing his grunts down gojo’s throat as punishment. 

if you had any doubts that they had done this before, you don’t have them now. it’s obvious in their chemistry, and though the thoughts swirl in your mind, you don’t feel jealousy as they tongue into each other’s mouths. no matter what, you are the center of satoru’s world and nothing will change that. instead, it’s hotter like this, seeing the two of them kiss each other. knowing the three of you are sharing each other. 

“who told you that you could stop?” kento’s gaze flickers to you, head tilted down and directing the question at you. his chest rises and falls in a desperate heave as satoru mouths a path across the sharp cut of the ex-salaryman’s jawline to the long, toned expanse of his neck. leaving aubergine nips and bites along the smooth olive skin there that nanami hisses at. 

you had been so caught up in watching them that you don’t even remember stopping. you’re almost too fucked out to function yourself— to keep up with the only task you had besides laying there and taking cock, but your cheeks warm as nanami scolds you for slacking off. at some point, you had pulled off of satoru’s cock, rubbing your spit against his skin with a halfhearted, lazy handjob. neglecting your poor boyfriend to watch them kiss. nanami’s hand drops, gripping the back of your head and forcing you to swallow satoru’s cock once more. you suck him in quick, gurgling spit and precum and air in a dirty choke as the warmth catches him off guard and his hips snap forward too fast, the tip of his cock brushing against the fleshy patch at the back of your throat and gagging you out. 

“good girl, f-fuck. you’re so good for me, so good, so fuckin’ good,” oh, he sounds like he’s almost sobbing. 

as you pull him further in, a hot brand suctioning around the girth of his cock at the same time nanami boldly scrapes a fingernail over one of his nipples. it’s enough stimulation, enough overwhelming pleasure that he feels a lurch in his gut, a kick in his balls and then he’s withdrawing almost as fast as he buried himself in, pulling his cock off your tongue at an almost reluctant pace, a string of spit connecting you to his flushed tip.  

“need a minute. can’t cum yet,” he expels a deep breath of relief, grinning at you lopsidedly and bending at the waist to kiss your puffy lips— groaning when he tastes his musk on your tongue. but it’s obvious that gojo satoru isn’t tapping out of his own game.

instead, he stretches out on his belly and suckles one of your nipples into his mouth, pulling the little nub so hard onto his tongue that you feel your eyes wet up at the sensation, walls clenching around nanami with a gasp. he quickly grows bored, though. hand trailing down your tummy until you jump in oversensitivity as his fingers shift through your spread slit, the pad of his thumb rubbing against your puffy, sore clit as nanami sinks in and out of your pussy.

you whine, wanting to cum so desperately that your lashes are wet with frustrated tears, grinding against each of nanami’s thrusts, euphoric dopamine filling your brain each time his fat cock fucks right against that sweet spot inside of you. 

“gojo-san, behave,” nanami warns suddenly, already knowing what the snowy-haired sorcerer is up to. gojo just grins, and then his fingers are dipping a little further, a dangerous glint in his eye that makes your heart sink. 

“aw, come on, spoilsport. i just wanna see how your cock feels inside my girl,” he says innocently, but his smirk betrays his intentions completely. you hiss through your teeth as satoru fishhooks a finger into your pussy, thrusting it right alongside nanami’s cock and tugging, stretching you out even further.

“o-oh-” you keen, and then your boyfriend is leaning down and licking a broad stripe over the length of your slit, hardening the point of his tongue to flick it rapidly against your clit, the heady scent of sex filling his nostrils, making him lightheaded.

you squeak out in surprise, fingers flying to grip his hair, acrylics digging into his scalp because you’re so delirious with pleasure now, fucked out and so so full— walls twitch and clench with each weighted thrust of nanami’s cock, the forked ridges of the veins along the shaft dragging against your nerves, slick squelching out of your stretched hole to drip down the middle of your ass cheeks. 

“look at me while i’m fucking you, darling,” nanami beckons for your attention and you give it to him, looking up at him with misty, lidded eyes. “there we go, there’s my pretty girl,” he croons and he knows that he shouldn’t stake a claim on you like this— you’ll be back in satoru’s arms soon enough, you’ll never belong to him, after all, but he can’t help himself; his hand petting your cheek affectionately as he fucks into you. “you’re going to make me cum soon, love. gonna make me fill up this perfect little cunt. do you want that?”

“yes-! want your cum, kento. want it so bad.”  

“that’s right, darling. let me hear it. let me hear you scream my fucking name in front of your boyfriend.” 

“want you to cum inside me, k-kento. wanna cum with you. f-fuck me, it feels so good-!” you plea, and the beginnings of an orgasm stirs in your tummy— warmth spreading all over the nerves of your clit and building until you can feel it right on the edge, so close that tears bubble up in your pretty eyes because you want it so fucking bad. all it would take is for nanami to fuck into you at the right angle, for gojo to crook the fingers he still has inside of you and press up against that sweet spot and make you fall apart underneath them. 

but you should have expected that gojo satoru would have other plans. his tongue innocently flicking out against your clit until he moves down, mouth widening a little further so that when nanami reels his hips all the way back and plunges forward, it’s not your cunt that nanami sinks into, it’s satoru’s mouth. pretty pouty lips closing around the head of nanami’s cock at the last minute, hollowing his cheeks out, sucking him all the way to the back of his throat like a fucking professional—

“what the- fuck,” a guttural grunt of surprise is punched out of nanami that sounds so deep, so ruined that it rattles your teeth, his entire body trembling at the hot suction swallowing around his cock and he’s lost to it, no chance of fighting it or scolding satoru for the dirty trick— he simply grips the back of his head roughly, burying himself down the sorcerer’s throat as he spurts white ropes of cum onto gojo’s tongue, forcing him to drink every fucking drop. 

nanami heaves in the aftermath, barely able to catch his breath. “can you ever get through the day without being a freak?” 

“keep degrading me,” gojo sighs before he grips your cheeks, squishing them between the pads of his fingers until your tongue pushes out from the pressure and he can lean over your body, lolling out his own tongue and drizzling a thick strand of his spit and nanami’s leftover seed from his mouth into your own, bringing a moan to your lips as your hips thrash. you make a show of playing with it— spreading white it over the surface of your tongue before you swallow eagerly, whining needily as his cum slides down your throat. “it makes my dick even harder.”

“i didn’t get to cum,” you pout.

“sorry, princess,” he doesn’t sound apologetic at all when he looks down his nose at you, shrugging one broad shoulder. “can’t let you have all the fun. don’t worry, though. i’m going to take care of you.” 

you would be lying if you said your stomach didn’t lurch at the promise. 

you’re vaguely aware that the two of them are switching places, eyes too blurry with clouds to see for sure until nanami sits back against the large headboard and pulls you into a half-seated position so that you’re leaning against his chest and his strong arm is encircled around your middle as satoru nudges your cum streaked thighs apart. your eyes are lidded, but you still can see him brush his fingers over your used pussy before he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, unforgiving and no further warning before he presses inside of you.

heat washes over your entire body, your belly aching as you’re filled up to the brim once again. where nanami was thicker, satoru is everything— overwhelming, all consuming. making your eyes slam shut during that first push every time, unable to help your high pitched whines as he forces you to take every last inch of his cock.

“not gonna say ‘t-toru it’s too much’ for me like you did nanami? i must be losing my touch,” he sneers, mocking you with a condescending coo, his eyes rolling down when he bottoms out inside of you.

“f-… god. f-fuck you.”

“anything for you.”

satoru isn’t interested in teasing any longer, not when he’s been on edge for hours. the unruly, hard rhythm of his fucking has you squirming on his cock quick, each thrust knocking you against nanami’s bare chest— giving you nowhere to run. it hurts, but it’s so good. your cunt too sensitive after being used all night long like this, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

“be good for him, darling,” nanami encourages, and you think you could get used to the way he holds you— his lips pressed against the temple of your head, his breath hot against your skin as he presses the softest of kisses there, contrasted with the brutal lashings of satoru’s fucking. 

you nod dumbly, letting yourself be wrapped in nanami’s strong arms as satoru fucks in and out, relentless in his strokes, keeping that familiar ache in the pit of your belly. his hips press against yours as he grinds the tip of his cock against the entrance to your womb and he knows he’s too deep when you wince, when your fingernails scratch against his tapered v-line to beg for mercy so he compromises, drawing back until he can see the foam streaking his cock.

“puh-please, ‘toru,” you pant out, guttural and desperate so satoru falls over you, groaning into your shoulder as he does exactly what you asked— slamming his cock into you. making you cry out in surprise as he fucks deep once more, pulses of pleasure burning through your body and making your legs clamp around his hips.

“i-i can’t-” you whine, squeezing your thighs together, but satoru holds you open, not taking your complaints, pressing you down further against nanami so that it’s impossible to escape the dirty onslaught of his cock. “much- too much-!”

“oh, now you say it, ” satoru growls out, rolling his hips. “too late. cum for me and i’ll stop. come on, sweet baby. cum on my cock.”

you can tell that he’s losing it too, the friction almost too much to bear for you both. wrapping your arms around satoru’s neck and clinging to him, you bite your lips to muffle the gasps and moans trying to escape as the heat stirring in your belly is almost to bursting now, a rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap. 

nanami ducks a hand between the wet slide of your bodies, pushing his middle finger against your clit. rubbing in quick circles and you mewl, squirming and thrashing against them both. “do what he says, cum for him.” and you try to hold it, try to last a little longer but it’s no use; the three of you are pressed against each other beautifully and the room feels hazy and hot, suffocating everything else until your pleasure is sharpened to a bright point, until you can feel nothing but them. raw pulses. inner walls spasming against satoru’s cock as he thrusts against you, fucking against that spot inside you until it feels sore, his balls slapping against the fat of your ass cheeks each time he sinks into you. 

“i-i’m g’na cum, oh f-fuck, i’m gonna cum-!” 

“oh, there we go,” satoru groans as he fights through the tight squeeze of your walls, like you’re late and he’s tired of waiting.

your vision dots with black stars, screams echoing off the walls of the room in gojo’s penthouse before your back arches and you’re gone, squirting as your swollen walls clamp desperately around satoru’s cock; drenching the sheets below as you gush all over them both, sniffling as the force of your orgasm forces hot tears to spill from your eyes that gojo and nanami bend down to lick away from your cheeks.

satoru follows close behind, his own climax hitting him like a fucking train— groaning as buries himself deep to cream your cunt with his thick cum. the sight of the two of you, so pretty and filthy as you cling to each other, makes nanami cum again too. completely untouched, spurting hot seed against your lower back where he holds you up.

it feels like forever before your eyes flutter open and when they do, you look up at nanami, his face flushed and hair mussed out of the confines of his hair gel. then, your eyes slide down to gojo who is looking utterly pleased with himself. he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pulling it free before his thumb gently spreads your folds apart, snorting when you hide your face in your hands as both of them fixate on the sight of your ruined cunt once more. thighs streaked with sweat and cum, strands of seed dripping out of your hole to pool beneath you on the sheets. you look so messy and nanami has to tear his gaze away, his gut lurching with the desire to eat it out of you. 

“fuck, that was good,” gojo breathes, and you whine when he scoops up some of the cum leaking out of you with two fingers and pushes it back into your pussy.

“stop staring at it-!”

“don’t be shy. i’m glad i was given the privilege to see you cum like this, darling,” nanami murmurs, kissing your temple as he pries your hands away from your face. then he moves from behind you, letting your body rest amongst the enormous sea of pillows satoru keeps on his bed. “i trust that the two of you will allow me to eat dinner in peace next time, now that you’ve satisfied another one of your appetites.” 

“no promises,” you giggle, stretching out on the bed and bringing one of the pillows closer to cuddle it. 

“i should help you clean up. satoru, where do you keep the towels?” he says and though he sounds like such a gentleman, it’s really because if he keeps staring at the cum leaking out of you in rivulets, he won’t be able to ever leave this fucking room.

but the white-haired sorcerer doesn’t answer him. instead, gojo flops down and hooks an arm around your waist— his long legs tangling with yours as he pulls you against his chest. it feels symbolic to nanami, somehow. like he’s shared your body, shared his own in a way, and now he’s ready to fit the rightful pieces of the puzzle back into their places.

for a moment, nanami had almost forgotten that neither of you have ever belonged to him. 

he is the outsider, after all. 

his expression remains neutral because he knows when he has overstayed his welcome, knows when one of satoru’s little games are over and there are no rematches. he has been in this situation before, after all— younger, reckless, and just as foolish as he is now— so he stands up and prepares to leave with dignity, walk over to his neatly folded clothes on the armchair by the window and hope that he doesn’t fall asleep dreaming about the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. praying that now that he’s had you, it’ll be out of his system for good—

“where are you going, kento?” you wonder in genuine confusion, wrapping your hand around his wrist to halt his stride as you tilt your head up with a frown. nanami feels his heart kick in his chest. “we can clean up later, silly. come back to bed.” 

“i don’t think i should stay,” nanami sniffs, wishing he had his tie to adjust out of nervous habit. 

“you know, leaving right after you fucked my brains out is not very gentlemanly of you, nanami kento,” you scold halfheartedly, mouth twisted to the side.

“i have missions in the morning so i regrettably cannot-” his ears turn crabapple pink at your crude words, his free hand reaching over to gently pry your fingers away from his wrist but you refuse to let go.

“well, if you want to be a proper lover, then you will,” you tug on his wrist insistently, almost yanking him back onto the slightly damp covers. satoru grins like a cheshire cat as nanami obliges you, sliding into bed on your other side. 

nanami has never wanted to slap an expression off of someone as much as he does now, but as usual satoru sees everything. he sees what nanami refuses to admit right now: that he was relieved you asked him to stay. that you may just have him completely gone. that tonight unearthed long buried feelings for white hair and a mischievous smile. that he just needs a little bit of time, a little bit of coaxing, to stop being so stubborn and come to terms with those facts.

“i told you she’s greedy, nanami,” satoru grins. 

“i suppose i have no choice then, do i?” 

“nope,” you confirm, and you know that the three of you have a lot to discuss tomorrow about what this means but this progression feels natural, adding balance.

nanami staying with the two of you feels like it was meant to be.

“you have to make breakfast in the morning.”

[wolven91]

The Artist's Eye

"Why does it look so strange?" Asked the noble, tilting his head one way, then the other.

"I believe it's wider than it should be. I have a summer home that has those buildings in the background there..." A scaled, clawed hand points at the backdrop of the portrait. "The buildings are far thinner in real life. Everything is wider than it should be." Claimed the second noble, another male whose tongue briefly flicked out from between his scaled lips and lapped at the blue liquid in his delicate glass.

The pair of them continued to observe the giant portrait painting of an ursidain general. It was unheard of, and completely novel. A painting! With oils and hand-crafted hues and paints. If one leaned in, and observed the collection from the side, one could even see the uneven strokes and application of the paints against a canvas. The subject didn't matter, the ursidain was practically unheard of, but his commissioned painted was on loan to the ssypno people for a gallery event, featuring a human artist.

His style was unknown, his methods unorthodox to the point of being unheard of outside of ancient texts that describe using chintian fur brushes.

"Wider? I would say this would be the wrong portrait to observe if we are wanting to check if the human's eye adds inches to the subjects girth!" Tittered the noble, gesturing at the rotund ursidain. Unbeknownst to them, the general had been delighted at his portrait and only at the promise he could have another done, did he relinquish possession of his painting.

The two nobles approached another painting, this one of a member of House Sa'vurn. 'The Promised Daughter', one 'Desh Sa'vurn', the people's favourite.

The two nobles joined a third, a female who was coiled directly in front of it.

"Her eyes are rather alive, don't you think?" The noble asked openly, drawing the two male's attention. It was true, Desh's eyes followed them. One of the males felt judged, as if the people's favourite Sa'vurn had found him wanting, whilst the other found them angry, as she were posed to strike him.

"If you observe each of his subjects, they are all observed in one fashion or another, but it is their eyes where he has put in more detail than other artists." The noble observed.

"Why? I would know more of the subject if her body posture made sense. Her shoulders are back, but her tail coiled? Her hood is flared yet not a dot of heat."

"Of course there's no heat, it is an oil painting." The lady sighed, pointing out the obvious. "We are observing what the human sees."

"No heat? Boring." Moaned the judged male.

"Fascinating I say. We are stripped down to our most basic parts. There is no lying when standing in in front of his easel. He ignores or is blind to our attempts to show our heat, to radiate what we want others to perceive." Extrapolated the lady noble, referencing how almost every single ssypno in the gallery was displaying as much heat as they could in their hoods, to show that they were successful and didn't need to conserve their heat. She frowned as she reached out, only to stop herself from touching the canvas.

"I do wonder why do many portions are left so dark?"

"I can answer that my lady." Came a lyrical voice from behind. The trio of ssypno turned at once and met the eye of an esquinine. He didn't flinch, or close one eyes, but met their gazes without fear in turn.

"I have been privy to the human's art from the beginning, he rented my loft when he arrived on our home world." Explained the long-faced empath.  "The portions that are dark to you, are actually a sea of different colours, but more in the hues of purples and dark blues. I'm afraid these are colours outside of your visual range."

The trio of large serpants turned back to the art and squinted, as if trying to force their vision to focus and draw forth a colour they'd never seen.

"It is one thing to know one has limited visual colours, it is another to stand before what we know is there and be unable to see it." The female noble lamented.

"Ugh, annoying. Why would he paint a ssypno with colours a ssypno can't see? Insulting."

"He paints for his own enjoyment; it just so happens that others consider this art worth money. Amazing than an artist is more creative when they aren't starving." Noted the esquinine before bowing curtly and leaving the ssypno behind. The esquinine meandered through and over the tails that trailed behind the various gallery patrons before slipping into a side down and strutting down a quiet hallway.

He came to a door, pressed his thumb to the reader then stepped inside.

The human was sat watching the screens.

"How's it going?" He asked, nervously nibbling on a nail. The esquinine stepped over and gently slapped the top of the human's hand, reminding him to stop with the nervous habit.

"Well. They still don't quite 'get' it, but then they are the upper crust. Dry and tasteless." Observed the empath, who turned to watch the screens as a crowd of ssypno tried to force their own world view onto art made by a wholly different species with a very different life to them.

"It's fun seeing ignorance get exposed over and over though..." Considered the esqunine, resting his head against a finger.

"Just because I see the world differently..." Mumbled the human, mildly frustrated.

"Galaxy, and I would be quick to point out they love to remind you, that you are smell blind. I think its rather justified to remind them that they are blind to a whole world of colours, no matter how rich they are." Pointed out the alien with a cold tone to the nobles.

"Body mods are a thing." Supplied the young man, considering how they could choose to have different eyes with their money.

"And admit they aren't perfect? They'd have an ice bath first." Came the esquinine's reply, without missing a beat, taking the human by surprise.

The human grinned and couldn't help but smile at the curt and cutting remarks of his closest ally, cheering him up immediately.

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 27: 𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

title: mine synopsis: it's usual for you to be watched. [0.5K] cw: established relationship, toxic couple (but only towards others), exhibitionism, public sex, cockwarming.

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Ryomen Sukuna adapts to every challenge ahead of him. A force of nature that ever changes, ever grows. Not only the strongest, Sukuna is the most willing to become what he must. He evolves when others hope for decay, remains the same hatred thing when others beg for mercy.

He’s victorious no matter what it takes (and usually, even that he takes from the loser).

There is a thing he was never able of changing: his sharp eyes. A gaze that cuts through flesh and bones as easily as his slash attacks. Sukuna’s presence never goes unnoticed.

You felt it sinking deep into your skull as you annihilated curses. It was too often, too direct. You had no other choice but to listen to your guts. Someone was watching, far away and far too interest in your battles.

You felt it burning your back whenever you turned it on the Disgraced One. As you dared to ignore his requests, to talk back, to make all your awful opinions known. Observed closely by the King of Curses, who was far too interest in your mind.

And you feel it now, his gaze raking your skin. Admired by Ryomen Sukuna, who was far too interested in you.

“Not yet”, Sukuna smirked against the crook of your neck, hands travelling through your exposed belly. The soft fabric of his kimono caressed your body whenever his chest moved. “Still not yet.”

You tilted your head, hand raising to grab at his hair. That deviant flame inside his eyes affected you, a smirking showing on your face. Playing with a strand of hair, your gaze returned to him.

“Your soul became…”, you breathed in. “Thinner. Where is your conviction, maggot? Where is your pride?”

The scum continued to wisely ignore your presence. A small, weak thing, far too interest in your body for his own safety. Not that this sudden increase of intelligence matters much now. He already crossed the ultimate line.

He desired something that belongs with Sukuna.

Moving your hips, you whimpered as the head of his cock brushed against just the right place inside of you. A small movement, almost imperceptible, but the wet sound it made echoed through the chamber. You were leaking.

“He was reminded of his place”, his voice was softer now. That mocking tone was there still, but not directed at you. The licks near your ear, the way his teeth rake on your skin. Comforting you on his own way, Sukuna planned on waiting however long it took.

How long have you been there? Sat still, waiting for that thing to finally break apart. For it to make the wrong move, his last move, so you could have the fun you’ve been waiting for. No more pinches and bites, no move gropes and kisses, no more teases.

You’re on a good mood today, so you’ll behave and wait (only because his anger fills you with determination).

As the blades got closer to his eyes, the sorcerer continued to look straight at them. He didn’t move an inch since this started hours ago. Agonizing as each blade pierced his body, knowing there would be a moment one of them would penetrate the wrong place.

Pathetic. He didn’t attempt to run away. That you really can’t understand. Why someone would hope for the King of Curses mercy, instead of fighting for their life?

“I bet he will look away.”

Sukuna laughed. “Yeah, I think the same.”

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm @idonthaveanameforthisacc

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[archiveikemen]

"Black Wedding" Story Event: Epilogue 🔞

Jude's Route

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

this story contains suggestive content. minors please just scroll past and ignore.

This epilogue takes place a few years into the future.

-

— We had our wedding ceremony that day.

We made our vows of love that were like a curse, binding us together till our deaths.

Kate: Jude… I’m really alright…

Jude: That’s not for you to decide.

Right after our wedding ceremony, a group of armed ruffians barged in uninvited.

During the brawling, I was thinking of how beautiful the pieces of broken glass flying around looked.

The leader, who was floored by a merciless kick from my groom, had a grudge against Jude.

And now, I was having every inch of my body examined.

My wedding dress was barely clinging to my body because it was close to being completely ruined.

Not by those ruffians… but by the man whom I had just vowed my love to.

Jude: Hey, I can’t see you like this. Turn and face this way.

Kate: … Uhh…

It wasn’t the first time he saw my bare skin, neither was it the first time he had stripped me naked.

Precisely because it wasn’t the first time, my body was getting the wrong idea.

Kate: … *inhales*

When his fingertips brushed against my skin, I bit the back of my hand to muffle the moan that threatened to escape.

Kate: I already told you that I’m not in pain, you don’t have to check me this thoroughly…

Each time he touched me, each time he looked at me, I had to desperately try to calm the heat rising in my body.

Jude: The extent to which I will torture those bastards depends on whether you have a single scratch on your body.

Jude: Tch… I’ll definitely hunt down the person who leaked the details of our wedding.

His agitated muttering reminded me of how hesitant he was to hold the ceremony.

(Could it be—)

Kate: Is this the reason why you were against holding a wedding ceremony?

Jude: Huh?

Jude frowned in displeasure and scowled at me.

Even that facial expression was endearing to me, that’s how I knew I had fallen so deeply in love with him that there was no saving me.

Kate: You just didn’t want to put me in harm’s way…?

Jude: … You’re so conceited and pleased with yourself, what a simple bride you are.

Kate: You didn’t deny it.

Jude: Even if I did, that won’t stop you from taking it positively.

Kate: Fufu… you’re right.

Jude: … How are you still laughing? One wrong move you could’ve died from having your abdomen slashed open.

His long fingers moved down to my abdomen from my chest.

Kate: Ahh… nn…

The heat that had been rising inside me was stimulated, and I let out an involuntary moan.

Jude: … What’s with that lewd noise?

Kate: I- I was just surprised.

Jude: Oh really?

Kate: …!?

I was violently pushed down onto the bed by my shoulders.

Jude: There’s still something I forgot to check.

My legs were lifted up, and the hem of my already very crumpled dress flipped upwards.

Kate: Hey…!

I was so embarrassed that I buried my face in my hands.

Jude: THIS is what you’re like when you’re surprised.

Jude: Pervert.

Kate: W-Wait…

Jude: Oh—? What?

I felt a dull pain when he bit my inner thigh where the skin was thinner and more sensitive.

Kate: Nnn…!

Jude: … Does it hurt?

I nodded.

But he knew that it wasn't only pain I was feeling.

Each time he raked his teeth against my skin, my breathing rate skyrocketed and I let out a sweet high-pitched sound.

Jude: You really do love pain.

His mocking laugh and facial expression was strangely intoxicating.

Kate: Isn’t that because of you…

Everything that was painful or shameful had become related to “feeling good”.

Jude: Hah, you’ve got a lewd look on your face.

Jude: … Scream and cry all you want, I’m not letting you go.

His eyes did nothing to hide his sadistic desires.

As long as he loved me, even laying on a bed of thorns would feel like heaven.

Jude: The two of us have truly gone mad.

Jude muttered as he fiddled with my hands that were sprawled out after being forcefully thrown onto the bed.

I was wearing a ring that was exactly the same as the shiny ring he wore on his ring finger.

My cheeks relaxed into a smile when I saw it.

Jude: … Your face is so slovenly.

Jude: How is this terrible contract making you this happy?

Kate: … You said it before. Those who break promises, break them. And those who don’t break promises, they’ll never be able to break them even if they die…

Jude: I said that a long time ago. To think that little brain of yours still remembers.

Kate: That part about my brain being little was unnecessary.

Jude: Your little brain still remembers.

Kate: … That sounds more like you’re speaking ill of me.

Jude: So what?

Kate: … You’re the type of man to never break a promise, no matter how messed up things get.

Kate: It makes me happy to know that.

Kate: You vowed to me to keep your promise no matter what.

Jude: … You know that it’ll be a painful experience.

Jude: You’re happy even though you can never run away from me because there’s no saving you now.

The man I loved was an awful man who was hated by many people and would even be attacked in broad daylight.

I was already prepared for those dangers.

Kate: … You’re the one who made me enjoy the pain.

Jude: Can you blame me?

Contrary to his unpleasant tone, the hand stroking my hair was gentle.

Jude: … You nasty woman.

[happilychaengs]

AAAA the yunjin fic was saur cute, would you be able to do something similar but w her and reader’s first kiss? 👉🏻👈🏻 if not, no worries, ty either way!

First Kiss

a/n: dream girl tis her. anyways this was a quick drabble but i hope you enjoy! i haven't kissed anyone so don't expect anything too crazy but I WILL be using this picture of her again. it's too good not to. and ignore the unoriginal title. i suck at it

word count: 560

yunjin x gender neutral reader

Yunjin was truly your dream girl. She had always respected your boundaries and when you said you weren't ready to kiss yet as she tried to lean in one time, she totally understood, no fuss, no argument.

Weeks passed by since then and you slowly opened up to her more, being more intimate. Even while you're sleeping you can feel her soft lips on your cheeks and forehead, whispering you good night. For the first time in your span of many relationships, you feel comfortable. Comfortable being in the sense that you're allowed to be vulnerable with her. Comfortable in the sense that you know she won't hurt you.

Today, you decided to initiate something yourself as you put on her favorite cherry flavored chapstick, applying it with a light 'pop' before you strutted into the kitchen, staring at her. Her hair fell off her shoulder as she was busy cooking, flipping pancakes for the two of you. The light shone through the window at the perfect angle illuminating her, making her look more perfect than she already was. You tap her shoulder unwillingly, scared to ruin the moment. "What is it?"

"Can you turn around for a second?"

"What's wrong?" She asked as she put down her spatula, turning around to face you, "Is something hap-"

And then as abruptly as you cut her off, your lips were on hers, albeit it was for a short while. A quick peck. As you pull away quickly, Yunjin stares at you dumbfounded, eyes darting between yours as she puts her fingers up to her lips, "Did you... just kiss me?"

Her surprise was inevitable but the way she said it. Her tone was... unreadable. Maybe it was a mistake. "I... I thought it was the right time to... I'm sor-"

And just like you did seconds prior, she cuts you off. She pulls your head in, hands landing on the back of your neck as your lips brush together, her obviously nervous to go any further.

"Is this okay?" She whispers softly, the soft trickle of her breath felt beneath your nose. Your eyes meet hers for a second and you do nothing but nod.

It feels like forever before she puts her lips on yours, but this time it lasts a lot longer than yours. It's awkward, the kisses being soft and explorative at first, but eventually your lips move perfectly in sync. Her kisses gets more hungry, urgent, and needy as your body melts under hers. The love the two of you feel for each other becomes palpable in the air around you along with the sweet and warm scent of the rising pancakes. Everything around you seems to blur together as you wrap your hands around her neck, losing yourself in her embrace.

Needless to say, it's perfect as the two of you pull away, breathless and smiling. The silence seems to grow thinner as you look at her lips then to her eyes, "That was... perfect."

"It really was." She replied, her smile getting only bigger.

The two of you stood still for a moment with not a care in the world; taking in everything that was just happened, not wanting to let go of one another, but as the smell of somewhat burnt pancakes waft through the air, Yunjin's eyes widen as she turns around. "Crap!"

[pseudocyance]

Pt 4

Of Soulsand and Stars, see masterpost (link) for other parts and tags

Wee bits of fluff within the angst and plot of this one, I'm pretty proud of how it came out

The next part has fluff I swear

Im trying to write fluff

-

“Out of curiosity, why did you seem so out of breath when you first appeared?”

It was nighttime now, and the desert dwellers were sitting by a campfire and cooking dinner.

“Oh, that happens when you die in the void.”

