#just had to squeeze that in here somewhere

[cloudtransprncy]

Dumb.

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader | 4k words Tags: cheating, High School AU, light bratty elements, backshots, reckless decisions, tension, guilty pleasure

Cutting class to get a break? Nah. Cutting class to fuck your girlfriends best friend? Yesssssir

Is this dumb?

Skipping class just to fuck your girlfriend’s best friend?

Yes.

But her bed’s soft, your hands are on her hips—so whatever.

Her room is exactly what you’d expect.

All-white sheets, soft and cool beneath your knees, a cream-colored fuzzy blanket pushed to the side. Squishmallows stacked against the headboard, half-toppled over from how she moves. A BTS poster on the wall, vinyls of SZA’s Ctrl and Keshi’s Gabriel mounted near her mirror. A Polaroid collage—blurry concert pictures, and old selfies.

Her dresser is cluttered with skincare products and perfumes. lip masks, toners, a bottle of perfume that lingers in the air—sweet, dark, like vanilla; Her.

A barely-burned Bath & Body Works candle sits untouched, more for aesthetic than actual use. Her makeup is scattered—an open lip gloss, an eyelash curler left out.

On the floor near the bed—Nike slides and a half-finished Starbucks cup. A hoodie tossed lazily on her chair, yours.

Chaewon’s face is buried in her sheets, her messy bun barely hanging on, strands of her blonde dyed hair slipping free. She’s already arching, already gasping, and your fingers dig deeper into her waist, holding her in place as you push your cock into her, her slick folds gripping you, pulling you in. The wet sounds of it mix with the slap of skin against skin, obscene and unrelenting, drowned out only by the breathy little moans she’s trying to muffle into her pillow.

Her back is warm under your hands, skin damp with sweat, a thin sheen catching the dim light. The scent of her perfume emanates from her, the mix of candy-sweet vanilla and something heavier, musky, intoxicating.

Her white tank top is so tight it clings to her body, but the straps won’t stay on her shoulders. You keep pushing it up her back, exposing more of her skin, needing to see more, needing to feel more. Your eyes trace the swell of her hips, the way her body shudders under your grip.

Aggressive. Hungry.

She shudders when you tighten your grip, fingers splayed over her waist, thumbs pressing into dip in her back. Her nails drag against the sheets, hips shifting, trying to match your pace, but you don’t let her. You set the rhythm. She follows. That’s how this works.

Her breath hitches. She feels so fucking good, squeezing around you like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she wants to make this harder for you.

Then, your phone lights up.

It’s somewhere on the bed, half-buried in the blankets, screen flashing. You don’t need to look to know who it is.

Eunbi.

Your girlfriend.

Chaewon’s best friend.

She’s not freaking out. She doesn’t know you’re not in school right now. Doesn’t know you’re giving her best friend backshots.

Just a casual text. Maybe asking if you want to meet up for lunch, or something dumb like whether you saw that TikTok she sent last night. Either way, you don’t want to see it.

You flip the phone over, face-down against the sheets. You shouldn’t be here. You should be in class. Or with Eunbi. But Chaewon’s ass is pressing back against you, and that thought doesn’t last long.

Chaewon shifts beneath you, glancing back over her shoulder, breathless, smirking. “You’re just gonna ignore her like that?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you press a hand to the back of her head and push her face down into the bed again.

She moans, muffled, but you hear the smile in it. She’s still teasing, even now.

“Bet she’d cry if she saw you like this.”

That does something to you. Something dark. You grip her harder, fuck her rougher, and whatever smugness she had vanishes.

Chaewon whimpers, her nails clutching at the sheets, legs shaking. She’s trying to keep up, trying to match your pace, but she’s falling apart beneath you. Freaky as she is, she’s never been fucked like this.

She gasps out something—your name, a curse, maybe both—but it breaks off into a moan, and you know you’ve won.

Eunbi’s nice. Beautiful. Hot. She gives good head. She’s the kind of girl you’re supposed to be loyal to.

But Chaewon? Chaewon is freakier, tighter, and knows exactly how to get under your skin.

Eunbi sends cute texts with heart emojis. Chaewon sends risky selfies when she knows her best friend is in the room.

Eunbi kisses you soft and slow. Chaewon drags her nails down your back and bites your lip until it stings.

Eunbi’s the girl you bring home. The girl who trusts you. Who texts you in the morning and kisses you goodbye at school. But Chaewon’s the girl you ruin yourself over.

Chaewon is still smirking, still playing her little game, rolling her hips back against you just to see how far she can push. Testing you. "You're holding back..." she breathes, her voice shaky between gasps, like she’s daring you through the pleasure.

Your jaw clenches. She always does this. Always wants to see how much she can get away with before you snap.

The only answer you give is a sharp thrust, knocking her forward onto the sheets, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She gasps, fingers digging into the mattress, but when she turns her head to look at you, that smirk is still there, teasing, taunting. Like she hasn’t learned her lesson yet.

"Fuck, slow down—" she starts, but you don’t. If she wanted to play, she should’ve known she’d lose.

Your fingers tighten around her hips, dragging her back onto you as you set the pace, unrelenting, deep, watching the way she trembles under your touch. Her smug attitude is gone, replaced with gasping breaths, half-bitten-off moans she’s trying—and failing—to swallow.

She’s squeezing you so fucking tight. Too tight to think about anything else, too tight to think about why you’re here, about who keeps blowing up your phone from the other side of the bed.

Your phone vibrates against the sheets. Again. And again.

Chaewon notices, of course she does. She lets out this breathless little laugh, barely turning her head, voice syrupy and taunting. "Does she even make you feel this good?"

You don’t answer. You push her face into the mattress instead.

She moans, muffled, but you can hear the amusement in it, the way she’s still enjoying this too much.

If she wants it rough, she’s going to get it.

Your hand slides up, fingers wrapping lightly around her throat as you lean down, voice low in her ear. "Take it, take that dick"

She doesn’t answer. Just licks her lips, breath hitching, and pushes her hips back against you again.

That’s all you need.

Your grip tightens, forcing her still, making sure she takes it. She chokes out a gasp, her whole body shuddering as you fuck her deeper, harder, until her teasing completely breaks apart.

At this angle, with your weight pressing her down, you can feel everything—every slick, desperate clench around your length, the obscene wetness that spreads between you each time you push back in. It’s suffocating, consuming, a vice of heat wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into something you shouldn't want this badly.

Her hand reaches back, grabbing blindly for anything to hold onto—your wrist, your thigh—until she finds your arm. She grips it hard, nails dragging over your skin, feeling the way your muscles flex under her fingers. Feeling you as she feels you inside.

Your phone vibrates again. Neither of you look at it.

Chaewon’s breathless now, moaning into the sheets, a mess beneath you, every ounce of her earlier cockiness gone.

If you were a better person, you wouldn’t be here.

But you’re not.

A noise outside the room—soft, but distinct. A floorboard creaking? Wind against the window? Your body tenses, every muscle tight, your breath catching mid-thrust.

Chaewon hears it too. Feels you hesitate.

And then she laughs. Breathless, airy, like this is the funniest thing that’s happened all day.

""Aww, scared someone’s gonna catch you balls deep in me?"" Her voice is teasing, dripping with amusement, even as her legs tremble beneath you.

Your fingers flex around her throat in retaliation, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. She barely has a second to process it before you slam her down, your grip unrelenting, then flip her onto her back so fast she barely has time to catch her breath, her blonde hair slipping free, messy and wild against the sheets.

Your cock slips free in the motion, and you grab it tight, feeling the obscene slickness coating your length, dripping from her. It's wet—wet as fuck—before you slap it against her swollen folds. The sound is loud, filthy, obscene—wet as hell. His cock slides against her, dragging through the mess between them before he shoves it back in. She shudders, her breath hitching, her thighs twitching as you tease her with the weight of it before pressing forward, sinking back inside.

Chaewon’s eyes flutter, her breath catching as you force her legs up, pressing her thighs flush to her chest, pinning her in place, giving her no room to squirm away. The new angle has her gasping, hands flying up to your arms, gripping tight, her nails dig into your arms, clinging tight like she’s bracing for impact, like she needs something to hold onto before she breaks completely.

The bed shifts beneath you, and your phone vibrates once more, the buzz reverberating against her back, against your hips, felt through every grinding thrust. You both feel it. Neither of you care.

Your only focus is on the way she clenches around you, the way she gasps your name between ragged moans, the way she completely melts beneath you.

Chaewon’s hands fly to your shoulders, nails digging into your skin as she pulls you down to her. There’s nothing delicate about it—her kiss is messy, frantic, her lips parted, her breath hot and ragged against yours. She kisses like she’s starving for it, like she wants to taste herself on your tongue, like she doesn’t care how sloppy it gets.

Your tongues tangle, wet and uncoordinated, her mouth opening wider, drool slicking your chin, mixing with the sweat beading along your skin. She moans into it, needy, desperate, hips shifting beneath you, trying to keep up with the way you fuck her.

You pull back just enough to catch her dazed expression, lips swollen, spit-glossed. A strand of saliva still connects you, snapping when she licks her lips, pupils blown wide with something dangerously close to obsession.

“You don’t kiss her like that,” she breathes, and it’s not a question.

No, you don’t.

Eunbi kisses soft, slow, careful. Chaewon kisses like she wants to ruin you. And you let her.

Your response is a sharp thrust, making her yelp, making her arms tighten around your shoulders. Her back arches, and you take the moment to move, dragging yourself out until just the tip remains before shoving back in, hard. Her breath hitches, body tightening, legs shaking.

Then you stop moving.

She whines immediately, brows furrowing, her legs squeezing around you, trying to force you to keep going. But you don’t. You let the frustration build, watching her squirm, watching her writhe beneath you—wet, glistening, flushed deep with arousal. She’s a fucking mess, and you’re not done making her one.

You let the moment hang, let the desperation settle before tilting your head down and spitting—right on her clit. The thick glob lands exactly where you want it, shining against her swollen bud. Before she can even process it, your thumb is there, pressing in, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles as you start moving again.

She chokes on her breath, body jolting.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, fingers clawing at your forearms, legs shaking with every tight, controlled rub.

You’re still hovering above her, watching her squirm, watching her fall apart beneath you.

“Eunbi wouldn’t let you do that,” she gasps, voice breaking, teasing even as she crumbles.

No, she wouldn’t.

Eunbi wouldn’t moan like this, wouldn’t beg like this, wouldn’t be dripping like this. Eunbi wouldn’t take you like this.

Chaewon does.

And that’s why you fuck her harder.

Your thrusts grow rougher, deeper, driven by something reckless and insatiable. Chaewon’s body rocks beneath you, her moans turning sharper, breathless, spilling into the thick heat of the room. You press down, pinning her fully against the mattress, making sure she takes every inch, making sure she feels all of it.

Her nails scrape against your back, her legs tightening around your waist, pulling you closer, needing you deeper. Her breath stutters between gasps, each one catching higher as you fuck her harder, hungrier, as if there’s no tomorrow—no girlfriend still calling, no consequence waiting outside this room.

Risk of getting caught? Forgotten.

Guilt of cheating on your girlfriend? Forgotten.

Eunbi? Forgotten.

The only thing that matters is the way your cock fits so snug against Chaewon’s walls, the way she clenches down, tight and desperate, squeezing you with every frantic, high-pitched moan as she completely loses all composure.

She’s right there, on the edge, her nails dragging, her hips bucking up, desperate to finish. But you don’t let her have it. Not yet.

You slow—not in pace, but in control. Shift your weight, dragging her with you, rolling her onto her side without ever slipping out. One of her legs hitches over yours, your grip securing it in place as you push in again, deeper, the angle hitting something inside her that makes her whimper, makes her entire body tense up.

Her fingers claw at your arm, nails pressing into taut muscle, her breath breaking apart into sharp little gasps. She’s trying to speak, trying to say something, but it keeps getting swallowed between ragged moans.

"I’m—" she tries, voice cracking, "I—fuck—"

The way she stumbles over it, how she can barely get the words out, makes something snap inside you. Your cock throbs, swelling even harder, stretching her more as her walls squeeze around you in desperation. Your grip tightens—on her thighs, her ass, her waist. You need to feel her, need to hold every part of her as she comes undone.

Your hands roam—palming the curve of her back, gripping her tits, feeling the way they bounce with every thrust. Then up, fingers tangling into her blonde hair, tugging her head back against the pillows, making sure she feels all of it, all of you.

She pulls a pillow close, biting into it, eyes squeezed shut, drowning in the way you fuck her. The room is thick with the sound of skin against skin, her breathless whimpers breaking into something higher, needier. The air is heavy, thick with sweat, with the intoxicating scent of her—her perfume mixing with the raw, musky heat of sex, the sheets carrying the evidence of it. It’s overwhelming, suffocating, consuming, every breath filled with her.

You’re barely holding on yourself, tension winding tight in your spine, in your stomach, but seeing her like this—seeing her break beneath you, seeing her fall apart in your hands—that’s what pushes you closer to the edge.

You grit your teeth, feel your cock twitch inside her, aching, swollen, so fucking close you can taste it. "I'm close," you manage, voice rough, strained, barely holding on.

Chaewon doesn’t answer—not with words. Just a moan, high-pitched and wrecked, a breathless whimper spilling past her swollen lips. She turns her head, eyes hazy, half-lidded, looking at you through the blur of sweat and pleasure. Her gaze drops, trailing down your body, watching the way you’re fucking into her, the way you stretch her open, the way you own her.

Then her hand moves—sliding between her legs, fingers brushing over her swollen, messy clit. She gasps at the contact, whines as she rubs tight, fast circles, her entire body tensing, back arching into you.

The slick, obscene sounds of it mix with her gasps, her slurred curses, her whimpers breaking into desperate, breathless pleas. "Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You’re right there. So fucking close.

Chaewon gets there first. Her entire body seizes up, legs trembling, thighs squeezing tight around your waist as she crashes into her orgasm. Her grip turns bruising, hands clawing at you—your back, your arms, your shoulders—grasping for anything, everything as she spirals.

"Oh my fuck!" she screams, head thrown back, voice breaking into something raw and desperate.

That’s it. That’s what fucking wrecks you.

Your body locks up, heat pooling at the base of your spine, surging through you like a live wire, so intense it knocks the breath from your lungs. Your cock twitches violently inside her, pulsing, aching, your entire body seizing up—legs tensing, toes curling, muscles locking in place as the pleasure crashes through you. You bury yourself deep one last time before instinct kicks in, before you yank yourself out, your hands shoving her onto her back.

You stroke yourself fast, frantic, desperate, your abs clenching, hips jerking on instinct, chasing that last pulse of pleasure. The sight of her wrecked beneath you, her skin still flushed, her thighs twitching, sends you over the fucking edge. "Shit—" you groan, voice wrecked, guttural, as your cock throbs violently in your grip. The first thick spurt shoots out, streaking across her stomach, hot and filthy, splashing across the curve of her waist, her navel. The rest follows in messy ropes, dribbling down her skin, pooling between her ribs. It’s everywhere—sticky, raw, a fucking mess. Chaewon shudders at the sensation, her breath hitching, her thighs still twitching from the aftershocks of her own release.

She exhales, still trembling, thighs twitching, completely spent. A fucked-out smile tugs lazily at her lips as she drags a slow, shaky breath in, her chest rising, coated in the evidence of what you just did to her.

You sit back, gasping, running a hand through your sweat-damp hair, trying to catch your breath.

Chaewon stirs, reaching down without hesitation. Her fingers trail over her stomach, gathering the mess you left on her, scooping up a streak from her skin and bringing it to her mouth. Her tongue flicks out, tasting it, humming low in her throat. Then she does it again—this time from her chest, then her waist, dragging her fingers through the sticky warmth, licking it up like it’s second nature.

"Fuck," you breathe, voice wrecked, hand finding her thigh and squeezing it tight.

She moans softly at the contact, smirking as she stretches out beneath you, shameless. "You fucked the shit out of me," she purrs, voice thick, teasing. "Now you gonna think about it the next time you fuck Eunbi, huh?"

Your jaw tightens. The mention of her—your girlfriend—after everything you just did, after the way Chaewon looks right now, smug and satisfied and so fucking filthy, makes something snap.

Your hand flies to her throat, gripping, pinning her back into the sheets. She gasps, but it’s not in protest—it’s in pleasure. Her lips part, her breath hitches, eyes darkening as she tilts her chin up, inviting more.

And then your phone rings.

Not just a vibration this time. A full-blown call.

Loud. Shrill. Eunbi.

A cold weight sinks into your chest, heavy, suffocating.

Post-nut clarity slams into you, cutting through the heat still clinging to your skin. Everything crashes in at once.

You let go of Chaewon’s neck like she burns you, scrambling off of her, off the bed, reaching blindly for your phone. Your hands are still shaky as you grab it, answering as fast as you can, voice rough, breath unsteady.

"Hey."

Eunbi’s voice is light, sweet, unaware. "Hey, why weren’t you replying? It’s class change."

Fuck. You swallow hard, running a hand through your damp hair. Your skin is still hot, sticky, the air thick with the lingering heat and smell of musk.

"Uh—I had to walk home to grab something."

A lie. A weak one. But it makes sense. You live close enough to the school that it’s not impossible. You just hope she buys it.

"Oh," Eunbi hums. "I got worried."

As she talks, you don’t notice Chaewon moving. Not until she’s right there, sliding down the bed, her bare body pressing into your side, her face hovering way too close to your cock.

Your breath hitches. Your grip on the phone tightens.

She’s smirking. Watching you. Waiting.

"You weren’t answering," Eunbi says. "I thought something happened."

"Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to worry you."

And that’s when Chaewon makes her move.

She doesn’t touch your cock. Not yet. Instead, her mouth goes lower, latching onto your balls, sucking wet and slow, tongue swirling over sensitive skin.

A bolt of heat spikes down your spine. Your muscles go tight, your breath cuts short, your fingers dig into the sheets.

"Shit," you almost say out loud—but bite your tongue last second.

Eunbi’s still talking. You don’t even register what she’s saying.

Chaewon’s fucking grinning, lips stretched around you, her eyes locked onto yours, waiting for you to slip up, to lose control, to moan or gasp or fucking break.

You shove her back, her shoulders hitting the mattress, but all it does is make her giggle—low and sultry, like she’s savoring your panic, like she enjoys watching you squirm. Too loudly.

Panic seizes your whole body. Your eyes go wide. You press a finger to your lips, mouthing, “Shhh.”

Eunbi pauses on the other end. "You okay?"

You force yourself to act normal. To breathe. You push Chaewon away—physically shove her back. She pouts, but she listens, sitting back on her heels, smug and satisfied, before stretching her arms over her head, languid and unbothered. Then, just as easily, she steps off the bed, stretching like a cat, unbothered, like this was nothing more than a game to her.

"Yeah," you say, somehow steady. "I’m fine."