“The void?” Grian tilted his head to the side.

“The space under the world. It turns out that if you dig far enough down, you get to the bottom of everything. Nothing is down there at all,” Scar paused, trying to decide if he wanted to keep explaining. “See, where I come from, we can die and come back an unlimited amount of times. My version of Grian and Mumbo, our boyfriend, seem to think it's really funny to push me into the hole we made to the void all of the time.”

Grian's eyes widened at the words “our boyfriend”.

Scar ignored him and continued. “I die quite a bit, so when I tell you that dying in the void is the worst death, you know I'm telling the truth. You fall and fall down the hole, and then it's just… darkness. Infinite nothing. But it feels like you're being watched. So as you fall into increasingly thinner air where you can't breathe and can't see, it feels like the universe is watching and laughing"

Silence filled the air.

“So… what does it feel like when you die from falling? I hope my Scar wasn't in too much pain.”

“If it happens fast enough you don't feel anything. By the time you respawn, you'll mostly have healed. The bones set quickly.” Scar's voice became harsh. The bubbly person he had been earlier disappeared to show the scars below.

“Good to know.” Grian's voice was a whisper.

-

After prying for Scar's story, Grian felt terrible. He watched the moon slowly make his way up the sky. “I think we should go collect resources in the morning. You can ride Pizza since you don't know the land as well.”

“Pizza?” Scar asked with a slight smile.

“Other Scar named it. It's our llama,” Grian laughed.

That's how they had started referring to the original Scar from this world: Other Scar.Grian couldn't stop worrying about Other Scar. Where was he? Was he gone, or was he in the place this Scar was from?

“I think resource collecting sounds amazing. For now, let's get some sleep." Scar laid down, and his head brushed Grian's leg. “It's strange… I know I'm in a totally different world, but somehow the sky doesn't look any different. The stars are always just the stars.”

Grian leaned back against a chest and closed his eyes. Without thinking, he placed his hand on Scar's head and ran his fingers through his hair.

When he realized what he was doing, he yanked his hand back, silently cursing himself for falling back into his habit with Other Scar.

Scar reached up and grabbed his hand to place it back on his head, sending silent permission for the touch.

They sat there, watching the fire. Watching the stars. Just for this moment, the desert was their oasis in the sands of chaos.

-

“What should we do about them?”

“There's something wrong. We should take advantage of that.”

"Did you see Scar? He didn't look quite right, and Grian seemed on edge.”

“Exactly.”

“Neither of them have left the desert for a week - they're going to have to leave for resources soon.”

“Let's camp out in the forest. When they finally leave, you grab Scar, and I'll take out Grian.”

[pecanwriter]

Fatty Fat Kitty Cat (M/M)

Words: 5688

Summary: A lonely man is adopted by a strong-minded cat. 

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, Comforting with Food

The staircase light didn’t work. Yaro flipped the switch up and down two more times, just in case he simply didn’t put enough emphasis on his desire to see the first five times around.

“Kurva…” He muttered under his breath, letting the smooth stream of invectives flow from his mouth as he climbed up to his flat in the dark. Theoretically, he could light up a match or use that old brick of a phone for a flashlight, but it just always seemed wrong. He paid rent, he paid taxes, didn’t he at least deserve a working light bulb?!

The door creaked loudly as he opened it and the echo of the sound vibrated down the dingy staircase. It was cut short only by another curse word muttered angrily by Yaro as he nearly tripped over himself, trying to take off his sneakers without undoing the shoelaces. 

After a long and exhausting day at work, he needed three things. Dinner, a cigarette and a drink. There was a chance, although a very slim one, that he still had some pierogies left after visiting his babushka out in the country last Sunday, he’d been thinking about those beauties the entire bus ride home. 

“Of course” Yaro scoffed, standing face to face with the disappointing contents of the fridge. He stared daggers at the horridly expired carton of milk, a singular egg with an unknown expiration date, three beers and a piece of sausage that was starting to develop its own ecosystem. He shut the fridge, refusing to clean it out purely on principle. 

Yaro had yet to encounter a problem that couldn’t be made at least a little better with a cigarette, so he pulled out the pack. He, once again within a minute, found himself gravely disappointed, staring into the empty package. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He muttered to himself, reaching under the sink for the rubbish bin. By his logic, if he went down to throw out the trash and simply bought cigarettes while he already happened to conveniently pass by the store anyway, that proved that he wasn’t addicted, he just simply enjoyed smoking. 

“Come on..!” Yaro groaned when the rubbish bag started promptly leaking foul-smelling juices of unknown origin all over the kitchen floor and his socks. Hopping to the door, as if that would help, and holding the bag in front of him in an outstretched hand Yaro pulled on his shoes and half-jogged, half-stumbled down the stairs. 

He threw the trash into the equally smelly disposal at the back of the apartment building and was about to go back around to the street side when something moved in the corner of his eye. Yaro was “thinner than a twig” as his babushka was fond of saying, but you didn’t survive in Eastern Europe for twenty-six years without staying on your guard in back alleys after dark. With the power of his Slavic ancestors pumping adrenaline into his blood, Yaro turned around, ready to throw punches and trade insults with whoever… He dropped his hands. It was a cat. A bloody cat. The yellowish-green eyes were staring at Yaro in the dim light of a distant lantern. 

“Stupid puss, I was ready to punch you…” He spat. As a reply, the cat let out a long, pathetic meow and padded over, starting to walk around Yaro’s ankles in an eight-pattern. 

“Stop it, you’re dirty,” Yaro grimaced, trying to move away without stepping on the animal. The cat firmly ignored him, going from circling to rubbing against Yaro’s calf “No, no way! Go away, puss!” Yaro gently pushed the animal away with his sneaker and began walking back. He didn’t even manage to turn the corner before something brushed against his leg again. “No, stop it, bad cat, stay here!” Yaro ordered, pointing at the cat with an accusatory finger, hoping that would somehow convince it. It didn’t. The cat softly padded behind him all the way to the door of the convenience store. Yaro saw its big yellowish-green eyes stare at him through the glass as he closed the door. The expression on the cat’s little face could only be described as deeply wounded. 

“Good evening, Mrs Petrova,” Yaro bowed to the elderly cashier. She was an old gossiping crone, if anyone asked him, but it was much easier to just feign respect than get into a petty neighbourhood war with Janka Petrova. He was pretty sure that on that one memorable occasion when he managed to have a guy over, she was the one who spread the rumour all over the street. It wasn’t like Yaro was particularly liked by any of his neighbours before, but making them aware he liked to stick it up other guy’s asses did nothing to improve his popularity. Naturally, it didn’t work out between him and Boris, who proved to be more than a little “loose” in terms of what counted as “cheating”, but still, the fact was that the old hag spread the rumours, he was certain of it. 

“Yaroslav, your door is creaking again!” She called as he disappeared between the shelves “Get it fixed!”

“Good evening to you too…” He muttered under his breath. After a moment’s hesitation, he took two packages of beef pierogies and a stick of butter out of the fridge. He knew the store-bought pierogies could never compare to the ones his babushka made, but it was better than nothing and he’d been craving them since leaving work. After close consideration, he also took a piece of ham and walked over to the bread section to take half a loaf of already not the freshest sourdough bread. He promised his babushka he’d start eating breakfast and he was pretty sure that woman could see deep into his soul to check if he was lying. 

“And two packs of red Pall Mall, please” He added as Mrs Petrova rang his items up at a glacial pace. 

“ID?” She demanded, looking at him from under her silver eyebrows with much more sharpness than the speed of her movements indicated. 

“Oh come on, Mrs Petrova, we’ve been neighbours for four years, you know me!” He protested. 

“That’s beside the point, Yaroslav” She scolded, her gaze turning into a glare. 

He decided not to argue that she knew his name, address, sexual orientation and exactly what he ate every single day as she sold it to him, and somehow claimed to still not know his age. With a sigh, he presented his ID to her. 

As he stepped out of the store he nearly tripped and fell, just barely avoiding sending his entire back of groceries into orbit. When he looked for the source of the disturbance, he wasn’t surprised to see a pair of yellowish-green eyes staring up at him. 

“Shoo, puss, I have nothing for you!” He swatted at the air to scare off the cat, but the animal, instead of getting spooked and running off, began to sniff around his grocery bag. 

“If I feed you, will you go away?” He asked, rubbing his temple. 

“Meow.” That was what the cat said, but to Yaro, it almost felt like he could hear the “Probably not, but you can try, fool” behind that single syllable. 

“Oh for Fuck’s sake…” He muttered, taking out his pocket knife (which he wore for protection, but only ever used to open beer and letters from the bank) and cutting a small piece of ham.

“Here, and now leave me alone,” Yaro said, crouching down and offering the meat to his oppressor. He was fully aware that he shouldn’t be holding it in his fingers, rather offering it on an open palm, but it gave him more satisfaction to somehow prove that he was trying to be civil, it was the cat that was the problematic one. 

The cat looked at the offering, then up at Yaro. “Really?” It seemed to be saying, “You think the way you hold it carries any significance to me?” The cat snatched the piece of meat while, oddly, keeping eye contact with Yaro. All cats were shameless assholes, to his knowledge, but this one seemed to be on another level. He watched for a while as the animal chewed loudly and with obvious relish. 

“Now, leave me be, aye?” Yaro cocked an eyebrow. The cat kept staring at him, giving no reply. Shaking his head in resignation, he got up and slid inside his building without another look back. 

Yaro let out a heavy sigh before opening the door to his flat, the key already in the lock, but yet not turned. He turned around, with a resigned frown. Only the cat’s eyes were visible in the nearly complete darkness. 

“I’m not letting you in, go away.” He once again shook his fist at the animal, but it remained, predictably, unphased. “No way, you’re dirty.” The cat still didn’t react. “I have no space for a cat.” No reaction, just eyes in the dark. 

With a sigh so heavy and tortured only a pure-blood Slav like himself could produce, Yaro opened the door. He stood with the door open while massaging the bridge of his nose as the cat calmly sauntered inside. 

“Why me?” Yaro groaned, closing the door behind himself. 

*

“Still hungry? Where does all that food go?” Yaro asked, looking at the cat who had finished his second helping of ham and was currently playing with the bowl next to Yaro’s leg.

“Meow” The cat confirmed, looking up. 

Yaro shook his head but cut one of his pierogies in half and placed it in the cat’s bowl. Once again, the animal began loudly chewing with obvious relish. Yaro took a closer look at the cat. It was male and visibly adult, although on the petite side for a cat. Its coat was that of the generic house cat; brownish-grey fur with black stripes and a few dark spots. Its tail was thicker than a household cat's and Yaro knew that meant it was probably a hybrid of a European Wildcat and a regular domestic. His babushka had several of those on the farm and taught him how to distinguish between them through coat, tail thickness and size. The fact that this was a hybrid made its small stature even more unusual. The cat had a white patch on its neck and half of its mouth, and one of its front paws also had a white patch. It wasn’t only petite, but scrawny; evidently, it didn’t manage to secure much food while living outside. Yaro was staring so intently he didn’t even realise the cat finished eating and was now staring back up at him. 

“Are you going to go away now?” Yaro asked. 

“Meow.” The cat said, seeming to say “Hell, no, you idiot”. As if to prove its point, the cat jumped up and started settling on Yaro’s lap.

“Oh, no, no way!” Yaro snatched the animal up by the scruff of the neck “If you refuse to leave, then you have to be washed.” 

The cat cried bloody murder and tried to fight, but Yaro wouldn’t yield so easily. 

*

“Don’t stare, it had to be done,” Yaro said. The cat just looked at him before theatrically turning its head away. It was sitting with all its paws tucked under it on the towel Yaro put out for it on the couch so it could dry out after the bath. “I’m the one bleeding, so stop acting like you’re the one suffering!” Yaro spat, once again examining the scratches on his arms. 

After a moment a stripy head appeared in his line of vision and soon, a sandpaper texture of a cat’s tongue rubbed against his reddened skin. 

“God damn you,” Yaro muttered, scratching the cat behind the ear. 

The cat meowed a little short meow and continued to lick his arm. 

“What should I call you? Stripy? Whitepaw?”

The cat hissed, swatting his arm with a paw, claws retreated. Yaro rolled his eyes.

“What then?” The cat hissed again “What? Should I just call you Cat?” 

The cat replied by settling itself in on Yaro’s lap. 

Once again, rolling his eyes the man turned on the TV and settled in for the evening, scratching the cat behind its soft ear. 

*

Cat emerged from the flat, stretching its tiny body and flopping its tail lazily. 

“Good morning” Yaro rasped, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He was crouching by the door on his tiny balcony and having his breakfast cigarette, staring over the roofs of other old, grey houses with peeling plaster and graffiti spattered all over them. The old lady on the top floor of the nearest house over was watering her plants with a head full of rollers and the transition of the morning mass blaring from her tiny radio so loud it could probably be heard all the way down the street. The young guy two floors down was smoking in the window, rubbing his shaved head. Someone called to him from inside the flat and he yelled back a few rather uninventive curses before disappearing inside. A pigeon landed on the rail of Yaro’s balcony and he swatted at it. 

Cat sat down next to him. 

“You’re lucky you don’t have to go to work,” Yaro said, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Cat let out a sound Yaro could’ve sworn was a snort of disapproving laughter. 

“You cats think you know it all” He muttered to himself. Cat made a sound between a snort and a harumph. It didn't take a genius to interpret that as “Yes, we do”.

Yaro let out his own disapproving snort. For a moment they sat there in silence, the man smoking a cigarette, the cat swinging its tail lazily, both listening to the sounds of the early morning in town, soundtracked by the poor quality church music coming from the tiny radio across the yard. 

“Alright,” the human said, standing up and making all his joints click “Let's have some food.”

“Meow.” The cat said, leading the human into the apartment, as if it belonged to it, not the man. 

*

“I'm going to work, you're not coming,” Yaro informed Cat, who was standing by the door and watching him put his sneakers on. 

“Meow,” Cat informed in an admonishing tone. 

“Oh yeah?” Yaro said, glancing at it “You have business to attend to?”

“Meow.”

“Very well, it's not like I'm going to miss you,” Yaro opened the door, letting the cat out first and following behind it. 

“Meow.”

Yaro rolled his eyes. He turned around to say something else after locking the door, but the hallway was already empty. 

He stuffed the keys into his pocket and trotted down the stairs. By the time he stuck a cigarette in his mouth at the foot of the stairs and emerged into the street, it all began to seem like a dream. And yet, when he lit the cigarette it tasted suspiciously like loneliness.

*

“Meow.” Cat admonished, its tail swinging impatiently behind it, brushing over  Yaro’s doormat. 

“Sorry, I missed the first bus…” Yaro murmured. He leaned down to drop a piece of kielbasa on the doormat, but before it fell Cat snatched it up. Yaro opened the door to the sounds of the cat chewing loudly. He couldn’t suppress a tiny smile from stretching the corner of his mouth. 

“How did your business in town go?” He opened the fridge, glancing away just for a moment to check if the cat was following him into the kitchen. Of course, Cat was standing right there by the table, looking at him very carefully with its giant eyes that today seemed more green than yellow. 

“Meow,” Cat seemed to shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Yaro mused, putting a piece of ham in his mouth while considering how to fix up dinner. 

“Meow!” Cat demanded. 

“Jeez, fine, fine…” Yaro snorted, dropping a piece of ham and watching Cat snatch it up. “Fine, I give up, I’m not gonna cook,” He retrieved the second packet of store-bought pierogies and set a pot to boil. 

Knowing that a watched pot never boils - as his babushka was fond of always reminding him, Yaro went out onto the balcony. It was getting dark and he could see a glimmering reflection of his own lit cigarette in the dark window across the yard. The old lady on the top floor was blasting the Evening News at full volume, and the young guy two floors down was yelling at someone while having a smoke, the middle-aged couple one window to the right from him was having dinner. The wife put a bowl of what seemed to be cucumber soup in front of the husband who nodded. Well, no, it couldn’t really be considered nodding, he performed a very minor twitch of the neck. She sat down across from him and asked something. He replied with another minor twitch of the neck. 

Yaro startled, as a small ball of fur suddenly materialised in his lap and started settling in. 

“Do you think they’re happy?” Yaro asked, absent-mindedly stroking Cat behind the ear and staring at the middle-aged couple.

“Meow” the cat replied philosophically, licking its one white paw. 

Yaro took another drag of his cigarette, still unable to take his eyes off the couple eating cucumber soup “I know you’re not just a normal cat,” He heard himself say. 

Cat froze, but only for a fraction of a second. He continued to lick his paws and then rolled into a ball with his back to Yaro. The man let out a sigh, patting the animal's back.

“Fine, you can pretend if you want. We all wish we could sometimes.”

*

Cat didn't come back the next day. Yaro didn't care, of course, he didn't even like the damn thing. He stuffed the cat bowls he bought at the nearby pet shop deep behind all his cluttered cooking pots and pretended they were never even there. For dinner, he ate dry sandwiches and drank disgustingly bitter tea because he forgot to take the tea bag out in time. 

He sat on the couch, watching TV and drinking. A few times, his hand would lift mindlessly and he’d reach out to scratch something that wasn’t there. 

Yaro turned off the TV, almost smashing the remote on the coffee table. His steps thumped on the floor dully as he walked to the balcony. The old lady across the yard was blasting religious radio again, the middle-aged couple was not there. Well, the woman was, crying with her face buried in her chubby hands. The buzzcut guy was in a fighting match with his father. Yaro looked at the middle-aged woman crying as he smoked. He inhaled so deeply the smoke burned his lungs and he coughed loudly, his eyes filling up with tears. 

From the smoke, of course. 

Later that night, the bed felt cold. He brought in another blanket from the living room, but it didn’t help. Eventually, after hours of tossing and turning Yaro fell into an uneasy sleep, his hand twitching at his side to scratch something that wasn’t there. 

*

They fixed the light bulb. Yaro climbed the stairs feeling stupidly validated; he did pay the rent, after all, he deserved to have a working light bulb! 

The bag in Yaro’s hand almost slipped out of his grasp when he made it to his floor.

“What happened to you?!” He hissed, crouching down by his doormat, looking at the little pathetic creature, the greyish brown fur speckled with red. 

Without waiting for an answer, he scooped Cat up into his arms, the cat letting out a little pathetic meow, full of hurt. 

“Kruva…!” Yaro muttered, dropping his keys and trying to retrieve them with one hand while cradling the cat to his chest with the other. His little furry body was shaking. 

They fell into the apartment and Yaro kicked the door closed, his heart suddenly speeding up. Without even taking off his shoes, he rushed to place the cat on the couch. There was a chunk of skin missing from the cat’s right ear and there were bloody gashes on his tiny chest which moved up and down rapidly. 

“What happened?” Yaro demanded, trying to touch the cat, but the damnable creature wouldn’t allow it, letting out a tiny hiss and jumping to its feet. Cat jumped off the couch. It stumbled a couple of steps but collapsed into a small heap on the carpet. Yaro noticed the cat couldn’t put any weight on his right back leg. 

“Stop it, let me see” Yaro demanded. 

Cat let out something between a hiss and a meow.

“That’s enough. Pretending is all fun and good, but you’re hurt. I need you to tell me what happened, so stop this farce.” Yaro demanded. 

The cat looked up at him, the greenish-yellow eyes unreadable. 

“Now.” Yaro demanded. 

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the air began to vibrate slightly, or so it seemed. It suddenly got hot, incredibly so, the heat was so pleasant and overwhelming it seemed to fill Yaro entirely. He realised, out of nowhere, how exhausted he was. Closing his eyes was all he could think about, just for a second, even less than a second… When he came back to himself, the greenish-yellow eyes were still staring at him. Only, the face they were staring out of now was no longer a cat’s face. 

There was a long moment of complete silence as Yaro and the naked man crouching on his carpet stared at each other. The moment was broken by the man wavering, clutching his side.

“What happened?” Yaro uttered. 

“Can I have some clothes?” The man asked. His voice was slightly raspy but very soft. Somehow Yaro could tell that if he wasn’t on the brink of death his voice would be butter-smooth. 

“Don’t you think it would be better to clean off that blood first?” Yaro suggested. 

The man opened his mouth to respond, but his bright eyes lost focus and Yaro managed to catch him just before he fainted. 

“Alright, that’s enough” he muttered. Without much effort, he took the man into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. He was really tiny. Short and skinny, way too skinny. His fragile body was shaking and Yaro tried swallowing the tightness in his throat. 

After placing the man on the bed Yaro put a pair of boxers on him before starting to examine the injuries. There were deep, bloody gashes on his side, evidently dealt to him by another cat. Not only that, but his side was showing severe bruising. Yaro was no doctor, but it was easy to guess that he had at least one broken rib. There was blood on his neck and chest, but he soon realised it had dripped down from his mutilated ear. Without thinking much of what he was doing, Yaro climbed under the bed and retrieved the chest. Momentarily, he stopped, brushing his fingers over the beautiful botanical carvings on the dark wooden lid. The chest was full of small, meticulously labelled bottles. Each label was filled with his babushka’s handwriting and seeing that slanted, elongated handwriting made him feel a little more like himself. 

With slightly shaky fingers he browsed the bottles, the sound of glass rubbing against glass was barely penetrating through the thumping of Yaro’s heart in his ears. 

“Here you are, you fucker” Finally snatching the right bottle, Yaro sat next to the unconscious man on the bed and carefully opened it. A tiny sliver of smoke escaped and a thick, heavy aroma of herbs filled the bedroom. He tilted the bottle the slightest bit, his hand far from steady. A drop of dark liquid fell onto the first of the gashes on the man’s side and he let out a tiny groan. 

“It’s fine, it will make you feel better, I promise…” Yaro ensured, letting another drop fall on the second gash.

After spreading the potion on each of the wounds and dressing them, Yaro pulled the covers over the man.

Feeling like he’d just aged twenty years, he stumbled onto the balcony and inhaled the cigarette smoke so aggressively it made him gag. 

“Why couldn't I just adopt a regular fucking cat?!” Yaro groaned, wiping his watering eyes.

*

Yaro wasn't going to sleep on the couch, especially not because of a stupid cat. He was too tall to fit on it comfortably anyway. Carefully, he crawled over the unconscious man, pushing himself as close to the wall as he possibly could. He couldn’t help his curiosity and before turning off the light, he took a closer look at the sleeping figure. 

It was impossible to tell how old he was; he might’ve been twenty, but he might’ve also been thirty. His hair was a shaggy mane of curls, the colour was brownish grey, the same as his fur. He had dark, beautifully arched eyebrows and long lashes that appeared slightly damp as they rested against his cheeks. Where he had white patches as a cat, in his human body there were birthmarks, visibly lighter than his slightly pinkish skin colour. One spread from his mouth down his chin and the other started at his neck and went down to his chest.

For a moment, Yaro put a gentle hand over the man's chest to check if he was breathing. Somehow, when he felt himself drifting away, the hand was still on his warm chest. The man was snoring softly, one could almost call those little rumbling sounds… purrs.

*

Waking up somehow felt different than usual. He was so warm and cosy, slightly sweaty, but in a pleasant, comfortable way. Yaro nuzzles himself against the shaggy hair pressed against his face… 

Suddenly, the events of last night flooded back into his head and he jerked awake. The sudden movement woke up Cat and he jumped nearly half a meter into the air, instantly on guard. A hand slashed through the air and Yaro managed to cover himself just in time for the sharp fingernails to slash across his forearm, not his face. 

“Hey, woah, easy, it’s me! You’re safe!” Yaro shouted, rubbing at the scratches on his arm.

Cat was crouching on the bed, teeth bare, the bandage Yaro put over his head to cover the mangled ear came loose and fell comically over his face. His yellowish-green eyes were wide and with their colour, how far away they were and the slightly almond shape Yaro struggled to imagine someone could possibly look more like a cat in a human body. 

“Cat, it’s okay.” Yaro tried again, reaching out a hand. 

Cat’s eyes dropped down from Yaro’s face to his arm. Slowly, he moved in closer, gently grabbing the arm with his. After a moment of examining it, he rubbed his cheek against the scratches. 

“It’s okay, no big deal,” Yaro smiled gently, scratching the man behind the ear. Cat purred so softly Yaro barely heard it “Do you talk?” 

Cat looked up at him again. After a moment of staring, he nodded. Yaro chuckled. 

“Well, will you?” He asked with an amused smile. 

“Thank you,” Cat said. As Yaro guessed the day before, his voice was butter-smooth. Somehow he could feel the undercurrent of a purr in every word. Cat suddenly seemed to realise he wasn’t in pain and grabbed onto his side, looking at it with obvious confusion. His human face was as expressive as his cat one. 

“A healing potion,” Yaro explained. 

Cat’s brows furrowed “You’re a witch?” 

Yaro chuckled again “Don’t they teach you cats anything? Only women inherit magical abilities. I come from a long, long line of witches. My mother, grandmother, great-grandmother… You get it. I was the first son born in the family for centuries. I have no magical abilities myself, but I know a lot and I can prepare potions, but my grandmother has to magically infuse them.” Yaro stopped, feeling like he’d been talking for hours. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he said so many words at once.

Cat muttered something, pursing his lips “So that’s how you knew I wasn’t a regular cat.” 

“You’re really shit at hiding it” Yaro smirked. 

“Hey!” The man bristled. 

“I’m Yaroslav, by the way. Yaro.” He outstretched a hand. 

“Andrei,” Cat said, clasping the hand in a steel embrace. “Can we eat?” 

Yaro laughed. 

“You’re one hungry cat, aren’t you?” 

Andrei shrugged philosophically. 

*

Yaro stared as Andrei inhaled his third helping of ham sandwiches. 

“What?” The man asked with his mouth full, hunched over the plate. 

“I’m just wondering where all this food is going” Yaro said, sipping his tea, looking at the man’s skinny arms. 

Cat’s eyes wondered “I don’t get to eat often” He mumbled, before stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. 

“Are you…” Yaro started, unsure if he should push it “Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” 

Andrei gulped down half of his tea in one long sip. He glanced at Yaro but quickly looked away again. 

“I tried to convince my father’s tribe to accept me.” 

Silence fell. Yaro pursed his lips; he knew how territorial and close-knit the Wildcat tribes were. And how fucking racist, too. That was evident enough, judging by the amount of half-breeds on his babushka’s farm. 

“There’s no more bread, but I can make you eggs if you’re still hungry,” Yaro suggested with a half-smile.

Cat looked up at him. His bright eyes twinkled and he flashed a wide smile at Yaro; his canine teeth were noticeably elongated. 

*

“Yaroslv! Control this damnable animal!” Mrs Petrova was holding a tubby cat up in her outstretched hands “It tried to steal my hot dogs!” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Petrova, cats, you know? They do what they want” He shrugged with a grin, accepting the cat into his arms. 

“Does Mrs Morova know you have a cat? You better believe I’ll call her if you don’t control him!” Mrs Petrova called behind him, shaking her fist in the air after him. 

“Did you have to?” He mumbled, carrying the cat up to his apartment. 

“Meow” Andrei answered philosophically. 

Yaro let out a resigned sigh. “Don’t be flippant or I’ll put you down and you’ll have to walk by yourself.”

“Meow!” Andrei objected loudly. 

“I know, tubby.” Yaro grinned and swiftly avoided the paw directed at his nose. 

He put the cat down before opening the door. As soon as they were inside an angry little man was standing in front of him, his fists clenched. 

“Don’t call me tubby!” Andrei objected. 

“Well,” Yaro crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the healthy layer of fat that had covered Andrei’s skinny frame since he’d decided to adopt Yaro as his own. 

“I don’t like you” Andrei pursed his lips and sauntered away. Yaro couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of his decidedly more prominent ass jiggling with every step. 

“Hey, come on, I’m sorry, tubby…” He said, running after him. 

“You are so fucking rude!” Andrei’s mouth was agape with outrage.

Yaro shrugged, walking up closer, wrapping his arms around the smaller man to cup his fleshy ass.

“I never said it was a bad thing, did I? I think cats are way cuter when they’re fat” He smirked, leaning down to kiss Andrei’s grimacing face. 

“I’m not fat!” He objected, pushing Yaro’s face away.

“Not yet, anyway,” Yaro said, squeezing his ass and enjoying the softness. 

“Stop insulting me and go make me dinner, I’m hungry.” 

Yaro laughed, leaning down again, kissing Andrei softly and then letting him go to obediently prepare food. By the time he was at the living room door, the tubby brown cat was already curled up in a furry ball, softly snoring on the couch. 

*

“What the hell happened to you now?!” Yaro dropped the shopping bag on the table haphazardly. The jars in the bag knocked dangerously against one another, but he paid it no mind. Pickles were of significantly less importance than Andrei’s black eye and busted lip.

“Nothing, I’m fine” He muttered, swatting Yaro’s hand away. 

“Like hell you are! Did you go to the tribe again?! Why do you keep trying, if they only hurt you, you stupid cat?” Yaro raged, not letting Andrei wiggle out of his grasp. 

He swore under his breath as the air became overwhelmingly hot and seconds later he was fighting with a cat. Andrei slipped his grip and bolted it to the bedroom. With a heavy sigh, Yaro followed. When he opened the door Andrei was curled up into a bowl on the bed. 

“Come on, talk to me…” Yaro pleaded, climbing onto the bed and smoothing the cat’s messy coat. 

Moments later, he was resting his hand against a human shoulder. Andrei stubbornly remained facing the wall. 

“I just want to have a tribe,” Andrei whispered so softly Yaro almost missed the pain in his voice. 

He let out a sigh, wrapping the man in an embrace, rubbing circles with his thumb on his soft shoulder. 

“You know, it’s one of the best parts of life that we get to choose our own tribe.” He kissed the naked shoulder. 

“Are you saying you want to… Be my tribe?” 

It made Yaro’s chest tight to hear the surprise in his voice. 

“I already am, tubby.” 

“Don’t call me that!” Andrei objected half-heartedly. 