Through the phone, you hear Eunbi giggling, the sound of footsteps, her friends chattering in the background. She’s walking to her next class. Completely unaware.

"Okay," she says. "I’ll see you at lunch then, babe. Love you."

Silence lingers. A pause that stretches too long.

You should say it back. You need to. But then, you look up.

Chaewon’s standing at her closet, slipping on fresh clothes. Her ass is in clear view, the length of her body stretching as she moves, her legs lean and smooth. Her messy tank top clings to her body, damp with sweat, a streak of dried cum still visible on the fabric.

Your mouth feels dry.

"I love you too," you manage to say, through everything weighing on you, and the call ends with a soft beep.

Chaewon turns to face you.

And she gives you a look.

Not smug. Not teasing.

Just dirty. Unreadable. Something dark and lingering in her eyes.

She doesn’t say a word. Just grabs her shorts, turns, and walks out to the bathroom.

The door shuts.

You sit there, still gripping your phone, staring at the space she left behind. Your pulse won’t slow down. Not from the panic. Not from the guilt. Not from the fact that even now, even after all of it—you still want her.

Your skin burns, your body tense, still stuck in it. Still feeling it. What you shouldn’t have done. But you did. And the worst part? Some fucked-up part of you knows that if she pulled you back into that bed, you wouldn’t stop her.

You should feel worse. You should hate yourself.

But Chaewon’s still hot as fuck, and that’s the problem.

AN: This was originally going to be a longer fic, but I ended up with a newer Chaewon idea, and she’s my ult bias so i cut this down to just the sex.

Sorry to all the Eunbi fans, dw she’ll get her own

[106alibi]

yuzu. tokuno yushi.

pairing: ?!yushi x fem!reader

genre: fluff/comfort(?)

disclaimers: brief mentions of alcohol!

synopsis: "sometimes, I feel like yuzu."

w.c: 2.2k + a long ass a/n at the bottom

you first met yushi under the warmth of the summer sun, the relentless UV rays beating down on you on a cloudless day at the beach.

your university friends insisted on having a bikini beach date before the new semester started. it must've been the thrill of having a bunch of girls squeezed onto a tiny picnic mat, letting the dizzying heat get to their heads as they threw around frivolous remarks about the people who walked past. Or the ice cold bottle of beer cooling your skin as you took a swig, ironically heating your cheeks to a rosy red. it must've been the alcohol in that gulp of beer you took, but you found yourself drowning the caution in your system with the bitterness of the drink as your friend pointed to a person a few metres away, his unclothed back facing you and your friends.

“I dare you to ask him for his number.”

you would've protested, shaken your head profusely knowing you weren't usually so bold. but everything about today was already unusual. you in a bikini. you drinking beer. it wouldn't hurt to add one more unusual activity to the list.

you jumped up onto your feet before your doubt could kick in, feeling your heart pound against your chest at each step that drew you closer towards your target.

you hadn't seen his face then. all you saw were broad shoulders and lean muscles moving under his skin as he shifted his weight to prop himself up on one arm, jet black hair clumped with sea water.

before your mind could convince you that this was a bad, and very embarrassing idea, you bent down and poked his shoulder.

“can I have your number?” or what if I just pass him my phone? do I tell him this is a dare?

you prepared yourself to blurt something out, hopefully exuding some confidence while you were at it, but you felt your lips part with your words dissolving at the tip of your tongue because why, just why—

you watched his wet, tousled hair fall past his eyebrows as a bead of sweat rolled down from his temple. he paused mid-drink of a can of yuzu soda, looking like he was filming a commercial in slow-mo, and you were the camera lens.

—did this random man actually have to be cute?

you stared into a pair of perfectly round boba eyes, looking somewhere between stupid and creepy as your lips formed silent shapes in the air.

“n-number?”

you mentally cursed yourself for stuttering. so much for confidence. you stuck your phone out towards the man as his eyes glanced at the device, then back to your face.

you had already prepared yourself to be rejected, and you would've been fine if you ended up looking silly in front of some average looking man. but this wasn't an average looking man, and that changed everything. you pulled the towel draped around your shoulders closer to your body, suddenly conscious of how little you were wearing, feeling a sudden surge of heat shoot to your cheeks. it must be the alcohol.

the man sat with his ears growing redder as he blinked a couple times, body unmoving as seconds passed.

“yushi!”

that seemed to snap the man out of his thoughts. his eyes darted to the shore, where a bunch of shirtless boys seemed to be making their way back to the picnic mat, before quickly snatching the phone from you and typing in his number.

“okay, here. please leave, before my friends see you.”

and though you got the cute beach boy’s number, and successfully completed the dare, you couldn't help but wonder if he had just turned you down.

——— ♡

you didn't do anything with his number. frankly, you didn't dare to. the cute beach boy slowly slipped to the back of your mind, buried under your impending deadlines and assignments.

but that was the thing about yushi, he always popped up when you least expected.

add bars to the list of worst places for a first date. you tightened your lips into what hopefully resembled a smile as your date belted a hearty laugh, even doubling over and almost into your lap as you sat side by side along the bar counter.

you didn't want to be here, but you were somehow thrown under the bus when your senior, ning yizhuo, thought it was a great idea to sell you out to her cousin in return for a favour from him.

“please, y/n! I mean- you know zhong chenle, right?”

you gritted your teeth behind an ingenuine smile, your eyes darting to the clock hanging on the wall behind your date. you didn't hate chenle. he had a cute smile, a cheerful laugh, but you had the impression that he’d much rather be on a date with stephen curry than you right now.

“It was insane- do you want to see the clip?”

no, not really. but before you could come up with a polite rejection, he was already leaning uncomfortably closer as he scrolled through his gallery to find the video.

the sharp clinking of a glass caught both yours and chenle’s attention. you both stared at the martini glass that was slid across the counter. the pale yellow liquid rippled in the glass with a lemon twist resting prettily against the rim, and an acidic aroma that caught your nose, making you wince. chenle looked up to the bartender at the same time you did, and you felt your heart catch in your throat.

because why in the world was the cute beach boy standing behind the bar counter, with the sleeves of his black button-up rolled at his elbows and his hair now softly curled over his eyes, a sly smirk playing on his lips as his delicate hands wiped the inside of a glass cup.

”yuzu martini. it's on the house.”

ah, so it was yuzu. you wondered why there was a tinge of bitter despite the garnish. chenle leaned in to take a whiff of the drink, wincing and retracting as the sharpness of the alcohol stung his nose.

the cute beach boy, who was now the cute bartender, set the mug he was wiping down and leaned closer, forearms tensing under his weight.

”why? too strong for you?”

chenle blinked at the remark. he straightened himself and quirked an eyebrow as the pads of his fingers pinched the stem. swiftly, he downed the martini in one shot, his eyebrows furrowing as the liquid burned down his throat.

you caught the bartender’s name tag as your date was busy proving himself.

“yushi…”

you only realised you had whispered his name out loud when your eyes suddenly met his, and you were sure the thumping in your ears wasn’t the bass of the background music.

“piece-” chenle paused to suppress a burp, “of cake!” he slid the glass back to yushi, who caught it mid movement.

you eyed chenle, who was already slightly tipsy from the drinks you had prior, trying to assess what he was doing as he suddenly sealed his lips, eyes stoned at the marble surface, growing eerily quiet compared to the rambling you had become used to.

chenle hopped off the barstool. “I’m just- I’m just gonna take a piss!“ he stumbled over his own feet as he held his stool for support, before swaying his way to the washroom, bumping into a few thankfully empty tables along the way.

“he’ll probably be there for awhile.” yushi chuckled, catching your attention.

“what did you put in that?” you questioned, watching as yushi’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “oh, you know, just yuzu syrup, vodka, vermouth. your usual martini mix. just, a little more vodka than usual. you looked like you needed a break.”

“oh, playing hero?” you found yourself unable to suppress a smile, propping your chin on your palm, feeling yourself grow giddy with the scent of yuzu lingering in the air and the allure of the cute bartender.

he chuckled. “tokuno yushi,” he stuck his hand out, “i would give you my number, but you already have it.” your face flushed as you took his hand. “l/n y/n. why, are you interested in me?” you teased.

“perhaps.”

you didn't expect him to admit it. but then again, everything about yushi was unexpected. “I thought you weren't. you told me to leave.”

“oh, that.” the tips of his ears reddened as a hand scratched the back of his neck, “i just didn’t want my friends to tease me. i don’t usually give my number out, and I don't know how to act around pretty people”

and just like that, he was back to the cute, shy boy you met at the beach, as if just moments ago he wasn’t the mischievous bartender who sabotaged (or rather, saved) your date.

chenle stumbled back to the counter, mumbling something about calling him when you get home as he clumsily fumbled with his wallet, slamming his credit card on the table. he dragged himself out of the bar, leaving both you and his credit card behind.

“i might’ve added a shot too many.” yushi winced at the way chenle swayed outside the glass doors, watching as he almost dropped his phone, barely saving it to make a muffled phone call, before finding a spot by a lamp post and plopping himself down.

you giggled as you gathered your own things into your purse, including chenle’s forgotten credit card. “I better return his card before he tries to meet me again.” you hopped off the bar stool and straightened your skirt, “i’ll-” you took a deep breath, “i’ll text you!”

yushi watched you scurry out of the bar and stuff the card into chenle’s shirt pocket, giggling to himself when you tripped over chenle’s foot.

he felt someone nudge his shoulder, “looks like someone’s got a little crush.”

yushi rolled his eyes, “shut up, riku.”

——— ♡

“sometimes,” you fiddled with the tab of the soda can, quickly taking a gulp to wash down the pressure building in your throat. your throat squeezed at the fizziness. “I feel like… yuzu.”

you had become friends with yushi. more than friends, to be exact. you remembered flinging your phone across your bed as your thumb clicked “send” after getting home from the bar, burying your head in your pillows in an attempt to silence the beating of your heart.

you: hi

yushi (cute beach boy + bartender): l/n y/n?

you read your name over and over again, your eyes starting to sting from the blue light radiating off the screen. you wondered how your name would sound from his lips.

you: can you send me a voice message

yushi (cute beach boy + bartender): what?

you: I want to hear you say my name

yushi (cute beach boy + bartender): you're so silly

yushi (cute beach boy + bartender): *one voice message attached*

a first date at the ice cream parlour opposite the bar, bickering over superior ice cream flavours, led to aimless strolls at the park at ungodly hours, trying to ignore your knuckles brushing as you walked side by side, until yushi’s pinky wrapped around yours, and suddenly the night didn't seem as cold as it did.

one of your aimless strolls had landed you both back to where you started: the beach. except this time, you weren't being toasted by the afternoon sun.

your fingers tapped against the aluminium can. you watched the moon ripple in the ocean, the sound of the waves washing over each other filling the gap between you and yushi as the two of you dangled your legs off the edge of a wooden boardwalk meant for fishing.

“yuzu?” yushi tilted his head in response, echoing you with a slight grin. you chuckled at your own absurdity, nodding.

“it's neither a lemon, nor an orange. sweet, but also bitter. always in between, always at odds with itself.” you looked down at your hands, your thumbs tracing the tiny scars that wrapped around each other like poison ivy.

his silence made you feel dumb, like you had just babbled into the air like a curious toddler.

“actually- nevermind-”

“hmm,” yushi hummed, cutting you off. his lips pursed in thought, “must it be a lemon?” he tapped a finger against his pout, “if it's not a lemon, must it be an orange? why can't yuzu just be yuzu?”

yushi took a sip of his drink, letting out a satisfied “ah” as the liquid slid down his throat.

“you’re in your own category, y/n. you don't have to try to be anyone else.”

his eyes met yours, sparkling with the fizz of a freshly opened can of soda. “besides, ” a light blush settled on the apples of his cheeks, faint pink glowing under the moonlight, “I think you're lovely no matter who you think you are.”

yushi leaned in, nuzzling the side of his head against yours knowing it would elicit a smile from you. you let out a small laugh, your unoccupied hand coming up to stroke yushi’s hair as he made a nest for himself in the crook of your neck.

yushi’s words replayed in your head as you dwelled in the comfortable silence that engulfed you. and you realised yushi too, was like yuzu.

he was unexpectedly sweet despite his cold first impression, a cocktail of calm and mischievous; sometimes throwing a flirtatious joke your way, other times looking at you with a gaze that made you feel naked. both times, making your heart flutter and swell.

because no matter which side he showed, you loved him. yushi was everything all at once and you loved him. and if you could love him who was sweet and bitter like yuzu, neither lemon nor orange, perhaps one day, you could learn to love yourself too.

——— ♡

“did I ever tell you I'm a big fan of yuzu?”

you quirked an eyebrow at the sudden question, fingers intertwined with yushi's. he brought the back of your hands up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against your skin, his lips curving into a smile you knew too well, one that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him all at once.

“that must be why I love you.”

a/n: things to confess: 1) I don't like yuzu. 2) I've never had a martini and I don't know anything about mixology. 3) I wrote 2k words about yushi and yuzu because I liked that they both started with 'yu'... that's literally how this whole thing started. but as I wrote I've developed a meaning for yuzu which will be explained below!

on a more serious note: y/n's story is meant to be interpretive. I didn't want to muddy this with a concrete back story for her because it felt unnecessary. feeling like "yuzu" is about feeling like you're at odds with yourself, feeling like you're everything but nothing at once, feeling like you're skilled at a lot of things but you excel at none, feeling like you're a good person yet bad at the same time, etc etc.

I tried to write something comforting here, but it's hard when it's an issue I myself still struggle with sometimes. so I just hope that anyone who has had the same thoughts or issues feel comforted knowing there's someone out there who understands you and loves you no matter what!!

[slytherin-pen]

To Build A Home

pairing: Lucien x Nesta

word count: 1.2k

a/n: okayyy, you guys win. i stuck with Lucnes. written for day 4 “moving in” of @sjmromanceweek . i hope you enjoy the tooth rotting fluff

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The house was nestled at the edge of a rolling green meadow, where tall grass swayed in the breeze and the scent of roses and daffodils drifted through the air. It was on the smaller side with only three bedrooms but it was big enough for them, with cobblestone walls, ivy creeping up its sides, and wide windows that let in an abundance of sunlight.

Lucien stood beside Nesta on the dirt path leading to the white front door. “It’s ours,” he murmured.

Nesta glanced up at him, catching the moisture gathering in his eyes. “Ours,” she confirmed.

For so long, they had lived in houses. Houses riddled with abuse or poverty. Houses that belonged to someone else, somewhere they couldn’t be entirely themselves. But this? This was theirs to shape. No masks, no need to have their guards up.

Lucien exhaled, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips as he reached for her hand, squeezing once before he intertwined their fingers. “Shall we?”

Nesta nodded, and together, they stepped inside.

The house smelled of dust and a faint hint of jasmine, the wood floors creaked under their boots. Tamlin had gifted them the house as a gesture of gratitude, but it had been Lucien who had scoured the lands to find this specific place—a home that wasn’t tangled in painful memories, wasn’t a palace suffocating under the weight of expectations.

They had moved only a few of their things so far. Stacks of books were scattered around, boxes shoved in the corners, and furniture still waiting to be put in its proper place.

Nesta crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against her bicep. “We should start with the library.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Not the kitchen?”

She shot him a dry look, but he only grinned.

“I mean,” he continued, brushing past her to inspect the wooden shelves above the counters, “you strike me as someone who wouldn’t want to wake up tomorrow and realize there’s no tea.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Fair point.”

They spent the afternoon unpacking, Nesta methodically organizing the kitchen while Lucien took a more haphazard approach, distracted by the discovery of little details about their home. How the late afternoon sun hit the kitchen windows just right, the small carved designs in the wooden support beams, the way the doors groaned slightly—as if the house itself was stretching awake.

When he found the tin of her favorite tea, he placed it on the counter next to the kettle, just as Nesta put his preferred spices in the cupboard next to the stove. They worked in quiet harmony, almost like it was a dance they’d practiced hundreds of times.

The next day, after they had unpacked the necessities, they started on the office that contained various reports and books sent by Tamlin.

Nesta hadn’t expected to take such an active role in rebuilding Spring, but when Lucien started sifting through plans and budgets, she had inevitably found herself seated beside him, pouring over figures and blueprints.

Tamlin had given him free rein to rebuild as he saw fit, and Lucien, for all his easy charm, had a sharp mind when it came to politics and structure.

“You’re missing an opportunity here,” Nesta said one evening, pointing to a line in the budget. “The Summer Court is also rebuilding after the war, and I’m sure High Lord Tarquin would be open to some compromises. Allow them to receive a discount on wine, game, and vegetables, and in turn, they can give us discounts on seafood, spices, and tropical fruits. That would allow you to redirect more revenue to the construction fund.“

Lucien leaned over her shoulder, studying the figures. His breath brushed her cheek, but Nesta didn’t move away.

“You’re a terrifyingly efficient female,” he mused.

She smirked. “You’re welcome.”

He grinned, but there was something softer beneath it, something grateful. Nesta wasn’t just helping him—she was invested in this. In their future here.

Nesta was also helping arrange donation drives for clothes, and household supplies, and had plans for charity balls in the future. She spoke with displaced families and workers who lost their jobs due to the building being destroyed or the employers too broke to pay wages. She hosted meetings in the villages, brainstorming with the citizens about how they could get things running again in a way that was manageable for everyone.

Lucien had always known Nesta was brilliant and clever, but watching her work never ceased to amaze him at just how well she could find a solution when the odds seemed impossible. She wasn’t just here because of him. She was here because she wanted to be. Because she cared. Just like when she demanded the human queens offer sanctuary to the very people who had cast her family out for being poor before the war with Hybern.

They found a rhythm in their days, falling into something that felt natural—waking up early, Nesta making tea while Lucien drafted documents for potential alliances, afternoons spent at council meetings or overseeing construction, evenings spent sprawled in their barely furnished living room, reading by the fireplace.

Nesta had claimed one of the armchairs as her own, curling up with a book as Lucien sat on the floor in front of her, one leg bent while he idly massaged her foot with one hand.

The magically lit fire, courtesy of Lucien, cast a warm glow over the room, their shadows reflected on the walls. Nesta had found a book on Spring Court history, hoping to find more ideas on how to restore the court to its former glory.

��You’re not listening,” Nesta accused, though there was no bite to it.

Lucien cracked open an eye. “I was resting my eyes while you told me the riveting history of—what was it again?”

Nesta huffed, snapping the book shut. “You are insufferable.”

Lucien grinned. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

Nesta stilled. He hadn’t said it with the expectation of a confession, hadn’t said it like he was waiting for something in return. He just knew. The ways Nesta Archeron showed her love was quiet and through actions. And she had done so—in the way she meticulously organized his paperwork, in the way she followed him around the court listening to every word as he explained the culture as if it was the most riveting thing she’d ever heard.

Eventually, she murmured, “Unfortunately,” as she reached down, running her fingers through his hair.

Lucien let out a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes again.

Home. This was what it felt like.