“It’s a good thing” Yaro said, rubbing Andrei’s soft belly that had not been flat in quite some time “It means you have someone to feed you. It means you belong to someone who takes care of you.” 

Finally, Andrei turned around. His yellowish-green eyes were reddened with tears. 

“I’m…” He bit his lip, looking away hesitantly. 

“I know. Me too.” Yaro pressed his forehead to Andrei’s and closed his eyes, enjoying the low rumbling purr that escaped him. 

“Are you going to make me dinner?” Andrei asked after a while. 

Yaro laughed. Thank the Gods he didn’t adopt a regular cat. 

[jonogueirawrites]

The in-between.

Chapter 3 of 20 (?).

Chapter 1.

It.

AO3

Xavier ran his long fingers through his face. Why did he have to be paired with her? He pondered asking the professor to change his pair, but after hearing him deny many other students, he gave up on the idea.   

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Evangeline approaching him. "Look." He shoved his sketchbook inside his backpack. "No offense, but I have a lot in mind right now. So we got," he turned to the board looking for their topic, but all his mind saw were black eyes staring back at him, "I don't even..." He sighed. "I'm sorry. You take half, and I take half." He shook his head and left.   

After his encounter with her at the library's entrance, everything intensified. He didn't mean to be rude or mean to her. It was just the feeling that she had something to do with what was happening to him wouldn't go away.   

What was she planning? What was her game?   

He crossed the hall with long steps. He needed to think, and his fingers twitched inside his pockets. Needing to feel the weight of a brush between them.  

Heading to his shed, he had a sudden feeling of dread. His nightmare came to mind, and he shook his body when goosebumps left his hair standing on end. The closer he got, the more he wanted to run in the opposite direction. What the hell was happening with him?   

The padlock on his hand never felt that cold nor weighed that much. Throwing his backpack on the ground, he took the key from his pocket and opened it.    

                                          Black eyes stared at him. 

His raven and black paintings were all displayed for everyone to see. The fabric rested on the dirty floor, taunting him to hide them away again. Clenching his jaw, he took every single one of them and threw them outside. Emptying his flask of thinner on top of them, he watched as the flames engulfed his nightmares.    

Wanting to put them behind him, he entered the shed and closed the door. A new canvas in front of him. White as clouds. White as they should be.   

Without looking, he reached for his charcoal, and the first traces started to appear. Soon Xavier stood with his face smeared in black. His hair tied up, and his eyes glued on the picture smiling at him.   

Evangeline rested amidst trees. A full moon the only light on her skin. Though in the shadows, something lurked. Something he couldn't see. He raised his hand, and she started to dance. A song about children and death, peace, and pain played around him.    

Something on her right hid behind a tree, and when he approached the canvas to have a better look, his phone rang, giving him the fright of his life. His father's name on display. He thought about ignoring it but changed his mind.   

"It's the second time you've called me in weeks. Is everything okay?"   

"You're my son. Can't I call my own son now?"   

"What do you want?"   

Xavier heard his father sigh. "Something is going on with you. I can tell."   

"Everything is fine."   

"We are psychic, Xavier. Do you really think I wouldn't know something was wrong with you?"   

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. He was about to answer his father when his eyes fell on the painting. "I'll call you back." His father's voice just a noise in the background until he hung up. Xavier was getting closer and closer to the canvas. His brain didn't believe his eyes. "What the fuck?" He caressed it with his thumb to ensure he wasn't seeing things. Going crazy.    

When he touched Evangeline's face, a painful scream almost split his head in two. His hands pressed against his ears in a futile attempt to muffle it. From his own mouth, a terrible sound left.   

He panted and heaved on the floor. His hands grabbed the fabric under him and squeezed. His knuckles turned white, and a copper taste filled his mouth. He looked up at the painting, and his heart stopped. "What the fuck is happening?"   

A knock on the door, and he was on his feet. The dirty fabric thrown over it . Making sure he was presentable before he opened the door, he was surprised to see the moon was already high in the sky and that it was Evangeline who stood in front of him.   

"How did you find this place?"   

The smile she shot him too strange. The brown in her eyes the wrong hue.   

"Ah," she looked over her shoulder, "Ajax told me where to find you. Is everything okay?" She observed his features and glanced at the burned canvas by their side.   

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." He shook his head. "You wanted to talk to me?" He closed the door a little further. Trying to hide the inside from her.   

"So you said we should do half and half. The assignment?" He nodded. "You also said you were busy, so I decided to give you a small part." She chuckled. "Here it is. I can come and take it on Sunday afternoon, so I have plenty of time to put it all together. What do you think?"   

"Sounds good to me."   

"Good, good."   

The awkward silence between them too much.    

"I have things to do if you don't mind." He gave her a small smile.   

"Yeah, sure. Sorry."    

Xavier watched as she waved him goodbye and got lost among the trees. He closed the door and stared at the object before him. The way the fabric covered it made it seem like a ghostly figure floating in the air.   

Looking at his watch, he closed his eyes. It was late, and he hadn't eaten anything that day. A snack and a bath were all he wanted. With a last glance and a heavy heart, he left his shed. He made sure it was locked before turning his back to it and walking back to his room.   

——————————————————————————

Evangeline wondered what was going on with Xavier. Did he suspect who she was? Was he planning on telling everyone? She sighed.   

The path ahead of her was a short one. She could see the university beyond the treetops. It was a cool night, and when she realized it, fireflies were flying around her. Remembering the night before, she lifted her arm and let them land on it.   

She watched them in the air for a few minutes until a sound by her right caught her attention. Ajax, Bianca, and their group of friends came her way. They stood still, watching her. She could see curiosity in their faces.    

"Good evening. Hope everything is okay." A small wave and a shy smile were all she did.    

The group looked at each other before Ajax addressed her, "We are going to the lake. Build a bonfire." Bianca gave him a hard stare he chose to ignore. "Do you want to come with us?"   

Evangeline raised an eyebrow at him. She noticed how half of the group seemed uncomfortable with the invitation, but before she could answer, Xavier walked out of the forest and into their little exchange.   

He greeted his friends and gave her a slight nod. They chatted a bit until Ajax repeated his invitation. "So. What's it going to be?"   

For some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off Xavier. When she spoke, her voice had a tinge of something wicked in it. "I would love to." She tilted her head and moved her gaze to Ajax. A grin spread across her face. "But it would be wiser if I didn't." Her words in the air. Something naughty echoing with them. When she blinked, everything came to an end. The oppressive atmosphere gone. "I have to study, and there's also the assignment. I better get to it. Thank you for the invitation, though." She waved them a good night and went on her way.    

A devilish smirk played on her lips. One she knew damn well shouldn't be there. Little by little, she was losing control. And although she knew she should be worried about it, she simply did not care.   

Nevermore was a place for freaks. Who would be fit to be there if not her?   

She chuckled and laughed. Xavier's eyes on hers setting her warm skin on fire. She slid her fingers over her black hair. Wetting her thumb with her tongue. Xavier. The devilish smirk returned to her lips.   

This time she decided to shut it down before she lost all control.   

~~~~~   

Her night was peaceful, and she rested well enough to wake up and concentrate on her studies. The books open on the desk in front of her were beginning to blend by the time she decided to have a break. Going to the cafeteria, she noticed it was way past midday, so she headed to the vending machines. A sandwich and water bottle would have to suffice until dinner time.   

Going back to her room, she started doing her assignment. After hours of researching her books and the internet, she headed to the library. Since it was Saturday night, it was empty, just like the way she preferred.    

The clock on the wall showed her it was almost midnight. Because her visits to the place were often without problems, the man responsible for closing it let Evangeline stay after closing time. He trusted her with the key and knew she would take them to the security guard once she was done.   

Stretching her neck and putting the book away, she returned to her room and took a quick cold shower. And although she would rather be up and finish the paper, she fell on her bed and slept until morning came.   

After eating a small breakfast, she got back and finished the last details. Satisfied with her work and praying for a good grade, she let her brain rest. A nap and soon lunch was being served.   

Full and content, she headed to Xavier's shed. She was so sure this one thing would go well that she didn't see the signs. Half-drawn and torn canvas lay haphazardly on the ground. The door ajar, letting anyone see what he tried so hard to hide.   

She noticed the dark circles under his eyes when she entered the place. His hair was a mess reflecting the state of his clothes.    

"Is everything okay?" Her voice startled him.   

His eyes were wild when he looked her way. "What are you doing here?"   

"I-I came to pick up your-"   

"Leave." He tore the canvas in front of him. The small blade in his hand shining in the air.   

"What are you doing?" She took a step his way, but his eyes... They showed her everything she needed to know.   

"I said leave."   

"I'm not afraid nor scared." She defied him. "And you better tell me you have your part of the paper ready, or so help me, the Lord."  She knew that the assignment was an absolutely ridiculous demand, given the situation around her, but her control was about to slip through her closed fingers. She just wanted a normal life.

Xavier scoffed. "Do you really think I care about some paper? I have bigger things to worry about."   

Evangeline closed her eyes. The heat building up inside her too intense. She tilted her head at him, and her following words were pure venom. "You little stupid boy." One step, and she was almost in his personal space. "You silly little boy." Another step, and she broke the invisible barrier. "You have no idea what it is to be worried about shit!" She whispered his way. "You have no idea what I have to deal with every single fucking day of my life." She was up close and personal. Her finger dug into his chest. "I'm almost at my limit. This school, this place, is just too much. Do you know what it's like to keep yourself in check in everything you do? When you eat, when you talk, when you smile. Afraid of what might happen because you can slip up and shit could, no, shit will hit the fan, and there will be no turning back?" She looked up at Xavier, who had surprise in his features. "Fuck you, fuck them, fuck them all. Next time I won't hold back."   

When she left the shed, she wanted everything to explode. Why did she have to hold back when everyone else simply didn't give a fuck?   

No.   

It ended there. Little by little, she would let go. And damned be the consequences. 

Next chapter.

I hope you liked.

Likes and reblogs are super appreciated!

[xenia-cenia]

Cerulean Nails

A short Arcane one shot of a father painting his daughters nails

TW: s1 spoilers, major character death, partial suicidal ideation, panic attack

The first time Silco painted Jinx’s nails, she was 12. He had bought nail polish from a Piltover vendor, carefully deliberating between the colors. It had been one year since he took her in, and she had been doing well in her training. Her hair reached the small of her back, and she carefully braided it each morning. 

He wasn’t used to taking care of a child. He felt inclined to just let her roam by herself and let her figure it out, but she dutifully came to him with each scrape, mishap, or injury. Overtime he began to expect her visits - keeping a first aid kit in his bottom desk drawer. After a particularly bad day when a new weapon she was testing backfired, he sat her on his desk and carefully stitched the wound together. 

She barely said anything, her blue eyes staring emptily at the floor as he softly chided her. “You must be careful as you work. I can’t care for each misstep you make.”

“I know.” 

He paused, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. “You don’t understand, Jinx. You are invaluable to our cause.”

She leaned back on his desk, taking one of the daggers haphazardly stabbed into the wood and running her finger across the blade. “What if I can’t do it?”

Silco scoffed, “You’d give up so easily? The future of Zaun cannot be created by cowards like Vander. I thought you were different, Jinx. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

Her eyes hardened. “No. I’m different.”

Silco smiled softly, “I knew you were stronger than that.”

The next day, while she was resting, he came to her with blue and pink nail polish. He sat at his chair, rolling the small bottles around his palm, and began to feel doubt. What if she doesn’t like it? He wiped his hand down his face and took a deep breath, retreating back to his office.

Children were such a pain.

He sat the bottles on the edge of his desk and continued working on how to expand the production of Shimmer, quickly forgetting about his fear and replacing it with ambition for his future.

It took a week for Jinx to start walking again, and the entire time she continued working on her machines. If she were not building, she was sketching or thinking about materials. Silco would check in on her every once in a while, but she was always too focused to notice him. 

When she finally came from her recovery, her smile was bright and her soot-stained goggles hung limply around her neck. She burst into his office with arms full of papers and metals. “I did it!” She exclaimed, dropping it all on his desk. “I figured out what was wrong with my monkey bombs, and they work now!”

He leaned back in his chair and smoked his cigar, “Good. I’m glad to see you used your time thinking of Zaun.” 

“And I think I figured out a new kind of-” her eyes scanned the desk and landed on the bottles of nail polish. “What’s that for?”

“It’s for you, Jinx. A present for your dedication to the cause.”

“But I…” she trailed off as Silco raised his hand.

“Hard work is to be rewarded. You deserve this.”

“I don’t know how.”

Silco paused. “Ah.” He sighed and brushed some of the papers to the side, making sure they stayed in a neat pile, but clearing enough space for her to sit. “I’ll show you.”

Jinx nervously looked between the desk and his eyes, ignoring the patience in his stare, and hopped onto the desk. She held out her left hand and he hit the blue nail polish against his palm, “It makes it come out smoother.” He explained, opening the bottle and pulling the cap out, showing her the brush on the end. “You’ll want thinner coats.” He wiped the brush against the lip of the bottle, stopping the small drips of blue paint from falling onto his desk. He laid her pinky against the palm of his hand and took the brush over the nail.

“Why blue?” She spoke.

“For you, of course.”

“Oh.”

He put the cap back on the blue nail polish, not twisting it shut, and opened the pink nail polish. “This is for your past, Jinx.” She stiffened as he painted it on her next nail. “Because you are letting it be a part of you. But there is more Jinx in you than Powder.” He finished and switched back to blue for her middle finger. “Powder is dead. You must accept that.” 

“Powder is dead.” Jinx repeated quietly, her voice barely audible.

“Good.” He painted her index finger pink, and her thumb blue. He motioned for her to switch hands, leaving her left hand on a random paper he had barely skimmed earlier that day. As the polish dripped over it, he hoped it wasn’t important. He took her right hand and painted her thumb and index finger blue.

“You did two blues in a row.” Jinx looked up from her nails.

“Oh?” He looked at his mistake. “So I did.” 

“I like it. Do pink next.”

He sat the blue polish down, and painted her middle finger pink. He finished painting her ring finger blue, and her pinky finger pink. 

She held her hands to her eye level and stared.

“Be careful not to ruin them. They’ll dry in a few minutes or so.” He stood and closed the polishes, placing them in the bottom drawer of his desk next to his first aid kit. He grabbed a rag from the kit and began mopping up the stray polish that had gone on him. “The paint on your fingers will come off as you wash them.”

Jinx jumped off the desk and hesitated, watching as he turned and placed the rag on the windowsill behind him.

“Yes?” He turned back towards her.

She shot forward and wrapped her arms around him, he froze, with his arms awkwardly in the air before he rested a hand on her head. “Perhaps you should work on your inventions some more, Jinx.”

She nodded, but stayed wrapped around him. He smiled and looked towards her, and despite himself, he felt the smallest bit of pride.

He had continued to paint her nails for the next couple of years, sticking with the same pattern and polish as that day. She was 15 now, her hair reached her ankles and her clothing style had significantly changed. Silco began to have gray streaks in his hair, and he was seriously considering hair dye. 

Jinx was growing up, and Silco felt a bit sad to see it happen. She had excelled far further than he was expecting. She taught herself how to climb walls, deciding that the pipes of his office were her favorite spot. When she started the hobby, he couldn’t fight the anxiousness he felt each time he fell. He hoped she (or anyone really) didn’t notice the things he added to aid in her goal of reaching the ceiling. The wardrobe served no real, significant purpose. It didn’t even house any clothes. But she could, and did, easily climb the sides of it and reached the rafters. 

But even if she did notice, nobody said anything. So he could simply sip his coffee in peace, knowing she’s less likely to hurt herself than before. In fact, it was one of those days where she was in the rafters, simply listening in on his meetings. 

Sometimes he’d wonder what would happen if his clients looked up. He would always feel his hand start to shake when their eyes wandered too far up the walls. Luckily, nobody had noticed her yet. 

The man sitting opposite him was hardly worth his time. Their every feature reflected on their boring identity. Perfectly set teeth, a pristine face, and hair brushed perfectly back, save for some loose hairs that unset themselves when he had pulled his hood down. Silco understands one's desires to look good, but this man seemed to unappreciate Silcos attempts. 

After several minutes of silence, with Silco occasionally smoking his cigar, the man stood and slammed his hand on the desk. “I want out.”

Silco hadn’t the patience to spare the man a look of surprise, “Out?”

“I know what you do down here.”

Silco scoffed, “I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

“Don’t play dumb with me! I was there when-”

“And we paid you handsomely for your assistance.” Silco leaned forward, tapping the end of his cigar against an ash tray covered in crayon drawings. 

“I can’t be a part of this anymore. My wife… I’m having a kid.”

Silco’s eyebrow shot up, “What a blessing. Surely some supplemental income will help.” 

The man twitched, conflict on his face. “I don’t want your money.”

“Money?” Silco leaned back in fake surprise, “No, a promotion, Marcus.”

Marcus froze. “How?” He spoke, sounding suffocated.

“Why, Marcus, didn’t you hear?” Silco took a pad of paper and began to write on it, “It seems you’ve gotten an anonymous tip about gangs in the undercity. Surely the Council will appreciate you taking care of them before they spread.” Silco finished his note which detailed a group that had been opposing him, some stragglers holding onto Vanders influence, and ripped it off the pad. 

Marcus hesitated, his hand hovering above the edge of the desk, his fingers slowly clenching into a fist. “Fine.” He spat, grabbing the paper and quickly heading for the door.

“Oh, Marcus?” Silco caused, with Marcus hesitating at the door. “Congratulations.” Marcus grabbed the doorknob and left, slamming the door behind him.

Silco sighed, falling back into a comfortable position in his chair, he shut his eyes and sighed. 

“Why not just kill him instead of bumping gums for, like, ever?” A voice from above caused Silco to open his eyes again, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “He’s weak.”

“He’s afraid. I need him to fear us.”

“Why?”

“Loyalty will only get you so far. You should know that, Jinx. You must become what they fear so they will stay by your side.” 

Jinx jumped from the rafters, landing on his desk. “They’ll leave anyway.”

Silco paused, “No. Not all of them.”

She exhaled heavily, looking over the papers on his desk in boredom. “Blah, blah, blah. You’ve told me a hundred times over.”

He tried to think of a rebuttal, but instead said, “Your nail polish came off.”

Jinx looked at her hand and laughed, “Kind of hard to keep the polish between pumpin’ the wackos with lead.” She pointed her fingers in a gun motion and mimed shooting things around the room to punctuate her point.

“Sit still. I’ll fix it.” 

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pushing aside some parts of Jinx’s gadgets, crayons, and the first aid kit to grab the nail polish. Jinx, knowing the drill by now, held her left hand out and began fidgeting with the ashtray with her right. Silco quietly painted her nails, only getting a few drops of polish on her skin. When it was time to switch hands, they did it so mechanically that neither really noticed they’d done it. 

Silco put the nail polish away and looked at the nails, running his nail around hers to get rid of some of the excess paint. “Wait before you work on your gadgets again.”

“I know, I know.” She leapt off his desk, “I’ll just work on something else.”

“Jinx, don’t work on-” but she had left the room before Silco could finish his sentence. He grabbed his cigar and took a long huff. “That girl will be the death of me.” He mumbled, despite the amused smile on his face. 

The final time he painted her nails, she was 19. Silco was more overwhelmed than ever, the nagging feeling of upcoming success looming over his head. He was fighting the Firelights, Shimmer was bringing in large profits, and he finally had the family he had been looking for.

In his heart he knew she was causing him problems, increasing his stress. But each time he’d even think about losing her, he’d fall into a fit of rage. When he gave it more than a second of thought, though, he was filled with guilt and understanding. 

Of course this was something Vander would be willing to fight for. To die for. How could he fault his brother for being a father? He’d wonder if Vander would resent him if he knew how Silco turned out. 

“A daughter.” He mumbled to himself. 

As if the word summoned her, Jinx burst through his door. She was teeming with excitement about the mission the next day - something as simple as guarding a Shimmer shipment brought light into her eyes - talking about her plans to boobytrap the bottom of the airship. While talking, she went to his desk and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out the nail polish and handing it to him. 

“Already?” He looked up at her.

“They’re peeling off - especially the blue. Those Piltie scammers probably sold you some dross polish.”

“You’re probably just messing with it too much.” He sighed, but grabbed the polish from her. She swept away some loose papers on his desk and sat, and he carefully unscrewed the lids and painted her nails.

When he was done, even he was impressed with his work. For the first time, he hadn’t spilt any paint on himself, or stained her fingers. Jinx smiled and pulled his hands towards the desk. 

“My turn!” She called out, painting his nails haphazardly. She took thick layers of the paint and went over his nails several times, following the pattern on her nails. After she was finished, every paper on Silcos desk was a mess of pink and blue. His nails weren’t much better - they were painted unevenly, some parts being thin enough to see through and others refusing to dry even after several minutes. He grimaced as he looked at them. 

“Perhaps you should leave the painting to me, Jinx.” 

“But we match!”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “We match.” 

Without as much as another word, she left the room, laughing as she went. Silco watched her long twin tails follow behind her, and after she shut the door, he looked back at his nails. In the privacy of his office, he let himself smile.

“They’re perfect.” He whispered.

The first time Jinx painted her own nails, her eyes were violet. 

She walked up the familiar steps, and sat at the satin office chair. She sunk against the fabric, the smell of cigars lingering in the air. She opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pushing aside a first aid kit, crayons, and remains of unfinished gadgets. Her shaky hands tightened around the caps of the nail polish, and she pulled it out. 

The bottles were getting close to empty. Not much of a surprise. He used to paint her nails at least 3 times a month. She set the blue one on the desk, and palmed the pink one. Her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at it. 

With a scream of frustration, she threw the bottle at the ground watching the pink polish crash against the ground, staining the floor and bottom of the wall. She turned her attention to her own pink nails and started frantically tearing through the desk, looking for anything to take it off. 

After some searching, and practically tearing the desk apart, she found a pink and blue stained rag and some whiskey. She scraped at her nails until the pink was fading and almost entirely gone, only small lines and whispers of it remaining. 

She looked at her four blank nails with tears falling down her face, she slid from the chair and settled herself under the desk, covering her head with her hands, and slightly rocking back and forth. 

She kept one hand gripped in her hair, and the other banging against her head. The tears turned into sobs, each tear burning her eyes and slipping into her mouth, but she kept her eyes wide open. Staring at the hardwood floor beneath her, staring at her boots, staring at a long ago healed scar running up her leg. 

Part of her wanted to release the anger. Part of her wanted to hide and never come out. Part of her wanted to die.

Slowly, she brought one hand from her head and stared at her nails. “I knew you’d leave too.”

Jinx slowly and shakily emerged from under the desk, grabbing the remaining blue nail polish and unscrewing the lid. 

“Messed up the colors. Can’t mess up the colors.” She mumbled, applying the paint to her blank fingers. “No, he likes it neat. I’ll make it neat. Gotta be neat.”

“Gotta fix it.” She hit the side of her head repeatedly, “Gotta fix it. Gotta finish it.”

When she was done painting, her tears were starting to dry. The paint job was nothing she was used to - there was paint coating the sides of her fingers and the wood of the desk. Her hands were shaking as she looked over her nails. She hoped it would be good enough. Jinx leaned over the desk, counting her breaths as she stared at the wardrobe propped against the wall.

She shut her eyes, “I thought I'd know by now.”

[skylarstark4826]

One of Lo’ak’s biggest struggles with meeting the Metkayina is how different he is. Back home, he looked more or less like the other Omatikaya children. But there were always those that saw the extra digit on his hand, the dark hairs that grew on his brow. Back home they already knew he was different.

When his father said they were leaving Lo’ak had a glimmer of hope for a new life, one where they ignored his four fingers and let him learn to fit in. Upon meeting the Metkayina, Lo’ak discovered how gravely wrong he had been. Not only did they notice the extra finger on his and Kiri’s hands, but they pulled at his tail, which was thinner than theirs, the darkness of his skin, the lack of bone and muscle in his forearms and legs.

“Is that a tail?” 

“It is too small to swim with.”

Some of the first words Lo’ak heard from this new clan were those of mockery. His stomach dropped when the Tsahìk lifted his hand to show his demon blood.

His father was quick to draw the attention from him, but Lo’ak’s pride stung like a slap. He kept his head bowed, only lifting his eyes to catch a glimpse of the young Metkayina by his side.

Tsireya had been his rock since the start. From her putting an end to her brother’s teasing to showing Lo’ak and his family to their new home. She was quick to be his friend, never once shying away from his ‘demon blood’, seeming to be entirely indifferent to their differences.

So yes, Lo’ak’s biggest struggle was looking different. But it never even crossed Tsireya’s mind.

They had grown extremely close over the few months that Lo’ak and his family found themselves settling into a new clan. Always following one another, normally Lo’ak trailing after Tsireya as she insisted on showing him something. She had been his teacher, showing him how to breath, and ride with the ilu, and swim stronger even with his tail being too thin.

Then the sky people had come. And Lo’ak nearly lost his brother. That was the biggest struggle. For the whole family, preparing themselves to live in a world without their first-born son, their big brother. Lo’ak had pushed Tsireya away, not letting himself feel too much when his brother was barely there, almost in Eywa’s embrace.

When Neteyam woke up, Tsireya had been the first person Lo’ak told. Only after he’d spent a good day and a half glued to his brother’s side did his mother kick him out of the mauri to let Ronal see to him. Lo’ak had considered staying outside of the mauri, going back in the moment the Tsahìk left. But he felt as though something was still missing, something that hadn’t fit back into place with Neteyam waking up.

Tsireya. He needed her.

Lo’ak had rushed to find her at the other end of the village, bonding quickly with an ilu as they flew through the water. He found her weaving nets on the path, one leg dangling off the side as two ilu played around her.

“Reya!” He called, almost colliding with her as he left from the ilu and fell to his knees in a heap in front of her.

“Lo’ak,” she cried, shoving her netting out of the way, reaching for him with tentative hands. “What has happened?”

“Neteyam,” Lo’ak started, and he saw the flash of fear in her eyes. He quickly took her outstretched hands in his own, feeling a spark as his skin touched hers. “He’s okay. He’s awake, Reya. Your mother is seeing to him now.”

Her face morphed into an expression of relief and delight. She threw herself into Lo’ak, arms around his neck as she pushed her face into his shoulder. “Oh, Lo’ak this is amazing news!’

He squeezed her with one arm, the other against the woven path, supporting them both.

Tsireya sat up slowly, pulling Lo’ak up with her. She covered her mouth with her hand, three fingers holding back a mix of a laugh and a sob. She moved her hand, brushed two lose braids behind Lo’ak ears as she smiled with teary eyes at him. “I am so glad he and your family are alright.”

Lo’ak pressed his closed mouth against her wrist, unable to express his gratitude in words. He didn’t kiss her skin, just pressed himself against her and she cupped the side of his face.

Then he thanked her, for putting up with him and his awful moods, for checking in on him, and for keeping his sisters company while he stayed with Neteyam.

Though he wanted to say more, Tsireya covered his mouth, saying everything she did was because she wanted to, and she would do it again in a heartbeat. Lo’ak stayed with her that day until his mother found him, insisting he come back to eat, as Neteyam was fully awake and Ronal said it would be best if he started eating small portions of food.

Now, two months after Neteyam had woken, they were still as close. Perhaps closer than most friends were, but Lo’ak tried to ignore the teasing from friends and the feelings he got when he was around her.

It was another day for lessons. Although Lo’ak had been there for months, he still thought it be best to have regular lessons. No one else agreed with this, so most days it was just him and Tsireya.

Today, they’re working on Lo’ak riding with the ilu. He’s gotten much better since his first attempt, but he still gets winded and struggles to remain on when going very fast.

He kicks the water in frustration when he falls off again. Tsireya clicks and the ilu races back to her, swimming under her outstretched hand.

“You won’t listen,” she sighs, flicking water at him when he comes closer.

“I do listen,” Lo’ak replies, flicking water at her. “It’s him who doesn’t,” he huffs, staring at the ilu.

“Ah,” she hisses lightly, reaching for her braid, running her hand along the ilu until their queues connect. She slips onto the back of the creature, lying flat and together they dive.

Lo’ak spins in the water, watching them race off, leaving a trail of white foam in this wake. He takes a break and pulls himself underwater to watch how fast the pair zip around the cove. When coming back Tsireya is able to cock her head and lock eyes with Lo’ak. He grins and the ilu speeds towards him. He rises out of the water the same time Tsireya and the ilu slow, coming to float beside him.

“You see?” Tsireya says with a charming smile. “It’s not his fault you don’t listen.”

Lo’ak huffs out a sarcastic laugh and swims towards them. “No, this is just favouritism. He likes you more than me.”

“Yes, well I do not blame him for my mistakes.”

Lo’ak sends her a tight lipped smile to which Tsireya laughs at. Lo’ak reaches out and places his hand against the base of the ilu’s neck, cooing the creature and reaches for its back with the other hand.

When he accidently lays his hand on Tsireya’s thigh he yanks it away like he’s been burned. “Sorry I just—”

He keeps his eyes on the water around the ilu’s fin, refusing to make eye contact with her. A few seconds of awkward silence pass before there’s the soft sound of Tsireya breaking the bond and sliding off the back of the ilu.

When Lo’ak turns to face her, her face is bright, cheeks flushed slightly.

“Come on,” she says, sounding much to calm for how she looks. “Try again.”

Lo’ak shakes his head and mounts the ilu. He hooks his wrist around his braid, bringing it down to his grasp. He’s bonded with ilu many times before, and the slight head rush is something he’s used to at this point.

“You must listen this time,” Tsireya scolds, her voice and face back to normal. Lo’ak rolls his eyes slightly and she flicks him with more water.

“You are too tense,” she says, and Lo’ak almost jumps when he feels her hand on his thigh. “You are tense here and the ilu can feel this. You must relax.”

He tries to listen and lets his thighs relax, not holding on as much. He idly wonders if she was teasing him, getting him back.

“Here, you must be flat against the ilu. You cut through the water sharper, when you create this space,” she gestures between his chest and the ilu’s back. “The water resists and can throw you off.”

Lo’ak nods and smiles when she raises her wide eyes stare at him with no smile. “Did you listen this time?”

He smiles and nods. “Relax, lay flat, befriend ilu.”

She rolls her eyes, something she’s picked up from Lo’ak, and pushes against his back, urging him to dive.

Underwater is where Lo’ak normally struggles. He’s been high in the air before, riding through winds with his ikran, so he’s used to the air resistance. But in the water it is so much stronger. But he listens to Tsireya. He presses himself against the creatures back, leaving no room for the water to push between them.

The ilu swims fast, fast, faster and Lo’ak can feel the pull but refuses to let go. He holds on tight but remembers to keep the rest of his body relaxed. The ilu spins and they head back towards Tsireya and Lo’ak grins. He eases his head to the side to find Tsireya underwater, watching him like he watched her. She smiles and Lo’ak’s chest feels warm.

He rises beside her, breaking the bond instantly to stand close to her. He looks down with a grin, while she looks up with a resigned smile. “I was right?”

He sighs and tilts his head back. Looking at the sky. “You were right.”

She pokes his side and lets out a bark of delighted laughter. “See? It pays to listen.”

Tsireya calls the ilu back, caressing the creature’s neck and back. She watched Lo’ak with a curious smile before she stands up straighter. “The lesson is over.” She shoos the ilu away and they watch it race out of the cove towards the village.

She turns and takes both of Lo’ak’s hands, walking backwards towards the beach. “Come. I have something to show you.”

Lo’ak frowns but follows helplessly, hanging onto one of her hands as she pulls him up the beach to the tree line.

He’d been past the beach here, venturing past the mangrove roots with his brother, in search of something similar to home. They hadn’t even made it off the sand. So Lo’ak has no idea what it is Tsireya intends to show him.

They walk for a while, Lo’ak loses track of time, mainly focused on Tsireya’s hand that hasn’t dropped his since the waters edge. He notices when the rough, dry sand under his feet turns into something softer, something familiar. He slows, pulling Tsireya to slow down with him.

Lo’ak’s eyes are on the ground, admiring the dirt that leaves footprints in their wake.

“Are you alright?” Tsireya asks gently.

He looks up and let’s go of a breathless laugh. “I’m so sick of sand.”

She laughs, a short, soft sound, before tugging him along.

Lo’ak knows immediately when they reach the place she wanted to show him. It momentarily takes his breath away. There’s dirt and grass beneath his feet. Mangroves still surrounded them, but trees Lo’ak almost recognise are there too. There’s a small pool, not salt water, and it reminds Lo’ak so much of home that his chest physically aches.

“Do you like it?” Tsireya asks, her voice soft and anxious.

He looks at her like she’s given him the world. There’s no words he finds to express himself. So, he squeezes her hand, and she squeezes it back and they find a spot to sit, a little patch of grass that touches the water’s edge.

“I found this place when I was young,” Tsireya breaths into the comfortable silence. “I never told anyone about it. I never came here that often. It was a special place to me, like a world I’ve never known.”

Lo’ak understands her. This place is so tranquil and peaceful. There’s something so perfectly beautiful to him to see their worlds together. A small piece of Lo’ak’s home in the centre of Tsireya’s.

“You are the first person I have ever brought here,” she says and Lo’ak feels her squeeze his hand once more. He looks up at her and locks onto her pale blue eyes.

“I knew it could be special to you,” she continues, unable to break her gaze from his piercing yellow eyes.

“It is,” he whispers. “Reya this place is so… it’s just…”

“Oel ngati kameie.”

I see you.

It’s not the first time she’s said that. She said it once before the sky people came, and Lo’ak never said it back. He’d thought it was his moment of vulnerability that urged her to say it, to make him feel comfortable, to let him know that she cared. So, he never said it back. But now, in their own little world, Lo’ak knows she means it. So, he says it back.

“Oel ngati kameie, Tsireya.”

There’s a feel unlike anything Lo’ak has known before, and it makes him feel so safe and real and like he belongs. His hand finds her cheek. She leans into it, eyes never leaving his. When he leans in Tsireya never flinches.

Their first kiss is on the grass beside the water. A perfect mix of him and her. Their hearts and homes intertwined.

Tsireya moves closer, cradling his face between her hands. They’re much smaller than his, but he feels just as secure in her touch as she did in his. She kisses him again, cautious, and gentle and real. These feelings that Lo’ak has pushed away and denied and scolded all come bubbling to the surface and he touches her waist with tentative hands, barely urging her but causing her to move into his lap.

The kiss is still gentle, her hands are still on his face, his are still against her sides.

She pulls back for a moment and Lo’ak is looking at her like he’s only really seeing her for the first time. A smile pulls at her features and she lets her arms fall around his neck, hugging him and laughing slightly. Lo’ak pulls her into that embrace, burrying his face against her shoulder.

Her smile is wild over his shoulder, a joy unlike any she’s known swelling in her chest. It’s something that makes her happiness seep out of her, sticky and sweet, soaking into everything around her, including Lo’ak, who, when pulls back to look at her, is smiling just as wide.

They stay together like that, holding each other, watching the water, until Lo’ak’s leg starts to go numb. They shuffle around both of them lying back on their grassy patch, Tsireya’s head against Lo’ak’s chest. They talk of the day’s activities, the beauty of the place around them until it’s close to eclipse and the sky is painted a pink and gold smear.

They hold hands as they walk back to the village. With this confession off his chest, Lo’ak can’t help touching; his hand in hers, his tail flicking into her to annoy her, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek when she’s not looking. Tsireya has the same urges but manages to keep them to herself up until they reach the edge of the mangrove roots, the village now in sight.

She presses a quick kiss to Lo’ak’s cheek as he scans for his mauri. He looks down to smile at her and she squeezes his hand one last time before letting go.

“Meet me at our spot?” Tsireya calls over her shoulder as she leaves. “Tomorrow?”

He nods. “I’ll meet you there!”

She huffs a laugh. “You’ll get lost, forest boy!”

Lo’ak grins and makes his way to his mauri. His family is already in there, Neteyam at his mother and father’s side as they prepare the meal. Lo’ak sits by his sisters near the entrance and feels Kiri’s eyes on him.

“What?” he huffs, knocking his knee into hers.

“You look like dad every time he looks at mum,” Kiri says with a scowl. “It’s sickening.”

Lo’ak lets himself smile shyly and stands, ignoring his sister except to nudge her as he passes, going to help his family with the food.

[separatist-apologist]

Treacherous

I'll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands

Summary: Elain Archeron is D O N E with the family business. Done with crime. Done with a life of bullets, of always looking over her shoulder. Swearing she's happy with her life far from her sisters, Elain makes a name for herself on the west coast. She's home only for two weeks, to see her eldest sister married before she returns. Nothing will change that, no matter how her sisters beg.

A stray bullet grazing her cheek, of course, puts a wrench in those plans. Elain is reminded just how dangerous being an Archeron is, and that the past isn't as buried as she imagined.

An old enemy as returned. And he's got his sights set directly on her.

TW: Blood/death, mentions of sexual assault. Typos

Part 1: I'd Be Smart To Walk Away, But You're Quicksand | AO3

Part 2: You're Friction

Elain was aware her plan was bad. She knew any one thing going wrong would find her chained up in a basement. No one would find her—she was certain whatever Hybern had planned was well-thought out. Careful. Meticulously planned. Poking the vengeful bear made everything more dangerous, put more than just her own life at risk. 

Elain was done being someone's victim. Her sisters didn’t understand, had forged themselves in the fire of their fathers life, becoming weapons no one dare touch. It didn’t hurt that Rhysand and Cassian stood behind them as unmovable walls, a silent threat daring someone to even try. Elain did not have that. It made her an easy target for someone like Hybern, who imagined her a helpless little fawn easily captured.

Easily brought to heal. Elain slid on black heels, examining herself in the mirror. Her dress was silky and black, the back exposed, her neckline brushing against her collarbone. Thin material and even thinner straps gave the appearance of vulnerability–what could she possibly hide beneath such thin material? She rubbed her thighs together, feeling the holster that held a knife gifted to her by Lucien–not the foldable silver but a larger hunting knife with another curved blade with jagged edges. He’d mimed cutting a throat just before offering it up to her. 

She’d almost asked him to get on his knees and put in on her himself. She thought she’d like to see it, would like to feel his breath hot against her skin again. He was dangerous that way, with his sly eyes and his clever hands…and massive dick. She shook her head, tossing curls over her shoulder. She didn’t need to be thinking about his penis, not as she prepared to go out for the night. Bait. 

She’d worry about his naked body when they were safe at home again, flush with success. Lucien waited, dressed nicely in his tailored, dark jeans and a plum colored shirt. The golden of his skin offset the color spectacularly, making his red hair seem more vivid by comparison. A large watch was snug against his wrist, his biceps bulging softly from the sleeves. They were meeting her sisters and their husbands–and soon to be husbands–at a bar. Lucien paused when he saw her, a muscle in his jaw jumping at the short slip of her dress, the hem hugging an inch below her ass.

“I’m going to fuck you in the car,” he said, eyes focused on her legs. 

“I’d love to see you try,” she replied, ignoring the cool thrill of arousal that shot through her. “I can’t imagine that would make driving easy.”

“Who said anything about driving?” he retorted. “I can park first, I’m not an animal.”

Of that, Elain very much doubted. “Keep your dick in your pants, alright? There will be no sex in the car. We’re doing a job, remember?”

He scowled, though if it was the reminder of their plan or being denied the opportunity to have sex with her, she couldn’t say. Lucien had only agreed under duress–she’d had his cock in her mouth when he finally relented. She didn’t think he would have said yes otherwise. Now he knew what the next nine days might look like for him and like all men, Lucien was simple. Easily manipulated. 

He pressed his hand to her back, leading her from the hotel. “You do everything I say.”

“Of course,” she lied.

“I mean it, Elain. I can’t…I won’t attend your funeral. Do you understand me?”

“You’re so dramatic,” she complained, catching the shadow of anguish that slithered over his features. It was gone quickly, replaced by his irritation. She hesitated at the elevator.

“Whose funeral did you have to stand at?” “My fiances,” he replied tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, reaching for his hand. He let her squeeze, eyes locked on the metal doors of the still closed elevator shaft. “Was it recent?”

He shook his head. “No but I…”

It was a wound, she guessed. And he blamed himself, regardless if he was truly to blame. As though he could have stopped it from happening instead of being a casualty right along side her. Elain didn’t bother vocalizing that.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, unsure why she cared about his pain at all. “And when we get home, we can re-evaluate the sex.”

That seemed to perk him up. “I’ll hold you to that,” he warned, practically shoving her into the elevator. Elain rolled her eyes, ignoring the soft delight she felt at the sight of his easy smile again. 

“I said re-evaluate, not that I’d get on my hands and knees for you.” “Stop it right now,” he warned her. “I’m already imagining it.” She only smiled, checking her reflection against the mirrors inside. Lucien turned, glancing at her once before facing the buttons. “Knife?”

“Of course,” she agreed sweetly. “Would you like to see?”

The muscle working his jaw seemed to jump reflexively. “Keep it up, Elain. See what happens.”

As if she wasn’t dying to see the end of his patience. Still, when they stepped from the elevator, Elain remembered why there were doing this at all. It was time-limited and she was in real danger. There was no faking the attraction between them and Elain thought that would be enough to sell their little ruse. Lucien was everything she might have hoped for once upon a time. Wealthy, connected, brutally violent in a quiet, elegant sort of way. And of course, ridiculously attractive. Unfairly so, given his advantages in life. She figured life was just like that for some people. 