One evening, Lucien found her outside, standing by the river that bordered their land. Fireflies danced above the shrubbery, the stars just beginning to peek through the deepening sky.

Without a word, he slipped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Nesta let herself lean back against him.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, listening to the sounds of nature, the gentle ripple of water, the distant hoot of an owl.

“I’m afraid,” she admitted softly. “Afraid this all just a dream.”

Lucien pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder. “It’s real.”

She turned in his arms, looking up at him. “Promise?”

Lucien cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “I promise.”

taglist (comment to join!): @tele86

[bigbrotherboyf]

All of your big brother’s friends have agreed to help him teach you a lesson after you told him you fucked someone else for the first time. “I have something waiting for you in my room” he says, and you don’t worry because big bro would never hurt you. 

You open the door and see all his friends sitting around, 8 or 9 of them, and you grab your big brother’s hand, “hi” you say. Big bro pulls your hand into the room, forcing you to go on in front of him, “come on, you’ve met them before, don’t be shy”. Of course you obey him, because you’re a good little brother. There’s no space for you to sit, except one, but it doesn’t matter because you’re quickly distracted by the sudden sound of everybody unbuckling their belts. You look at your brother who’s locking the door behind him. “You want to fuck everyone else so bad, so I thought I’d help you out” he says as he sits down at the one remaining seat which is by his desk.

His friends have all pulled their cocks out, and you can’t help but look. “Wh- what is this?” you ask nervously. “Start at the beginning and make your way down, but you’re only allowed a couple of bounces on each” he replies, unzipping his trousers but leaving his hard dick in his underwear. “No- No, I can’t” you stutter, covering your eyes with your hands, feeling your throat tighten and ache, you can’t cry now. “It’s okay, don’t be scared, you want this, remember?” your brother whispers, he’s beside you now, one hand at the back of your neck. With your eyes still covered he leads you over to his friend, “look” says your big brother, squeezing the back of your neck. You move your hands and what catches your eyes is his friend’s hard, pulsating cock. The hand on your neck is gone, and with one swift movement you feel your trousers being pulled down, “you can’t get out of this, just do as I say, little bro”.  You’re shocked by the sudden exposure, but you also notice how hard and soaked you are. As you finally release the built up tears, you realize there is no way out. Embarassed and teary eyed, you slowly pull down your wet underwear, dropping it down to your feet, ready to take the first cock. “Only a few bounces on each” he repeats, “I don’t want you to cum on them”. You nod and turn around to present your hole to his friend, and his much bigger hands, which are now holding your waist, lead you down on his dick. His head pushes on your hole, you feel it stretch and hurt, and before you know it you’ve swallowed him. Moans come from behind you, and you try your best to sob quietly while your big brother’s friends have their way with you. You bounce once or thrice on his cock, and move on to the next one, each one making you harder and more needy. It gets increasingly difficult to stop bouncing, it feels so good to be filled and you need to cum after the first two cocks, but in fear of dissapointing, you try your best not to. Your head is all fuzzy now, drunk from cock, and the final one slides in with ease. He slams you down, once and then twice. You’re done, you’ve had all his friends inside you. Looking around, you notice that everyone has been jerking off while you’ve been thrown around. The thought almost makes you cum. “Well done” your brother praises, “And you didn’t even cum, I thought you would”. Feeling light headed and used, you make your way over to your brother, needing somewhere to sit down. “Come here”, he takes you into his arms to sit you on his lap. He grabs your face, and forces you to look into the room, “none of them have cum yet”. The only sound you’re able to produce is a whimper, which makes your big brother’s cock twitch. You feel it poking at your naked skin. “Tell me what big bro does when he needs to get off and you’re not there” he demands, still holding your face. You whimper again, unable to form thoughts or words. “He watches something, right?” he says. As you realize what is about to happen, you get pushed off his lap.  You’ve taken your big brother many times, but this is different. All his friends are watching, waiting to cum to you getting fucked. Your big brother grabs your hips and forces your ass towards his cock. You’re wet and leaking and rock hard, all you want to do is cum all over your brother. As you drool and whine he rubs his head on you before pushing himself in with one hard thrust, “you’re gonna learn really quickly that your brother’s cock is the only one you need”. He lifts you a little off the floor as he fucks your used hole. They all moan and groan and stroke their cocks to the scene in front of them. Your head was fuzzy before, but you’re completely gone now, all you feel is the pulsating dick going in and out of you. You cum over and over, squeezing his cock, making him fuck you harder. “Fuck- I’m gonna- fuck”, each thrust gets slower and slower, and suddently you’re not only filled with dick, but also thick, warm cum. All his friends groan and cum all over as your brother pulls out and shows them his work. 

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 10 - Magic Exhaustion

“Bdubs? Are you in here?” A voice came from somewhere a room over. Bdubs groaned slightly, he really wasn’t in the mood to ‘people’ at the moment. The past week the sky had been nothing but grey and dark and storming, barely any sunlight making it to the earth. The plants in his garden had begun to protest, along with the pots by the window. And it seemed, Bdubs’ own body was just as unhappy. He tried to roll over to see the doorway, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

The voice was getting closer. “Bdubs? Hello? No one’s heard from you in days.” At the tail end of that sentence, the voice became clear. “Bdubs! Are you alright?” A hand came to rest on his forehead. Bdubs tried to bat it away, but his arm didn’t leave the mattress. The voice laughed. “Have you really been asleep this whole time?” Bdubs shook his head ever so slightly.

The laughter stopped. “What happened? Are you okay?” The hand on his forehead moved to mess with the sheets. The fog in Bdubs’ mind cleared slightly, just enough to recognize the voice fussing over him.

“Eeeeee…o.” Bdubs tried to call out Etho’s name, but his voice gave up on him.

“That’s right, I’m here.” Bdubs’s hair was ruffled through. “Did you get hit in the head?”

Right, Etho was trying to help him. Bdubs didn’t get much further down that thought process. It felt like there was something he was supposed to be doing. What was it? Tell. Tell Etho what was wrong. Tell Etho how to help.

“Ssssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnn.” The sound was more akin to a groan than a word. “Sssseeee uuuunnnnn.” No more than a whisper.

Etho’s hand stopped moving. “You're gonna have to speak up.”

Bdubs tried again, this time nothing came out. Again. “Sssssssss…”

“That’s it, you can do it.” Etho’s hand was moving again, comforting circles on Bdubs’ back. “Starts with an S?”

“Uuuuuunnnnnn.” Slightly louder this time, but still wobbly.

“Sun! Is that it? Sun?” Etho’s hand squeezed gently. Bdubs tried to nod, he barely moved. “I’ll be right back.” Etho’s touch left.

Bdubs just layed there, waiting, sore from those small motions he had managed. His thoughts began to fade away from him again, unfocused. There was a reason he was stuck here, what was it?

A voice came from somewhere nearby. “You can be mad at me for this later, but don’t forget I helped you.” Bdubs barely had a chance to process those words before there was a loud crunching, cracking sound. He curled in on himself as much as he could, trying to get away from the horrible noise. It kept hammering, relentless.

He managed to open his eyes slightly. Something was different. What was it? Brighter. The room was brighter than it had been before. The banging stopped. “How’s that? More?” Was the voice talking to him?

Bdubs nodded, the motion bigger and more vigorous. He could feel the energy beginning to seep into his skin and bones. The crashing started up again, every thud letting just a bit more light into the room. Bdubs stretched out, trying to soak up as much of it as he could.

The voice laughed slightly. The world came into better focus, shapes unbluring. Etho. That was the source of the voice. Bdubs slowly began to sit up, blinking hard. Etho had said something about being mad before. Why would he be mad at all this light?

Oh.

“Etho! What did you do to my wall?!”

[4eunoia]

Romantic Feelings? Ehh Cringe

Technoblade tries cheering you up in his own way

The cabin was quiet.

Not peaceful. Not comfortable. Just quiet.

You sat at the wooden table, hands wrapped around a half-finished cup of tea that had long since gone cold. You weren’t drinking it. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting here, staring at the knots in the wood grain, listening to the wind howl outside. It had been hours, probably. Maybe less. Maybe more.

It didn’t matter.

Somewhere behind you, Techno sat in his chair by the fire, pretending to read. You could feel his eyes on you—subtle, watchful. He wasn’t obvious about it, but you knew him well enough by now. He had noticed the way you barely spoke today, how you moved slower, how the usual sharpness in your eyes had dulled into something distant and hollow.

You took a slow breath, trying to push past the weight in your chest. It didn't work.

Your fingers trembled. You clenched them into fists. Your thoughts were spiraling and you knew they were. The war, you almost dying, all the good people who got hurt.

Then—before you could stop it—the first tear fell, hitting the table with a barely audible pat.

Shit.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to stop, to push it down, to not do this right now. But your body didn’t listen. Your breath hitched. Your shoulders tensed as another tear slipped free, then another.

Behind you, the sound of a page turning stopped.

Techno had noticed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against them. You hated this. Hated crying like this—weak, quiet, with no control over it. You had been fine for so long. You needed to be fine.

You heard the chair creak as Techno shifted. Then, his voice—low, uncertain.

“You uhh…You want me to leave?”

You flinched slightly, shaking your head, voice hoarse.

“No—” A pause. Then, quieter, “No. Just… don’t say anything.”

A beat of silence.

“…Alright.”

And he didn’t.

For a while, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire, the muffled howl of wind against the windows, and the occasional sound of Techno shifting in his seat. He wasn’t reading anymore. Just there. Not saying anything. Not leaving, either.

You sniffled, rubbing at your eyes.

Then, out of nowhere—

“... Pygmalion and Galatea. Ever heard of them?” 

Your brow furrowed. You blinked, wiping your sleeve over your red and puffy face as you turned slightly toward him. “…What?”

As if this were the most natural segue in the world. His tone was casual, unaffected. "Some sculptor guy from ancient Greece— I've forgotten where exactly. He was kinda a loner. Didn't wanna deal with real people, especially women— Guy spent ages on this one statue. Carving, supposedly, the perfect woman out of ivory. Like, obsessed over it. Chiseled every little detail, made her perfect in his eyes. And then, uh—he kinda just…fell in love with her." He paused, shifting slightly in his chair. 

You blinked at him.

“It was like his life’s work or whatever…” He suddenly found it hard to look in your general direction. “Dude looked at real women and was like, ‘Nahhh, y’all suck, I’ll just make my own instead.’ So, yeah. He starts treating this statue like a real person. Talks to it, gives it gifts, probably took it on dates—I dunno, weird guy behavior. And then, get this—he begs Aphrodite to make her real.” Techno paused, shifting in his chair, gaze flickering away for half a second before he cleared his throat.

“She, uh…actually does it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She what?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Aphrodite, for some reason, sees all this and goes, ‘Wow, that’s so romantic,’ and just—bam—brings the statue to life. No questions asked. No ‘bro, you good?’ Just—instant dream girl. And then in some versions they have a kid or something, I’ve forgotten.” He suddenly found it hard to look into your general direction.

A beat of silence. Then, in a flat voice, you muttered, “He chose a statue over a real person?” You paused again, “That’s… the most depressing shit i've ever heard.”

Techno huffed a quiet chuckle. “I know right? Isn't it great?” His smile quirked upwards a little as his arms crossed, nudging you with his elbow.

Despite yourself, despite the exhaustion and the weight of everything pressing down on you, a small, tired laugh slipped from your lips. You shook your head, rubbing at your eyes again. “That’s your idea of cheering me up?”

“I mean, it’s a good story.” Techno shrugged, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Figured I’d tell it ‘cause… it kinda reminded me of uhh…” He trailed off, his voice tapering into silence. His gaze flickered away, almost like he had lost his train of thought.  He suddenly found his book a whole lot more interesting.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Of…?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the color in his face deepened just a shade.

“...uhhh—” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding the fire very interesting. “I mean, y’know. It’s, uh… a classic tale! Dedication. Mastery in art. Real inspiring, all that.”

You stared at him. He was so full of shit.

“…Right.” You dragged out the word, tilting your head, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. “That’s totally why you told it.” 

His ears twitched, his jaw tightening. “Hey, don't make fun of me.”

That only made you grin harder. You exhaled through your nose, something almost like amusement breaking through the sadness. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Another pause. You took a breath, deeper this time. The lump in your throat was still there, but… lighter. A little easier to bear.

Then, to your surprise, Techno stood. You expected him to walk away, to give you space, but instead, he grabbed something from the back of his chair—his red cloak.

Before you could question it, he stepped over and draped it over your shoulders.

The fabric was warm, heavy, smelling like smoke and steel and something distinctly him. Even if it was just the cloak, it held the weight, smell and looked as if he were giving you a hug. Your fingers curled around the edges instinctively. You blinked up at him.

Techno just crossed his arms. “Try not to cry on it. It’s my only one.”

You scoffed lightly, a breathy, half-hearted sound. “No promises.”

He hummed, stepping back toward his chair. Before he sat, he hesitated—then, reaching out, he gave your shoulder a firm squeeze. Just once. Just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then he plopped back down, flipping open his book.

The fire crackled. The storm raged outside.

You tugged his cloak tighter around yourself, eyes dropping to your cold, untouched tea.

“…Thanks,” you murmured after a long pause.

Techno didn’t look up.

“Don’t mention it.”

[andy-15-07]

I LOVE your fix! Would you write a Paul Mescalxactress at her new movie premiere or maybe a honeymoon/vacation fix?

A Honeymoon to Remember

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2347 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The sun was dipping low into the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and orange, when you and Paul stepped into your honeymoon suite. The space was airy and softly lit, with large windows offering a breathtaking view of the ocean beyond. A gentle sea breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of salt and tropical blooms—a welcome reminder that you had left the ordinary behind.

Paul took your hand, his fingers warm and reassuring against your skin. “I still can’t believe we’re here,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning the room with wonder. “It all feels so… surreal.”

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with happiness. “I know. Just yesterday, I was nervously walking down the aisle, and now we’re here—on our honeymoon, starting our life together.”

As you set your bags down, Paul’s eyes twinkled. “How about we freshen up and then step out on the balcony? I’d love to watch the sunset with you.”

Soon, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes, you both moved to the expansive balcony. The view was mesmerizing: the endless ocean, a scattering of palm trees, and the sky slowly shifting colors as the day turned to dusk. You clinked your champagne glasses together in a quiet toast.

“Here’s to us,” Paul murmured. “To love, adventure, and a future full of moments just like this.”

You took a sip of champagne and replied, “And here’s to all the memories we’re about to make.”

For a long while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, each lost in your thoughts, until Paul broke the stillness. “You know, I was thinking about the wedding… Remember how you laughed when I almost tripped on the steps of the altar?”

You giggled, your cheeks warming with the memory. “Oh, I remember! I was trying so hard not to laugh out loud in front of everyone, but I couldn’t help it. It was one of those moments that made the day even more unforgettable.”

Paul’s smile deepened. “That moment was perfectly imperfect—just like us. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Later that evening, you moved inside to the living area where soft instrumental music played in the background. The room was decorated with delicate touches: a vase of fresh flowers here, a stack of romantic books there, and the lingering aroma of sandalwood in the air. You both sank into the plush sofa, and before long, conversation flowed as naturally as the tide.

“Tell me something I might not know about you,” Paul said suddenly, his tone playful yet sincere. “Something that isn’t on the wedding guest list.”

You thought for a moment before replying with a gentle smile. “I’ve always dreamed of living in a little cottage by the sea—somewhere I could write in my journal, watch the sunrise every day, and find inspiration in every little moment. It’s like a dream of endless calm.”

Paul reached over and squeezed your hand. “I can see it now—the two of us, a cozy cottage, and endless walks along a quiet beach. I promise, one day, we’ll make that dream our reality.”

The conversation meandered effortlessly from dreams of future homes to silly childhood memories. You recounted the time you’d been so afraid of thunderstorms as a child, while Paul shared an embarrassing tale about his early acting days when he’d forgotten his lines on stage. Laughter mingled with affectionate teasing as you both uncovered little details that made your hearts beat a little faster.

At one point, you said, “Do you remember when I accidentally spilled water all over your shoes before the reception? I was mortified!”

Paul laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How could I forget? I was more focused on your smile than my soggy shoes. Every little mishap just adds to our story.”

As the night deepened, the intimacy of the room seemed to grow with each exchanged word. Eventually, you both retired to the king-sized bed, where soft linens and the quiet hum of the air conditioner created the perfect cocoon. Lying side by side, you whispered your hopes and dreams, the dialogue between you as soothing as a lullaby.

“I feel so complete when I’m with you,” you admitted softly, resting your head on Paul’s shoulder.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and whispered, “I feel it too, y/n. Every day, every conversation—no matter how small—builds this incredible life we’re starting together.”

In the hush of the room, you shared your ideas of traveling the world someday. “Imagine us wandering through the streets of Paris, holding hands as we watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night,” you said dreamily.

Paul’s eyes lit up. “And exploring ancient ruins in Greece, laughing at the little café on every corner! I want us to see every part of the world, as long as I’m with you.”

A few hours later, sleep finally overtook you both, the promises of the day mingling with the hope for tomorrow.

Morning arrived with a gentle radiance, and you awoke to find Paul already stirring. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said with a sleepy smile as he brushed your hair away from your face. “Are you ready to see the sunrise?”

You stretched and sat up, feeling the warmth of the early sun fill the room. “I was born ready,” you replied, your voice bright with anticipation.

Stepping out onto the balcony again, you were greeted by the serene sight of the sun peeking over the horizon, its rays turning the ocean into a shimmering expanse of gold and blue. You and Paul walked along the balcony edge, fingers entwined, sharing soft words of admiration for the beauty of the new day.

“Every morning with you feels like a fresh start,” Paul murmured as you both paused to watch the horizon. “Like every sunrise is a promise of something amazing.”

You nodded, your heart full. “I feel that too. It’s as if the whole world is whispering that today is ours.”

After a leisurely morning stroll along the beach—barefoot in the soft, cool sand—you both returned to the resort for breakfast at a quaint seaside café. The café was charming, with large windows that let in the warm morning light and the gentle sound of the ocean in the background. Over plates of fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming cups of coffee, the conversation continued.

“So, where to next?” Paul asked, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. “I heard there’s a fantastic local art market not far from here.”

Your eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ve been wanting to visit that market ever since I read about it. They say it’s full of vibrant colors and handmade treasures.”

“Then it’s settled,” Paul said, reaching across the table to take your hand. “Today, we’ll explore the market, find something special, and maybe even get a little lost in the process.”

After breakfast, you both strolled through the bustling streets toward the market. Vendors lined the narrow pathways, their stalls bursting with handmade crafts, intricate paintings, and vibrant textiles. The air was filled with lively chatter, the scent of exotic spices, and the rhythmic beats of local music.

Stopping at a stall displaying a series of serene seaside paintings, Paul leaned in close. “What do you think of this one?” he asked, pointing to a canvas that depicted a tranquil harbor under a pastel sky.