The moment they stepped out of the lobby, Lucien’s body postured changed. He relaxed into her, arm draped over her shoulder, tugging her against him. Fingers brushing her breasts, head tilted towards her ever so slightly even as he scanned the busy streets for the valet. He was casual and yet possessive, too. Every touch conveyed a message: this woman is mine.

Elain shivered despite the warmth, reaching up to lace her fingers with his. She brushed a kiss over his knuckles, glancing up with what she hoped was adoration. I love you, her eyes were supposed to scream. If he was the picture of masculine arrogance then she would be feminine and submissive. He seems to recognize the shift, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmured, glancing down at her only once as they descended the steps. “You’re making me too hard to walk.”

She laughed, the sound genuine. “Let me have my fun.”

“Not at my expense,” he replied, handing the ticket to the valet. “I feel like a bug under a microscope. I can feel him watching us.”

Elain knew better than to scan the buildings surrounding them, to betray their plan. Instead, she took a breath to steady herself, inhaling the crisp, masculine scent of him. Rich, spicy…utterly heady. Her lust, however it was showing up in her body, was not pretend. “Good. I want him to see.”

Lucien looked down, eyes unreadable. “I suppose I ought to give him something to stew over?” “Do your worst,” she agreed, hating how breathless his gaze made her feel. Lucien pushed, dipping Elain in a smooth movement. It was something out of a movie, the way his hand caught the back of her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist. She gasped, head tilted upwards, eyes closing as he approached.

He pressed his lips against her own. Her heart pounded, stomach alive with nerves. The kiss was sweet, devoid of his usual rushed hunger. It happened so fast she could scarcely catch her breath. A moment later she was back on her feet, his hand on the small of her back. “How was that?” he asked, eyes searching her face. 

Elain wondered for the first time, as she searched for something she could say that might adequately convey just how good that moment had been for her, if she hadn’t miscalculated. He’s nothing, he’s only a distraction, he–he seemed to glow in the orangey glow of the setting sun. He was impossibly beautiful, so utterly lovely it made her heart hurt. 

“It was good,” she told him lamely with a smile. Lucien didn’t look at her at all. His car was waiting, the damage from before replaced–or more likely, the entire vehicle itself. Lucien pulled money for a tip while Elain forced herself to calm down. 

It was just for show. She was only bait. They were only having fun. 

But as Lucien pulled open the passenger door, a sensual smile on his pouty lips, Elain could not control her heart or its traitorous beat. 

~*~

The bar was dark and loud, more club than anything. It was certainly not Lucien’s typical joint and he’d bristled when he slid his card over to open a tab, clocking the absurd prices staring from the menu behind the bartender. Elain hesitated, her hands reaching for her own money. “Get whatever you want,” he told her quickly, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She looked up with that uncertainty. They’d muddied the boundaries between them and he took all the blame for that. He should have left her alone the night of her near kidnapping. 

He could hardly play himself off as doting boyfriend if he made her pay for her own overpriced drinks. Selling themselves to Hybern would be easy. After all, the pair were holed up in a hotel. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were up to. It was selling themselves to her sisters that was troublesome.

They were immediately suspicious when the two joined them on the second story of the bar, tucked away amid the darkness against a cushioned booth that overlooked the dancefloor below. Lucien let Elain in first, pressing her between the dark wall and his thigh. He hadn’t been lying that her eyes were making him hard. She had a way about her, a feigned innocence that made him ache. Every glance with those long lashes reminded him of how she’d watched him on her knees, sucking his cock better than anyone had his entire life. 

Nesta immediately leaned forward, the action clumsy. Cassian’s eyes were almost apologetic, his hand reaching for his soon to be wife as though the table might assault her and require his attention. “You two look cozy,” Nesta accused.

Elain shrugged her delicate shoulders, warm body pressed against his side. “What did you expect?”

“You never slept with Azriel,” Feyre, positioned at the side of the table on Rhysand’s lap, was less coy. Lucien tamped down the jealousy that flared through him. This is only pretend. Calm down. 

“You never locked us up together,” Elain reminded her sisters. “Besides, he’s seeing Nesta’s friend. The professor chick, right?”

“Gwyn,” Nesta corrected, an arrogant smile on her face. “I knew they’d get along.”

Elain raised her eyebrows as if to say see? Not his type. And Lucien, reaching for her thigh beneath the table with possessive heat, did not bother to correct her. Elain was everyone's type. 

Feyre leaned forward, ass pressed against Rhys’s abdomen. Her husband absolutely noticed, eyes immediately gazing down as Feyre, unaware of this, said, “I think it’s great.”

Elain stiffened for a moment. Of course Feyre did. Feyre and Nesta wanted anything that might convince Elain to stick around, to put down roots. Why not him. Never mind that he was hardly part of their inner circle, that he was barely a friend. Elain would be in the same city as her sisters again. Lucien thought Rhys might offer him some stake in their business, if only to say thank you.

Lucien hated himself for wanting any of that, even a little. Elain had made it very clear she wanted to go home. She didn’t want to stay, wanted to see Hybern dead so she could return to her life on the west coast where he did not exist to her. Chapter closed. She might return when Feyre’s baby was born and maybe he’d see her again, convince her to spend another hot night with him.

But eventually someone would snap her up, would marry her and be the subject of all her bratty little comments and innocent stares. Lucien hated him without even knowing him. He wanted to be that man. More jealousy poured through him, until the music thumping around them was merely a dull roar in his ear. He could see Feyre, Nesta, and Elain laughing but couldn’t hear a word of it. 

His hand slid further up her bare thigh until he found the knife she’d been teasing him about, holstered to her leg. The image that flashed in his mind, of her spread out on the table wearing nothing but that holster, holding the knife in her hand…maybe against his throat…Lucien had to adjust himself.

He looked up, catching the way Cassian watched him. As if he knew everything going through Lucien’s mind in that moment. He nodded towards the steps with a silent question. Want to get a drink?

Lucien figured Elain was as safe with Rhysand as she was with him. He nodded, sliding from his seat, his cock pressed against his leg.

“Not to pry,” Cassian began the moment they hit the sticky steps that would take them back to the bar. Bodies pushed against theirs, working against them to get up as they tried to get down. “But I know that look.”

“I doubt it.”

“You ever know Nesta had a serious boyfriend before me? Real serious. Your brother, in fact.”

That was news to Lucien. He whipped his head around to look at Cassian, grinning ear to ear. Cassian rolled his shoulders, unaware that a group of women were now staring at him slack jawed. Cassian was big, a warrior in a time where warriors weren’t needed. Every inch of him was muscle carved over muscle. His presence was imposing, utterly terrifying. They called him the Lord of Bloodshed and the nickname was not unearned. Lucien had seen Cassian kill a man with his bare hands. 

“I didn’t know Eris was dating Nesta.”

Cassian nodded. “Drove me insane. I was sure she was going to marry him. She must have told me a million times it wasn’t going to happen between us. Jokes on her,” Cassian added, gesturing for the bartender. “It’s their way. Feyre tortured Rhys, too just like I guess Elain is torturing you? They get off on our suffering.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s going back,” Lucien replied, taking the glass of whiskey Cassian had ordered for him. Cassian snorted.

“You’ll be standing her in a year, toasting your success at getting the last Archeron down the aisle.”

“I don’t want…I don’t…I’m not interested in marriage,” Lucien protested while Cassian smirked.

“Sure. Rhys said the same fucking thing once, too. That’s why you’re finger fucking her under the table, right?”

Lucien threw his drink back like a shot. “I’m not getting married.”

“Yeah? Want to put money on it, rich boy?”

Lucien opened his mouth to agree to Cassian’s terms, so sure it would be Cassian coughing up dough when the music abruptly ended and the lights went entirely dark. Beside Lucien, Cassian stilled, reaching for the gun Lucien knew was hidden on him. Lucien, too, reached for the cool steel of his firearm, waiting for everything to switch back on.

A bullet rang out and the crowd began to scream. Cassian and Lucien pushed through the panicked people, well aware of what was happening. Elain was safe with her sisters, safe with Rhysand but two extra weapons certainly never hurt anything. 

It took longer than Lucien would have liked. He couldn’t understand the fear of the dancers, how one bullet turned them from rational people into wild animals. He felt a cool sort of calm, his body chilly, heart pumping much needed adrenaline through his veins. 

Rhysand stood at the top of the balcony, the tables around him overturned. “Where are the girls?” Cassian asked, ignoring the second bullet ringing through the club. “With the crowd,” Rhysand replied. “Elain has one of my guns. They’re under strict instructions to get to the Wash and kill anyone who tries to stop them.”

“And us?”

“If Hybern thinks they’re here, lets kill him,” came Rhys’s cold response. Lucien exhaled a breath.

“Let’s light ‘em up.”

~*~

Elain knew it was a mistake to leave Lucien behind the moment the cool night air hit her in the face. Her and her sisters are surrounded on every side by panicked people making impulsive, irrational decisions. 

“C’mon,” Nesta muttered, hand wrapped around Elain’s arm. Behind them, four shots ring out in quick succession. Elain twisted, swallowing her fear. 

“They’re fine,” Feyre insisted. “He’s fine.”

He’s the hired help, she reminded herself. Of course her sisters would prioritize her over Lucien. He’s only doing the job they pay him to. Still, Elain tugs against Nesta’s hold, ducking the moment she freed herself. Certain Lucien will be fine because he has to be, she follows her sisters into the street.

“Car is just around the block,” Feyre pants, her fear making her wild. All three of them were armed to the teeth, on alert and well aware they’re just as much prey as they were predators. Feyre has too much to lose and Elain couldn’t believe Rhys let her go alone. Elain clutched the gun in her hand, eyes trained on the darkened alley ahead. She knew, before they ever got close, what was waiting. Four men step from the darkness into the orangey spotlight, weapons trained on the three of them. Grinning like cats, hungry eyes tracking they’re slowed steps.

“Guns on the pavement,” the one in the middle barked. “Nice and slow.”

Elain exchanged a glance with her sisters. Archeron’s daughters, mafia princess. She bent in tandem with her sisters, finger on the trigger. It was a mockery of surrender. They’d only go kicking and screaming.

Nesta shot first, her bullet ripping through the leaders knee. Feyre and Elain were right behind—Feyre hit right in the gut while Elain, prone to theatrics, caught hers between the legs. It was an old trick, one that never failed to delight Nesta. Nesta, quicker to her feet, caught the very last inbetween the eyes without flinching. 

“Bitch!” someone screamed, pointing their gun for the eldest Archeron. Sirens screamed a warning in the distance. Time to go. Feyre snapped her wrist, shooting another, leaving only two alive. 

“Anything else you’d like to say?” Nesta demanded, her blue eyes practically silver with fire. The one Elain had shot staggered to his feet, lunging for her. It was absurd. She could have merely sidestepped him and avoiding his grimy, grabbing hands. This was personal. If Hybern wanted her, let him see what his efforts might bring. Let him know she was made of more than gold lined tissue paper. She was still the Kingslayer. She, too, had the Archeron spine of steel. She pulled her knife from its sheath, plunging it into the attacker's neck. Flesh and muscle ripped sickeningly from his throat, spraying her with warm, thick blood. 

“Poetic,” Feyre commented savagely, stepping over the dying man at Elain’s feet. Only one remained, eyes wide. Terrified. “Let your boss know what to expect the next time he tries something.”

And that was that. They made it to Feyre’s car quickly, debating where to go. The decision was made with the ring of Feyre’s phone. 

“Are you okay?” she breathed, speeding through the streets to avoid the cops. 

“Fine. But Lucien’s shot.”

Dread coiled in Elain’s stomach. Nesta glanced back at Elain from the passenger seat.

“Is he alive?”

“Fuck yeah he is! You should have seen him, bleeding all over the place, mowing bastards down!” Came Cassian’s enthusiastic reply. “He’ll be fine. We’re gonna stitch him up in the back of the car. No hospitals tonight.”

“Take Elain back to the hotel,” Rhys added. “Az agreed to stand watch until Lucien gets back.” Elain understood Rhys’s concern. Don’t bring a target into the place my pregnant wife sleeps. Elain didn’t take it personally. Feyre disconnected the call before making a U-turn. And true to his word, Azriel wrenched open the door the moment they pulled in front of the brick faced hotel. He scowled when he saw her, coated in fresh blood. Azriel shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over Elain.

“All good?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm.

“All good,” Feyre agreed. “See you later.”

Azriel got her in, half hidden in his now ruined jacket, without anyone paying them too much attention. It was his way. Elain had never understood it—Azriel had celebrity good looks, was built like an athlete and commanded no attention unless he wanted it. She’d never seen anything like it. He carried himself in a way that seemed to tell people not to look too carefully, too closely.

She’d never really appreciated it until she got back to her room. He sighed when she tried to hand back his jacket. “Keep it,” he murmured, his deep voice less cold than before. His eyes swept over the room, narrowing slightly. Lucien had made himself at home, his presence unmistakable. Lucien was not part of their inner circle, an outsider they occasionally did business with. She supposed Azriel did not like how familiar Lucien was with one of their own. 

“You okay?” he asked after a moment, eyes running up and down her body.

“None of this is my blood,” she assured him. 

“You should shower,” Azriel told her. Luciens threat popped back into her mind, claiming Azriel would watch.

“You stay out here,” Elain informed the bewildered man. Azriel plopped onto the couch, reaching for the remote to turn on the television. He was making noise, making a show out of not following her though she was certain he would have felt better pacing the bedroom just outside the bathroom door. She was grateful he didn’t and more grateful still for some privacy. 

She checked her phone, aware she didn’t have Lucien’s phone number. No way to call and verify he was really okay. It was her first thought before the memory of the murder she’d committed washed over her.

Like before, Elain waited for that feeling of crushing guilt she’d heard so much about. She had felt nothing but satisfaction after killing the Kingpin. Just like before, she watched the water pool red at her feet, draining into the sewers where it would be filtered into something usable again. Something pure, something good.

Things she was almost certainly not. After all, surely any sane person would feel a prick of guilt. Elain hadn’t even hesitated. She’d fired that shot because she thought it might be funny and hoped to outdo her sisters. Hoped to send a message with that bullet to the penis. Here’s what you’ll get if you try and touch me. 

She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t always been this way. Beneath soft skirts and softer smiles, Elain felt the same brutality her sisters wore like a badge of honor. She braced her body against the tile of the shower until the water ran clear beneath her, rinsing her of her sins. Her sisters were right about her. Elain couldn’t pretend they weren’t. She belonged to this life, slid into it far easier than she should.

She didn’t want to. Wanted to step out of her skin and embody someone else, become the person everyone thought her to be. Innocent. Sweet. A lamb easily slaughtered. Somewhere in hell, her father mourned all his carefully laid plans. It wasn’t supposed to be her. Her training was purely theoretical. It was never meant to be practical. 

She stepped from the shower dripping wet to stare at her face in the mirror. What good was being beautiful when everyone wanted to touch her? Own her? Elain smiled, her reflection returning the gesture. 

No one could own her and no one had made her.

She’d made herself.

~*~

Lucien staggered back to the hotel room in the early hours of the morning. Azriel waited on the couch, standing before he ever managed to close the door. They looked at one another for a moment, distrust simmering between them. “She asleep?” he finally asked.

Azriel nodded. “Where’d you get hit?”

Lucien nodded at the tear in his shirt just beneath his shoulder. “A lucky shot.”

Had he moved even an inch to the left, the bullet would have lodged itself in his brain. Lucien didn’t let himself think about that, grateful that Azriel had no other piece of conversation left in him. He merely departed wordlessly, as though the entire thing were beneath him. Perhaps it was. After all, he’d probably been offered the job first and had clearly declined it. Too bad for him. Lucien waited until Azriel was gone to turn off the television and make his way to the little bathroom he occupied. Cassian had done a shit job stitching him up. Looking at the jagged stitches in the mirror, Lucien was certain there’d be a scar. 

Still, better than going to the hospital and talking to the cops. None of them had been particularly subtle and when Feyre arrived home, she’d informed Rhys they’d left four more bodies laying on the pavement. Mess for her husband to smooth over and, if that failed, for Eris to fix. 

Lucien showered quickly, sliding on a pair of white shorts before encroaching on Elain. Asleep his ass. She watched him walk in with big, curious eyes, curled up on her side beneath the blanket. “Where were you shot?” she whispered as he closed the door behind them.

“Shoulder,” he replied, rolling his arm with a wince. “Nothing vital. Not like you, I heard.”

She smiled, her face half illuminated in the television playing soundlessly across the room. “I have good aim.” Her words lacked their usual brattiness, replaced with a soft I told you so.

“And the knife?”

“They should know what happens if they try and touch me.” Said much colder. It hardly sounded like her at all. “I hope they all burn in hell.” He shivered. “That’s a lot of fire for a girl who doesn’t belong in this world.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, twisting to take a piece of hair in her hand. “Don’t get sentimental on me,” she replied with a soft sigh. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to. And besides, what about you? You never dream of joining your brother?”

Lucien snorted. “If I dreamt of the corporate ladder, why subject myself to all that military training?”

Her fingers crept into his lap. “Why, then?”

“I like a little danger,” he replied truthfully. There was a rush to this life, to enforcing his brothers will with the barrel of a gun. It’s why he didn’t mind being bossed around by Rhysand and why he’d taken the job in the first place. The thrill, the rush of his life versus the life of someone else…Lucien knew he wasn’t cut out for anything else. He wanted to demand honesty from her, wanted her to admit that the kind of woman who could so easily slam a knife into a persons throat was just like him. Opposites sides of the same coin, perhaps, but his equal none the less. 

Elain, unaware of his thoughts, rose upwards. The blanket fell from her body, previously covered by the blanket. In the blue light of the television, her skin seemed to glow, utterly bare. Her fingers reached for the jagged line of stitches over his shoulders, brushing the wound with a featherlight touch. 

“Did it hurt?” “If I say yes, are you going to nurse me back to health?” he practically growled, his cock stiffening in response to her breath agaisnt his skin. 

“I promised to get on my hands and knees,” she whispered. “And I meant it. Tell me the truth, though. Did it hurt?”

He meant to lie, to slap on a mask of swaggering male bravado. “Yes,” he admitted. “But not as much as Cassian digging it out. He’s not a surgeon.”

She pressed her mouth just beneath, tongue darting between soft lips to taste him. “What part arouses you, Elain?” he asked almost desperately, ignoring the realization that her mere presence was enough to excite him. She hardly had to do anything at all. “My pain? Or being shot—” “The image of you firing back,” she admitted, tongue trailing down his abs. “Of you walking away while the other guy fell in a pool of his own blood.” He hauled her into his lap, yanking her by the hair to kiss her. For Lucien, this was their true first kiss—he’d been too distracted by who might be watching earlier that night to truly appreciate her mouth against his own.

But now, alone in the dark with no one to see? That was heaven. Her mouth was pliant, opening the moment his tongue demanded, offering herself up with a minty sigh. Lucien means to devour her, his hunger hot and irrational. Bare breasts pressed against his chest, the hardened tips of her nipples rubbing his overheated flesh until Lucien was practically snapping and snarling with need. 

Lucien gasped for air, hand tangled in her hair. He could taste blood in his mouth, blood from her lips. Elain stared for a moment, her eyes so dark all he could see were the blacks of her irses. Wild hunger stared back and Lucien felt ravenous, shoving her back to the bed, her face pressed into the pillow.

He practically tripped over his own feet, getting those shorts off his body. Elain raised her hips, wiggling her ass and Lucien grabbed a handful of her heartshaped ass, smacking softly. He nearly asked her the question burning through his mind, the question that he himself could not answer. What are you doing to me?

Taking his cock in his hand, Lucien told himself it was just adrenaline. They were confined in close quarters, a place with only one bed. He was trapped with the most beautiful woman on the planet…of course he wanted to fuck her. Nothing was happening beyond the physical. She was gorgeous, he was horny. It was hardly rocket science. She had her pussy bared to him, gleaming in the dark, her fingers sliding through the fold, taunting him. 

Everything about her dripped sex. He wanted to possess her. She was a good girl and Lucien, deep down, wanted to her make her his good girl. His good girl who could, when the time called for it, stab a man in the throat before coming home to suck his cock.

Lucien ran his thumb over the tight hole of her ass, the head of his cock replacing her clever little fingers. Elain gasped softly, pushing against him. Desperate for friction just like he was. Too turned on by violence, by the threat surrounding them. He thought he could have made her agree to anything in that moment, to admit she was just as depraved as he was. 

He pushed himself inside her. Lucien groaned, head thrown back over his shoulders. She was mind numbingly tight and brutally wet. He didn’t think he would have made it inside her had she not been slick like oil. He held himself still for a moment, breathing like a wild animal. “Elain, you’re going to kill me,” he finally told her. She tightened her vice like grip around him, pushing her ass flush against his stomach. 

“Good,” she breathed. “So long as you fuck me first.”

It was hell—literal hell—to remove even an inch of his penis from her body. He wanted to live like this with her pussy a wet sleeve seemingly made entirely for him. There were no other thoughts in his head. Only her body, her name. Her. His goddess made flesh, somehow both mortal woman and otherworldly creature far too lovely to exist in such an ugly place. He knew, pumping himself back inside her, that he had no right to touch her with his bloodstained hands. 

She moaned into the pillow, letting him yank her against him with the one hand not pressed against her soft ass. His thumb slid into her up to the knuckle, feeling his own cock rubbing against the feather soft skin. 

He’d always prided himself on his self-control. He was a man who could fuck for hours, who could hold back pleasure until he decided to come. Now, Lucien hung by the thinnest of threads, thrusting against her like a wild animal, desperate for release. His balls slapped against her, thighs meeting the cheek of her ass as Lucien drove in harder, faster. He had to pull his fingers from her body. He was not above begging. “Elain, baby–”

She came with a cry, clenched around him so tight he could scarcely move. Lucien came, too, unable to hold back. His orgasm hit him like a bomb, detonating through him like a thousand suns all at once. He forgot who he was, where he was. There was only this, his slick release burning the sensitive skin, mingling against his own cum. 

“You woke the whole city,” she whispered with amusement, collasing to the mattress. Lucien released his cock, watching with aroused fascination as his cum spilled from her pussy. He couldn’t help pulling her lips apart, watching as it dripped to the sheets. “We should have these washed tomorrow,” Elain added, wiggling from his grasp. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, unsure what he was even saying. 

She twisted, sitting up, legs spread around him. “Are you okay?”

No. “I’m fine. Just…that was really good.”

She brushed her fingers against his jaw. “C’mon. I’ll bet you’re tired. You can sleep in here tonight, if you like?”

He only nodded.

He wasn’t fine, though. Lucien was so far from fine.

~*~

Lucien was in a mood. Elain sat on the couch, flipping through channels while Lucien paced back and forth like a panther. He watched the maids remake their suite, changing out the cum soaked sheets for fresh linens, offering new towels, replacing toilet paper with the angriest scowl on his face. He’d changed from jeans into tailor black pants that offered her an unparalleled view of his tight ass and muscular thighs, belted, white shirt tucked into the band. He’d rolled the cuffs to his elbows, his chunky watch making his hands seem larger somehow. 

She was fascinated by him. He looked like he’d spent his life cutting wood somewhere, a lumberjack transplanted in the middle of a gang war and handed a gun. She knew he must work out—no one on Earth was that muscular without trying—must carefully groom himself so his wine hued hair was always glossy, his face always perfectly stubbled. She saw no evidence of it. It was as if he woke up that way, utterly perfect, carved by the Gods themselves.

She was infatuated and she knew it. After the sex, the fear he’d been hurt…her thoughts revolved around him. She’d decided to lean into the feeling instead of push them away. She was still leaving in seven days and didn’t want anything unsaid hanging between them. A clean break, a little holiday romance she could look back on with fondness.

And Lucien, well…she’d be thinking about him long after he vanished from her life. Elain knew she’d be poking through his social media for years, keeping private tabs. Not that she’d ever admit it. 

“Would you settle down?” Elain asked when his pacing became unbearable. The maids left, snapping the door irritably behind them and still Lucien strode back and forth, wearing holes in the floor. “Come sit with me.”

He turned, as though seeing her for the first time. Lucien did as she asked, waiting politely for her to pull her legs up so he could sit. She slid them over his lap, pleased when he rested his arms against her shins. “Whats got you so wound up?”

His eyes drifted. “Just…hate all the waiting around, I guess.”

“Want to have sex again?” she half-joked. His eyes sharpened, darting towards her darkly. “Or are you in a mood because I didn’t live up to your expectations?”

Lucien’s dark hunger transformed to an even darker scowl. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She poked him in the cheek with her toe. “Spill, then. We’ve been waiting for a week, we’ve been shot at twice, now. I would have thought you’d enjoy a night off. Nothing but me and sassy mouth—”

“You are very sassy,” he agreed moodily, interrupting her. Elain sighed, dropping her foot back to his lap. Lucien reached for it absently, massaging with his broad, strong fingers. “And I told you. I feel like a bug in a jar waiting to see what’s going to happen. He knows where we are, he knows who is around you. I don’t like it.”

“Let’s move, then,” she replied, sighing softly. Her feet hurt from the constant heels and his hands were a different sort of heaven in that moment. 

Lucien ran his tongue over his teeth. “We have the advantage. He has to come to us. We’re surrounded by civilians, high up and better insulated than we would be at my place.”

That interested her. “Your place?”

He nodded towards the curtained windows. “It’s a couple blocks over. Good views, you’d like it. Only one bed, still—” “Like that’s a problem,” she snarked. Finally, Lucien cracked a smile, swapping for her other foot. 

“Are they not fucking you well back home?” he taunted, as if he didn’t have the biggest dick she’d ever seen. As if he didn’t eat pussy like it was his favorite meal? Elain didn’t believe for a second that Lucien didn’t know how good he was, that he hadn’t spend time honing those skills.

“I’m not back home, am I?” she replied primly, catching irritation flash over his face. Good. Maybe he was drowning in his infatuation, too. She hoped he was. How miserable, to discover her little crush was only one sided. 

“And they fuck you well, there?” “I told you not to fall in love with me,” she reminded him quickly, her heart beating a little too fast. “Don’t worry about the men back home.”

Lucien glanced back at the window, his expression vacant again. Unreadable. Elain would have paid any amount to know what he truly thought, what he really felt. And that terrified her. She barely knew him. He was just some man, a stranger paid to keep her alive. He was beautiful, he was skilled with his body and still she knew almost nothing about him at all. She should have shut herself back up in her room, walked away until the rich scent of his body wash no longer permeated the air and she could breathe again. 

“I heard your father died,” Elain said instead, wanting to peel back the layers of him. That drew him back out of his thoughts, a cruel smile betraying him. 

“So he did.” Elain paused a beat. “Of natural causes?”

Lucien attempted to suppress his smile and failed miserably. “A bullet is natural, right?” It should all frighten her. Elain knew her protests sounded fake to him, a man who meant every word he’d ever said. How could she say she wanted nothing from this place, this life that was hers by blood and birth, and then stare so unflinchingly at him? “Was it you who killed him?”

Lucien rubbed a thumb over the scars on his face, as if remembering how he’d gotten them. “I had help.”

From Eris, she surmised. Beron Vanserra was a different sort of gangster. Men like Rhys, like her father, they owned what they were. Cruel and callous in equal measure, they understood how they’d risen, whose bodies held up their blood soaked thrones. But Beron liked to imagine himself somehow better, a man of legitimacy. A man who could sleep at night despite owning the chief of police, the aldermen, the mayor, and some of the state politicians, too. His money was sanitized, wiped clean and pumped through banks and off-shore accounts. 

Men like Rhysand wanted their territory and little else. Maybe the whole of the city, though that was a bigger dream. Men like Beron eroded American democracy in the name of profits, crushed the working class and paid for legislation that prevented the poorest from ever finding relief. All with a smile. At least he wasn’t a mobster. 

Eris was the same sort of man, remade for a new generation. He had a twitter he used to showcase his charm, and an instagram where he showed off how handsome he was. He was young, he understood the newer generations. He could be their friend, could post thirst traps and cleverly worded soundbites that glossed over his atrocious behavior.

And if that all failed, he could send his bruiser brother after his enemies with a bat. “I can’t picture your pretty boy brother getting his nails dirty.” Lucien watched her for a moment, waiting for her horror. “He didn’t. He merely helped me bury Beron.”

“Somewhere watery, I assume,” Elain sniffed. She’d seen Eris’s obscene yacht. Lucien smiled softly. 

“You know, I can’t picture you getting your nails dirty, either. Don’t underestimate Eris. He’s much more vicious than he wants anyone to think.” “Is that what you imagine me to be? Vicious?”

“Beneath your pretty sundresses?” Lucien retorted. “Yeah. I think you were Archeron’s favorite daughter for more than just that sweet face, Elain. No matter what you think…why teach your daughter to fight back at all if she’s never meant for more than being a princess?” Elain shrugged. “Maybe he thought I’d kill Hybern on our wedding night, or he knew a Vanserra would come sniffing around.” “Oh I definitely would have been sniffing around had I known he was hiding you away. Like a bloodhound,” Lucien teased. “Debauching young women was something of a passion of mine, for a time.” “Before you met your fiance,” Elain pressed, testing her luck. Lucien’s smile vanished instantly.

“Yes.”

“What was her name?” 

His adam’s apple bobbed against the hard swallow. “Jesminda. She wasn’t part of this. She was just a girl I met one day on accident…”

“How lucky, to meet the love of your life on a random Wednesday,” Elain breathed, hating how jealous she was over a dead woman. Lucien’s expression shifted, his eyes taking on a dream-like quality. 

“There was no one like her. She was just…so normal. When she laughed you knew she meant it. I miss her all the time.”

Elain believed that. “Did you ever figure out…”

His jaw tightened. “No. No leads from the fuck up police. Case cold, trail empty. I was in basic and wasn’t given leave for her funeral so by the time I got back anyone who might know something was just…gone.”

Elain frowned. “And your father?”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to her face. “What about him?”

“C’mon, Lucien. Your family owns the police force. I’m not stupid. He couldn’t call in a favor for you?”

Lucien looked away and Elain thought she might have pushed too far. After all, a man willing to brutally carve up his own son likely didn’t care if his son’s almost wife was murdered…but Elain found that strange. Family was everything. Even the most brutal gangster would go to war if another person touched their most hated relative. Surely Beron would have done the same, if only to teach whoever dared to fuck with him a lesson. Jesminda should have been off limits, a Vanserra by association to Lucien. 

Elain could see Lucien working it out in his mind. “I had enemies…I was reckless…I was…” he couldn’t finish.

“Maybe not as much to blame as you thought?” Elain replied, careful to keep her body casual. 

“I should have protected her,” Lucien retorted, shaking his head. “I asked Beron and Eris to look after her while I was gone. I was trying to prove I could make something out of myself and he…” “Is being devoured by the sea,” Elain finished simply. 

“An easy death,” Lucien growled. “A quick death.”

“A death, all the same,” Elain reminded him with practicality. 

Lucien, who’d released her other foot sometime during their conversation, squeezed Elain’s ankle while resting his head against the couch. “Your blood thirsty, you know.” She smile, grateful to see his desperation chased away, returning the man she was all too fond of. “Archeron’s favorite daughter, remember?”

Lucien smiled back. “How could I ever forget?”

~*~

Lucien waited until Elain was asleep, passed out naked after the most ridiculous sex he’d ever had in his life. She could lay there, doing nothing at all and he thought he’d still be blubbering at her feet, overwhelmed by the feel of her absurdly soft body. Part of him wanted to sink beside her, to pull her against his body until oblivion took him, too.

He needed answers. He needed to know he hadn’t failed Jesminda—that her death belonged at Beron’s feet and not his own. He had to know before he laid beside Elain and swore to protect her with his life. 

He slipped from the bedroom and dialed the only person he trusted.

“It’s late. What do you want?” Eris demanded by way of greeting.

“Jesminda’s death,” Lucien forced himself to say. His brother went silent on the other end, aware of what those words meant. “Could it have been Beron?”

Eris exhaled. “Not directly. He would have paid someone.”

“Who?”

“Kingpin probably. That fuckers long dead, though. Ask Rhysand if there was a hit. I’m sure one of his bruisers was put on the job.”

Lucien tried to imagine what he’d do if he found out Cassian or Azriel had pulled the trigger. He felt feral, furious and sick all at once. “Would he have?”

“Definitely,” Eris replied instantly. “He hated her. I thought you knew?”

“Beron hated everyone,” Lucien reminded his brother. They bore the scars as proof. Lucien knew Eris wore his down his back in long, brutal gashes while Lucien’s were less easily disguised. 

“Not like this. You were supposed to marry a good little heiress. Someone he picked. Not some girl working at a deli…no disrespect to her memory, of course.”

“He’d kill her just for being low born?” Lucien snapped, already too aware of Eris’s answer.

“He’d kill her for looking at him wrong. Beron’s dead, brother. Why the sudden obsession with this, again?”

“I can’t move on if I don’t know what happened,” Lucien admitted, turning towards the closed bedroom door. It was a mistake to want to move on with Elain at all, given how clear she’d made things. No feelings. No attachments. Simply fun for the sake of it before she went on her merry little way. 

“Ask Rhysand. If he doesn’t know, I’ll bet Vassa’s crew does.”

“Or Hybern?” Lucien couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“He was one of Archeron’s goons back then. Ask the pretty little princess you’re guarding…she’d have access to daddy’s records.” Lucien knew Elain didn’t, had probably never gone through any of her father’s records once he died. Feyre, though…Feyre would know. Someone had to know. 

“Is it not enough to know Beron probably paid the money? Why do you want to fuck up my carefully crafted alliances? I swear to God, Lucien, if you start shit with the Velarian’s and the Archeron’s, I’m going to take your goddamn hands.”

“You wouldn’t want to know? If it was your fiance, you wouldn’t want to know?” Lucien demanded. 

“Of course I would. But this is a decade old. You’re poking through old garbage now. Beron is dead, brother. Starting a war with the Archerons and Verlarian’s won’t bring Jes back. It’s not going to give you closure, either and you know it. All you’re gonna find is vengeance.”

“Maybe that’s what I need,” Lucien snapped, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Maybe I need to right the wrongs so—”

“So, what? You can keep that woman safe? So you can love her? Look, I’m not gonna sit here and play therapist with you. If you want to fuck your life up over one of Beron’s many, MANY acts of violence, you be my guest so long as it doesn’t interfere with my business. But at the end of it, Jes is still gone. And I don’t think this is the life she wanted for you.”

“I’ll never know what she wanted because she’s dead!” he shouted without meaning to. “She can’t tell me what she wants–”

“Oh grow up,” Eris spat. “You know good and well what she wanted. She’d want you to give it up. Pulling this thread is only going to cause problems. You’re mired in these families, now. What happens if it’s Feyre who pulled the trigger? Or Cassian?”