You studied the painting and smiled. “It captures exactly how I feel about this trip—peaceful, hopeful, and full of possibility. It’s like a glimpse into a perfect moment, much like the moments we share.”

Encouraged by your words, Paul purchased a small sketch of the scene, declaring it a memento of your first day on the market. As you continued to wander, your conversation was punctuated by excited discoveries and playful teasing.

At one particularly vibrant stall, you held up a piece of handmade jewelry for Paul to see. “What do you think—does this look good on me?” you asked with a mischievous grin.

Paul laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It would look perfect, because it’s yours. But I’m not sure I’d ever be able to top that look even if I tried.”

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “Oh, please. I think you’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”

Between the colorful wares and the shared laughter, the market soon became a tapestry of unforgettable moments. Every corner you turned offered a new topic for conversation—from the history behind a centuries-old artifact to the modern art that challenged both your imaginations. The market wasn’t just a place to shop; it was a stage for you both to explore the art of conversation and connection.

As the day began to wane, you and Paul made your way back to the resort, hearts full of the day’s discoveries. Back in the quiet intimacy of your suite, the conversation shifted to reflections on what you’d experienced.

“Today was incredible,” you said softly, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I feel like every conversation we had, every laugh we shared—it brought us closer together.”

Paul sat beside you, his hand gently holding yours. “That’s what I love about us, y/n. We never run out of things to say, and every word feels like a step forward in our journey together. I’m already looking forward to tomorrow.”

You leaned into him. “Do you ever think about how much every small moment adds up? Like how our shared talks, even about something as simple as the weather, become the foundation of our love?”

He nodded, his expression serious yet tender. “Absolutely. It’s in those quiet moments that I feel our bond grow stronger. Our conversations—whether filled with laughter or whispered secrets—are what make our love real.”

Later that evening, while enjoying a quiet dinner by the ocean at a local seaside restaurant, you and Paul continued your dialogue over soft candlelight and the gentle lull of the waves. The table was adorned with fresh seafood, crisp salads, and a bottle of wine that promised to add to the magic of the night.

“Let’s talk about the future,” Paul said between bites of his meal. “Where do you see us in five years?”

You paused, considering the question. “I see us in that little cottage by the sea I always dreamed of—a place filled with warmth, creativity, and endless love. I imagine lazy mornings with coffee on the porch, long walks along the beach, and evenings spent sharing stories and planning our next adventure.”

Paul reached across the table to cup your cheek. “That sounds perfect. I see a future where we continue to explore the world together, but always come home to each other. Every destination, every experience, is enriched by our shared conversations.”

You smiled, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in your eyes. “It’s amazing how our words and dreams intertwine. Even when we’re apart, I carry every conversation we’ve had with me, like a cherished keepsake.”

As the night deepened, so did your dialogue. Back in your suite, you settled on a cozy rug by the window, the sound of the waves lulling you into a comfortable silence that was soon broken by thoughtful musings.

“Do you remember,” you said softly, “when we first met, how nervous I was to talk to you? I felt like every word I said was clumsy, like I was trying to capture lightning in a bottle.”

Paul chuckled, drawing you close. “I remember that vividly. But even then, every word you spoke was captivating. It was as if you were already writing our story, one imperfect but beautiful sentence at a time.”

You laughed gently. “And now, here we are, on our honeymoon, weaving our story with every word, every laugh, every quiet moment.”

“Every conversation is a promise,” Paul replied, his voice tender as he held you close. “A promise that no matter what happens, we’ll always have our dialogue, our connection. And that is the most precious thing I can ever imagine.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, letting the quiet night and the sound of the ocean remind you both that love is not only in grand gestures but in every whispered word, every shared dream. In that moment, you knew that your honeymoon was not merely an escape from the world but the start of an endless, heartfelt conversation that would carry you both forward into the future.

Before sleep finally claimed you, you made one last promise in the soft glow of the moonlight. “No matter how hectic life gets, let’s never stop talking. Let’s always find time for these moments.”

Paul’s eyes shone with unwavering certainty as he whispered, “Always, y/n. Every day, every conversation, will be our love story.”

With those words echoing in your hearts, you drifted into a peaceful sleep—each dream a delicate continuation of the dialogue that had brought you together and would forever bind you in love.

In the days that followed, whether exploring hidden coves along the beach or savoring the simple pleasure of a shared meal, every moment was filled with dialogue that deepened your bond. Each conversation, from the playful teasing over silly jokes to the quiet, heartfelt confessions of your dreams, reaffirmed that this honeymoon was not just a getaway but the prologue to a lifetime of shared adventures.

And as the final day of your honeymoon arrived, you both sat on the balcony one last time, the sun setting in a blaze of color. Paul held your hand and said, “I’ll always cherish these moments—the laughs, the dreams, the endless dialogue that we’ve shared. It’s the beginning of a lifetime of love.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “Our honeymoon may be ending, but our story is only just beginning. Every conversation we have from now on will be a reminder of today—a reminder of how every word, every moment, is a promise of all that’s to come.”

With that, you embraced, the ocean’s gentle murmur underscoring the promise of a bright future together—a future built on endless dialogue, deep connection, and the unbreakable bond of love.

[howhow326]

Unmasked version

Did I f up his hairline!!! My Spidersona!!!

Anansi

Backstory: Mild mannered Devonte Peters was just an ordinary college student when, duing an intership at Oscorp, he was bitten by an avatar of the Spider God Anansi.

Shortly after becoming a superhero, Oscorp framed Anansi with murder, leading the police to launch a manhunt for him.

Now, Anansi has chosen to take down Oscorp from the shadows in order to free NYC from their corruption.

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Occupation: cashier clerk

Height: 5'9

Ethnicity/Species: Human (African American)

Favorite food: Sweet Potato Pie

What they do to relax: Reading

Intelligence: Genius

Favorite drink: Lemon Tea

Dislikes: Politicians, Capitalism, Spiders

Unique Powers: He can create illusions from his webs (web mirrors, web puppets that look and talk like real people), Invisibility, Teleportation, Magic

(The creative process for this one was soo cursed... but like, in a fun way? The I did the line art with a brush tool first but I ended up converting it to those pencil tool lines because LORD does the brush tool make it impossible to use the fill tool. I also originally had red in his costume, but when I was almost finished I realized the red stands out a little too much... like it was borderline the only thing you could see in the drawing! So I compromised by switching it out with a bluish purple, which looks very lovely. I also originally wanted to give him a hood, but that didn't match the bell bottoms like a high collar did. This took 4 hours lol.)

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[gamblersdoll]

so sukuna usually goes for a woman who holds her own in a fight. its believed that he was more attracted and would even become a flirt even mid fight…. tw for sexual themes.

so imagine how confused you would be when you are with yuuji in your dorm and having a nice time and sukuna just stares at you through his cheek, somewhat a glare but smile. in confuses you, almost making you tilt your head.

“im going to put a brat in you.” he says, then suddenly leaving the scene, causing you to fret and be on guard anytime and anywhere. and leaving such a frantic and apologetic yuuji.

whats even worse is if your group were to exercise a curse spirit somewhere and its on you and yuuji, sukuna would definitely take the time to potentially force a switch or convince the poor baby to switch. and sukuna is doing his best to try and wound you– youre fast, and you already landed three good blows on him.

but things do come to an end, you being cornered and having to hear sukuna say the most disgusting things.

“you wouldnt be a bad wife, could make you have at most two brats.” or holding you while you squirm, groping at a fat breast and squeezing, hoping you dont moan. and he goes “these things dont hold you back? i just wanna bite into them… would taste so good.”

it also occurs when you sleep too. the intoxicating feeling of his fingers are still on your skin, he had to be an incubus. but you were suddenly dreaming about him eating your precious fat pussy too, suckling on your clit and have two hands hold your hips down, two hands hold your legs up while he eats you so sloppy. he can always be a messy eater, and he mumbles .. praise?

“havent had good pussy in years.”

“fuck, that brat hadnt eaten you at all ?”

“i demand your cum, i want you to cum.”

and when you wake up your folds are soaked with spit drooling down your ass cheeks. and with your shirt scrambled up and a bra pushed up.. was he in here? was it a dream? you didnt know. why was he so suddenly interested?

its only the next time you saw him, the cut you had given him had scarred up and he smirks at the sight of it. this only caused him to think of little exchanges for you to show yourself raw to him.

“if you land another three blows, ill have you sit on my face.” he said, eyes lidded and his signature grin plastered.

you ended up with a swollen clit, from its poor abuse and with bruised thighs, because he just had to make you sit still while he ate you out.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Miss ma’am, hi hello how are you?

I am presenting myself here, very very humbly to ask if we could please get another part of your Nerd Nanami fic?🥹🥹 please please puhleaseeeeeeeee

That was an actual masterpiece, I had to read it very slowly and savour it, making sure to process every single sentence of that fic. You’re so talented it makes me cry

Please offer us more Nanami, pleaseeeeeee

Giving the nerd a chance… part two

Tags: nerd!Nanami x fem!Reader, college au, smut with plot, nsfw, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, dom!nanami, sub!reader, marathon sex, exhibitionism if you squint real hard, mdni

Synopsis: Your nerdy boyfriend is so prim and proper in real life, but he has big dick energy over text.

An: 4K Follower Special! I got over 20 requests for a part two of this fic. At this time, it is my best performing fic on tumblr, and I fear… I may have peaked with it. I never EVER intended on writing a second part because I was sure that I couldn’t ever follow that fic up with something as good, but this sweet anon request warmed my heart so much that I decided to give the people what they’re asking for. This one’s going to be a long one… pace yourself because there will NOT be a third part… right?

Nanami’s a stoic lover. He doesn’t keep you hidden, but he doesn’t outwardly drag attention towards your relationship. Too much attention meant drama, and Nanami hates drama.

Nanami asked you to be his girlfriend a few weeks after the first time you two slept together. Of course, everyone in his friend group saw it coming long before you two had even hooked up.

They saw the longing gazes between you two when you pined for each other. They saw the cheeky glances once you two finally started texting. They noticed how their dear friend smiled more — was more laid back and relaxed.

Everyone welcomed you into their small found family with open arms. They simply couldn’t have picked anyone better to balance out Nanami’s far too strict nature.

Things with Nanami were absolutely a dream. You two had great chemistry emotionally and physically. Of course, he just made things so easy for you.

While he is a stoic lover, you never ever feel unloved by him. He’s always there to reassure you with words of affirmation or small touches that just remind you that he’s there.

Like when you two are at one of Satoru’s “exclusive” gatherings, if you’re not in Nanami’s lap, then he’s got his hand on you somewhere. Sometimes he gets so bored during those little get togethers that he spends his time leisurely pressing kisses into your cheek and neck. He never quite understood Satoru’s and Suguru’s affinity with public displays of affection until he met you.

Or there's those times when you need a little extra help with your studies. Kento is right behind you, with you on his lap, his cock is snuggly being squeezed by your warm leaking cunt. He presses small chaste kisses against your temple and ear while you try your hardest to focus on the homework.

"Do you remember this one, sweetheart? We went over it in class yesterday... Aw, don't go all stupid on me now."

When you get an answer right, he'll reward you with small, shallow thrusts, but you have to finish the whole assignment to get him to really fuck you.

Or if you two are walking together in the halls, Nanami holds his arm out for you, letting you latch onto him so he can guide you two through the crowd of people. He knows how you are in crowded areas, so he's keen on not letting anyone get too close to you.

Nanami’s a true gentleman too. His parents made sure they raised nothing less than a perfect man. You’ve never had to touch a door handle, any of your own money, or bags when you two go shopping. Nanami handles all of that for you. He doesn’t let you walk on the outside when you two are on the sidewalk. He’s respectful of you and your time, and he always listens to everything you have to say with his full attention because you deserve nothing less.

Nanami’s parents truly did their best work with him, and speaking of his parents, Nanami’s the type that wants to take you back home to meet them.

It was nearly fall break as you were sitting in your experimental research class — your final class before you’re free from the hell hole of academics for a full week.

You glance down at your phone as it buzzes in your lap. You and Nanami had been planning a trip out to his family’s home in Hakone for a little bit now, and the closer that time gets to you two leaving, the more stressed out Nanami feels.

Nanami: We’ll probably leave out early tomorrow morning and catch the first train. Will you be okay with that?

Yn: Mhm. That sounds fine, Ken.

Nanami: After class, I need to inform you a little bit more about my parents… I just don’t want you to feel shocked or surprised when you meet them.

Yn: I’m not sure why I’d be shocked or surprised, but I’m excited to hear more.

Nanami: Don’t get too excited.

You stare at his message for a bit, pondering what he could’ve meant by that. He hadn’t ever spoke poorly of his parents, but he didn’t necessarily praise them either. Actually… he never spoke of them.

*** *** ***

For the rest of the class, you wondered just what you were getting yourself into by going and meeting them. Maybe you two were moving too fast or..

“Sweetheart.” His steady voice broke your trance. He’s crouched down next to your desk to be eye-level with you, and the palms of his hand is gently caressing your cheek. “There you are. Spaced out on me.”

The entire classroom is empty. Class must’ve ended a minute ago because not even the professor is in the room now. You must’ve been deep in your own head.

You let force out an awkward laugh before nuzzling your cheek further into his palm, seeking out his affections as comfort from the insecure thoughts that somehow always manage to find a way in.

“I was just.. thinkin’ about your parents is all..” You finally give him some sort of explanation, and Nanami softens a bit.

“It’s just a weekend, my love. Then, I’ll make it up to you.” His words are a promise. You know for a fact Nanami doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean.

“I think that was the part where you were supposed to reassure me that they’ll like me-“

Nanami pulls you forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still love you regardless.”

Gods, his words are so sweet, but they cut deep like daggers.

“They’re… not going to like me..?” You mumble in a tone that makes Nanami’s heart sink. He takes your hands into his as he gets on his knee to better talk to you while you’re seated.

“My parents are… very traditional.” He carefully explains, and his hazel eyes search yours for a reaction before he reluctantly continues. “They want me to marry a girl from a specific family-“

“An arranged marriage!?” You blurt out — unable to control your emotions as it feels like your heart is trying to force its way up your throat.

“Something like that - but not exactly. It’s not arranged, but it’s definitely heavily pushed.” He tries to keep his tone steady, but seeing you so upset like this has him feeling raw with emotion as well.

“So, no, they will not be happy to know that I’m going against their wishes, but they’ll come around eventually.” His eyes focus on yours, and he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“… and if they don’t?” A small sniffle escapes you before you can stop it. The thought of Nanami being with anyone else has your head spinning. There’s another girl out there who might be expecting for him to take her hand in marriage.

“Hey... look at me.” He coaxes softly as his hand guides your face to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m doing this as a courtesy for them — not because I need their approval.”

Chills shoot up your spine from his words. Nanami rarely cusses, but when he does, it’s enough to even make Satoru blush when he hears it.

Your worry instantly flees your body when Nanami’s lips press against yours to seal the deal. This was just a visit to his parents. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I’m still gonna love you…” He mumbles his words against your lips before seeking out more of your honeyed kisses. “…still gonna marry you one day…” His deep voice groans a little as he gently suckles on your bottom lip. “…still gonna fuck you senseless every night.”

“Ken..” A breathy whine; a whimper; a plea.

“Because you need it every night, don’t you?” His lips are still chasing yours with an insatiable hunger. It just wasn’t enough. If the next class wasn’t coming in the next 10 minutes, he’d take you right here on your desk, but he doesn’t fancy the idea of anyone else’s eyes accidentally falling upon your ethereal body.

“Mhm… need it.” You murmur against his lips quietly in agreement.

Nanami suddenly pulls away, and he reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Come on before I fuck you right here.” He threatens and picks your bag up off the floor for you.

*** *** ***

A gasp flees you as Nanami pushes your back against his bed. His lips are immediately assaulting your neck: suckling soft red marks into your skin and nipping at you gently.

He loves to see the aftermath of his love on you, but he has to be careful this time. Can’t have you going to meet his parents with hickeys all over your neck, can you?

“Mmm~ What about Haibara?” You ask now before you find yourself too hypnotized by his affections.

“He has a class right now.” Nanami answers before his hand trails up your thighs towards your already damp panties. He has had this on his mind all day since he saw you in that cute little skirt you’re wearing.

“Already so wet.” He groans into your neck before biting at your shoulder. The pads of his fingers tease your sensitive clit through the cloth of your cotton panties. “Fuck. You’re so good to me.”

Nanami drops to his knees on the edge of the bed, and his strong arms pull you by your legs to where you’re situated at the edge for him to eat you out to his heart’s desire.

He doesn’t even remove your panties before he leans in and presses a sloppy kiss to your cunt. He can already taste you through the fabric, and he needs more.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, carefully placing them on his bedside table. If he can swing it, he’ll definitely hide them from you and claim that you lose them — just so he can keep them for when you’re not around.

He’s not a pervert!! Well… he loves jerking off into his girlfriend’s panties when he’s too needy at night… Feeling the wet fabric that was pressed so unceremoniously against your heavenly cunt is more than enough to get him off quickly. It would be ungentlemanly to wake you up at your dorm for such a scandalous adventure. At least he washes and returns them to you promptly after using them a couple of times.

As soon as your panties are safely discarded, Nanami has his face right back between your legs. He uses his hands to prop your legs up on his shoulder, and he just.. absolutely begins to devour you.

“Ngh.. oh fuck— wait Ken.. I wan..” You can barely get your words out right while his tongue is lapping at your slippery folds.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to interrupt someone during a meal?” His hazel eyes look up at you with such a serious look — you feel like you’re being scolded.

Your face flushes a bright red before you relax back into his bed — accepting your fate. Kento smiles to himself, knowing that it doesn’t take much to pacify you. You’re too much of a good girl for him.

“Mmm~ that’s right. Just lay back and take what I give you, pretty girl.” He hums in satisfaction as his tongue connects with your cunt once more.

He licks up all the sticky wetness that you so graciously leak for him. He’s so messy with it, practically french kissing with your cunt. Your juices are smeared across his chin from him hopelessly lapping at you. His tongue writes love letters to you against your clit, making your body shiver with pleasure and excitement.

One of your hands is clasping at the sheets, and the other hand is entangled in Kento’s blonde hair, giving him small tugs as he gives you the best head of your life.

Your thighs unconsciously press together, trying to run from the weird sensations that his mouth gives to you. Your boyfriend grunts in dissatisfaction — not enjoying the sudden disobedience from you.

His hand press against each of your knees, and he forces your legs back open — spreading you wiiiide open for him.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asks while looking up at you through his lashes.

“Please — please~” You whine. Your hips involuntarily buck up, trying to get any sort of friction.

“Then be good, and sit still.” Nanami orders, and his hand ever so carefully swats at your sensitive cunt — sending shockwaves of electrifying pleasure through your nerve endings.

“‘m sorry.. ‘m sorry.. please.” You’re so whiny and desperate to be stretching by him. It’s honestly so pathetic that he pities you.