He’d want to see them both dead. “I have to know,” Lucien tried to explain desperately. 

“You don’t. I’m telling you not to push this.”

“I have to know!” he roared. “I need to know it wasn’t my fault–” “Of course it wasn’t your fault!” Eris snarled in response. “No one ever thought it was! Only you, Luci! You want someone to blame so badly but you know the truth as well as I do. This shit is gonna eat you up until there’s nothing left. Go to her grave. Tell her you’re sorry, or you love her or whatever sentimental shit you couldn’t make yourself say when she was alive and then go kiss the woman in your bed and be grateful she’s interested in your sorry ass at all.”

“You are the worst motivational speaker,” Lucien snapped, hating his brother more for being right.

“I told you I wasn’t your therapist. If you go digging around and I get a call from Rhysand pissed off, don’t forget what I said about your hands. Awfully hard to fuck without them.”

“For you, maybe,” Lucien shot back. “I’ve still got my massive–” Eris hung up before Lucien could finish. It was for the best. He didn’t need to make an enemy of his brother. Tempted to call Rhys, to ignore everything Eris said and push forward anyway, Lucien reached for the closed door where Elain lay.

He was learning. She kept the television on while she slept, the volume nearly completely silenced. She didn’t like the dark she’d said but Lucien suspected she didn’t like being alone. The people on the screen, their voices so soft they melted into the sounds of the city…it was almost like falling asleep to chatter. 

She slept on her side, body curled protectively. He knew if he reached beneath her pillow, he’d find that knife he’d given her in the car. He was willing to bet there was one just like it in L.A., tucked in arms reach just in case. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable, like she could  be taken advantage of, but she didn’t want to be made of ice, either. 

Lucien almost felt pity for Hybern and his obsession. There was something special about Elain, the woman who could point a gun at the most feared mobster and pull the trigger while assuring herself she wanted no part of that life. Kingslayer, and yet she didn’t claim credit. She merely went on with her life, refusing to let the hard parts grind her down. He envied that. How could experience so much ugliness and still wake up so filled with a sense of optimism. 

Lucien wanted it. He wanted whatever she had and thought the only way he’d ever feel even a sliver of that sunny hope she radiated was if he stayed with her. And that was perhaps the worst revelation, that this was rapidly becoming more than a job. That his feelings were going to get in his way, would haunt him if he couldn’t protect her, if he failed her like he had before. Everything he touched turned to ash.

And still, standing in the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, Lucien ached to have her. To wake up every morning and hear her little quips, her witty responses, her bright smiles. His chest restricted, stomach plopping wetly at his feet. It was free-falling all over again, without the certainty of a safety net. Jesminda had made her feelings plain from the start. Elain, too, had told him exactly what she wanted.

To go home.

Don’t fall in love with me.

He crossed the room, sliding back into bed. She turned sleepily, the back of her hand smacking against his bare chest. “Blanket stealer,” she whispered, unaware of how burritoed she currently was. Lucien pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“That distinction belongs to you, baby,” he replied affectionately as he brushed thick curls off her face. Eyes closed, Elain’s lips curved upward in the most tantalizing pout of a smile.

“I like when you call me that.”

“What? Baby?”

She curled a little closer, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. “You only say it when you’re worried.”

“I’m always worried,” he whispered, pressing the palm of his hand against his obnoxiously hard cock. She had no idea the ways in which he hoped to have her. Not just physically—she made that surprisingly easy. Emotionally. He wanted every piece of her and would have done heinous things in order to get it. 

For a moment he thought she’d fallen back asleep, cuddled sweetly against his side. He noted how her body relaxed, stretching against him. It was more than just seeking warmth, he told himself. She felt safe. She could be more vulnerable…could trust him to take care of her. 

“Let’s go out tomorrow,” she whispered just as he got a hold of his erection, his cock shrinking at the realization she was too tired to be touched.

“We’re sitting ducks out there,” he murmured against her scalp, drawing her closer until her bare breasts pressed against him.

“I need to get my dress for the wedding,” Elain’s lips grazed over his skin and all at once, his cock was alive again. Her knee brushed against him, prompting her to peek open one eye. “And we could get actual breakfast somewhere.”

“Why? My favorite meal is right here,” he replied, hand reaching for her nipple. Elain swatted him away.

“You need sustenance and I need a bloody mary at minimum. Take me out of this hotel room.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” he teased.

“It’ll look like a date,” she added, nuzzling back into his body, eyes closed again. “Hybern is gonna be pissed when he realizes how much of my body has been painted with your cum.”

Lucien froze for a moment, dread replacing his amusement. “Is that why you’ve been sleeping with me?”

She chuckled. “I’ve been sleeping with you because you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Pissing off Hybern is only a bonus.”

He relaxed. “You think I’m not?”

“You can go back to the couch if you’re gonna get cocky about it.”

He held her tight. “You can’t be rid of me that easily.” “You’re right. You’ll be right back between my legs before I’ve had a solid eight hours,” sh complained, kissing the side of his neck. Lucien grinned, too keyed up to sleep.

“You’re goddamn right, baby. Every day.”

For the rest of her life.

~*~

Whatever had possessed Lucien the day before was gone. He was his usual shit eating grin self again, distractingly hot in another pair of tailored black pants and white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He’d thrown a suit jacket over top to conceal his weapon, his hair in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, and a belt around his waist she was imagining wrapped around her throat while she sucked his dick.

He’d woken her up just as promised, tongue lapping against her pussy until she was writhing and begging. And before she’d gotten a chance to reciprocate he’d practically dumped her in the shower and told her to get a move on. How he ignored the tree trunk between his legs was beyond her. She certainly couldn’t. 

Elain had thrown on a pretty pink sundress, delighted when Lucien’s eyes darkened at the sight. She fully intended to see him live beneath her skirts for the rest of their time together. The thought delighted her more than she was willing to admit. Elain was on the verge of something, of admitting she wanted to see him after this was all over.

It was a conundrum. Did she ask him to do long distance? To consider moving? Or did she give in and come back simply to spend more time with a man she could hardly pretend she didn’t like anymore. Elain liked Lucien so much. It made her feel stupid at times. 

“You ready to go?” he asked, adjusting something at his side. His gun, she reminded herself. This was still a job to him no matter how tightly he held her at night. Reminding herself that sleeping in her bed likely made her easier to keep an eye on, Elain nodded.

“You’re sulking,” he commented in his maddening way. Always watching. She wished he’d stop

“Am not,” she lied, following him into the chlorine scented hall. There was a pool somewhere in the building, one she hadn’t had a chance to explore. She couldn’t blame him for that and still Elain felt moodier than she had in days when they got into the elevator. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you like a grown up?” Lucien pressed in his irritating way. “Or are you going to force me to guess?”

“Why would it matter to you either way?” she snapped back, catching the look of surprise on his face. His lips parted, jaw hanging open. As though he’d expected compliance from her by now. That was a fair assumption—he’d gotten comfortable demanding things from her. She wondered if he might try it, if he might tell her to get on her knees in the elevator just to see if she would.

The doors dinged and Elain stepped out first, Lucien on her heels. It was unfair, to punish him for believing her when she told him she wasn’t interested in anything, that she fully intended to end things and go home. 

If she’d been less a coward, she would have confessed. But Elain was content to let him stew right alongside her, turning what should have been a fun breakfast into a battle of the wills. Neither of them spoke to the other, said one word at all. Waiting to see who might break first. Lucien kept his eyes on the door, his back against a wall, body positioned in front of her. Like he’d take a literal bullet before he saw her get hurt.

She wondered what the limits were. After all, in the woods he’d told her to run while he stayed behind. Was he really willing to risk his life, willing to bleed out on the tiled cafe floor if it meant she survived? She doubted it. At some point he’d have to choose…and he’d choose himself. To make any other decision was insanity. 

Lucien remained impassively quiet when they reached the bright, glass store front of the dress store Nesta had purchased her wedding dress in. Elain had sent her measurements ahead, trusting Feyre and Nesta wouldn’t pick out an ugly bridesmaids dress. 

“Will you try it on?” the sales girl asked. Elain took in her appearance—immaculate smokey eye, her hair twisted off the nape of her neck, her shoes a cool six hundred dollars—and knew there would be no other answer but yes. “Just to be sure it fits well. We fitted your sisters in person but you’re on the west coast, right?” Beside her, Lucien scowled at the mention of her home. Her heart quickened a little. She was reading too much into the gesture.

The sales girl took Elain past rows and rows of bridal gowns in varying shades of white. She let her fingers trail over satin and beaded fabric a little wistfully. She wanted to get married someday and was a little jealous her sisters had found love so easily. Not letting herself wonder what was wrong with her, Elain watched the woman unzip an opaque white bag, revealing a satin, blood red dress. 

“Dressing rooms are right back there. Do you want assistance?”

Putting on a dress? Elain glanced over at Lucien, his head turned towards the door. She knew he was calculating the risk, eyes roaming over the open glass. “Nope. I can manage.”

“Alright. I’ll be upfront. Your guest can sit in one of the chairs,” she added as though she’d only just remembered he was there at all. Elain took the dress, its material shockingly soft against her skin, and marched for the dressing room. As usual, Lucien said nothing. She watched him take a seat at the chair just in front of the closed off dressing rooms, long legs stretched in front of him. He was staring at the door sized entrance that led back into the shop, eyes still laser focused on the door. Hot. He was so hot it made her throat dry.

She sighed softly to herself. The day was ruined because of her. If she’d smiled and been nice, he would have joked around with her, would have touched her a little. They had less than a week left and she was ruining that time. She stripped, resolving to break first and offer up a truce. Maybe they’d get lunch, he’d smile, and she could blow him in the car as an apology. 

Elain stepped into the floor length dress, sliding the thick straps over her shoulders. The material was tight along her abdomen, pushing her small breasts upwards to give the illusion of more. The material flowed out around her hips like silken water with enough give that she could hide a weapon against her thigh. Elain was sure Feyre and Nesta had done that purposefully, maybe without realizing it.

She reached behind her, hair swept over her shoulder, and began to zip, tugging the tiny tab between her fingers. Elain caught the fabric twice just beneath her rips, the metal slipping out of her grasp more than once. She sighed.

“Everything okay in there?” she heard Lucien ask, his voice cautious. Her stomach fluttered and she licked her lips, facing the floor length mirror. Carefully, she unclicked the lock.

“Can you help me?” she replied, heart hammering against her chest. There was silence, stretching for years though in truth it was only seconds before the handle turned and Lucien’s muscular frame came into view. Her back was already exposed, her hair out of his way. Their eyes met in the mirror. 

He closed the door quietly behind him. “You’ve got the fabric tangled in the teeth,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along her spine. “I’m clumsy,” she replied, her words a rushed whisper. She felt him yank the fabric with gentle hands before zipping the dress around her body. Elain watched him, head bowed as though in prayer, his eyes wholly focused on his task. She was melting at his feet, her body a thousand degrees beneath his hands.

“You’re beautiful,” he disagreed, drawing her back to the present. “Even when you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she insisted. It was the opposite. She liked him too much, far more than she had any right to. 

“Turn around,” he whispered and Elain did exactly as he said, compliant and happy to be subjected to his intense scrutiny again. His hands skimmed over her breasts, her waist, stopping at the top of her thighs. “We’ll get you a holster,” he told her, sliding the sides of the dress up her body. 

Dress hiked over her waist, Lucien could see the lacy thong she wore, put on specifically for him to see. With a deliberate slowness, he sank to his knees, one hand wrapped around that same thigh. “I’ll get you a gun.”

It was turning him on to imagine. “Your gun?” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat with his thumb hooked in the crotch of her panties, pulling them to the side.

“Yes,” he agreed, his breath hot against her body. Elain let him press her against the mirror, pinned between himself and the wall. He spread her legs, his gaze ravenous. His tongue slid along her pussy without another word, no preamble at all. She caught her breath, reminding herself they were in public. Quiet, she shushed herself. He was ridiculous, his broad shoulders bunched, one arm over her waist, pinning her to the wall, the other holding her thigh in mockery of the holster he was fantasizing about. 

And his mouth…Elain had to swallow back moan after moan as he licked her, rabid like a wild animal. There was nothing nice about him, nothing sweet about his tongue and his broad strokes. She felt small, almost powerless and still more powerful than she’d ever been in her life. Her heels were inches from his cock, bulging in his pants. Her pussy against his face, grinding desperately. She reached for his hair and shoved and Lucien exhaled a groan so soft it might have been a sigh. He was dangerous to everyone but her. She could have planted her shoe in his chest and told him to stop and he would have done exactly as she demanded without a word of protest.

Fingers slid into her body, fucking her roughly as his tongue worked overtime. His mouth closed over her clit, teeth tugging gently and Elain’s hips flew forward, bucking against him as she came roughly, her grip in his hair so tight she knew it must hurt. Lucien didn’t stop, probably wouldn’t have stopped until she begged had someone not knocked softly on the door.

“You okay in there?”

“Yes,” Elain replied as Lucien stood quickly. There was an inch of space between the floor and the door, making it impossible to see what was going on. “My zipper got stuck, give me a second.” “No worries,” the shop girl said cheerfully. “It fits good, though?”

Lucien dropped her dress back on the floor, wiping his face on the sleeve of his jacket. He sat in a chair shoved in the corner, using the heel of his hand to adjust his cock. One ankle crossed over his knee as Elain smoothed out the dress and opened the door. The girls eyes swept over the room, looking for proof they’d been up to no good. 

Lucien was the picture of masculine boredom. Elain could see her own expression—cheeks flushed, eyes bright. The girl stepped in, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “The fit is perfect.”

That clearly pleased the girl enough to forgive whatever she suspected was happening behind the door. How many couples had she caught fucking? 

“Go ahead and bring it up. I’ll box it for you.”

And that was that. She left the pair of them, satisfied they were behaving. Lucien’s expression gleamed. “Take it off, Elain. Nice and slow.

“You’re a pervert,” she accused, turning her back so he could unzip her. Lucien was all too happy to oblige, prowling forward like a predator to remove her from the dress.

“You’re goddamn right,” he replied. Elain shoved a little, reaching for her sundress and slapping away Lucien’s hand when he reached for her breast. “Knock it off,” she whispered. “Lets get out of here and to the car.”

A smile spread over his face. “What happens in the car?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t stop groping me.”

And to his credit, Lucien dropped back into his chair so she could re-dress herself. Elain didn’t let herself think about what was happening.

Just feel.

~*~

Rhysand met Lucien in the lobby of the hotel the day before the rehearsal dinner. Dressed in black, he looked like an avenging angel, utterly out of place in the faux art deco decor the hotel favored. 

“A drink?” Lucien offered, gesturing towards the bar. Rhys nodded, falling into step beside him as they paced over the fleur de lis carpet, ignoring the bustle of the space despite the late hour.

“How is Elain?” Rhys asked the moment they slid into the seats at the bar.

“Asleep,” he replied, deciding to omit exactly how he’d gotten her to sleep. 

They ordered whiskey on ice and Rhys paid, sliding a crisp benjamin across the wooden bar and waving off an attempt to offer him change. “Your brother called me.”

Fucking Eris. “Then you know what I want.”

Rhys nodded, his eyes flashing violet. “Before I answer, I want to know what you’re going to do if you don’t like the answer.” Luciens’ stomach twisted violently for a moment. His gun rubbed against his side, hidden beneath his jacket. It was foolish to think Rhys wasn’t armed himself or that he’d come alone. Lucien was sure someone had eyes on him, if Lucien cared to truly look. He didn’t bother turning around.

“Nothing can bring her back,” he said with a rough swallow. “I need closure…I need to know…”

Rhys nodded, his understanding plain. “If it were my wife…” he trailed off for a moment, gripping his glass tightly. “We have the same system now as we did then—we don’t know who contracts a hit and they don’t know who carries it out. Keeps people from snitching. I went through Kings records and there wasn’t anything on your girl. Feyre reached out to Vassa, she said the same. It coulda been Archeron but I doubt it. That wasn’t his game, he didn’t take money like that and between you and me, he fucking hated the Vanserra’s.”

Lucien frowned. “I’m a Vanserra,” Lucien reminded him. Rhys shooks his head.

“I forget sometimes. He’s rolling in his grave right now that you’ve got your filthy hands on his favorite daughter. He wouldn’t have done your father a favor if he could help it. And I gotta ask…what makes you so sure Beron didn’t pull the trigger himself?”

Nothing. “You think Eris pulls the trigger on his own hits?” Lucien scoffed. A dark smile curled over Rhys’s face.

“Yeah. I think your brother wishes he’d been born a gangster. Your father, though? He was one. Just as ruthless, just as filthy. If he scrubbed his nails afterwards, that was merely vanity. I was a bruiser once, you know. Busting knees, breaking jaws…and some of the things I saw Beron do made me look like a school yard bully.” Lucien reclined in his seat, letting Rhys’s words permeate, forcing himself to consider the one thing he’d never wanted to confront. Beron was violent—to his children, to his wife, to his staff…why not in all areas? Why did Lucien assume he exercised some self-control in other places? 

“He was—”

“The fucking devil,” Rhys interrupted, taking a long drink from his glass. “As bad as my uncle. Worse, maybe. Their reign is over and some things are better left dead. Don’t resurrect your father’s memory.”

“You sound like Eris,” Lucien snapped. “If Feyre was—”

“I’d burn the city to the ground,” Rhys whispered furiously. “I’m not saying your anger isn’t justified…I’m only asking you to consider what it’s worth to you.”

Lucien let his own whiskey settle in his belly before asking, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Rhys inclined his head. “You’ve got a woman upstairs waiting on you. How long do you think women like that wait?”

Lucien ran a hand over his mouth. “She’s leaving in three days.”

Rhys finished his drink, sliding the glass over the bartop. “So she says. I’ll tell you something, though. Her sister was engaged when I met her to some loser in north city working for a hedge fund. And her sister was about to marry your brother minutes before she called the whole thing off for Cassian. And if Elain says she’s going home in three days, but she’s curled up next to you at night? Well, I’ll just assume she’s waiting to run through the airport to tell you she’s changed her mind. That’s how they are. Stubborn to the last, so determined to prove they don’t need a fucking thing from anyone, that they can do whatever they like.”

Lucien sat utterly silent, not willing to admit Cassian had already given him this lecture. Rhys stood. “If you’re planning on starting a gang war over a woman you’ll never see again, you’re gonna find yourself lying beside her. Is that what you want, Vanserra? Because there are easier ways to go.”

Lucien scowled. “Is that a threat?”

“Observation,” Rhys replied casually. “My advice? Go upstairs and tell Elain you love her. Beg her not to leave, on your knees if you have to. Put your past to bed, make nice with your ghosts. Stop running from your own life.”

“Like you did?” Lucien snapped. Rhys’s swallowed the anger that flashed across his face.

“Exactly. You think I’ve got too much pride to beg my wife for something? Some things are worth bending for, worth bowing to.” Rhys started to turn but Lucien stopped him. “When it was your mother and sister…how did you let it go?”

Rhys nodded for a moment, face lost to shadow. “Same thing you did to Beron. It tastes good, that revenge…but it doesn’t bring anyone back. Took me a long time to understand that.”

And that was it. Rhys turned fully, leaving Lucien in the half-empty bar with nothing but his thoughts. He ordered a drink, and then another, turning Rhys’s words over and over in his mind. The thought of getting on his knees and begging Elain to stay when she was still committed to leaving made him feel sick, humiliation burning through his chest. He didn’t think he could stomach the pity he’d find on her face. He imagined her stepping over his body with one of her pristine heels, bag in hand.

Oh Lucien, she’d murmur before she was gone. And he’d never hear from her again, save for the covert stalking he might do, pouring through her socials just to catch a glimpse of her. Which was worse, he wondered? Swallowing his feelings and letting her be the one who got away, or telling her so she could reject him? 

He plodded back upstairs, unresolved and uncertain. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t face her fully. He paced in the hall for a solid twenty minutes before he figured he could at least touch her while he decided.

He pushed open the door. Something hard and silver swung at his face, turning his surrounding to a blur. He jerked, body slamming to the floor. He could hear a muffled sound.

“Elain,” he whispered, the world shifting. Blackening.

To darkness.

~*~

Hybern paced the living room the hotel with glee, his dark eyes glittering as Lucien went limp. “That was easy,” he crowed. “Is he dead?”

One of his goons, a beefy man with a terrifying face, kicked Lucien hard in the gut. Lucien wheezed a breath, curling inwards though he didn’t open his eyes. “Alive, boss.”

Hybern turned to Elain, her wrists bound to a chair. She was in one of Lucien’s shirts and nothing else, had thrown it on to go to the bathroom. Had Hybern caught her a few moments before, she’d have been entirely naked. She tried not to let herself think about that. 

“Let me explain how this is going to go. You’re going to get up and get dressed while my associate points his gun at your friend there. If you scream, if you cry…if you try and alert anyone at all, I’ll pull the trigger and you can watch him die.”

Elain nodded, eyes never leaving Lucien’s body. “Okay.” She knew how this would go. She’d been here before, with King when he’d kidnapped her and her sisters. She knew he’d expect her to be afraid, to tremble with fear. And Elain was afraid, though not of Hybern so much as she was of Lucien. If he didn’t wake up, if he let them be taken from the hotel, she knew neither of them would make it out alive.

Hybern reached for the garment bag slung over the kitchen counter, unzipping it slowly. His eyes sparkled at the sight. “This. Put it on.”

“That’s for my sisters wedding,” she whispered. Nesta would kill her if she ruined it. 

“Not anymore,” Hybern replied. He pulled out a knife, unrestraining her while letting the cool steel brush against her skin. It was as much a threat as his words might have been. Whatever he was feeling had him balanced on a razors edge. His amusement, his lust might just as quickly turn to rage. Elain stood.

“I’ll watch,” Hybern told her when she hesitated, unsure if he’d let her go to the bathroom. “Go ahead. Undress.”

Hatred burned through her, causing her hands to shake as she lifted the shirt over her head. Hybern took a step towards her at the sight of her barred body, dredging up old memories. Elain skittered backwards, clutching the red fabric against her body.

“Exactly as I remember,” Hybern whispered. Her heart banged against her ribs, eyes darting to the unconscious Lucien. Wake up, she thought desperately, quickly sliding into the dress. She couldn’t zip it without help, hated how she had to turn and ask silently for him to finish dressing her. Hybern walked torturously slow, his hands rubbing over her backside before he finished the zip. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck, setting her on edge. He’d been this close only once before. She’d buried the memory of his hands pawing at her, of pulling off her clothes while she struggled beneath him, until she was only in panties. 

Elain remembered how she’d escaped. She’d offered the illusion of acceptance, of giving in. He’d want to see her fight him a little—she knew he got off on her fear, on his control. “Has he fucked you?” Hybern asked. “Or was that little show between the two of you just for me?”

She turned quickly, slapping him hard against the cheek. Hybern’s rage was immediate, the back of his hand cracking painfully loud over her cheekbone. Elain shrieked, collapsing to the floor. 

“Just like old times, I see,” he mumbled, crouching to the floor. Elain could taste blood in her mouth. Her face burned, ached from the violence. He slid his fingers in her hair, tugging painfully tight to force her to look at him. “This doesn’t have to hurt, you know.”

She spat in his face, bracing herself as he flung her back to the floor. Her skull bounced off the wood, causing the room to spin dizzyingly for a moment. 

“Go get your fucking shoes, Elain,” he snarled. “Make yourself look real pretty while you’re at it.” The sound of a hammer being pulled back made her gasp. “No, wait–!” she begged breathlessly, eyes locked on the gun pointed at Lucien’s face. “Okay. I’ll…just don’t hurt him.” “Good girl,” Hybern praised, rising to his feet to watch her. He offered her no help as she stood shakily.

He didn’t follow her into the bedroom, perhaps certain Elain wouldn’t risk Lucien’s life. Her phone was on the nightstand, a knife beneath her pillow. She grabbed both, tucking the knife beneath her breast and praying it wouldn’t slide down her body. 

She had no time to scroll. Azriel’s name was one of the first in her phone and Elain hit the button to dial before turning the phone on its face. Please pick up, she prayed, legs trembling as she went for a pair of heeled shoes. 

“Where are you taking me?” she called, not wanting Azriel to think she’d pocket dialed him and hang up. 

“Home,” Hybern’s voice snapped. She slid the shoes on her feet. 

“Will I need anything?”

He came into view, looking at her standing in her shoes, her whole body shaking. “Your face is bruised.”

“Because you hit me,” she reminded. He shook his head, his disappointment and disgust warring across his features.

“I can keep the lights off,” was his dismissive reply. “Lets go.” Lucien was on his knees, a gun pressed against his face. His lip curled when he saw her, his hatred burning.

“Here’s how this is gonna go. The two of you are gonna walk out the door without making a fucking sound. You’re going to walk to the parking lot and you’re going to get in the trunk. I’m going to restrain you both and we’re going to leave. If either of you try to run, try to scream, I will shoot the other. So if Vanserra here wants to be a hero, I’ll put a bullet in pretty little Elain’s head for your trouble. Do you understand?”

“Get fucked,” Lucien whispered.

“Yes,” Elain agreed. He was awake, he was alive. Lucien’s eyes never left her face even as he stood, the gun at his face pointing at his back.

“How fun,” Hybern murmured. “Now walk.”

It was impossible to speak. His goon held a gun not to Lucien but to Elain, the cool metal flush against her ribcage. Lucien kept his eyes on the weapon, his every step mechanical but complaint. She knew he was calculating the truth of Hybern’s words. Would he go to all this trouble to merely kill her in a stairwell? Elain didn’t think so. She did think Hybern meant to kill Lucien and would keep him alive only as long as Lucien was able to keep Elain complaint.

The problem was Lucien. He couldn’t risk making some kind of move and potentially seeing her die. She risked one look at him as they made their way down the stairs, letting him see her relief. Please don’t do anything stupid, she screamed silently in her mind. Do what he says until its safe not to.

Hybern pushed open a side door where a black sedan was waiting with more armed men, each uglier than the last. All massive, strange considering how lean Hybern himself was. Underneath the orangy glow of the parking lot, Hybern seemed almost translucent, fragile. His dark hair, cropped clos against his face, only added to his sickly appearance. Prison had not been kind to him. 

“Gentlemen first,” Hybern ordered, pressing the gun in his hand against Lucien’s cheek. Lucien’s nose wrinkled with fury but he did as he was told, folding his body into the tiny space. Someone rushed forward with zip ties, binding him.

“And you, sweetheart,” Hybern told her. Elain held out her wrists, wincing against the bite of plastic.

“Please,” she whispered to Hybern. “I’ll do whatever you ask—” “You’ll do it anyway,” he dismissed, shoving her towards the trunk. Elain heard Lucien grunt when her elbow hit his chest. A moment later the lid snapped shut over top them. There was soft chatter before the ignition started back up. Music played, drowning the words spoken between those in the car. 

Elain twisted until she faced him, her nose brushing his own. “Elain,” he whispered urgently. “My gun is still in my jacket. Take it.”

“You’ll need it,” she protested but Lucien pressed his mouth to hers, the kiss urgent. 

“Take it, Elain.” “I don’t have anywhere to hide it,” she swallowed, shaking her head back and forth. “Lucien, if you don’t have—” “I’ve got a garter in my pocket. It was a surprise for tomorrow. Take it out. I’ll help you.” “Lucien I—”

“Baby,” he interrupted, softening his tone. Tears pricked against her eyes. “Take it out.”

The trunk was far too small for the maneuvering they did. Somehow they managed, sliding the cool leather up her leg before holstering his gun against her leg. Elain panted, her heart pounding as the car drove smoothly, taking them out of the city. 

“I called Azriel,” she told him when they were facing each other again. “He’ll…he’ll know something is wrong.”

She wasn’t sure that was true. Her chest tightened, her fear making her nauseated. “We’re going to be okay.” He kissed her again. “Don’t forget who you are,” he told her as the car slowed. “Kingslayer.”

“Lucien—” the car stopped entirely. Lucien kissed her one last time, his desperation evident. It was goodbye. The trunk opened and rough hands lifted her out, holding her on dark pavement. It was Hybern, his arm looped around her waist. 

“You get it all out of your system?” he taunted when Lucien was thrown from the same trunk, landing at Elain’s feet. They were on some dusty sidestreet just on the edge of the city, surrounding by abandoned buildings. Scattered glass and trash blew around them, casting shadows beneath the flickering streetlights.

Lucien straightened, assessing his situation. Three guns, all pointed at him. 

“Walk him to one of the buildings,” Hybern ordered. Elain twisted in his grip.

“Wait—” “Baby,” Lucien said again, his tone unnervingly soft. “Don’t. Not on my account.” “Listen to him,” Hybern murmured against her ear. “You don’t want to get yourself hurt.” “Please,” she begged, panting like a wild animal. “Please.”

Lucien took one last look at her, his face paler than she’d ever seen it. He wouldn’t let them see him beg, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of fear. “I love you, princess.”

The scream that ripped through her wasn’t human. Hybern had to physically restrain her, feet lifting from the ground as Lucien turned, walking from the car parked along the side of the street. 

“You swore you wouldn’t!” she yelled after his retreating back. “Lucien you promised!” 

She twisted and writhed, desperate to get away. Lucien didn’t turn, his feet stepping from the dirty asphalt to the broken sidewalk. “Lucien!” she screamed before a hand covered her mouth.

“Back in the car,” Hybern snarled, shoving her into the backseat. Maybe he’d learned his lesson, she thought wildly, still fighting him every inch of the way. She dug her heels into the ground until the road wore at the fabric of her shoes, cutting roughly against her skin.

He jammed her in, smashing her head against the exterior of the car to daze her. She flung herself against the door, locked from the outside.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

The breath left her body in a rough exhale. She winced after each shot, her heart utterly still. Hybern slid into the driver's seat, twisting to look at her.

“Seatbelt, Elain,” he ordered.

She did as she was told, fingers numb. She didn’t dare look to the window, to see his men walk back out splattered with Lucien’s blood. She swallowed hard, controlling her anger, her fear. A tear slid down her cheek as the car lurched forward. 

Elain put her hands in her lap. She could feel the cool bite of metal against her leg, the edge of the folded up knife digging against her breast bone.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Hybern asked, looking at her from the rearview mirror.

Elain exhaled a soft breath, steadying herself. Their eyes met.

“Are you?”

[squiggledrop]

Of Lace and Love - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: It is Valentine’s Day, and Spencer has a romantic night planned for Reader, but she has other plans in mind.

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut, Fluff (NSFW, 18+)

Warnings: Oral sex, penetrative sex (unprotected), fingering

You woke up to Spencer pressing gentle kisses to your face. You opened your eyes, smiling and meeting his warm gaze. You brought your hand up to his face, running your thumb over his cheek. He leaned into your touch, placing a chaste kiss on your palm.

“Happy Valentine’s Day (Y/n),” he whispers.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Spence,” you smile. 

He kept staring at you through his glazed over eyes, and you could feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. 

“What?” you laughed, searching his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Feeling your heart swell with all the love you held for the man next to you, you slid your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His warm lips met yours, his hands coming to rest at your waist. Your tongue grazed his lip and was immediately met with him opening his mouth, deepening the kiss. 

Soft whimpers filled the room, and Spencer shifted so that he was laying on top of you. His knee slotted between your thighs, and you could feel him growing against you. He leaned down, desperate for more, and you both moaned at the added pressure. He smiled into your mouth, feeling how wet you were against his thigh. With the added encouragement, he griped your hips, pulling you against him, providing you both with the relief you so desperately craved.

Leaning down, he attached his mouth to your jaw, trailing soft, warm kisses down the length of your neck. Your hands ran through his hair, your body pushing into his. He nipped at your pulse point, eliciting a desperate moan from your swollen lips.

“Spence,” you breathed, placing a hand on his chest. He stopped his actions, his pleading eyes peering up at you. “We’re gonna be late,” you say with a sympathetic sigh. You run your finger over his plump lips, wanting nothing more than to spend the entire day in bed with Spencer. 

“I know,” he groans, rolling off of you. He turns his head, brown curls shifting against the pillowcase, as he took one last look at you before leaving the comfort of your shared bed. “Just wait until tonight”, he smirks, “after what I have planned, you’ll never be leaving this bed again.” “I’ll be holding you to that,” you mumble against his lips as he leans down for one last kiss before getting ready for the day. 

You watched as he entered the bathroom, smiling to yourself. You knew Spencer had something special planned for tonight, but what he didn’t know was that you had a plan of your own. 

After hearing the water from the shower start, you got yourself up, excited to initiate phase one.

Spencer spat out his toothpaste, finishing brushing his teeth. “Hey, (Y/n),” he calls, walking back into the bedroom, “I was thinking, for tonight would you rather-”

You looked up, feigning confusion as to why he stopped mid-sentence. You were met with his mouth hung open, and his eyes glued to your body. You cocked your head and raised your eyebrows, questioning his sessile state. “Would I rather what?” you asked innocently, leaning down to grab a skirt out of your dresser. 

“W-would um-,” Spencer stuttered, trying to form a coherent thought, which posed itself as quite difficult when face to face with his practically nude girlfriend. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “wha-what are you wearing?”

“Underwear”, you said, biting back a smirk at what might be the understatement of the year. 

You had gone shopping with the girls the week prior, and when you saw this in the lingerie store, you knew you had to have it for tonight. It was red, lacey, and barely covered anything: it was perfect. You watched as Spencer raked over your form, noticing the way his eyes traced your ass that was on full display. You slipped your short black skirt over it, making sure to give it a good shake in the process.  Reaching for your blouse, you saw Spencer gulp, the redness spreading across his cheeks almost matching the fabric that rested against your skin. 

He watched with bated breath, wanting nothing more than to rip the delicate piece of fabric that barely covered your chest off of you. He bit his lip, holding back a groan as you fumbled with the buttons of your white blouse, pushing your tits together in the process. Spencer begged for the tiny fabric to give, but he also knew you had to get to work, and right now, you were making that a bit difficult for him.

“Spence,” you giggled, pulling him from his trance. His eyes darted up to meet yours, and he gave you a weak smile, pretending you didn’t just catch him ogling you. “I said, can you help me with these buttons?” 

He slowly nodded his head, watching as you made your way towards him. 

When you were face to face, he hesitated, his gaze shifting between your face and tits. You chuckled, loving how easily you could make him a flustered mess. “Here,” you smiled, bringing his hands to your open blouse. Spencer’s breath hitched as his fingers grazed the supple skin of your stomach and over your breasts. 