“My poor sweet girl.” He chuckles lowly before pressing a more gentle kiss against your clit. His tongue carefully dips into your wet heat. “Tastes too sweet for your own good. How am I supposed to stop enjoying you, huh?”

A glob of spit rolls down your cunt from Nanami’s mouth, and he uses his own two fingers to spread it around, softly toying with your glistening pussy. A smirk curls on his lips as he watches the way your entrance flutters — so enticed by the potential of being filled by him.

You quietly stifle a squeal as he stuffs you with two of his thick fingers. “So reactive, baby.” He murmurs as his tongue darts back out to gently lap and flick at your clit.

“Ken.. fuck, fuck-! Mmmph..” Your hips start to roll against his fingers, trying to force them inside you. Your boyfriend obliges your silent request, and he pushes his fingers in deeper, curling upwards to that spot he knows will make you cry out his name…

“Nanami-!” There it is. His fingers begin to roughly pump in and out, abusing your sensitive g-spot over and over again.

“Better be a good girl and tell me you love me.” He mutters lowly into your cunt. He knows he doesn’t have to tell you anymore — you’re already conditioned to tell him you love him when you cum. Even if he’s not the one making you finish, you’ll text him a quick “I love you” as you clench around your own fingers to the thought of him.

Your hips roll harder, and your moans are way more throaty — interrupted by small gasps for air. He can tell that you’re getting close. His mouth gently begins to suckle on the small bundle of nerves, and he focuses his tongue on swirling circles around your clit.

It’s all so much. It feels like Nanami is literally playing you like an instrument. He knows exactly what to do to make you a whiny trembling mess.

His fat fingers are pummeling into you, slamming into your sweet spot — making overstimulated tears well up in your eyes. “Sh-shit.. gonna cum.. Nanami… ah~ more..” You’re babbling utter nonsense while trying to find your orgasm.

Your stomach starts to clench, and it almost feels uncomfortable. Your breath stutters as Nanami murmurs into your pussy. “Let go for me, darling. Let it alllll out.” He encourages you as if his fingers and tongue aren’t absolutely tag teaming you.

“Ah~ Mmph… I.. fuck- I love you-!” You moan as you finally feel your orgasm suddenly break. Your tight walls clench around Nanami’s fingers, and fluids from your arousal gush out, making a big mess on his face and clothes.

Nanami quietly chuckles as he comes to realization that you just squirted on him. “Oh? That’s how you feel, huh?” He mocks playfully before pressing one last french kiss against your cunt. “I love you more darling.”

For a moment, you don’t know if it’s more directed towards you or your pussy.

*** *** ***

The early morning train ride was spent with your head cozied into Nanami’s shoulder as he had a protective arm around you. The scenery outside was beautiful. Hakone is known for their breathtaking sights of Mount Fiji. Too bad your eyelids were so heavy from getting up so early.

Nanami takes the silence as a time to reflect. He truly can’t remember a time when he was nervous like this. It was as if that emotion left him when he was a teenage boy. His family’s harsh regime for raising him left no room for shy or nervous behavior. Men were strong, confident, sophisticated. They exuded chivalry in everything they do.

Honestly, he’s glad that he was raised the way he was. Every time he bears witness to Gojo’s crude behavior, he can only think of how happy he is to have had a strict childhood.

But right now, he wishes he wasn’t so nervous. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s silently praying that you can’t hear it. Even though he didn’t care what his parents thought of you, he didn’t fancy the idea of seeing you torn down by his parents. Hopefully, they’ll have enough class to take up the issues with him — not you.

*** *** ***

Nanami’s parent’s house had a very traditional vibe to it, and it was easily twice as big as the house you grew up in. It was beautifully decorated, and the lawn was obviously meticulously cared for. It makes sense that Nanami grew up here.

“Just one weekend. Then, we’ll be back to normal.” Nanami murmurs softly into your ear. Though, he doesn’t know if he’s reassuring you or himself at this point. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door with a heavy fist.

“Oh, Kennn.” His mother immediately ran up to Nanami and gave him a big hug after answering the door, which he returned back to her.

“It’s good to see you, mom.” He responds heartily before he holds out his hand to his dad.

“Look at you. Our son has grown up on us.” His dad gives a sweet smile while gently nudging his mom with his elbow.

“Don’t remind me!” His mom practically wails with her arms still wrapped around Nanami, and you’re awkwardly on standby.

Nanami finally puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders, and he forces her to take a step back. “It hasn’t even been that long since you two saw me, and besides, I brought someone for you two to meet.”

His arm carefully wraps back around your waist, and he looks at his parents before collecting himself briefly. “This is my girlfriend, Yn. Yn, these are my parents.”

His mom’s smile falters almost unnoticeably, but you immediately pick up on her dissatisfaction. His dad seems to just he surprised.

“Ah, yes, welcome to our home, yn.” His dad finally says with an earnest smile, and he subtly nudges his wife. It’s definitely a silent reminder for her to stop looking at you like you’re an intruder.

“Your home is lovely, Mr. and Mrs. Nanami. It’s nice to meet you two.” You try your best to not sound nervous at all, but his mom’s face just makes your stomach turn.

His parents guide you through their home, but they mostly focus their attention on Nanami: asking him about his studies, asking how Gojo’s doing, and asking if he’s contacted some girl named… Allegra. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was the girl who they wanted him to marry instead.

They didn’t ask you very many questions. His dad was friendly, but it seemed like he was tip toeing around all the awkward tension. His mom was just flat out ignoring your presence — clearly in denial about her son having a girlfriend who wasn’t this mysterious Allegra girl.

When it came time for dinner, his dad finally broke the awkward tension and asked about you.

“So yn, you go to the same college as Kento?” His dad seems to be genuinely sweet — just more on the passive shy side.

“Yeah, Ken and I actually share quite a few classes together.” You smile as your utensil grazes along the food they prepared. It smells delicious, but your nerves will barely allow you to nibble on it.

“What are you studying?”

“Oh, I’m in general studies for now. I’m still deciding on what to major in.” You reply as you finally feel yourself beginning to relax in your chair.

“Did you tell your friend that Allegra is studying to become a doctor? Wouldn’t that be nice to have in the family?” His mom finally speaks up, only addressing Nanami and not you.

Your stomach sinks as you realize why Nanami was so apologetic and reassuring this entire time. He knew his mom was just going to take subtle digs at you the entire time.

“One, she’s my girlfriend — not friend. Two, no, I have no reason to speak about Allegra with my girlfriend.” Nanami responds, and he gives his mom a subtle look. It appears they have a brief challenging moment before his mom looks away and relents.

Nanami’s foot gently nudges yours underneath the table, and you try to give him a small smile in response. It’s just hard when clearly you’re not wanted in this household.

The dinner goes silent for a moment, and the dining area fills with the sounds of chopsticks gently touching against plates. You subtly check your phone for an escape.

Nanami: Don’t pay her any mind, okay?

Nanami: I promise I’ll make up for this tonight. I’ll kiss you for every rude thing she says.

Yn: and for every time she says Allegra?

Nanami: I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember her name… make you so dumb until you can only remember my name. That’s all you need to know anyways.

Yeah, that’ll do it. The negative emotions are gone — replaced by a feral need for his cock. You take a subtle breath before putting your phone away, not wanting anyone to accidentally see him dirty talking you right in front of his parents.

“Ah, do you think you can help me out with the car tomorrow, Kento? Your old man is getting too old and worn out to crawl underneath there.” His dad finally breaks the silence once more.

“Of course, dad. What are you needing done on it? I’ll probably wake up early and get it done before day breaks.” Your boyfriend is such a good son. It’s no wonder that his mom is stupid protective over him.

“I just need to breaks changed on it. It’s probably due for an oil change too.” His dad explains, and Nanami assures him that he’ll get it done.

“I didn’t know you knew much about cars.” You take the chance of speaking up, and Nanami’s hazel eyes meet yours. His face instantly softens, and his mouth opens to speak. Too bad his mom beats him too it.

“Of course, he does. He needs to know all sorts of things like that in case his future wife needs her car repaired.” His mom says with a hint of hostility in her tone. “Speaking of which, Allegra just bought a new car a few months ago.”

You sit in silence for a moment, and you feel your stomach twisting in discomfort. You don’t know why you care so much for this woman’s opinion of you. Nanami already warned you that they likely wouldn’t approve of you, but you didn’t know you signed up to practically be bullied all weekend.

“I know a few basic things about cars. Nothing major.” Nanami responds to you — ignoring his mother’s comments. “I can show you too if you’re interested.”

A small smile curls on your lips, and you swallow back your emotions— trying to stay strong for him. “That’d be nice.”

“You definitely have a….”

“Mom.” Nanami immediately warns, staring down his mother before she can even finish her sentence.

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything mean.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casually laughing as if she’s been nothing but friendly this entire time. “I was just going to say that your friend certainly has a bold personality… wearing red to meet someone’s parents is definitely… a choice.”

Your eyes look down at the nice blouse you’re wearing, and you swallow harshly. Nanami was actually the one to pick it out for you. He reassured you this morning that you looked gorgeous — unknowingly signing you up to be bullied.

Your face is burning hot with embarrassment, and you wish you could just fold in on yourself and die right on the spot.

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.” Nanami frowns, and he puts his chopsticks down on his plate. “I’m serious. Being a bully at your age is unbecoming to you as a mother.”

“Kento.” His dad warns, but Nanami doesn’t relent for a second.

“No. I’m not going to sit here and allow her to continue disrespecting my girlfriend like that.” Your boyfriend retorts, and he switches back to glaring at his mother. “I’m not dating Allegra — nor do I want to. I’m doing you a favor by introducing you to yn. I figured you’d like to know your future daughter in law.” He gestures to you,

The color leaves his mom’s face as she stares back at her son — as if him implying that he is going to marry you is the worst news she’s ever heard. Her eyes cut over towards you in a vicious glare. “How long have you even known my son?”

Your heart is beating straight through your chest. Confrontation isn’t your strong suit, and to be honest, his mother was terrifying even though she’s literally shorter than you are.

“W-well, we met in college so…” You inwardly curse for stumbling over your words, and Nanami frowns as he looks at you. He hates that his parents are making you so unsure of yourself and your role in his life. He wants to take all your insecurities away and make you forget this ever even happened.

“It’s not even been that long! You don’t even have history with this girl. Allegra was your first kiss.. your first everything!” His mother raises her voice at Nanami, making exasperating hand motions.

His first everything? He told you that you were his first.

Tears prick into your eyes before you can even think to stop him. Overwhelmed by shame and just utter defeat, you don’t even know what to do other than to hide and cry.

Nanami’s eyes widen as he sees you clearly trying to cover up the tears streaming down your cheeks. His jaw tightens as he returns his gaze to his mother.

“That’s funny. I don’t recall you ever being present for any of those things.” His mom starts to speak up, but he is quick to shut her back down. “I kissed Allegra because you were breathing down my neck to. I was barely 15 at that time, and it happened once. That was the first and only time I ever even touched her.”

His mom starts to try to speak up again to probably bring up some other point about why he should be with Allegra. Nanami interrupts her again.

“Allegra and I do not like each other. We hardly tolerated each other for yours and her parents’ sake. You have to get over it. I’m with yn, and I’m happy — happier than I’ve ever been. She was my first everything. My first real kiss, my first girlfriend, and since you seem to want to stick your nose so far in my business, she was my first in bed too.”

“Kento, you’re being incredibly disrespectful.” Her voice is much more strict now as she scolds her grown son.

“I wonder where I get it from. It seems as though we both have a propensity for being rude.” He retorts, and while he’s arguing, his hand slides over to your inner thigh under the table, and he gropes it harshly.

He’s so pissed. He doesn’t even know how to get rid of this anger. His hand squeezes your thigh tightly, making your face go bright red as you look away from everyone.

“I’m not accepting her into this family. You can forget that. She’s changed you.” His mother’s words are growing harsher, and his dad is trying to quietly calm her. She doesn’t pay him any mind though.

“Fine. We’ll just go make our own family.” Nanami scoots his chair back, and he stands up. His hand roughly pulls you up as well — not giving you a chance to even think about what he just said. He bends down and effortlessly throw you over his shoulder, making you gape in surprise. His arm securing you by wrapping around the back of your thighs. “And by the way, I chose the red blouse. It matches the cute bra she’s wearing that I also chose for her.”

His parents stare at him — both completely dumbfounded by what just happened. They didn’t raise him to be like that, but what were they going to do?? Stop him? That’s a laughable thought. You’re not even sure God himself could pull Ken off of you when he’s feral like this.

His footsteps are heavy as he stomps up the stairs towards his teenage bedroom. Nothing has changed since he was last in here. It’s still completely sterile from how he was made to clean it each day. The walls are littered with posters of various science related things, and he has some posters of older video games he use to enjoy.

Your body is practically flung onto the bed, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second. His heart is pounding in his chest. His mind is fogged with pure anger. He hasn’t felt like this in so long. It reminds him of why he took up going to the gym.

With no punching bag in sight, you’re his only outlet.

His body is unwavering on top of yours — a force to be reckoned with, and his mouth immediately connects with yours in a suffocating kiss. Quiet hums and moans fill the air between you two, and he quite literally steals the breath from your lungs. His fingers wrap around your wrists easily, pinning them above your head on the bed.

No longer satiated from robbing you of your breath, Nanami trails his kisses down to your neck. To hell with not marking you — he needs to see his brand on your neck. You’re his, aren’t you? Who cares if his parents see?

“Ah~” You let out a breathy whimper as he angrily sucks and bites on your neck. Your skin is sensitive - already turning bright shades of blue and purple from his mouth. His dental imprint litters your neck and shoulders.

“K-Ken.. what about..?” You start to ask about his parents. They’re going to hear you two. Wouldn’t that just make things worse?

“Don’t care.” He responds so brashly. If he thinks about his parent’s behavior any longer, he’s going to need to fuck you into next week to get all his anger out.

Riiiip!

Your eyes widen as you look up at your boyfriend’s hulking figure. The blouse that you were just criticized for was now more like a coat, split down the middle, revealing your perfect breasts, so prettily on display in your red lacy bra.

His mouth waters as he looks you up and down. You have almost this panicked look in your eye, provoked by his unpredictability, and for whatever reason, it’s driving him insane.

His mouth is back on you like it never left: kissing and biting on your mounds, painting them so beautifully with his mark. “You’re mine.” He grunts lowly. His jealousy almost makes it sound like his parents were insinuating that you should marry someone else.

“Say it.” He demands before his teeth graze over your collarbone. His warm breath fans over your skin, making you shiver.

“Yours.” You comply with such a small whimper, and your body jolts when you feel his raging bulge rub against you.

“See what you do to me?” He rumbles lowly as he looks down to where he’s now shamelessly dry humping you through clothes like he’s a horny teenager.

“Fuck… Ken..” You whisper as you’re also mesmerized by the sight. His slacks are completely taught, outlining the shape of his cock so well. You can almost see the veins that protrude on him.

His hips rolls slowly against yours, savoring the way the fabric rubs against him and you. His dick is painfully throbbing — begging for the reprieve of being squeezed by your gummy walls.

“Are you as much of a mess as I am, baby?” He asks as his hand dips into your pants. His eyebrows furrow, and he lets out a low groan as his fingers are instantly coated in your slick. He slips his hand back out of your pants just to slide his fingers into his mouth. He holds eye contact with you as he hums in satisfaction. He'll never get enough of your taste.

“You want this, don’t you? Want me to fuck you where my parents can hear you?” He slides his hand back down into your pants, and his fingers rub tight, firm circles against your clit, making your body squirm from pleasure.

“Nngh~ ah!” You’re already so noisy, and he hasn’t even began fucking you yet.

“Give ‘em a show, baby. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

“Mmm~ Ken…” You moan as your back arches up off the bed. His fingers press down harder on your swollen clit.

“You can do better than that, darling.” He can be so condescending in bed, using that insatiable need for praise against you.

“Ken!” You shout, all logical thought has abandoned you. He tells you to do better? You do better.

“Good girl.” He purrs before sliding his hand out of your pants. He can’t get your clothes off of you quick enough. His cock is beckoning for attention, still neglected from yesterday of just eating you out.

Your hands shakily try to unbutton his shirt, and he chuckles lowly at your pitiful efforts. “Aw, my poor girl. Already so shaken up. Go on. You can do it.”

You huff at his taunting. Usually, he’d just see you struggling and take off his clothes for you, but today he was thriving off watching you so desperately trying to get his clothes off him.

It takes you a minute to get his clothes off him, and you don’t even properly take off his pants. You merely shoved them down along with his boxers just low enough for his monstrous cock to spring out. Nanami merely watches you with a cocky smirk.

“Yeah? This is what you wanted?” He purrs lowly, and he carefully drags his tip up and down your core, smearing his precum along your lips as if his tip was giving you a sloppy kiss.

“Gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” His other hand releases your wrists, and he lovingly cups your cheek. His hand is so big compared to your face. He loves watching you nuzzle up into his palm.

You nod your head quickly in response, lifting your hips up to meet his with each slow movement. Wet slippery noises from your cunt weeping for him fill the room.

“Use your words.” He demands before he speaks up louder — just to spite his parents who are right below you two. “I said. You’re going to take this dick like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” You whine before your body is completely shell shocked from a quick slap to your cunt. His cock is so heavy — you can feel the weight of it as his rudely smacks it against you again.

“Louder.”

“Yes sir-!” You immediately oblige, following his commands without a second thought in your brain.

His lips curl into a lopsided grin, and he carefully guides his sweltering tip towards your entrance, plugging your hole with just his head.

“Keep being a good girl like that, and I might have to give you baby. Do you want that?” He asks while carefully stretching you by fucking his tip in and out of your tight hole. “You wanna have my baby, don’t you?”

“Ffffuck- Ken! T-too much..” You squirm your body against his bedsheets, and he chuckles at your poor attempt at getting away.

“You clearly want this, so why are you running?” He hands latch onto your thighs, and he pulls you back down towards him, inadvertently impaling you even further on his cock.

A smug chuckles bubbles up in his throat as he sees how much of a mindless mess you are. He loves how he can make you all dumb so quickly with his dick. It brings him great joy to know that you trust him and can just let go, letting the more primal urges take over.

“Mmm~ so tight and wet for me, aren’t you darling? Need to just let Ken take care of you, yeah?” His voice is like velvet as he slowly thrusts himself in and out, sinking deeper into you with each movement, splitting you wide open.

“Ah~! nnnnn… so good.” You manage to whine out.

“What a crybaby. I know you can take me better than that, darling.” Nanami gives you a soft kiss on the forehead before his large hand wraps around your neck, applying pressure in just the right spots to make you all lightheaded.

"Come on. Show me how good you can take it~" His hips snap forward suddenly, sinking his full length deep inside you. Your eyes roll back into your head as he takes full control over you.

His hips are pounding forward, bumping his tip right against your cervix with every mean thrust. His balls are heavy and slapping against the flesh of your ass — a reminder for how pent up he's been recently.

Maybe it's the lack of an orgasm for the last couple of days or maybe it's his parents being utter assholes to you, but Kento finds himself feeling frustrated all over again. Low grunts and growls escape him, and he uses his grip on your neck to push himself in even further -- harder.

The sound of skin clapping against skin fills the room, and his childhood beds starts to squeak out with each forceful blow. He knows for a fact that his parents can hear every single noise. The thin walls of this house absolutely hide nothing. He may as well have fucked you right there against the kitchen table to really prove a point.

"Fuck-! Kenkenkenken! Ah~" You can't even form sentences much less words other than his name. Before you can even warn him, your walls begin to pulse around him - practically milking him while your orgasm takes you over. "Nnngh~ I-I love you.."

"Mmnn~ I didn't tell you that you could do that, sweetheart." He hazel eyes bore into your very soul as his grin shifts to a more wild one. His hips move with even more vigor as if he's trying to push himself straight into your womb,

His hand lets go of your throat, finally allowing you to get a deep breath of air while trying to cope with his massive size pumping in and out of you as if you're nothing but a senseless fuck toy, but you clearly fucking love it. You're practically dripping all over him, soaking his bedsheets in your arousal.

At this point, his parents aren't sure if he's killing you or fucking you. Either way, they're too afraid to intervene. They didn't raise a gentleman at all. They raised a monster.

"Mmph... Need to give you a baby. Can I? You'd make such a pretty mama. School be damned. I need you." Normally, Nanami is pretty controlled over his pillow talk. He's really good at it, but right now, he's completely lost in you -- just babbling promises of giving you a baby and marrying you.

"Y-yes, Ken! Fuck... give me a baby, please." Your legs are trembling around his waist, and your fingernails are giving him such pretty decorations along his back. Small trophies for fucking you just right.

"Fuuuck- Take it. T... take it all..." His voice is a gravely groan as his cock twitches inside you, spilling all of his seed directly into your tummy. It's so fucking much from holding back for a couple of days - completely filling you up. "I love you so much. Gonna marry you one day."

The house is eerily silent for a moment as both you and Nanami catch your breaths. He stays planted on top of you, keeping your legs hooked around his waist. Small creaks of footsteps against a floorboard fill the air, and you tense up, thinking his parents were going to come in there and raise all sorts of problems.

Nanami gently strokes your face with the back of his hand. "Shhh, they're not coming in here. Promise." He whispers lowly, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You slowly relax in his arms, trusting his words that his parents weren't going to come in there.

You can hear a door open and shut, and it sounds like bickering back and forth between his parents.

"See? They're just going to bed." He presses another reassuring kiss to your cheek.

His hips continue to lazily pump in and out of you, basically fucking his cum back into you as it seeps out. His cock is hyper sensitive, but he can't get enough. You're completely drenched for him. You deserve more of his loving.

"Keennn~" You whine quietly, shifting in the bed slightly as your legs are all achy and sore from him taking out all of his anger on you.

"What is it, baby?" He asks in a hushed whisper against your ear. His breath tickles your skin, making you slightly squirm in response. "I'm just making sure it takes, yeah?" His cock sinks further into you, already growing hard all over again even though he just finished.

"Mmmph~" You hum as your eyes slipped closed. Nanami smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, knowing that you're already needy all over again for him.

"Answer me, darling. Want me to stop?" He asks while peppering kisses all over your face. If the last round was about degradation and taking his anger out, then this one was about how much he loves you and can't get enough of you.

"Nonono... don't stop, please." You murmur out quickly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

"That's my good girl... Always needin' more, aren't you?" He hums lowly, and his cock pumps in and out so slowly, delicately smushing against your cervix with each loving thrust.

"Mmn.. I love you." You slur out, completely cock drunk at this point. Kento just smiles and continues to dote on your with messy kisses against your cheeks and neck. His hand is gently massaging your breast, just barely teasing your nipple while he makes love to you.

"And I love you, darling." He responds before he feels you squeezing around him already. "Oh pretty, again?" He asks as his eyes look down to your fluids gushing around his length. "Such a mess. How are we meant to sleep on these sheets now?"

"'m sorry... I c-couldn't help it. 'm so sorry." You whimper as your face dips into his shoulder, hiding you obvious embarrassment.

Kento's arms wrap around your waist, and he uses his hold on you to drag you up and down along his length — still moving at such a torturously slow pace, making you feel every inch as it enters you.

"Aw, that's alright, darling. I'll clean us up. Just take a little bit more for me, yeah?" He whispers into your ear while your pelvis is slotting against his. He's damn near holding you up into his arms. Lucky you for having such a strong boyfriend.

His lips find yours for a messy kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, claiming your mouth as his completely. A few seconds later, his cock is pumping you full again with his cum — still so much on the second round.

Without even missing a beat, Nanami's mumbling breathily in your ear. "Mmm, I know I said I'd clean us up, but you wouldn't hate a third round, would you?"

*** *** ***

Nanami didn't wake you up the next morning to watch him work on the car. He knew your poor little body was put through the ringer yesterday, so he gave you a tender kiss on the temple before making his way into the garage in just his sleeping pants and socks.

His father's car was already propped up on the jack, and his father groaned as he leaned up off the ground. "Well good morning." He says in a knowing tone.

"Good morning. Why are you down there? I told you I'd fix it today." Nanami asks as he shoos his dad out of his way, and he slides himself underneath the car.

"Well, I didn't know if you'd be up for it after your fun ventures last night." His dad hands Nanami a tool to help get the brake pads off the car.

Nanami stays silent. In his new found clarity, he does know that fucking you so loudly to where his parents can hear was a weird retaliation method, but he doesn't regret doing it.

"Your mother cried all night last night."

"Maybe she needs a reality check if she's that damn upset about who I choose to romantically involve myself with." Nanami rolls his eyes, and he grunts as he forces the brake pad away from the car.

"I don't think she was crying because of that. I think she realizes just how far she drove you away from her with her constant pressure over your love life." His dad explains, and he hands Nanami the new brake pad to replace on the car. "I'm not saying you or yn have to forgive her for how she acted today, but I am asking that you try to give her another chance today. I think she understands now."

Nanami takes a deep breath, but he nods quietly. "She's got one more time to say anything rude to my girlfriend, and we're taking the first train back to the university."

*** *** ***

Your eyes darted over to Nanami's nervously when his mother asked you to have a girl's day with her, but your boyfriend gently rubbed your back, silently assuring you that it'd be okay. At least, he hoped it'd be okay.

Nanami: Text me if she says anything rude. I'll pack our stuff up and we'll leave, okay?

Luckily, you didn't have to text him at all that day. His mom took you sight seeing around the town, out to eat at one of Hakone's favorite restaurants, and you two got your nails done.

"You know, I was being a bad person yesterday." She starts off as you two are sat next to each other. Her feet are being massaged by one of the workers, and you're getting your toes painted. "I guess I just had this idea of how I wanted Kento's life to go, and when things started not going to plan, I started trying to grasp onto anything that'd give me control."

You glance over at his mother, and she has a small nostalgic smile upon her face. "I can't believe I allowed myself to act that way towards you... especially after my parents did the same thing to Kento's dad."

"Your parents didn't accept Kento either?" You curiously ask, wondering how similar your stories were.

"No, but they didn't try to arrange me into a marriage either. They just didn't think Kento's dad was manly enough for me. They didn't like seeing me wear the pants in the relationship, but that's just what works for us... I use to beg for them to just let us be happy, but they never stopped criticizing him. I finally just.. stopping talking to them when I fell pregnant with Kento." She explains in a voice raw with emotion. You can clearly see how this still impacts her to this day.

"I don't want Ken to do the same to me... I want to be in his and your life and my future grandchild's life if that's what you two choose to do. I raised him well, and I know he has a good judgement of character. So, I know you must be a good person. If he's happy, then that's all that matters to me." She goes on, giving you a small apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you last night. It will never happen again."

*** *** ***

Nanami had spent the whole day checking his phone religiously while his dad kept him employed with random home renovation tasks. He was waiting for the moment to start packing up your stuff and telling his mom that he wasn't going to speak to them again.

When he heard sounds of wailing coming from the front door, he immediately hopped off the ladder that his dad was holding for him.

"Kento-!" His dad shouts as he wobbles around, but Nanami was already speed walking towards the front door to see what was happening.

To his surprise, there was no wailing. It was only hysterical laughter coming from you and his mom. He stood in the door way with a confused look on his face as he observed you two.

"Yes, he was such a cutie pie.." His mom laughs as she shows you another picture of Kento in high school.

"Aww, Ken... you didn't tell me you were emo." You greeted your boyfriend with a fit of giggles from seeing his high school photos. His fringe proudly in view.

Nanami rakes his hands through his shorter hair now, and he lets out a relieved laugh. Seeing you interact so happily with his mom was enough to make him feel full with love. His heart feels at ease now... until he remembers that he has to meet your parents at some point.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

Warnings: angst. a heavy grudge, a male incapable of owning up to his mistakes, a well-meaning but wrong-steering best friend, verbal fighting, physical fighting, brief mentions of blood

Word Count: 8.5k

this was going to be two parts but... for the drama, ive decided to offer a feast and not just a meal

Part Two ┃ Series Masterlist ┃ Part Four

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel hadn’t meant to let it sit for this long. 

His shadows had been needling him for days, hissing reminders at the edge of his mind: Fix this. He intended to. He just didn’t know how. There were too many eyes on him now, too many people that expected his great, grand apology. 

It was hard to focus on anything else.  Even when he was with Selene, her words barely touched him. His mind was consumed by the unease that gnawed at him, the constant pull of you, somewhere, still angry over what had happened.

Azriel wanted to ask Selene about her words. Why they’d taken root in his mind, why he’d echoed them back to you. But he didn’t. He let Selene talk, smiled when she asked for his opinion, and tried to let the softness of her lips on his drown out the unease.

He didn’t know exactly why it felt so much harder with you— felt harder to argue, felt even harder to apologize. Everything else in his life, every delicate situation, every broken, jagged thing, he could attempt to handle with steady hands. But you—every time he stepped near you lately, it felt like stepping onto unstable ground. One wrong move, and everything shifted beneath him.

His shadows had made sure to remind him, trailing after you through the house, feeding him fragments of your clipped words to Mor, the slam of a cabinet door when you thought no one was paying attention. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore, curling around his ears like smoke, whispering your whereabouts.

He’d tried small things—leaving you treats, a smoothie for breakfast, or a croissant on a plate with your name carefully written on a napkin. But every time he returned to check, they were untouched. Once, he found the croissant flattened and crumpled, as if you’d squeezed it with a tight fist before tossing it back onto the plate. His shadows confirmed you were angry that night, their murmurs suggesting no coincidence in your evening spent with Mor.

Since then, every instinct told him to stay away and retreat, to wait until he’d figured out the right thing to say instead of stumbling through this mess. But waiting had gotten him here, hadn’t it? And now he was scrambling to undo weeks of silence. He thought, maybe, he should have something written out. Something properly planned, so that he knew what he wanted to tell you. But every time he thought about what to say, his mind came up blank. After hours of failure, he’d convinced himself that, with you, it would come naturally. It always had.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept repeating as he made his way downstairs, finding you in the kitchen.

You didn’t look up right away, but you knew he was there. 

“Are you sure you want to be in here without a chaperone?” you said, slicing into an apple slowly. “What if something happens?”

Shadows swirled around his shoulders. Angry, they whispered. As if he didn’t already know.

“Stop,” Azriel said. “Can we just... stop with the comments. Please.”

“Why?” You said, finally tossing a glance his way. “Is it bothering you?”

The look on your face was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t just anger. It was exhaustion, too. He didn’t like it, the way the shadows under your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders spoke louder than anything you’d said to him in days. Didn’t like that he’d probably been the one to put that exhaustion there.

“Yes,” Azriel finally responded. “It is bothering me.”

You let out a laugh, something low and humorless, and it twisted in his chest. Should he  apologize for making you lose sleep, too? He’d already failed at the rest of it—what was one more thing to add to the pile?

Azriel cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk?”

His fists clenched at his sides. The familiar burn of frustration, the heat of guilt, rose up his throat.  “How was I supposed to talk to you before when you’d just ignore me or say something snarky and leave?”

You stilled at his words and Azriel was almost tempted to embrace the small flicker of relief he felt. He should have apologized sooner, yes, but you had been avoiding him fervently. He convinced himself he wouldn’t have been able to apologize before now, anyways. 

“Okay,” you said, setting the knife down and leaning against the counter. “Well, I’m here now. So what do you want to say?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to the knife instinctively. It was far enough from your hand that he probably didn’t need to worry. Probably. Not that he thought you’d do anything—though there was that one time Cassian had nearly stabbed him with a butter knife. He’d been significantly less angry than you were now. The memory did nothing to ease Azriel’s nerves. He pushed the image away.

This was it—his chance to fix things. To say all the things he’d been rehearsing in his head. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself saying, “How was the meeting with Keir?”

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back down his throat.  He could see it in the way your expression shifted—something sharp and disbelieving cutting across your face. Azriel didn’t need his shadows to tell him he’d screwed up again. The words had barely landed, and already he was bracing for the fallout.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

Azriel froze. His shadows curled tighter around him. Stupid, stupid. He swallowed, desperately trying to correct it. There was no going back. “Rhys said I should expect some tension at the next meeting. I wanted the full picture.”

“The full picture?” You repeated darkly.  “Well the full picture wasn’t great, Azriel. Because you weren’t there. And because I was pissed—because of you.”

Azriel nodded, swallowing hard. Idiot. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked that. I should’ve—” He stopped himself. No, he couldn’t fix that now. He needed to focus on what mattered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, the words leaving his mouth like rocks tumbling down a hill. He hated the way it sounded—weak, like he didn’t mean it. But he did. He just didn’t know how to make you believe it. Azriel continued, the apology already unraveling in his head. “For how you feel.”

“Oh,” you said softly, but there was a thick sarcasm in your voice. “You’re sorry for how I feel?”

Azriel rushed to correct himself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” You shook your head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Do you even know what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

Azriel cursed himself for the hundredth time. Why was this so hard?

Because it was you, he heard his own voice reply, because he couldn’t bear the thought of failing you again. He knew he was failing—knew it in the sharp edge of your voice and the way your eyes narrowed every time he opened his mouth. And still, the right thing to say stayed maddeningly out of reach.

“I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt.”

His shadows slowly loosened, trailing down his body like they didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. He didn’t blame them. You blinked slowly at him, that look of exhaustion softening your features.

“That’s not an apology, Azriel. That’s—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You know what? Nevermind.”

Azriel was transported back to the night of the fight, remembering how you’d said similar words then, too. He tried to salvage it again, but you were already moving, wiping the cutting board with a hurried motion. You didn’t notice as your apple, barely sliced, rolled off the counter’s edge. His shadows were there almost instantly, catching the fruit before it fell.

You reached out, and for a brief moment, your shoulders softened as you grabbed it from their hold.

“Where are you going?” Azriel asked. He wondered if his voice sounded as desperate as he felt. As frustrated.

“To train with Cassian,” you replied, still not looking at him. Your hand paused on the counter, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Do you think I should stop by Nesta first? Make sure she’s okay with me being around her mate? I wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship too.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. “Can we stop this?”

“No,” you replied swiftly, and Az could have sworn he heard a crack in your voice. 

And then the silence stretched. You ate the small slices of apple as you put things away, the quiet dragging on as he stood there, still unable to speak. Finally, you stopped and looked at him. He tried to offer a smile, something to soften the weight in the air. But you just frowned.

“Did you expect to wait this out? Wait until I got over it?”

Azriel shook his head, his voice low. “No. I never thought that. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You stared at him for a long moment, like you were seeing him for the first time, and the disappointment in your gaze made his chest feel tight. He should have been able to find the right words. But it didn’t matter anymore, not in this moment, not as you let out a small, bitter laugh, nodding as if something inside you had finally broken. 

“Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you never say the right one.”

Azriel opened his mouth, desperate to correct himself, to make it right, but the words just wouldn’t come. He had never considered that before—at least, not with you. He’d never thought he needed to say the right things, never cared enough to learn how.

“I never realized how much of an asshole you could be,” you said, with a final, almost dismissive glance. “I guess some females are into that.”

And then you were gone.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Training couldn’t have come at a better time.

You needed to hit something—needed to feel that release. Not in a petty, frustrated way, like slamming your fist into a wall, but in the desperate, raw way that left you aching. It was the only way to escape your frustration and, maybe, remind yourself that you were still you, despite how Azriel made you feel.

And for a while, it worked.

Cassian had spent centuries mastering the language of battle, the unspoken rhythm of war. He could read the tension in a stance, spot when someone's body didn’t follow through with the mind’s intentions. He didn’t get enough credit for it, you thought, his ability to read someone without words. He was looking at you now, with that critical eye, head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for you to crack. 

“Alright,” Cassian grunted as he parried another strike. “What’s on your mind?”

You ducked beneath his swing. “Nothing,” you said, deflecting the question with a swipe of your sword. Too fast, too aggressive.

Cassian dodged it easily, raising a brow. “Right. Because ‘nothing’ is exactly what makes you swing like you’re trying to decapitate me.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but you didn’t laugh. You weren’t in the mood for his teasing, no matter how good-natured it was.

“It’s nothing. Seriously.”

He rested the flat of his blade against his shoulder.  “Come on, spit it out before you take my head off for real. I’ll pester you all day.”

You sighed, pacing a few steps away. He’d wait. He definitely would. And there wasn’t much point in pretending anymore—he clearly knew you weren’t fine. Continuing to train like this was useless when your head was so unfocused. Avoiding the topic wasn’t helping either. At this point, everyone knew what was going on. Hell, they all seemed more bothered by it than Azriel.

Still, you’d been dodging these conversations. Talking about it felt...stupid. Saying it out loud would make it real—all the messy, painful feelings you’d been shoving down would be out there, staring back at you like some pitiful mirror. Your conversation with Azriel this morning had only made your bitterness stronger.

But Cassian was watching you, expecting, and it was nice, in a way. Having someone care this much. Maybe it would be easier to talk to him. Mor had helped, sure, but her comfort recently came in the form of dragging Azriel through the dirt. It didn’t actually solve anything.

"It’s this stupid thing with Az," you muttered finally. "I’m starting to feel like he doesn’t actually care about me." 

Cassian leaned on the hilt of his sword. “Well, that’s not true.”

You leveled him with a stare, your body tensing as a surge of frustration ran through you, hot and heavy. “It isn’t? He talked to me for the first time today and didn’t even apologize. Not properly. Just asked about Keir.”

Cassian’s expression softened. “He gets wrapped up in his own head about things. Probably just embarrassed, you know? Doesn’t know how to approach the situation.”