He tried to get his fingers to stop shaking, but between how soft your skin was, how hot your breath was, and how tight his pants were, he couldn’t help but fumble with the buttons.

Noticing him shift uncomfortably, you looked down, smirking at the bulge growing in his pants. You felt the wetness pooling in your panties, and you sighed, desperately wanting his trembling fingers to touch you a bit lower. But, you couldn’t give in just yet. 

“You seem a bit distracted, baby,” you cooed, dragging your fingers up his chest before placing them over his hands. Spencer looked up at you and blushed, giving you a shy smile. You leaned forwards, your tits pressing against him, and placed a light kiss on his cheek before pulling away. 

He let out a small whimper at the loss of contact, but you just gave him a sweet smile before shaking your head and turning to leave the room. He groaned, watching the way your hips swayed as you finished buttoning your blouse. 

“Come on Spence, don’t want to be late for work,” you call after him with an innocent grin. He trailed behind, eyes glued to your now clothed body. 

“I hate you,” he said, trying to hide his smile as he grabbed his keys. 

“I love you too,” you giggled, giving him a chaste kiss before grabbing his hand and making your way out the door. He sighed, giving your hand a quick squeeze, while simultaneously willing his painfully hard cock to go away. But, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get the thought of what you were wearing under your seemingly innocent work clothes out of his head. This was going to be a long day, he thought to himself.

While riding the subway to work, you took note of how he gripped your hand a little tighter and pulled you a bit closer. The way his eyes scanned for anyone daring to look at you wrong was also not lost on you. 

“Spence,” you said in a calming voice, “it’s okay, baby. You are the only one who knows okay?”

“No I- I know. I just,” he trailed off, his gaze switching between your lips and chest. You noticed, of course, and brushed his hair behind his ear. Leaning in, you whispered, “It’s our little secret. Just for you.” 

He nodded, trying to ignore how your warm breath sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes, reminding himself he only had two more stops to get himself together before having to get through an entire workday beside you. A long day indeed, he huffed, a very long day.

When you got to the office, Spencer told you to go ahead, claiming he just needed a minute to compose himself. You gave him an understanding smile and told him that if he really wanted, you guys could just go home and tell Hotch one of you was sick. Spencer refused, however, determined to not let your surprise ruin his, because regardless of how much he didn’t want to have a boner in front of all his coworkers, he loved that you were doing this for him, and just for him. 

Walking to your desk, a bright smile found its way to your face. A giant bouquet of red roses was on your desk, along with a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. You gleefully picked up the small card placed between two of the flowers and read it to yourself. 

(Y/n),

My love for you stems deep.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.

-Spencer 

Picking up the cup of coffee, you heard the elevator ding, and you turned around to meet Spencer’s bashful smile.

“How did you do this?” you asked, humming as you took a sip of the coffee.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he teased. You smiled, noticing a giddy Penelope out of the corner of your eye.

“Well, thank you, Spencer. They are beautiful.” You leaned into his chest, closing your eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Not as beautiful as you.” Looking up at him, you placed a loving kiss on his lips. Spencer melted into your touch, bringing his hands to rest on your waist. This, however, was a grave mistake, because now he could feel the thin straps that held the even thinner piece of lace in place, and he was once again reminded of what was behind the silky blouse that was currently between his fingers. 

Clearing his throat, Spencer gave you a quick peck before sitting down at his desk. As long as he didn’t have to get up, he should be fine, he convinced himself. Spencer, however, was not aware that phase two had not yet begun. 

It had been a few hours, and thankfully, Hotch needed you to go through some files for him, which kept you busy and out of Spencer’s line of sight, meaning he could actually focus and get some work done. He would be lying if he said he was relieved though because a part of him longed for you to be near him, even if it would be impossible to get his work done. 

Soon enough, lunch rolled around, and he felt two arms wrap around him from behind. Smelling your perfume, he smiled and turned his head to meet you. You pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, reveling in how he hummed in content. 

“You ready to get some lunch?” you asked, lightly rubbing your hands over his shoulders. Spencer tried to answer, but the feeling of you pressed against him made his mind go blank. He gripped his thighs, forcing out a nod. “Okay, are you in the mood for anything in particular?” you asked sweetly, unaware of what you were doing to him.

“You,” he replied nonchalantly. You let out an amused gasp at his words and felt the same arousal return from that morning. 

You leaned down, your lips pressing against the shell of his ear. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders and you whispered into his ear. “Soon enough baby.”

Spencer’s eyes screwed shut at your actions, and he resisted the urge to just take you into one of the file closets and do what he’s wanted to do since you both woke up. But, then as if nothing had happened, you stood up straight and went to grab your bag.

“I’m in the mood for thai,” you stated, “What if we go to that place down the street?”

“Yeah, that um- that sounds good.” Spencer stood up, making sure to position his satchel so it covered his crotch. You bit back a smile and took his hand, heading for the elevators.

“Not a word,” he tried to say seriously through a giggle.

“I didn’t say anything,” you amused, giving his hand a tender squeeze. 

“No, but you want to,” he smiled, giving you a knowing look. 

You stepped into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before you responded.

“I want to do a lot more than that,” you smirked. Spencer let out an involuntary whimper at your words. Without thinking, he pressed the emergency stop on the elevator.

“There,” he said, looking at you desperately, “now you can.”

“Spencer,” you laughed in amusement at how rash he was being. You loved this side of him, but you would never let him know that.

“Please,” he begged. “I- I know it’s not what either of us had planned, but we can still have a romantic night, and it’s either this or I’m going to get myself off in the bathroom because I’ve been thinking about that little lacey thing that you call undergarments all day a-and I’m pretty sure Derek noticed because I went to get some coffee and when I sat back down he kept smirking at me and-”

“Spence, baby, okay,” you said, running your hands over him, trying to calm his breathing. “I’ll help you take care of that.” He smiled and gave a thankful sigh of relief. You cupped his cheek and brought him in for a tender kiss. His hands found their way back to your chest, but you smirked, pulling them off. Spencer let out a disgruntled sigh, just wanting to see his beautiful girlfriend. “But that,” you placed a kiss to the back of each of his hands, “is for tonight.” 

“Okay,” he conceded, desperate to get off and get to lunch. 

“Okay,” you smiled, looking into his loving eyes. “How do you want me to do this?” you asked, running your hands along the collar of his shirt. 

“Can you suck me off?” He looked at you with wide eyes filled with nothing but love and desire. “Love how you feel around me.”

“Anything for you baby.” He gave you a tender smile, and you pressed a kiss to his lips, trailing your hands down to his waist. He helped you unbuckle his pants as you sunk to the ground. You placed a gentle peck to his clothed cock and felt him twitch beneath you. Feeling your hands take him out of his boxers, he flung his head back, whimpering in anticipation. You placed a few kisses on the tip of his cock before licking up the precum leaking out of it. His moans filled the walls of the elevator when you took him into your mouth, bobbing your head back and forth. 

“Fuck, (Y/n)- thank you-” he huffed, “feels so good baby.” You moaned around his dick at the praise, feeling your own arousal gathering at your core. You took him all the way in, and Spencer laced his fingers through your hair when you choked around him. “That’s it baby… ughh… just like that- fuck.”

“Use me Spence”, you moaned, coming up for air. Spencer groaned, his grip tightening on your hair. He began to thrust into your mouth, moaning as you gagged around him. 

“Shit, I’m- I’m gonna”, he heaved through moans. He felt you nod your head and moan around him, and then he was coming down your throat. His grip on you eased up as you worked him through his orgasm. 

After his breathing steadied, he cupped your cheeks and pulled you up into a kiss. His mouth enveloped yours, his tongue caressing yours. He pulled away slightly, placing another peck to your lips before resting against your forehead.

“Thanks,” he smiled, looking into your eyes. “I love you.”

“Anything for you,” you repeated, meaning every word. “And I love you too.” Spencer pulled you into his chest, slotting his head into your neck and peppering your skin with kisses. You giggled, helping him tuck himself back into his pants.

Once you were both situated, you pressed the emergency button again, and the elevator began to move. 

“Wait, you didn’t- do you want me to… I mean I’d love to-”

“Spence, it's okay. I’m good just taking care of you.” He gave you a hesitant look, wanting to make sure you felt good too. “Plus,” you said, leaning into him, “I want to wait for tonight. Don’t want to spoil my dinner,” you teased. 

“Alright,” Spencer smirked, wrapping his arms around you. 

After getting back from lunch, Spencer felt much better. He had filled his stomach and released his previous issue. All he had to do was get through a few more hours and then it was just you and him all night. 

Spencer returned to his desk with two coffees in hand. He placed yours down on your desk with a kiss on your cheek before sitting back down across from you at his desk.

“Thanks, babe,” you smiled.

“No problem, love.” You shared a tender look as you both took a sip of your drinks before getting back to your work. Spencer sighed, flipping through his paperwork, wanting to finish as soon as possible. 

That was until he heard your hushed voice.

“Spence,” you whispered with a mischievous glint in your eye, “guess what?”

“What?” he giggled, matching your secretive tone.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he smiled. You gave him a wink before returning your attention back to the stack of paper in front of you. Spencer admired you for a moment longer before getting back to the stack that inhabited his desk. 

A few minutes later, he was so focused on his work that he almost forgot about the fact that you were right across from him. That was, until he felt your foot trail up his ankle, pushing up his pant leg. He immediately dropped the file and his eyes shot up to look at you. You, however, were engrossed in your work, completely unphased by what you were doing to Spencer.

“(Y/n),” he whispered.

“What?” you asked, peering up from your desk.

“We are at work,” he pleaded, looking around to make sure no one had noticed her wandering foot.

“I know,” she said, pretending to have no idea what he was talking about. He stifled a grin and got back to work, counting down the minutes until you could be alone. 

You waited a minute, making sure Spencer had focused on his work again, before bringing your foot up his leg again. You watched as Spencer brought his mug up to his lips, taking this as your opportunity. You lifted your leg, drawing it up his leg and thigh, stopping when you saw him choke on his coffee and set his mug down.

“(Y/n),” he said with wide eyes. You tried to hold back your smirk, but it was no use.

“Sorry, it’s just, well, you know how tiny my panties are?” Spencer didn’t know what to do. He always knew what to say, but right now, in the middle of the office, surrounded by his friends and co-workers, he didn’t know what to say. So, he just nodded, hoping no one could tell how much he was loving every second of this. “Well,” you drew out, “they are rubbing against me, and I’m just trying to fix it.”

“Oh.” Spencer didn’t know what to do. All he could think about was how wet you were and how he wished he could just rip those panties off of you and take care of you. “I can- I mean… the elevator?” he said, not entirely sure what he was saying. 

“No,” you smiled, “I’ll be okay.” Spencer’s mouth was still agape, and he tried to just get back to work, but it was no use, as his eyes were stuck on you. “I just need to,” you brought your foot back up his leg, watching as he squirmed in his seat, “there,” you smiled, dropping your foot. “All better,” you smiled. Spencer stared at you, cheeks and neck flushed. 

He stared as you looked back down at your paperwork. He stared as you were filling out a form as if nothing had happened. He stared at the clock, praying that the last hour of the day would hurry up because he loved you and wanted to kiss you and hold you and make love to you. Because you were sat across from him, in the middle of the office, wearing the most beautiful piece of lingerie he had ever seen, and he was the only one who knew because it was all just for him, and it was driving him crazy, and he loved every second of it.

The workday was finally done, and Spencer practically jumped out of his seat, grabbing your bags and ushering you out of the office. You giggled as he pulled you along, speed walking towards the elevator.

When the doors closed, Spencer’s lips found yours, and he began to release every ounce of pent up arousal from the day.

You smiled into the kiss, letting Spencer’s hands roam your body and squeeze and grab wherever he wanted. His mouth latched onto your neck, not caring how many marks he was leaving in his wake because now it was time for his surprise. 

When the elevator doors dinged open, Spencer pressed a kiss to your temple and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

“So,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his as you walked to the metro station, “what’s the plan for dinner, besides me,” you joked. Spencer smiled, pulling you closer into him.

“You’ll see,” he smiled. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your dinner,” he teased with raised eyebrows. You playfully rolled your eyes and chuckled, holding his hand as you walked down the stairs at the metro station.

The entire ride to dinner, Spencer’s hand rested on your thigh and your head on his shoulder. Moments like these were always your favorite. You always swore you could live a complete and content life just sitting with Spencer. And you knew he felt the same, so long as he had a book he could read to you. 

“We’re here,” Spencer whispered, waking you from your relaxed state. You nodded, getting your bearing as you took his hand and stood up. 

“Guess what?” he asked as he led you down the road to the restaurant.

“What?” you smiled.

“I love you,” he gleamed, looking into your eyes

“I love you too.” You kissed underneath his jaw, letting out a giggle.

“What?” he inquired, wishing he could listen to the sound of your laugh for the rest of his life.

“You still love me? Even though I teased you all day?” Spencer laughed and nodded his head.

“Especially because of that,” he said, bringing your joined hand up to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You smiled, relaxing into his touch.

“Where are we going?” you asked, noticing you could see the water in the distance.

“Right,” he drew out, pulling you towards a restaurant that sat on the water, “here.”

“Spence, this place is beautiful.” You admired the nautical decor and string lights that hung above your head as Spencer held the door open for you.

“Reid for two,” he said to the hostess.

“Right this way Dr. Reid,” she replied, leading you both through the restaurant. You followed behind Spencer, holding his hand as you walked towards a door at the back of the restaurant. The hostess led you outside and onto a small pier that appeared to be their outdoor seating. However, there was only one table set up, with rose petals covering the ground and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the table. Your eyes lit up, watching how the calm water reflected the setting sun. 

Spencer pulled your chair out for you, and you sat down, completely in awe. The hostess left you, and Spencer sat down, reaching for the bottle of champagne. You watched him, completely enamored by the amber glow that filtered through his amber curls.

“Spence,” you said, taking a full glass from him, “this is amazing.” You looked at your beautiful boyfriend and didn’t know how you got so lucky. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Anything for you,” he smiled. You clanked your glasses and took a sip, reveling in the feeling of Spencer running his thumb across the back of your hand. 

The two of you enjoyed a lovely dinner over the sunset and into the starry night sky. You talked and laughed, a smile never leaving either of your faces. 

When the dessert came out, you thanked the waiter, waiting for him to leave before you gave Spencer a slight pout.

“What's wrong?” he asked, setting down his spoonful of ice cream. 

“I thought I was your dessert,” you teased. Spencer let out a small laugh and bit his lip.

“You are, baby, don’t worry,” he brought your hand to his lips and left a chaste kiss in their place. “Good,” you smiled, placing a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in your mouth. You purposefully let a little dribble down your chin and let out a moan that was normally only saved for Spencer’s ears when you were in the comfort of your bed at home.

“Now that’s not nice,” Spencer groaned, watching as you licked the melting ice cream from your mouth. 

“Well then come get your dessert.” Spencer looked you in the eyes for a moment, debating his options. Abruptly, he stood up, walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“To pay the bill,” he said, rushing through the door. You chuckled to yourself, excited to get home.

Spencer raced you up the stairs of your apartment building, both of you desperate to finally be back in bed together. He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the door without detaching his lips from yours. He groaned into the kiss, becoming frustrated with the lock. 

“Here,” you mumbled against his mouth. You took the keys from his hand and turned away so you could see the lock. Spencer whined from the loss of your lips but remedied it by kissing behind your ear. You gripped his bicep, wishing he could just take you then and there. 

Finally, the door was opened. You walked inside together, Spencer's mouth still latched to your neck. He turned you around, leaning you against the door, causing it to slam shut. You ran your hands through his hair, tugging on the roots. He moaned against your skin, and you felt it in your core. As much as you wanted Spencer to kiss every inch of you, which you knew he would, you needed him.

“Spencer,” you moaned, grabbing at his shoulders. He nodded, understanding what you wanted. He pulled away, but only slightly.

“I got you,” he huskily whispered into your ear. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and nodded. He brought his mouth back to your lips, and walked you into the bedroom, guiding you along the way. 

He backed you up into the bed and followed your lips down as you laid back. Coming up for air, he raked his eyes over your disheveled hair and blouse and thought you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m ready for my dessert,” he pleaded. You smiled and nodded, bringing his hands to your breasts. Spencer smiled and began massaging your tits through your blouse. You leaned your head back, desperate for more. Spencer knew that, so he began unbuttoning your shirt, thankful that his hands were no longer shaking. He sucked on your now exposed skin, leaving marks down your chest as he went. He helped you shrug your shirt off, and his breath caught in his throat. 

“Fuck (Y/n).” He traced his fingers along the delicate red lace that covered your nipples, his light touch igniting a fire within you. “Been thinking about this all day.” He brought his mouth back down, running his tongue over your clothed nipples.

“Shit Spence,” you moaned, “need more. Need you.” You felt his smirk on your skin, and then he was unclasping the back, exposing your breasts to him. He took one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple, while his hand came up to your other one, switching between flicking and massaging. 

He switched positions, making sure to pay the other one equal love. Your moans filled the room, as you rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some relief. You wrapped your legs around Spencer’s waist, begging him to come closer.

“Is my dessert nice and wet for me?” His mouth kissed down your stomach, his fingers trailing behind. 

“Yes,” you whimpered. His fingers gripped your waist, holding you in place as he kissed along the waistband of your panties. He placed a kiss on your clothed clit and you bucked your hips up, wanting more. He ran his finger over your partly covered pussy moaning at how wet it was. “Is this what was bothering you earlier?” he asked, rubbing the soaked lace against you even more.

“Yes,” you panted, shaking your head.

“You want me to help? Want me to take them off, baby?” he asked, his cheek leaning against your thigh as he pressed gentle kisses to your inner thigh.

“Please,” you nodded. He slipped his fingers under your panties, pulling them down at an antagonizing slow pace. When they were finally off, you clenched, loving the feeling of the cool air and his hot breath mixing on your sensitive skin. 

“Baby you are so pretty,” he praised. He ran his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal on his fingers. He put his fingers in his mouth, moaning around them as he cleaned them off. “You taste so good, baby. All for me.” 

“Please, Spence.” You bucked into the air, craving his mouth on you. He happily obliged, licking a stripe up your folds and sucking on your clit. You writhed beneath him, grasping at the bedsheets. He ran his tongue around your clit, the vibrations from his groans only adding to your pleasure. He brought his fingers back to your center, slipping one inside of you, and pumping it in and out slowly. 

“Faster... Unghh- please. Need more.” Spencer sped up his finger, adding a second. He curled them, hitting your spot perfectly. You screamed out in pleasure, only causing him to go harder. He continued his thrusts, grazing his teeth over your clit in the process. 

“Fuck, Spence. Don’t- don’t stop… yeah, just like that.” You grabbed onto his hair, pushing him further into you. Feeling the knot build, you wrapped your legs around his head, grinding onto his face. With a final graze of your clit, you were coming, and Spencer worked you through it, lapping up your release on his mouth, not wanting to waste a drop of his dessert. 

When you came down, Spencer removed his fingers from your center, causing you to groan from the sensitivity. He came and sat next to you on the bed, bringing his fingers to his lips once again. You watched him above you, and you swore it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. His lips were shiny with your release, and they looked so pretty, all plump and wet, and you wanted them on you. Reaching for him, you brought his lips to yours and tasted yourself on him. His tongue explored your mouth, coating every inch in yourself. 

Without breaking the kiss, Spencer helped you sit up and placed you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you complained, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Spencer nodded and you began unbuttoning his shirt. Yearning to occupy his mouth, while he waited for you to finish, Spencer brought your tit into his mouth, sucking on the soft skin. You felt your arousal come flooding back, and you ground your hips into his lap. 

Pushing off his shirt, you placed a string of kisses along Spencer’s collar bone, making your way back up his neck and stopping when you reached his forehead. Spencer then brought your other breast into his mouth and you flung your head back, pulling him further into you, burying his head in your chest. You felt his fingers run along your back, tracing every curve of your body. You shifted on top of him, placing your drenched pussy on top of his clothed crotch. The feeling of his dress pants on your exposed clit felt amazing and you couldn’t help but grind down hard on him, chasing your impending release. 

Noticing you were close based on your shallow breaths, Spencer brought his hands to your waist, pushing you against him, helping you finish. With a few more thrusts, you were coming undone on top of him, soaking his pants in the process.

“That was so hot baby,” Spencer groaned, kissing your neck. Your head rested on his shoulder and you smiled, trying to regain your strength. 

“You feel so good,” you praised, “but, I need you. Need your pants off,” you panted. Spencer obliged peppering your face with kisses as he unbuckled his pants and slid them off with his boxers. You sat up, allowing him to shimmy out of them. His cock sprang free, resting against his stomach. You groaned, loving the way he would always get so hard because of you. 

You began to bend down, wanting to take him in your mouth, but before you could, his arms were around you pulling you back up. You gave him a confused look, but he gave you a sheepish smile and shook his head.

“I won’t last if you do that,” he admitted. You smiled, giving him an understanding nod. 

“Can I ride you then?” you asked, looking up at him with wide, lust-filled eyes.

“Please,” he smiled, shifting back against the headboard. You followed him, taking your place in his lap again. He grabbed onto your waist, guiding you up and onto his dick. You ran your wet folds over his tip, watching as he moaned, leaning his head back. Desperate to have him inside you, you sank down, loving the feeling of him filling you up.

Spencer watched as his dick disappeared inside. “So pretty baby.” He kissed your shoulder, waiting for you to move. You began circling your hips, both of your moans filling the room. Once you were ready, you lifted your hips setting a steady pace, bouncing up and down on him.

“Feels so good Spence,” you groaned, resting your hands on his shoulders for support. His head was buried into your shoulder, completely lost in the feeling of you around him. You leaned back a bit, getting a better angle, and felt him go deeper than ever. Screams left your lips, and Spencer took the opportunity to tighten his grip on your hips and began thrusting up into you. The added force only increased your pleasure and you closed your eyes, completely lost in the bliss that was Spencer Reid. 

He watched as he pounded into you, loving the way your tits bounced and your mouth was open in pleasure because of him. He brought you closer to him, wanting to feel your skin against his, and the new angle made it so he was hitting your spot every time. You clenched around him, feeling your orgasm growing.

“Shit (Y/n),” he groaned, “do that again.” You smiled, clenching around him again, wanting him to feel as good as he was making you feel. “Fuck- I’m close.”

“Me too.” Spencer brought his hand down and rubbed your clit. “Yes, yes, don’t stop Spence- ughh… don’t stop.” He would never stop, he loved you too much to ever stop. He would do this for the rest of his life. He would never stop.

With another thrust, Spencer felt you clenching around him and felt your thighs shake. He continued to rub your clit helping you down from your high as he chased his own. All it took was a few more thrusts and you moaning his name in his ear, and he was coming. You felt hot ropes of his come inside of you and you moaned, loving the feeling of your juices mixing together. 

Spencer’s arms wrapped around your back and you snuggled into his neck, not daring to leave your position on his lap. 

Spencer grabbed the blankets, pulling them around your still connected bodies. You snuggled into him, relishing in the feeling of him inside you and keeping you full. 

“Thank you,” Spencer said, kissing your lips. “I love you so much,” he mumbled into your mouth.

“I love you too.” You rested your head on his forehead, the two of you lost in each other's eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, (Y/n).” He pressed a gentle peck to your lips before snuggling into you. “You’re going to have to wear that more often,” he murmured while succumbing to sleep.

“That can be arranged,” you smiled, closing your eyes. Spencer grinned, falling asleep in your arms, because he knew you loved him and he loved you, and it was all for him.

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[deluluass]

Attention

Since requests are open again, can i request a yan!bokuto developing a crush with one of the other teams' managers during their training camp? 👀             

for: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa​. hi bestie 😔 this is late (again), but i hope u like it 😍

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; underage drinking; (slight) sub!Bokuto👀; mild footplay

Three minutes. 

Three minutes and forty-five seconds, to be exact, before the truth came for you like a ball careening towards your blindside: 

  You’re not supposed to be here .

  Granted, the thought had already slinked its way into your brain ever since you’d overheard the coach crying on his phone, his wife on the other side of the line, that if he hadn't groveled and appealed to his college friend’s sense of honor, as he’d sniffled, they wouldn’t have even considered the team ( your team) to be worthy of receiving an invitation to this training camp. 

  Ignoring the worries that came after that was supposed to be easy. It shouldn’t have come at all . It’s irrational and it doesn’t help anyone. What was the point in fretting? Your boys are more than deserving— more than capable in fact —of going toe to toe with some of Tokyo’s best. 

  It’s also a given that those people don’t know anything about your team. You do live in a town half a day’s ride away from the capital. And how could you expect city folk to recognize a team that hails from a place where the cows outnumber the people three to one?

  They’re bound to not know.

  But the needless unease stayed and soon took a life of its own, the weight of it becoming heavier and heavier over the course of the weeks that you waited for that dreaded day, like a hungry beast that you diligently fed with your little what-if’s. 

  What if that place eats us alive?

  What if they make fun of us? 

  What if, despite trying our hardest, all we do is lose? 

  What if these people take a single look at us and think that we’re not good enough?

  What if they’re right?

  The deep chasm on the scoreboard tells you exactly that, plain and without a hint of artifice.

  Shinzen High has already scored five points. 

  Your team is still stuck at zero.

  And the clock continues to tick.

  “Chance ball!” 

  Your captain's voice was feeble against the noise of the ball being passed from one hand to another. 

  Odd, that. 

  Itsuki's not the type to pull his punches. Especially in the middle of a game; always one to use his entire chest when launching back at his enemies with a guttural roar.

  You looked at the players standing on your side of the court— really looked at them, in a way that you should have instead of wasting your time entertaining those doubts— and found nary a trace of your teammates among those too-stiff, too-quiet boys that bore an uncanny resemblance to a bunch of rabbits caught in the headlights.  

  A chuckle erupted from your chest, surprising even you.

  "Something funny?" the coach asked, his glance turning wary when you convulsed in a fit of shrill giggles. 

  "Yeah," you told him, shaking your head. “There is, Coach.”

  From the bored expressions on your opponents’ faces to Shigeru’s (failed) attempt to set for Koyama, all the way to an audience that wasn’t even looking, who were, frankly, much more interested in what's on their phones than what’s in front of them. 

  How can you not find this funny?

  You were worried about... this ? 

  You sighed, your head the clearest that it’s ever been in a long while, and stood from your seat on the bench. 

  The coach called out your name in a harsh whisper. You ignored him, not even bothering to explain yourself. After all, you’ve already spent too much of your energy on the wrong things. 

  And so, in the most polite way that you could, you shouted:

  “Hey! What the fuck is this!”

  Everyone might've gawked; the coach may have pulled you back to the bench with a strength that you didn’t know he possessed. There’s something much more important than being respectable, though. 

  “None of us ever cared about what these assholes think!” you pressed on, staring down at Takami, whose dad never fails to remind him that he’ll waste away his life fooling around with that useless club . “So, why,” you ask with a clear voice, “Why are we starting now?!”

  Of course, just like any of your spur of the moment ideas, that hadn’t ended the way you hoped it would.

  They still lost (they also did in the following game). All of the coaches (including yours and excluding the one from Nekoma High; that one just patted your back) had expressed their disapproval over what you did. You couldn’t regret it, however, no matter how humiliating their rebukes made you feel.

  Because you don’t think you’ve seen any of your teammates look the least bit happy since you set foot into this place. But, now— even with the fact that all they've achieved so far is keep the floors clean with their diving laps— now, they do.

  With that, it seems to you then that this place isn’t so bad, after all.

A day.

  A day and ten hours, approximately, had already passed when Bokuto felt your presence acutely like the stinging red imprint a hurtled ball leaves on his skin. And just like the circumstances that lead to that bloodied, angry marking, you made your existence known with just as much force as a player spiking for the kill. 

  Some of them guffawed, out of disbelief and sheer delight both, because in all the years that they’ve trained together in preparation for the interhigh, they don’t think anyone has ever called them a bunch of “assholes” before.

  They didn’t think much about that new team that arrived too late. So, yeah, Bokuto wanted to laugh, too, just like others. ‘ What a way to make an impression, huh?’ he wanted to say.

  That wasn’t what he said, though. 

  Bokuto wasn’t even able to say anything. 

  He was too busy staring at your mouth, the resoluteness in your lips as if you knew exactly what to say; the way you looked at your teammates, like there was nobody else more astounding, more unbeatable at this game than the boys before you (though, surely, even you can see that they’re far from being any of those things). 

  And yet, there you were, your eyes incandescent; they might as well have been on fire, blazing with so much awe and unshakable faith and it was so clear for everyone to witness and— and Bokuto did not know what to do with it. 

  It was so embarrassing, truth be told. Bokuto may not be the most secretive guy around, but when the others eventually pointed out that he looked scared at the thought of facing them ( you ), he just couldn’t help but sulk.

  “We’re not half the cheerleader she is, Bokuto-san,” Yukie teased him, patting his shoulder as she did, “but rest easy, we’ll try our best to boost morale.”

  He just groaned, immediately locking his legs at a stand still when the others hooted, ‘Look at him! He looks like he’s about to piss himself bouncing his legs like that . ’ Really, what was he supposed to say?

  Because, when he finally faced your team with that net in between and as he felt the ball against his palms when he aimed for a clean hit towards the floor, it’s not even fear that rushes through him. 

  Not even close.

  Beyond the defeated faces, of the exhaustion slathered all over your team’s barks after each point he snatched under their noses, Bokuto saw you looking at him. 

  Just a flicker; a passing peek before that determined gaze settled back on the others. But it was there all the same: the pause in your breath as the ball detonated against your teammate’s frail arms, clutching the edge of the bench with your fingers as if it took everything in you to keep yourself from running towards the court.

  To rush towards him. 

  To— to what ? Exactly? To scream at his face the same way you did earlier? That he's going too rough and hurting your precious friends?

  There’s a part of him that wishes to stop. A strange, alien feeling that he supposes comes from the discomfort at the sight of you so troubled and wound up.

  Oh, but you're just starting to understand! 

  That if there's someone who's truly astounding, unbeatable, and staggeringly brilliant at this game, it's him . And Bokuto wanted to drive that point home like he's never wanted anything else in his entire life. 

  His body stopped feeling like his own by the second set. 

  His legs were too light to be his, like there were coil springs underneath his feet that carried him higher and higher he swore he could brush the roof with his fingertips. 

  There’s a thrumming in his flesh that propelled Bokuto to move faster, to push that ache over the edge until there’s nothing left but the breathless exhilaration of seeing his opponents kiss the ground.

  The air is getting thinner, like he’s scaling towards a mountain top as he sprints towards the other side of the court, long strides eating up the floor, uncaring for the sweat pouring down his cheeks.

  Bokuto was willing to let this thing go on forever and ever and ever , for as long as he feels the searing heat of your eyes on him.

  Until he turned his head in your direction. 

  You were smiling at something a spectator said. 

  He couldn’t hear it, but whatever it was it had pushed you to make a teasing remark to your team.

  A banter ensued.

  The referee blew his whistle as a warning.

  You giggled.

  Why?

  “The ball, Bokuto!”

  Why aren’t you looking? 

  His hands were two weights keeping him down, made heavier by that sinking sensation in his chest.

  When did you stop looking? 

  It was too much, too unbearable that he could cry. The indifferent way you'd removed him from your line of sight was a sucker punch that's not as painful as the shame it leaves him with.

  Were you even looking at all? 

  And he wonders with a shuddering exhale as he finally gathered the strength to raise an arm, Bokuto wonders what would happen if, just this once, he shot the ball towards y— 

  “Bokuto-san.”

  Akaashi was calling out to him.

  “Bokuto-san, we already won."

  The ball within his grasp dropped. 

  Bokuto watched it bounce on the floor until it rolled over to somebody else's waiting palm.

  He took a deep breath— in and then out, repeated it until everything came into sharp focus —and raised his head to squint at the scoreboard.

  22-3

  So they did.

  The other side of the court was already empty, your team assembled to one corner; you were out of sight.

  Everyone started to gather around him.

  They took Bokuto along with their cheers and reprimands and accusations, like a strong current that carried him from the bench to the shower room, laughing as they handed him a towel, having noticed that he’d been too out of it to do anything else but stay half-naked in front of the sink. 

  “Are you alright, Bokuto-san?” he heard Akaashi ask over the teeming excitement surrounding them. 

  Blinking, Bokuto paused from wiping his bare torso as he replied, “Me?”

  Their setter only nodded.

  “Yeah!” Bokuto exclaimed, a tad louder than he ought to. “Yeah, dude! Of course! Never been better!”

  “You were a man possessed," Masaki, still fresh from the shower, suddenly drawled from behind him. 

  “You were... quiet,” Ubugawa’s captain continued, reaching for the toothpaste laid next to Akaashi. “It was unlike you.”

  Bokuto was about to say something, somewhere along the lines of “Really? I didn’t notice” when Daiki made his decision to wring the wet shirt in his hand, brandish it like a belt, and strike Bokuto’s back with it, the impact cutting across the room. 

  “You little..!” Bokuto turned with a snarl, poised and ready to throw the boy over his shoulder.

  “Let it go, let it go,” Daiki chortled, grabbing Bokuto by his damp hair. “That’s for not giving us a warning, alright? Crazy bastard.”

  Daiki shook his head as he walked away. “Never seen the idiot go hard like that,” he mumbled.

  “That’s our ace for ‘ya!” Haruki echoed from his cubicle, to which the others responded with wolfish howls and sharp whistles, completely transforming the shower room into a tiled rainforest. 

  And Bokuto wanted to join along, because although the game still felt like an abrupt, fever dream, he’s well aware that he did something that he’s going to be proud of in the days to come. But somehow— for some unknown, beguiling reason, all he could do was stand there and make himself vulnerable to Kuroo’s antics.

  The Nekoma captain looked at Bokuto through the mirror, clicking his tongue before lamenting about “ those poor country boys ” and their “ ill luck ”.

  “Go easy on us small fries sometimes,” he added. “You were pretty scary back there.”

  Kuroo gave his nape a quick pat before he went for the lockers, leaving Bokuto to stare at his reflection, features obscured by the fog.

  Scary , he said.

  Scary, huh.

  A man possessed.

  Bokuto wonders about its meaning, what coach had meant earlier when he’d jokingly called him a beast. He contemplated what about him had led them to think that way, tried his best to be perceptible of any changes.

  His eyes were the same, although the pupils in the middle were large pools of tar, widened and leaving only the slightest space for the honeyed rim. 

  His hair was the same platinum color and still streaked with the same black lines, although untamed and in a disarray this time, with the strands sticking to his forehead. 

  Although flushed, his face was the same, over all.

  Everything seems to be right where they’re supposed to be.

  Although he’s huffing and puffing, creating more mist to cloud the mirror with. And when he tried to reach for the glass, he realized that his fingers were still trembling. His blood still surging as if his body had never left the court. 

  Then, it struck him.

  Bokuto holds his breath in anticipation, the truth of it right in front of him.

  There’s no monster here. 

  No man possessed either.

  Only a guy who’s helplessly, foolishly in love.

Announcing to an entire room of strangers that one is of the opinion that they're assholes, as it happened, was an effective way of making new friends.

  Of course, there was that awkward day-long explanation that you had to do for Yuki and Kaori and the others. An affair that wasn’t too different from a one-woman press conference that involved you expressing your regrets, revealing that, sometimes, when backed against a wall, you can be an impulsive clown with a glaring lack of filter (like: "No, no..! I didn't think you guys were actually- you know- ass- it just spilled-" and "Ah, geez, this is embarrassing.The heat was getting to me. I didn't mean it, really!" )

  But the girls had been kind enough to let bygones be bygones, assuring you that all they ever felt was a joyous combination of relief and wonder. Ubugawa's manager, Eri, (who'd shook your hand while holding back tears) even told you that seeing another girl in a veritable sausage fest that is the training camp was a miracle in itself. 

  "It was fun, actually," Mako once said when the two of you were assigned to carrot chopping duty. "You gave us something to talk about for a while."

  And even when the novelty of being a bumpkin with the mouth of a sailor soon faded, the bond that quickly bloomed between you and the other managers hadn't.

  It was unexpected, although not unwelcome.

  You couldn't help but laugh at yourself. How silly you'd been: coming into the city expecting a den of wolves and hunters armed to the teeth.

  In the span of two days thoughts of survival were replaced by the confidence that your boys would pull through; by a sense of ease that you didn't need to win all the time and that this place is not a battlefield, but a fertile ground for growth and learning. You didn't need to constantly be on your guard— knuckles up and gearing for a fight, you realized.

  Well — 

  For the most part, at least.

  Serving spoon in one hand and potholder in another, you reluctantly paused from preparing your team’s meal to whisper under your breath. "He's doing it again," you hissed.

  Kaori only gave you a preoccupied “hm?” as she plucked the ladle to fill the plain white ceramic bowls before her. “Who is?” she continued. 

  “Your captain,” you replied, taking care not to let him know that you're on the verge of melting under his not so subtle scrutiny.

  The lovely Fukurodani manager didn’t even miss a beat; without lifting her eyes away from the food, she raised her voice, just loud enough, to address the creature (spying) standing idly by the door. 

  “Say, Bo-kun,” Kaori called out and you watched, amazed, as he coughed out the water that he’s been making a great show of drinking. “Your mama must not have taught you that it's bad to ogle.”

  Bokuto Kotaro, Fukurodani’s ace and captain— a volleyball player that sits atop everybody else in this training camp, whose name is almost always followed by “one of the very best in the country”— quailed as his manager, the Great Kaori Suzumeda, blessed him with a smile veering on beatific. 

  “Oh-who-me?” he prattled, hands pointing at everything and nothing as he choked on his own words. “Didn’t see you there! What’s up! I was just passing by!”

  “In the middle of practice?” Kaori snickered. “ You ?” 

  The boy released a laughter that resonated in the empty cafeteria. 

  She sighed, dropping the ladle, and told him to “Just go, Bokuto.” He obediently complied, thank the gods, but not without an overzealous goodbye to Kaori, as if he’d never see her again when lunch was just half an hour away.

  He didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t need to, anyway. The lingering gaze that he directed towards you was enough.

  “Thank you,” you exhaled once you made sure you’re no longer within his earshot, plopping your head against Kaori’s soft arm.

  Her chuckle fluttered towards you, causing you to smile as she asked, “Is it that bad?”

  You could only nod, both as an affirmation and an effort to shake those golden, hawk-eyes out of your system.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said after a few seconds of comfortable silence, the firmness in her voice making you stand upright and level with her.

  Common decency tells you that you should say no, to stop her and tell her that she didn’t really have to; that you shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. But, you’d never really been one to listen to what that part of your brain dictates.

  Taking her hand in yours, you gave it a light squeeze, incapable of doing anything else to convey your gratitude with a sob lodged in your throat.

  “He’s not a bad guy, our Bokuto,” Kaori soothed. “And for what it’s worth, he’s never been like this with someone he likes.”

  A grin lit up her face as you snorted, remembering the time someone had finally caught on to Bokuto’s newfound fixation. The uproar that it’d cause in the field when everyone was out enjoying slices of ripe watermelon. The unnecessary and, frankly, embarrassing anger that it’d pulled out of your boys after it's been revealed to the whole world. The infamous blush on Bokuto Kotaro’s face as he desperately tried to deny the accusation. 

  And the cold, spent feeling it left you.

  “Normally, he’d be all over them,” she continued, mimicking his owl-like way of moving, bobbing her head to and fro as she circled around you.

  “Kaori!” you squealed, pushing her playfully by the shoulder. 

  “Bokuto would be like—” Kaori pumped her fists in the air, “ Hey, hey, hey! Talk to me! Talk to me! Compliment me! Love me! ”

  You simply hummed, folding your arms against your chest as you commended her spot-on performance. 

  She didn’t need to tell you all that, though. The guy had a personality so big it’s a miracle how this city contains him. And you’d known from the very beginning that Bokuto Kotaro doesn’t seem like the type to do the whole “pining from a distance” thing. 

  But, they even said that he’s half in love with you already, with the way he follows you with his eyes and flails and stutters and acts like he’s never had a mouth and a pair of hands before whenever he’s around you. And that, somehow, he plays even better than he already does when you’re in the audience ( especially when it’s against your team). 

  You don’t bother to correct them and say that no, this might not be a silly little crush.

  Because you don’t think that anyone but you would understand that there can never be any love nor infatuation in a stare that traps you with its expectations. Even if you did tell them that, you’re the only one who knows what Bokuto’s gaze really makes you feel like: A plaything that he’s been gifted to and was told would sing and dance for him just so he’d stop crying. 

  And you know what temperamental children do with toys that don’t work the way they want it to, don’t you?

  “Trust me.”

  Kaori’s gentle voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

  “He’s just an idiot,” she told you. “You’ve seen him— especially last week!” Kaori’s eyes bulged out, leaning closer to you, both of you gasping at the memory.

  Tears sprung out of your eyes as you laughed harder, your stomach aching when Kaori began to recount the events that had turned the entire training camp on its head, forever planting itself in its history as the worst ordeal it’s ever faced:

  A piece of the wall in the girls’ sleeping room broke off, revealing a large, Lovecraftian nest of cockroaches. 

  “If you’d only seen his face!” Kaori cackled, struggling to finish as she clutched onto you for support. “He burs- bursted into the room only for him to- to-”

  “Pass out when a roach flew to his nose! I know !” you screeched and slapped the table with her, ignoring that you’re almost knocking over the food and chortling until you were close to having a heart attack.

  “Oh- oh , I can’t breathe,” she groaned. Your laughter tapered off into heaving as you fixed her mussed bangs. 

  You smiled. 

  “See,” Kaori finally said, pinching your chin a little. “Bokuto’s a meathead. Just a meathead. Guy can’t get a clue. But he’ll come around once he realizes that he’s being weird.”

  “Yeah,” you murmured, giving her a weak nod. "I'm sure he will."

  You didn't know if you meant to say that with a hint of irony; if that scared farm girl is rearing her ugly head again and pointing a pitchfork at a monster of her own making.

  A monster that, you're convinced, would do something more than just look once you're within its reach.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

  Bokuto even had it all figured out in his head. C’mon, he's got the looks, doesn't he? And he's not lacking in charm. In fact, he's oozing with it! That's why Bokuto had expected that he had this one in the bag. His game plan was foolproof: 

  Talk to the girl. Get the girl.

  After that, you’d be together for the rest of your lives and your fiery, unrelenting support for that lousy team of yours would never go in vain ever again. Because it’d all be directed to him. All that “ Good job! ” and “ You were amazing back there! ” and “ Don’t be scared! I’ll be right here rooting for you! ” would finally be given to someone who actually deserves it.

  All you had to do was see what he had to offer and baby— oh baby , how you'd love him. No force on Earth could have prevented Bokuto from making you his.

  So it's all the more sobering now that Bokuto’s witnessed that the said force turned out to be him of all people. And what he could actually give you was a few stumbling lines and compliments that didn't even make any sense (“ Y-your face smells nice ” for example)— all (preferably) uttered a few feet away from you. 

  The others teased him for looking like a jilted witch casting a spell on an indifferent lover. “What are you? Speaking in tongues or something? Is the Great Horned Owl that desperate?” they poked at him. He didn’t mind them before, but now he’s not so sure.

  " Tone it down, okay? " Kaori had reminded him again earlier this afternoon. That stern talking-to from their manager was an ice-cold bucket of water that doused what’s left of his optimism. 

  But, tone what down? What , exactly, is left to tone down?

  He couldn’t even talk to you without losing his ability to string coherent words together, let alone get close to you. Eye contact, too, he’d deliberately restrained himself from doing (if only you knew how much this is hurting him!) and not just because he’d been deemed a complete and utter creep. 

  Bokuto couldn’t look you in the eye ever since that incident.

  “ She’s helping the other girls carry their stuff to the other room, I saw them just now ,” Yamamoto had discreetly passed on as soon as he woke up from a terrible concussion. “And if you want to redeem yourself, my friend, after that humiliating performance, you’d better go out there and lend a hand. ”

  Because Yamamoto, being the love expert that he proclaimed he was, told him, “ Look, I feel for you. But it’s simple. You just gotta show her what you’re made of. That you’re a man she can depend upon, ” Bokuto then persevered to follow through.

  Only for him to be met by an empty room with bits of crumbled plaster scattered across the floor. And your bag in the furthest corner just...lying there.

  Maybe you’d forgotten about it. Maybe you were too busy catering to your friends' needs that you'd forgotten about yourself.

  Either way, Bokuto promises that it wasn’t on purpose. 

  Bokuto had good intentions, really! He just wanted to take the bag with him so he could give it to you, is all! It wasn’t his fault that some of your stuff was peeking through the half-opened zipper. It’d already been in that state when he saw it. 

  And- and it’s not his fault that he adores you too much. 

  Bokuto reminds himself as much as he propped his forehead against the bathroom wall, water from the shower pouring against the taut muscles on his back as he wrapped your underwear around his cock. 

  The baby pink fabric, every inch of it soiled now over the days that he's used it, rubbed  against his balls when he began fondling them, his other hand caressing his nipples, rubbing and pinching at the peaks until they stiffened between his calloused fingers.

  His cock grew hard and heavy in his hand as he started pumping into his fist, fucking your soaked panties until precum dripped from slit.

  And with nobody else in the shower room, Bokuto allowed himself to grunt and curse and call out your name, digging his nails into his skin until it stung and made him want to cry.

  "Make me cum, princess," he whined, shutting his eyes to watch you on your knees, fingers between your legs as you looked up at him, never taking your eyes off of him even as you took his cock down your throat.

  "Please, please ," Bokuto groaned,"Please let me cum."

  Here, you don't turn away nor brush him off without even saying anything. Here, you call him your baby and you chuckle as you ask him, " Good boys deserve to cum, don't they? "

  He bit his lip, pressing his cheek against the freezing tile. "Mmhmm, I-I've been-" Bokuto moaned, feeling himself creep closer and closer, the pleasure at the pit of his stomach building, "I've been so fucking good for you."

  The contrast of your pretty little underwear around the thick veins of his cock made his head spin. And as he squeezed his shaft tighter, Bokuto knew that he did, in fact, deserve so much more.

  Because he's endured so much just for you. Now, it's time to get what he's due. 

Scouring high and low for a pair of cotton panties that have seen better days wasn’t how you wished you’d celebrate the last night with your newfound friends. 

  Yuki had advised that you abandon the ratty, old thing (though you did say it wasn't; ratty, that is) and leave it here as a parting gift— a mark of your impact on their lives, if you will— but you’d quickly laughed her off and set out to find it. She was drunk, anyway.

  Although, so were you. If not, then just a tiny, itsy, bitsy, bit tipsy.

  You hiccuped, giggling as the sound echoed through the poorly-lit hallway. The world was spinning beneath you and you prayed that it wasn’t worse for poor Yuki, having chugged half of that horrid concoction. 

  Kaori almost threw her out of the window after that stunt. Mako scoffed at her for being an arrogant ass. The girls who weren’t drinking sat back and chose to enjoy the unfolding chaos (while also being kind enough to be on the lookout).

  And you...well...right now you’re on the verge of breaking down as you make your way to the shower room. 

  Mostly because you’re just realizing that you might never see them again if your team doesn’t survive the Inter High. Partly because you’ve been dumb enough to not notice that you’ve been missing an underwear for a couple of days now. 

  God, it's so ridiculous. You're ridiculous. You're glad that you went on your own and rejected their offer to accompany you. Imagine if they saw you like this:

  Oscillating between sobs and strained laughter while swaying on your feeble legs; the very picture of a lunatic out in the streets in the middle of the night.

  You only hoped that you're not scaring the living daylights out of that guy who probably just went out of the boys' room to pee. Maybe you have already spooked him, with how still he's gotten.

  Cupping your palms around your mouth, you saw fit to save his sanity and cried, "Heyyyy! I'm not- hic - a ghost!" 

  "Oh!" you gasped, raising a pointing finger to shush yourself, "Oh, yeah, sorry, shhh-" 

  He didn't run the other way screaming and crying, which was good, instead he approached you hurriedly, making you squint to get a better look at him.

  "Koyama?" you whispered, struggling to recognize the tall boy with a sturdy build, his navy blue hoodie casting a shadow on his face. It didn't help that your eyes were doing something funny, as if they were busted camera lenses that went uncontrollably in and out of focus.

  "Good evening, my dear! I daresay you're looking quite bur- burl- blurry tonight."

  You cackled, immediately following your greeting with a slurred apology.

  "Why- Why are you still- um- up?" he asked. And before you could volley him with a question pointing to his weirdly different voice, he brought his head down to sniff at you. "Wait- have you b- are you drunk ?"

  "What! No! Of course not!" You pouted and airily slapped his cheek, drawing a lopsided grin out of you when his skin glowed pink, bright enough to light up the entire place. It was so remarkably adorable that it made you squeal and pinch both cheeks, rocking his face as you did.

  "Look at our big boy!" A sheepish, almost disbelieving chuckle shook his large chest as you resumed your baby talk, your grabby hands bringing his face towards you.  "Who would've thought that our stwong, wowdy ace could bwush wike so? And what's with this siwwy hoodie, huh? Where did you get this, bunnycakes? I've never seen you wear this before!"

  You wondered, also, why and how his jet black hair turned pallidly gray over the few hours you hadn't seen him. You even brushed the mildly damp locks out of his forehead, unsure if they're even real as you tried to right your smudged vision.

  And you wanted to blame it all on the alcohol.

  It's the reason for that dramatic change in his tone and manner of speaking and hair color and...those eyes .

  The very same pair that followed you everywhere, sometimes even in your sleep.

  "You love me, after all," he breathed, the statement a thin sheet of glass that could blow into smithereens at just the wrong response.

  That had been enough to drain the inebriation out of your body. Like being branded, you pulled away from Bokuto with a harsh curse.

  "I- I have to go," you said. "Sorry, I thought you were Ko- my teammate."

  But Bokuto had already laid hold of your arm with no intent of letting go.

  "Stay!" Bokuto called out, repeating it with please and listen despite your outcries, shouting for Kaori and Yuki and Mako and Shigeru and Takami and Coach and Koyoma and anyone, help me, anyone.

  Until he tugged you to his chest, wrapping himself around you and turning his entire body into a concrete prison as he fervently told you, "I love you. I love you so much ever since the first time I saw you and I know, I know you feel the same so if it's the distance that's keeping you from me I can come to you I'll follo-"

  "Nothing's keeping me from jackshit!" you gritted out. "I don't love you! I don't even care about you!"

  He didn't say anything to that. 

  Bokuto had gone quiet. It wasn't only until he nuzzled your neck, pressing his face snugly down the crook, that you decided to kick him with all your strength, breaking yourself free as your heart thundered out of your chest.

  You didn't look back.

  You dashed through the long, endless hallway with the air in your lungs dangerously running low and keeping you from screaming.

  But the remnants of the alcohol were lead that weighed your feet to the ground, betraying you further by morphing your surroundings into a hazy, dizzying scape. You teetered and wobbled, desperate to reach that staircase that will lead you out of this floor, but each step that you took was not fast enough, not nimble enough, as if you’re wading through knee-deep water. 

  And before you know it the monster has caught up and is ready to pounce from right behind you.

  “Get your hands off me!” you wailed as Bokuto heaved you by the waist and carried you over his shoulder. 

  The sudden upending of your world was so nauseating, you didn’t even notice that he’d already taken you to an almost pitch black classroom, its heavy curtains drawn together and the empty chairs and tables pushed to the side. 

  His large, sprawling hand was gripping your ass, your stomach lurching when you felt him caress it. Yet that didn’t deter you from hitting whichever part of him that your knuckles and feet could touch, ignoring the trail of your own spit that dripped on your face as you howled and thrashed and fought to keep yourself together because no one was hearing you.

  What’s left for you, now? Your captor was so strong, much stronger than you, that even when he tripped on his toes, Bokuto was able to catch himself and drop you on the nearest table in just a single breath. 

  “Stop fighting me..!” he panted, holding you down as he knelt before you. “I’m not gonna hurt you! I- ow! Don’t-”

  Bokuto’s grip on your wrists was unbudgeable. So, you didn’t miss the chance to bite him when he covered your mouth with his palm. Teeth chattering, you broke the tough flesh, sunk them sharply until the taste of salt and iron flooded your tongue.

  You expected that it would push him away. Give you the leverage to escape.

  That turned out to be a mistake.

  His honey-gold eyes glinted as he stared deep into yours. Every hair on your body stood on end when the corners of his lips slowly lifted, eyes still fixed on you as he released a bubbly, childlike laughter.

  “I've always wanted to do this to you," he sighed giddily. 

  The helplessness chipped at your insides bit by torturous bit when all you could do was rock the table with your flailing, while Bokuto had already crouched lower— low enough to pull the hem of your thin shorts with his teeth.   

  He watched you weep with a sickening display of dejection, like he's some dog that's been shoved around by his master.

  "Please don't cry," Bokuto whined, peppering soft kisses all over the insides of your thighs then licking off the beads of sweat that covered the goosebumps. 

  You’re not giving up. 

  You couldn’t give up.

  You pushed and gnawed and tore skin that you’re sure every inch of his palm is littered with fresh bruises, but this only seemed to encourage Bokuto, drawing out his drugged out moans as he spat on your clothed cunt, drool leaking down to your folds before he lapped at the wet spot. The moistened fabric scratched and rubbed against your clit to the point of quivering and writhing in his clutch. 

  “Oh, I know , baby,” Bokuto murmured, using the tip of his tongue to flick at the swollen nub. “I’ll make you feel real good soon.”

  Shaking your head, the unwiped tears gathering around your eyelids dropped to his long, calloused fingers. And you wanted to screech, to tell him to go to hell as he swirled his tongue all over your embarrassingly slick hole.

  No, you wanted more than that. 

  You wanted to drive your bare hands into his chest.

  But that’s not what you did, is it?

  When Bokuto finally removed his hand from your mouth, what slipped past your lips wasn’t the sound of a woman ready to kill. Instead, you sounded like a little girl begging to be carried home. And that hadn’t been the part that scared you, really.

  It was the fact that no matter how much you tried to scream, nothing was coming out.

  “L-let me go,” you wheezed, your voice cracking. “Or- or else.”

  “Or else?” Bokuto replied, eliciting a gasp from you as he sniffed your throbbing, wet cunt. “Look at me, princess.”

  “ Look at me ,” he repeated pleadingly, frustration giving his tone a rough edge, as he brought the hand that once suppressed your attempts to call for help to skim past your thigh and stroke the sole of your feet. “Just this once. See me.”

  You kept your eyes closed, even as he kissed your toes and brought it down to his crotch, forcing you to dig your heel into the bulge jutting out. He rocked his hips, gyrating slowly, his cock hardening under your feet, as he whimpered into your leg.

  “Please, please fuck me, please ,” Bokuto mewled. “I’ll do any- anything for you.”

  Profanities rushed out of you, but no one could hear them. Not even you. Perhaps that's why he didn’t flinch when he lugged you down to straddle on his lap.

  “Use me, baby,” he whispered, grinning wide as he snaked his other hand to your back and dug his nails around your nape, laying on his back and taking you with him as he did, your tits crushed to his chest. 

  With your arms dying in his grip, Bokuto easily stripped his pants along with his boxers. Violent trembles wracked your body as he dragged your pussy along his thick shaft, back and forth, your damp panties riding up every time he thrusted upwards.

  His hot breath against your ear sent shivers down your spine as he giggled lowly, “Wanna cum inside you so fucking bad . Will you let me, hm? Please let me.”

  Of course you didn’t want to. It’s not like you’d stop struggling, either. It’s just that Bokuto would never listen to you. Even when he whimpered and babbled, “You don’t want to- fuck, your pussy’s all nice and wet - oh, you don’t want to? That's okay, that’s okay, baby,” Bokuto still slipped his cock inside your underwear.

  It slid past your lips up to your clit. And you’d never hated yourself more in your entire life when all you could do was stay limp and cry as the fat tip finally nudged your twitching hole.

  “No, no, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck, “It’s just the head- just the head.”

  As Bokuto groaned and rutted against you, all you wished for, in that moment, was for dawn to peek through the curtains and signal the end of this torment. But, still it went on with Bokuto stretching you open.

  And as he split you in half, you detachedly realized that you were right.

  This place did eat you alive.

[writemekpop]

Love the Way You Lie (Part 2) | Kim Doyoung

Pairing: Kim Doyoung x Reader

Summary: You find yourself back in bed with Doyoung... but can you forgive him for hitting you?

Genre: Angst, Ex boyfriend!Doyoung

Warning: Mentions of domestic violence, sexual content 

Word count: 1.8k

Gif: @thoresque​ 

Part 1 | Part 2 ​⭐️

“Y/n?” 

Doyoung’s voice pierces through the fog that clouds your mind. 

You blink twice, but this is no hallucination - it really is him. Doyoung looks thinner than you remember – his cheekbones jut out and his cheeks look gaunt. 

Your hands start to tremble, and your phone clatters onto the floor. You stand there, frozen. 

Doyoung picks up your phone from the floor. As he gives it back, the cracks in the screen perfectly match the cracks in the mug Doyoung shattered when he hit you.   

“I can’t believe you’re here, Y/n! Can I… get you a drink?” Doyoung’s voice is saturated with forced sweetness. He’s smiling, but his black eyes, which once held galaxies, are dull. 

“I don’t know…” You glance towards the exit. You could be out of here in ten seconds. 

“Please, Y/n. Just one coffee.” Doyoung’s voice cracks, and real emotion flares across his face. You don’t know what it is, maybe the years of good memories, but something makes you say yes. 

You sit across from Doyoung in a booth. You stare soullessly at the foamy spiral on your latte. 

Doyoung clears his throat. “How… have you been?” 

“I’ve been fine. Great, actually,” you lie. 

The truth is, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that night. Tossing and turning in bed, crying. Even sleeping with other men hasn’t numbed the pain that Doyoung caused. 

Doyoung nods. His eyes are glassy, and pain is written all over his face. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost. 

“How about you?” 

Doyoung’s face screws up. “These have been the worst months of my life. I really regret what I did, Y/n. God, I am so angry with myself!” 

Doyoung slams his fist down on the table, and his mug jolts. 

The noise makes you flinch. 

Doyoung sees your wide eyes and trembling lips, and gasps. He closes his eyes and takes three deep breaths. The lines in his face smooth, and the flush on his neck slowly fades. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ve been taking anger management classes, but it’s… hard.”  

Doyoung’s gaze lands on the puddle of coffee on the table. A small smile appears on his pink lips. “I spilled coffee on our first date, do you remember? I was so nervous; I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.” 

You can’t help but smile at the memory, too. You remember stilling his shaking hand and leaning in to kiss him. 

“Those were the days, right?” you say, voice distant. 

Doyoung’s face becomes serious. “Y/n…I can’t bear to lose you. You’re too important to me. Could we… catch a movie or something?” 

Truthfully, you miss him too. Doyoung was your best friend before he was ever your boyfriend. He threw you a graduation party after college, he listened to you cry when your parents divorced. 

“We could try being friends. A movie sounds… nice.” 

Doyoung’s eyes light up for the first time. He reaches his arms out to embrace you, but you step back.

“I think it’s a little too soon for that,” you say, eyes trained to the floor. 

You watch Doyoung’s white trainers shuffle back. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.” And with that, he leaves. 

---

Over the next week, you meet up with Doyoung three more times. 

Each time, you get more and more comfortable in his presence. His large hands almost stop being the ones that hit you… and go back to just being hands again.  

You can tell that Doyoung wants you back. You see the way his eyes linger on your lips and how his hand brushes yours when you’re walking.

But every time that happens, you ignore it. A part of you wants to take him back, but the other part never wants to see him again. He hit you. You’re not sure you can ever forgive him for that. 

---

It’s a Saturday evening, and you and Doyoung are on another one of your not-dates. 

Seoul was on high alert for a freak snowstorm, so you decided to meet at your apartment to be safe.

You’re sat at the kitchen island, watching Doyoung cook.

His face is splattered with flour, and his pretty pink tongue pokes out as he concentrates on the pasta.

“Dinner’s ready!” Doyoung chimes. “I put extra parmesan on yours, just how you like it.” 

You give him a small smile. “This is delicious, Doie. I’ve missed your cooking.”

Doyoung flashes you his signature gummy smile. “You never could resist a bit of cheesiness.”  

“Doyoung!” You place your hand on his chest to shove it playfully, but then, you feel the firm outline of his muscles, and his pounding heartbeat. 

You realise in one breathless moment, that you don’t want to let go. 

Before you have time to regret it, you pull Doyoung towards you. 

Then, you kiss him on the mouth. 

You begin to move your lips against his, slowly - just tasting, testing. The air gets sucked out the room, and all you can feel is him. 

Doyoung doesn’t kiss you any deeper. He’s so afraid that he’ll make the wrong move and scare you away - that this precarious moment might topple off the edge forever.  He digs his nails into his thigh. 

Your hands trace up Doyoung’s arms, brush across his neck and settle on his jaw. It’s like your fingers have their own homing mechanism for him. 

Loving Doyoung is just so easy. Except when it isn’t. 

You snap your eyes open and force yourself to pull away from Doyoung. His hair is dishevelled, and his cheeks are flushed pink. 

“I think you should leave now,” you say, trying to calm your restless heart. 

“Y/n… I-” Doyoung starts, but he sees the look on your face and stops himself. “Alright, I’ll go.” 

You peer out of the window, gasping when you see that the snow has tripled in the time you were having dinner. Harsh wind whips the snow around like white bullets. 

“Doyoung, how are you supposed to walk home in weather like this?” 

Doyoung grits his teeth and pulls his coat collar up over his cheeks. “I’ll be fine.” 

Doyoung opens the front door a crack, but the wind shoves inside, making the door slam open. 

You both exclaim, and Doyoung hauls the door shut. “Hmm… maybe walking in that weather isn’t such a good idea.” 

Doyoung stands there, staring. There’s a question on his lips, but you know he’s not going to ask. 

“Fine.” You say. “You can stay.” 

Doyoung visibly relaxes. “Thank you, Y/n.” 

You nerves are suddenly on edge. “You’ll have to stay in the spare room.”

Doyoung nods. 

---

You lie in your bed, tossing and turning. You can’t believe that Doyoung is in the next room. 

You reach your hand out and touch the mattress where he used to sleep. 

“You know what I love about your body?” Doyoung asked, trailing his long fingers down your naked waist.  

“What?” you said, shivering at his touch. 

Doyoung kissed your neck, then your collarbone, then your chest. 

“It’s just so responsive… I could do this all day.” 

You shudder at the memory. No. It doesn’t look like sleep will be greeting you tonight. 

You slip out of the bed and tip toe into the kitchen. Keeping the light off, you pour yourself a glass of milk and perch on the kitchen counter.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You jolt at the sound of his voice. 

Doyoung is standing at the kitchen door. His black hair is sticking up in all different directions, and his eyes are puffy with sleep. 

“Do you… want some milk?” you ask, tentatively. 

“Please,” Doyoung says, shuffling towards you. 

You stand in a comfortable silence as you sip your drinks. This secret shared moment, with only the watery blue light from the fridge to illuminate you, is almost… intimate. 

When you both finish your drinks, Doyoung speaks up. “I guess we better get back to sleep.” 

Doyoung walks ahead of you to the corridor. “Good night, Y/n,” he says, opening the door to the spare room. 

But before he can step in, you place your hand on his shoulder. “Wait!” 

Doyoung stands frozen, eyes wide. 

“Do you…” you clear your throat. “Do you want to sleep in my room?” You know you shouldn’t, but you just can’t help yourself. 

Not trusting his voice, Doyoung nods once. 

You lead him into your bedroom, and slip under the covers. You lie there, side by side, staring up at a crack in the ceiling. 

You can feel the warmth from his body next to yours. He’s so close… if you just pushed your arm out it would touch Doyoung. 

You reach out your fingers, and gasp when they meet Doyoung’s. 

Carefully, you entwine your fingers with his. His skin is so warm, so smooth… before you know it, you shift onto your side to face him. 

Your hand moves up to his face, and you cup his cheek. You pull him towards you, and suddenly, you’re kissing again. 

Keeping your mouth attached to Doyoung’s, you roll onto your back. Doyoung follows smoothly and shifts on top of you, his hips resting against yours. He kisses you back eagerly now. 

The two of you move instinctively, one piece of clothing falling off one after another till you’re both naked - skin to skin. 

With your lips pressed against his, you spread your legs and wrap them around his waist. He fits inside you so well, like he was made for you. 

Doyoung makes love to you so gently that you could cry. His lips never leave yours – it’s almost magical…  

With a soft groan, he flops onto the bed beside you. 

The two of you lie still until your breaths quiet. 

Doyoung is the first to break the silence. “I still love you,” he whispers.

When you don’t reply, he goes on. “It’s okay, I don’t expect you to say it back. I just… wanted you to know.” 

---

You wake up to the feeling of Doyoung’s arm around your waist. 

You try to get comfortable, but his grip just feels suffocating. You remember that he’s a man - with a temper - and suddenly you’re scared. 

You shove his arm off and sit bolt upright in the bed, panting. 

Doyoung rolls onto his back. He rubs his eyes and groans softly. You watch him as he slowly cracks one eye open, and then the next. 

When he sees your expression, he sits up, face set in serious lines. 

“I can’t do this…,” you whisper. “Us, I mean.” 

Doyoung frowns. “Y/n, I-” 

Tears flood your eyes. “You… hit me, Doyoung.”

Doyoung hangs his head down in his lap. At least he has the decency not to meet your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. That’s all I can say.” His voice cracks. “Thank you for… trying to give me a second chance.”

You walk Doyoung to the front door. He pulls it open, and only a light sheet of snow dusts the pavement.

Doyoung steps outside. “I will always love you, Y/n.” 

Doyoung turns back to look at you, but you’ve already shut the door.  

---

MASTERLIST

[rottedmolarx]

Hi ! so i just typed all this out andddd its literally just my brain being all soft and mushy ab benrey and a little bit about frenrey

-i feel like before, and like in black mesa he was like... thinner ? like we saw how they were yk? i dont think he took care of themselves well. like no they dont need to eat, and they didnt really see a point in it. he looked gaunt, and hollow.

-after the ResCas, when they're living with Gordon, he kinda ends up taking better care of himself by following Gordon's lead, in a way? like eating meals together n whatnot, actually starting to sleep better, curbing the recklessness (and trying to help Gordon curb his own), and they notice that.. There's a little more pudge around their stomach. their face is a little more round, smooth, and they feel better. Happier.

-they enjoy water now. Gordon had to wrestle them into the bathroom the first few times, and after Gordon cut their hair, they found that it wasn't as scary as they thought. they still laugh at the claw marks on the doorframe, and sometimes when they stand there talking while Gordon brushes his teeth and does his hair in the morning, they find themselves absently running their fingertips over the ridges.

-benrey loves the moments of soft and quiet he and Gordon had and have sometimes, even before they got together. sometimes, when Gordon cooks, benrey sits on the counter and passes him ingredients and spices from the cupboards and on top of the fridge while they bicker fruitlessly, or he listens to Gordon idly hum some song he'd heard earlier that day while he sets up the consoles or laptop. He loves fucking with him and going the wrong way or ignoring prompts and doing some other shit, but it is fun when he actually decides to cooperate too. its also great to watch him do single player shit and make off-handed comments and giving pointers, laughing when Gordon dies for the fifth time that night and buries his head in his hands with a drawn-out groan.

-or on days or nights when they don't do much, and instead watch movies curled up on the couch. before, benrey would try to swallow down the Sweet Voice, letting it out when they thought Gordon wasn't watching, or excusing himself to sing when it built up too much. now, he lets it out. Gordon marvels in the little whisps and bubbles and streams of color and sound, and it doesn't look as quizzical or scientifically driven as it used to. Instead, he looks bewildered and enthralled, looking at them with a wonder and fondness in his eyes that makes benrey's chest swell further.

.

.

Gordon has changed them in more ways than he realizes, and they look forward to what each new day will bring.

🌻🌻🌻

i have a little frenrey pre-relationship fic in the works, so please enjoy this in the meantime !! <3

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