You’d run that possibility through your mind a hundred times. Mor had even said it herself. But it didn’t help with the ache, the anger. It was hard to believe your spymaster—so fearless, so eager to throw himself into the fire—was struggling to talk to a friend. Out of all the hard things Azriel had done, surely a simple apology wasn’t beyond him. You’d forgiven him for so much, had let things go because he was your friend. But you were tired of letting it go. He had the perfect opportunity to apologize, to properly acknowledge how he’d hurt you, and he hadn’t taken it.

“Embarrassed by what? Accusing his friend of something so absurd?”

Cassian tilted his head in subtle agreement, like he too thought the word absurd was right for the situation. “I think Az doesn’t want to be seen as...whatever he thinks people see him as. Like he’s incompetent in love. Or that he can’t handle his shit.” He rolled his shoulders, sighing. “He’s defensive. When he’s cornered, he reacts badly. It’s not about you, Y/n. You know that, right?”

You knew that. Of course you did. But it didn’t feel like a proper explanation this time. It didn’t feel like enough.

“But it feels like it is about me. He listened to her. He took her word, over mine." Your fists clenched involuntarily. "And the way he acted—like I wasn’t worth considering, like my opinion doesn’t matter. I’ve known him for centuries. She—" You paused, taking a breath, "She’s barely been in his life. And he immediately assumes that my care for him is because I just want something from him. That it’s some selfish, self-serving thing. His whole job is to see through lies, Cass. He didn’t even second-guess her.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually see it like that. He probably just reacted out of instinct. It’s Azriel, Y/n, he’s complicated. "

“Shit, Cass, way to play sides.”

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “I’m not playing sides. I’m trying to help. Az makes stupid decisions. Half the time, I don’t think he even understands why. I don’t want you driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s not worth it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Just wait it out? Move on? That’s not happening.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, and guilt pricked at the edges of your conscience. This wasn’t Cassian’s fault—he didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to care. But lately, your anger over everything—over Az—felt like a thorn lodged so deeply under your skin that the irritation seeped into everything. You were struggling to control it.

It was a small blessing there weren’t any court matters to handle for the time being. Rhys was likely still preoccupied with Keir’s incessant whining about your last outburst.

Still, it felt like acid rising in your throat, a bitter burn you couldn’t swallow down, even as Cassian opened his mouth to respond. The words were spilling out of you before he could say anything.

“I’m not even mad about this one fight anymore,” you started, the grip on your sword slipping as your fingers unfurled. The blade clattered to the ground, the sound loud enough to make Cassian flinch. “It’s everything. All of it. He never apologizes for anything—have you noticed that? Like, ever. And I’ve let it slide because that’s just Azriel, right? Quiet, brooding Azriel, who’s somehow above—”

Cassian raised a palm out. “Alright, alright, stop,” he said. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy. It’s not worth it.”

You exhaled sharply, realizing you were halfway to a full-blown rant.

He stepped closer, giving you a knowing look. “Listen, you can’t force him to apologize properly. You just...can’t. You have to let him come to it on his own.”

Your teeth clenched. “I shouldn’t have to.”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I agree. Believe me, I agree. But until he figures his shit out, maybe we focus on what you can change.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What else is bothering you?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “It would be easier to list what isn’t bothering me right now.”

Cassian tilted his head again, considering. “Does it bother you that Selene sees you as competition?”

You blew a strand of hair out of your face. Did it bother you?

Azriel had believed her instantly—disregarded you with a swiftness that stung. He’d accused you of selfishness, of something you’d never been with him. But Selene’s opinion of you, the thoughts she’d planted in his mind, those bothered you too. You hadn’t realized it until now.

She didn’t know you.

And yet, her words had curled under your skin, sitting heavy and raw, making you ache in a quiet, tired way. Worse, they’d made you overthink every interaction with Azriel since. You’d spent so much of your life trying to be the diplomat, choosing empathy even when it sucked—when it drained you. You wanted to like Selene—gods, you wanted to like the people Azriel cared for, even when it felt impossible. But she hadn’t even given you the time of day.

“I don’t like that I’ve been vilified somehow,” you admitted with a frown. “I don’t want to feel like I’m fighting for his attention or validation. It’s not like that.”

Cassian gave a small, knowing smile. “I know it’s not.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” 

He paused, clearly mulling something over, then asked, “Do you want to hear what I think?”

You gave him a wary look. “I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Correct,” he said, grinning. Then he sobered. “Az aside...I think Selene’s reaction makes sense.”

You blinked at him, incredulous. Was he serious right now? A sharp heat rose in your chest. “Okay, well, that’s clearly choosing sides—”

“Hear me out,” Cassian said quickly. “I mean, look at you, Y/n. I’d be jealous of you too if I were her. You’re beautiful, smart, someone Azriel deeply cares for. Hell, I’d probably be a mess.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “So, because I’m so wonderful, I’m responsible for her insecurities?” you asked dryly, arching a brow.

Cassian shook his head. “No. What I’m saying is that this might be the one aspect of the situation you can change. The one thing you have control over. Maybe talking to her would help. Clear the air.”

You mulled over his suggestion. Maybe he had a point. Maybe talking to Selene would help. Not just to ease the tension, but to give Azriel room to come to you—to clear the air between you both. If you did this—if you took the first step—maybe he’d finally take you seriously. Apologize for dismissing you so easily, so carelessly. You could find a way to move on, comfortably, with Selene in his life. Right?

It wasn’t like the situation could get any worse.

"Okay," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll talk to her."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian was waiting for Azriel as he stepped out of the townhome, his massive frame leaning against the railing. One glance at the general was enough to confirm it: Cassian wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. No—Cassian stood with his arms crossed, his wings partially flared, exuding the barely-contained anger Azriel recognized all too well.

“We need to talk,” Cassian said.

Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He tightened his fists, shadows curling around them instinctively, obscuring his hands from view. Not now. Not tonight. He had no energy for this—not for Cassian’s righteousness or whatever lecture he’d come prepared to deliver.

“I’m not in the mood, Cass,” he said flatly, brushing past him.

“Too bad.” Cassian stepped into his path, blocking him with ease. “I didn’t endure an hour of Mor yelling at me for you to decide you can’t have a conversation.”

Azriel paused, his brow furrowing. “Why was Mor yelling at you?”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Because of you.”

“Great,” Az muttered. “What have I done now?”

“I gave Y/n some advice that, in hindsight, wasn’t great. Mor made the situation a lot clearer for me. Now I’m here to make sure you clean up your mess before anyone else slips.”

The mention of your name made Azriel’s chest ache in a way that felt too raw. He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight—not your voice, not your expression when he’d spoken to you this morning. But here was Cassian, dragging it all to the surface like a wound being forced open.

“I don’t think this is any of your concern,” Azriel said coldly, stepping around Cassian in a last-ditch effort to leave.

Cassian didn’t budge, spinning on his heel and following. “It is my concern because you’re my friend. And Y/n is my friend.”

Azriel could feel his shadows tighten their hold, whispering, urging him to end this. He wasn’t sure if they meant the conversation with Cassian or the situation entirely. Azriel could only control one of those.

“Cass, leave it alone,” he said, his voice low, barely masking the warning there.

“No,” Cassian responded immediately. “You did something shitty and you need to own up to it, Az.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes friends fight,” he ground out. “Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, like you’re getting on mine now. It’ll settle.”

“This isn’t going to ‘settle.’” Cassian’s voice rose. “You didn’t just get on her nerves—you offended her.”

The words hit harder than Azriel had anticipated.

“Because the idea of having feelings for me is so offensive? Am I that repulsive?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, the question jagged, biting. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. 

Cassian blinked, his anger giving way to confusion for a moment before his brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t twist this into something it isn’t.”

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of heat creeping up his neck. His outburst had come from nowhere, and now, Cassian’s eyes were full of confusion and something else—something close to pity. Azriel felt small under it, a flush of embarrassment prickling down his body. He wanted to look away, to escape.

He needed to leave.

Think later. Process later. Just get out of here.

Azriel squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. “Are you done now? Selene is waiting for me.”

Cassian stepped closer, his wings flaring in frustration. “Selene can deal with a few lost minutes of Azriel time. We’re talking.”

“No,” Azriel said, voice flat, his gaze turning icy. “You’re talking. I’m leaving.”

He moved to step past Cassian, but the larger male blocked him again.

“Is this some weird self-pity thing?” Cassian demanded, his tone growing sharper. “Thinking you’re not worth being forgiven so you don’t even try?”

Those words hit a nerve. 

Azriel’s anger sparked instantly, snapping through his ribs like a whip. He couldn’t decide if it was directed at Cassian or himself. But Cassian didn’t understand. None of them did.

“Cass, just let it go.”

“No,” Cassian shot back. “You always do this. You make decisions that are selfish. You push people away because you think it’s easier, and it’s not. It’s bullshit.”

It wasn’t easier—it was never easier. But what was Azriel supposed to say? That it was better than risking more damage? That every decision he made, no matter how distant or cold, was the only way he knew how to protect the people he cared about?

“Cassian—”

The slap came out of nowhere.

Azriel’s head snapped to the side, his shadows scattering in shock before reforming around him. Slowly, he turned back to Cassian, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” Cassian said flatly. “Must’ve been the wind.”

Azriel’s lip curled. He opened his mouth to respond, but a second slap landed, harder this time.

“Would you stop that?” Azriel growled, his wings flaring slightly, the shadows around him vibrating with his tone. “Don’t touch me.”

Cassian stepped closer. “Why?” he asked, mockingly. “This is what you deserve, right? If you’re so terrible.”

The third slap was the breaking point.

Azriel’s fist flew, connecting with Cassian’s jaw in a blur of movement. The force sent Cassian stumbling back a step, but he recovered quickly, his retaliation swift—a sharp uppercut to Azriel’s ribs.

They fought like brothers—wild, messy. Not about technique, but about something else. Azriel wasn’t sure why Cassian needed this release, but he could feel it—the desperate need behind every punch. And Azriel… Azriel didn’t realize it at first, but he needed it too.

He was an Illyrian, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. Fighting cleared his mind. Whatever Cassian was trying to achieve, whatever he needed to prove, it was working.

Azriel barely registered the sting of each hit. The ache in his ribs, the burn in his muscles—it all blurred into the same tight, unrelenting pressure in his chest. Like there was no room left for air, for thought, for the gnawing guilt that had dug its claws into him and refused to let go. Cassian tackled him to the ground, pinning him, both of them struggling for breath.

“This is stupid!”

“I agree,” Azriel spat, shoving him off. “Get off me.”

“No, you!” Cassian said, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re stupid.”

Azriel sat up slowly, chest heaving as his shadows curled protectively around him. 

Cassian shook his head, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re better than this, Az. So be better and properly fuckin’ apologize. If not for you, for me—so my mate will stop glaring at me every time I say your name.”

Azriel’s gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of Cassian’s words sinking into him like a slow burn. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. Offered nothing. 

Cassian didn’t stop. “Gods know Y/n has done enough for you. Put up with enough. We’ve all done shitty things. But you know what? You take the hit, you own it, and you try to be better. You can’t lead with self-loathing forever.”

Azriel sat there longer than necessary, long after Cassian had walked away. People passed by—some casting glances his way, most not bothering to look at all—but he didn’t move. Didn’t feel the flicker of shame he might’ve once felt at sitting there, bloodied and bruised, shadows curling restlessly around him.

The sting in his cheekbone from Cassian’s knuckles pulsed dully, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the gnawing thoughts taking root.

Maybe it wasn’t the fear of you rejecting his apology that held him back. Maybe it was the fear that you wouldn’t.

That you’d accept it. 

That somehow, he’d manage to make it up to you. That things would settle for a while, until he inevitably did something worse. Something irreparable.

He was terrified of succeeding—of pulling you back in, of you continuing to see something in him that he wasn’t. That you’d keep believing in this illusion, this version of him he’d somehow convinced you existed.

For centuries, it felt like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable—waiting for you to see him as he truly was. And if he made this right, if you forgave him, it would only give him more time to fail you again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were walking without a proper destination in mind.

You’d never been to it, but Azriel had once mentioned that Selene worked at a flower shop near the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He’d first run into her on one of his free days, when he’d stopped by a few of his favorite parts in the city.

This area made sense. It was near his usual route, tucked away in a cozy corner of the city. As the scent of flowers suddenly enveloped you, you heard Selene’s unmistakable voice. Relief surged through you; you’d found the right place. 

You thought back to your conversation with Cassian. You knew you weren’t in the wrong, that this current visit wasn’t expected of you. But it was something you could control. You’d wanted to get to know Selene better anyway. You prepared yourself, putting on a smile and stepping towards the door, but then—

“I mean, is he really worth all that effort?”

This was a voice you didn’t recognize. It curled around you, something about it making your stomach clench. 

A small sigh. “Azriel?”

This time, the voice belonged to Selene. You froze, rooted to the spot. Any inclination to quit eavesdropping washed away at the sound of his name. You felt a tightness in your chest—an almost primal urge to run in there, to stop the conversation before it even began. 

“Yeah,” the second voice pressed, “He’s a freak, Sel. Hot, sure, but a total freak. And so intense all the time.”

For a moment, there was silence. And then, Selene’s voice, almost reluctant, like she was holding back. “Well—”

Her friend interrupted. “And those shadows? Don’t they freak you out?”

A sound of disgust, maybe a shiver, followed her words. Something cold rushed through you, crawling beneath your skin, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether you wanted to shout or run. Or maybe both. Anger churned in your gut, and the calm, composed facade you’d been carefully maintaining on the walk here began to crack, slipping away piece by piece. 

“Hey, knock it off,” Selene replied, her voice soft.  “He surprises you. He’s sweet. He makes me happy.”

Her friend snorted. “Has it been an ego boost for you, then?”

“I mean, yeah,” Selene admitted quietly. “But that’s not all of it. Things with him actually aren’t… great right now. He canceled on me again tonight. I think it’s because he had some kind of fight with Y/n.”

The mention of your name stole the breath from your chest, and your body constricted almost involuntarily. 

Her friend’s voice was full of disbelief as she asked, “He actually told you?”

“No,” Selene said softly, “I—I heard them. I feel really bad, but…”

The next sound was unmistakable—the sharp intake of breath from her friend, a squeal of sorts.

“Did you actually use the listening charm I gave you? You little min—”

Something snapped in you as the words registered. A listening charm. A strange, gross invasion of privacy. And to think you had felt bad standing here, eavesdropping on their conversation in a public store, of all places. You’d been this close to giving her the benefit of the doubt.

You stormed into the shop, the door slamming behind you, and both voices froze. You barely registered Selene’s friend’s wide-eyed realization, the quiet “Oh shit” leaving her lips as she turned toward Selene.

Your focus was on Selene—on her and no one else. She stood there, an image of calm beauty that twisted something deep inside you—a type of beauty that felt somehow wrong, as if it were too polished, too perfect, for the situation. Her dark hair framed her face, her delicate features still and pale as she stared at you. The color drained from her face the moment your gaze locked with hers.

“Do you want to explain what I just heard?” you asked, your voice tight, sharp, biting. “Or should I just tell you what I’ve gathered?”

Silence. 

Her friend opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t think you have any right coming in here and—”

“I think this is a conversation for me and Selene,” you said coldly, not bothering to spare her a glance. 

Selene blinked a few times before she turned her head and offered her friend a small, almost reluctant nod.

“You should go,” she told her quietly. “And put the closed sign on the door, please.”

Her friend hesitated, but with a final glance in your direction, she walked out, the soft click of the door behind her leaving the two of you alone. You didn’t miss the way she’d muttered under her breath as she left, a quiet but very clear “Bitch.”

“Y/n,” Selene said after another moment of silence, her voice tentative, like she was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Clearly.”

Selene’s movements were stiff, awkward as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands now that she was trapped in this uncomfortable moment.  “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore,” you replied. “I asked you a question. I’d like to know what I just overheard.”

Selene’s ears flushed pink, a deep red that spread across her neck, as she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You could feel your patience unraveling. Of course she didn’t know what to say. She’d been caught in the act. There was no excuse for this.

“You listened to us,” you snapped, the words bitter in your mouth. “You spied on Azriel. Do you just want to skip ahead to how you justify it?”

Her face paled, and for a moment, she looked younger—small, almost fragile. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh please.” The frustration boiled over, flooding your veins with anger you hadn’t realized was possible. Anything you’d felt before this moment paled in comparison. You shouldn’t have asked her to explain. You already knew whatever she said would only make things worse, would only add fuel to the fire that was your growing irritation.

This is stupid. This is ridiculous. How did you get roped into this?

“I know it was wrong!” she said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I know, okay? I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let Runa convince me it was a good idea. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

That had to be the worst excuse you’d ever heard. It wasn’t just the stupidity of it that pissed you off—it was the weakness of it, the desperation in her voice that made you want to scream.  Azriel must be blind. Had he really been so wrapped up in whatever bubble he’d built around her that he couldn’t see the cracks? Was he so fucking love-blind that this—this—was what he was left with?

“What else to do? About what? Surely any other solution would have been better.”

She let out a deep sigh and her shoulders sagged with the motion. “I really like him,  Y/n.”

You snorted, a sound of genuine amusement—more out of sheer disbelief than anything else. You couldn’t help it. “Alright,” you said, dismissing her with a wave of your hand, not buying it for a second. “Don’t start.”

“I do,” Selene said, her voice more insistent now. “I think I might even love him. But it’s hard.”

You shot her an unimpressed look. 

Her voice was louder, more frantic, as she continued. “Azriel doesn’t talk about anything—anything real.”

You didn’t bother hiding the scoff. “Bullshit. Az talks. You just have to be patient. Communicate like a normal fucking partner.”

Her frustration flashed across her face, the defensive crossing of her arms only making her look more like a child. “Do you think I didn’t try that? He doesn’t tell me anything. Not really. He keeps everything locked up so tight—he barely even looks at me sometimes. What was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not violate his privacy?” 

“You don’t get it.” Her hands trembled as she gestured at you. “He doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you. Do you know what it’s like to be the one he’s supposed to care about but feel like you’re always on the outside? Like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get through, but somehow you can?”

You should’ve walked away then. The urge to just let her talk herself into a hole was strong. But you didn’t.

“You’ve been dating him for a few months,” you said, crossing your arms, your stance slightly defensive. “We’ve been friends for centuries. You can’t expect him to open up to you completely overnight.”

“That’s not the point!” she snapped, her voice rising, a crack of desperation leaking through. For a fleeting second, you almost felt bad for her. A tug of sympathy.

“Then what the hell is the point?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just looking for someone to blame. And for some reason, that someone is me. Are you seriously trying to imply I'm somehow responsible for you spying on him?”

Selene flinched, but she didn’t back down. You had to give her credit for that.  “No. I—I don’t know,” she mumbled, her hand tugging at her hair in jerky movements, like she was trying to yank the thoughts from her mind. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t think—I just… I didn’t want to lose him. I thought if I could figure out what was going on, maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could stop feeling like…”

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m always on the outside. Like I’m never going to be enough.”

A part of you wanted to snap back at her, to remind her that this wasn’t a justification, that none of this made it okay. But something about her voice—broken, raw, like a crack that had been growing for too long—slowed your response. Your anger faltered.

“I know it’s insane,” she added, “I know it was wrong, and I feel awful about it. But I didn’t know what else to do. It feels like i’m competing with someone who’s known him longer, who gets to see parts of him I never will. How am I supposed to make space for myself?”

“Still not a good enough excuse,” you bit out. “You can’t just violate his privacy because you’re insecure.”

Selene took a deep breath and met your gaze. There was no fight in them anymore. “Please, just go. Run off and tell Azriel everything. I know you’re probably excited to.”

Her words stung more than they should have.

“Why do you say it like that?” you asked, “Like I’m thrilled to ruin your relationship?”

Selene’s eyes flickered with something sharp. “Aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost wished you could be. Almost.

“No,” you said firmly. “I would never do that to Azriel. I’m not your competition. I’m his friend. I came here to give you the benefit of the doubt because I wanted you two to be happy. But this? This is…” You trailed off, unable to even finish the thought, because it was too much—everything about it felt wrong.

“Crazy?” Selene finished bitterly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know how it looks. But like I said, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to care about someone so much that you start losing sight of yourself. I think about him, about how much I care about him, and all my instincts go out the window. ”

Selene had always existed a certain way in your mind.

Azriel had seemed lighter when he first mentioned her, a softness in his voice that you hadn’t heard in years. And you’d been happy for him—thrilled, even, at the idea of someone bringing him a bit of joy. You’d wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that she could be good for him. You were excited to meet her.

But then Az started to change.

The more he changed, the more Selene shifted in your mind, too. She became untouchable, an image conjured more from your worry than from anything real. You imagined her as someone clingy, someone who demanded all of his attention and made him forget the people who loved him first. Someone full of herself, reveling in the power she had over him.

And then you’d met her.

She wasn’t what you’d expected—though not in the way that might have changed your mind. She wasn’t warm or open, wasn’t eager to charm or connect with Azriel’s family. Instead, she’d clung to him like a second skin, her hands always on his arm, her smile reserved only for him. And maybe it was unfair, but you hadn’t liked the way she’d looked at you, hadn’t liked the guarded, wary edge to her voice when she spoke.

You’d trusted your gut, let it guide you through the uncertainty. And when things fell apart—when the argument between you and Az finally erupted—Selene’s image had shifted again.

She became a villain in your mind, a figure painted in sharp, unforgiving lines. It was easier that way. Easier to picture her whispering in Azriel’s ear, twisting his thoughts, pulling him further away from you. You’d built her into someone cruel, someone who reveled in the divide she’d caused.

But now, standing before her, you saw something else entirely.

Selene didn’t look cruel. She didn’t look smug or victorious. If anything, she looked fragile. There was an unease in her posture, a vulnerability in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. The guardedness was still there, but it felt more like armor than arrogance.

And for the first time, you questioned how much of the image you’d built of her was real—and how much of it was your own fear, your own concern for Azriel, projected onto her.

“Why did you tell Azriel that I had feelings for him?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you weren’t sure where they came from—but somehow, they lifted a deep weight off your chest.

Her brows furrowed, genuine confusion crossing her face. "What?"

“Why did you tell him that you thought I had feelings for him?”

“I wanted to see what he’d do,” she admitted. 

Disbelief tightened in your chest.  “So you lied to him for fun?”

She shook her head. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes,” you said, the word bitten out, “You told him I had feelings for him.”

“Because you do,” she answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, like she understood your feelings better than you did. And for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you almost believed her.

Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know what a female in love with him looks like,” she said quietly,  her voice soft in a way it wasn’t before. “I see it every day when I look in the mirror.”

Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions you couldn’t untangle fast enough. You focused on the irritation. 

“Am I wrong?” she continued. “Is he the best part of your day? Do you look forward to talking to him? Can you tell him things you’d never tell anyone else? Do you save bits of good food just so he can try it?”

Your throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between anger and disbelief. How had this conversation managed to spin so completely?

The breath you took felt jagged, like your lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way. “That’s not true,” you said. “Azriel and I… We’re friends. That’s all. We’ve been friends for centuries. That’s just—what happens when you’ve known someone that long.”

For a moment, you thought she might apologize, or at least reconsider. Her expression faltered, but instead, she just stared at you.

“Do you really believe that?”

When you didn’t reply, Selene blinked, cleared her throat, and turned away from you, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “This is so pathetic,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitter amusement. “I’m standing here, basically pushing you to him.”

A sigh slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You hesitated, torn between frustration and a strange sympathy. Against every instinct telling you to be petty, a part of you felt bad for her. She cared about Azriel. Deeply. You were certain of it— unsure of how you knew, but you were certain nonetheless. There was no malice in her voice, just insecurity and raw, unspoken fear.

You hated that you could sense it, but you couldn't ignore it either. You could almost hear Amren in your ear, urging you to walk away, and Mor's voice reminding you that Selene didn’t deserve your kindness. But somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. If Azriel saw something worth loving in Selene, maybe you did too.

“Okay, well, don’t do that,” you muttered, taking a step closer. The urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming—to show her that maybe she could learn and grow from this. “You need to talk to Az, Selene. Just sit down, be open—”

“Stop. Don’t be nice to me,” she snapped, spinning to face you. Her voice was sharp.

She moved as if to push you away, but hadn’t realized how close you’d stepped. The edge of her bracelet caught your cheek, and the sharp sting of metal cut straight through it.

Selene froze, her eyes widening as she took in the line of blood blooming on your cheek. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her hands hovering uselessly. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You stepped back further, your hand still on your cheek, blood warm against your fingertips. 

This seemed about right, you thought bitterly to yourself. This is what happens when you try to be the bigger person. You were gonna kill Cassian. You were going to wring his godsdamned neck.

Selene’s voice became a rush of apologies, each one more frantic than the last, but your attention was already slipping away. Your gaze fell to the bracelet on her wrist. The metal gleamed, twisting slightly with every motion of her hand. You recognized it instantly.

Azriel had a similar one in his room. On his dresser.

“Is that how you did it?” you asked, pointing to her wrist.

Selene’s face drained of color, guilt flooding her expression. She nodded slowly, her hands shaking as she removed the bracelet and held it out to you, eyes wide and full of regret.

You took it from her fingers and, just for a moment, you almost let yourself fall back into the anger, the hurt. But you didn’t. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” Selene whispered, voice breaking. “I really am. I was— I was just desperate. And Runa kept pushing, and—”

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, locking eyes with her. Her voice faded, but it didn’t matter anymore. “You’re not terrible, Selene. But you have terrible friends.”

You turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “I suggest you find new ones.”

You tried to steady yourself as you stepped into the bustling streets of Velaris. The bracelet in your hand was cold against your palm, and the sting of the cut on your cheek throbbed with each beat of your pulse. Everything inside you felt scrambled—emotions tangled, confusion still clouding your mind.

The shuffle of footsteps broke through your fog. You looked up, just in time to hear a sharp voice.

“Ouch, that looks like it stung.” A small chuckle. “Although I’m sure you’re excited to have a reason for the Shadowsinger to tend to you.”

You scanned her. “Runa, right?”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that's me.”

Without hesitation, you found yourself saying, “You gave your friend some hurtful advice.”

Runa shrugged nonchalantly, almost amused. “Oops.”

You held your tongue for a moment, your irritation intensifying the longer you looked at her. Unlike Selene, who had managed to evoke some sympathy, Runa didn’t even come close. She shifted, as if waiting for you to bite.

The silence stretched before she finally broke it with a snide laugh. “Honestly, Selene’s better off without that freak of a boyfriend. She doesn’t need to be wrapped up with shitty court politicians.”

Something in you snapped. Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions from the last half hour, but your patience with her was gone. You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your temper, and placed the bracelet in your pocket.

“Do you know who I am?”

Runa raised an eyebrow, the slightest trace of mockery in her smile. “Uh, yeah. You're an emissary or something, right?” She waved her hand dismissively, as if it didn’t matter.

You closed the distance between you in a few long strides. “Good,” you said, letting the word settle in the air. “I want you to remember that when you report.”

Runa looked confused, her smug attitude faltering. “Report what?” 

You smiled. And then you punched her in the face. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: fun fact, this was the 6th draft of this!! and this felt like the way to go with the story....gives me some options to exploree. its also so long bc i wanted to keep all the fun scenes together tehehe sorry yall i got carried away

but selene....selene...selene... how i thought about her for a bit. i wanted to avoid making selene a caricature of a soulless mean jealous girl, i think it makes it somehow worse and even better to write knowing she was just incredibly insecure and misguided by people she trusted...doesn’t make anythinggg she did okay but

we out here rly testing our reader with a selene like villain rn. tehehe

also....time to imagine rhys holding nyx on his lap as he tells reader that shes in trouble for fighting a citizen in the open mf streets. rhys was so smug and now he’s like damn…wait a min… our public imagine SUCKSS

thank you for reading!!<3

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[neo-nomatrix]

CAN’T TOUCH ME LIKE GOJO

what gojo does when he’s jealous

cw - gojo uses red as a punishment, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, riding, teasing, kinda toxic gojo idk, bratty reader, rough gojo

Gojo was making you mad, beyond livid. He had brought you to this stuffy gala full of his balding colleagues and ditched you! You found solace in the bar holding an aperol spritz staring at your husband. He was beautifully dressed cream suit with a million dollar smile as he talks to his coworkers about business.

He hasn’t even thrown you a glance since he left your side. Normally you would still be next to him acting as arm candy but for whatever reason he left you to drink your sorrows. You assumed you would be stuck there for another hour or two with nothing to do. Until Hiromi Higuruma approached you. A man you had no idea was even distantly related to Gojos company.

“Mrs.Gojo, a pleasure seeing you somewhere besides with Satoru,” The man teases.

“Hiromi! Are you here to save me from this awful night?” It seems the lord has answered your prayers.

“You’re not enjoying yourself? Doesn’t Gojo normally keep by him at all times?” He asks, taking a seat next to you.

“Something’s up with him I guess, I’ve barely seen him all night and it’s horrible!” You complain.

“Oh sweetheart, how could he possibly treat someone as pretty as you like that?” He moves a piece of your hair out of your face and stares at you.

“I know! I mean he invited me here, and then has the audacity to leave me,” You pout to him.

“For the record, I would never treat you like that,” he smiles at you.

You look over at Gojo and he still isn’t looking in your direction. You decide to tease both the men a little more.

“Really? Do you promise ‘Romi?” You give him your best doe eyes and touch his bicep.

“On my life, sweetheart,” You both smile at each other.

In the corner of your eye you see a head of white hair coming toward you. Panic sets in but you can’t help but rub your legs together. You continue putting your hands on Higurumas chest to further instigate the situation.

“Babe, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Gojo pulls the back of your stool so you can’t touch Higuruma anymore and he wraps a large hand around your waist, “Higuruma, you’re also here.”

“I was just talking to your gorgeous wife Gojo. After you left her alone to talk to those gross executives,” Higuruma says.

Gojos jaw clenched and he squeezed your waist. His look of disgust apparent on his face.

“I think it’s about time my wife and I leave. Should I call you a cab Higuruma?” Gojo says.

“I’ll be alright,” Higuruma laughs.

Gojo pulls you away from the bar and quickly takes you away from the party. He ignores everyone asking where he’s going or trying to talk to him. Immediately as he reaches the car he opens and slams the door for you. He doesn’t speak a single word on the way home, despite your efforts to start conversation.

As you reach your home he’s immediately getting you through the door and up the stairs, he shoves you onto the bed as he removes his jacket. You hear him muttering swears under his breath.

“Do you enjoy being a slut who pisses me off? Hm? I mean really, what possibly do you get out of this?” He starts to undo the first few buttons of his shirt before he grabs your chin.

“I asked you a fucking question,” He growls at you.

“You left me! You left me all alone! I don’t know what you wanted from me, to just sit there twiddling my thumbs until you came back?” You argue at him, giving a big pout.

“What I don’t want is for you flirting with that piece of shit in front of everyone? You know how embarrassing that is, not only for me, but for you?!” He slips off his boxers to reveal his semi hard cock.

He pulls you up and puts you on your knees. He’s on his back and your face is inches away from his cock. But before you can wrap your lips around him something stops you. A force you can’t describe, red. He activated his repelling force to punish you.

You’re confused, upset, even angry at him. His usual punishment involves him overstimulating you but apparently not this time. You try to get past the barrier, using all your might to touch his cock. Yet nothing works, he’s the strongest after all.

“What did he call you?” He asks you, releasing red for you until you almost touch him, then activating it again.

“Sweetheart…” you whisper to him.

“And you fucking let him. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I know he can’t have you, fuck, he knows it. But it doesn’t seem like you do,” He says back, piercing blue eyes scanning your face.

You crawl on top of him, the barrier between your pussy and his cock still apparent. You try desperately to grind down on him to no avail. Tears start to form in your eyes but Gojo doesn’t seem to care.

“You want it inside you, sweetheart? Or do you want ‘Romi?” He mocks you.

“YOU! I just wanted your attention, promise! I got so mad you left me by myself. See?! All i want is you,” You whine as Gojo smiles at you.

In a moment the red hue turns blue and you get sucked down onto his perfectly aligned cock. You’re stuck to him like a magnet. His size makes you scream and want to pull away, but you can’t. As soon as you pull away you’re sucked back onto him, you thought torture wasn’t supposed to be addicting.

“Fuck Higuruma, fuck him and all the stupid guys there. You thought i wasn’t paying attention to you? I wanted you so fucking bad I had to stay away or else you’d be on the floor with my cock inside you,” He grunts, hands gripping your waist.

“Toru! It’s too much!” You’re full on sobbing at this point, legs shaking and body sweaty.

“You don’t want him right? It was just to make me mad, right baby?” He asks you desperately, his hair falling perfectly in front of his eyes.

“Yes! I just wanted you to fuck me, I swear,” You squeal.

His hips rut into your sloppy cunt as both of you moan and pant like two bunnies in heat. His fingers expertly tease your clit and he sucks blue and red hickies on every part of your body. He’s holding you as close as possible. His thrusts get sloppy and his moans get slutty.

“Gonna cum inside you baby, gonna fill my pussy up everyone’s gonna fucking know you’re mine,” He says in your ear.

“I’m gonna-“ Before you can even finish your sentence you pulse around his cock cumming so hard you see black.

He follow not long after, spurting hot ropes of cum inside you. He gets as deep as possible to ensure nothing slips out. He releases the technique and you fall on top of his chest, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

“Holy shit baby, that was so good,” He says, smiling.

“Yeah… i wanna take a bath,” you look up at him.

“Okay my love, just promise me one thing. Never make me jealous again.”

[moonstruckme]

hi my love i’m obsessed with all your works and this is my first request!

poly! marauders and cuteness aggression. like maybe reader coming home a bit tipsy from girls night and just seeing her boys and losing it. grabbing remus’ face and just kissing all over his cheeks, gnawing on james’ biceps and playing with sirius’ hair or tracing his tattoos.

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You leave a trail of things down the hallway that you swear you’ll pick up in the morning. Your bag, both shoes, your jacket. There’s no time to put any of it in its proper place, not when you know your boyfriends are all cozy and waiting for you in your bed. Everything else is secondary. 

The moment you get your eyes on them, it’s already too much. Remus is reading while Sirius chats to a nearly-asleep James, and you don’t know whether to scream or hug them or burst into tears. One feels more socially acceptable than the rest. 

A grin spreads over Sirius’ face as you crawl clumsily up the bed, so you go to him first. 

“Hi, baby.” You smear a kiss over his lips, burrowing your hands in his lovely, silken hair. It smells like his conditioner, smokey and heady and just slightly sweet. You wish you could snort it up into your nose like a drug. 

“Hi, baby,” Sirius says back at you, amused. “Did you have a good night?” 

“No,” you lament, though you think you might have enjoyed it at the time. 

Impulsively, you move to Remus, clambering across James to get on your quietest boyfriend’s lap. He’s already set down his book, so there are no barriers to your whims as you take his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks up and kissing them all over. You think you can hear the other boys laughing somewhere beyond your lovesick haze. Remus’ skin grows warmer with each ardent press of your lips. 

“None of you were there,” you go on. It’s impossible to articulate the full extent of this injustice. “You were here, being so lovely and perfect and lovely without me.” 

“That’s lovely twice.” Remus seems to recover somewhat from your surprise attack. His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back, a touch just for touch’s sake. “How much have you had, dove?” 

You make a petulant, whiny sound, burying your face in his neck. There will never be enough of them, your lovely boyfriends. Or maybe it’s that they’re enough, but you just can’t get enough. Regardless. You’re doomed to remain just on the brink of satisfaction. 

“Enough to know that I missed you a lot,” you say pitifully. 

“Awe, babydoll.” James’ laughter is at odds with his compassionate tone. “Come here, m’love.” 

This sounds like a grand idea to you. You wish they’d simply all squish together so you could lay your affections on them one by one, in rounds. 

James puckers his lips as you approach, readying for a kiss, and so is taken entirely aback when you forgo his face entirely. 

“Oh, well,” he says as you suck a hickey on his bicep. “I feel properly objectified.” 

You’re too pleased with yourself to be sorry. He flexes playfully, eliciting a string of giggles from you as you latch on tighter. 

“Do you think she’s been drugged?” you hear Remus ask. 

“Dunno.” James’ tone is fond. His big hand lands on the back of your head. 

“No, I sort of get it,” says Sirius. The mattress dips slightly, and then you feel him plant a wet kiss on your shoulder. “You just need to get it out of your system, yeah, sweetness?” 

You hum in affirmation. You wrap your arms around James’ middle, squeezing tight. 

“I love you so much,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Your boyfriend’s frame rumbles with laughter. “Okay, lovie,” he says indulgently. “You go right ahead.”

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react to you placing your hand on their upper thigh in public:

Captain Price:

This 40 year old man wouldn’t let you get away with a stunt like that in public. The moment your hand is on his upper thigh, he’d firmly place his own over yours, squeezing it just enough to warn you. "Behave." He’d say quietly, eyes locking with yours to make sure the message lands. If you were cheeky enough to push your luck and keep going, he wouldn’t bother with more words.

Instead, he’d order you up, his voice firm as he tells you to get to the car while he takes care of the bill. The drive wouldn’t last long before he’d pull over somewhere secluded, roughly bending you over the bonnet. "Thought you’d act up, did ya?" He’d mutter, hands already on your hips, ready to teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.

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Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Kyle would notice your hand sliding onto his thigh but he’d stay still, just to see how far you’d take it in the dark of the movie theatre. He’d pretend he didn’t feel it, keeping his eyes on the screen but he’d be holding back a grin. As your hand moves higher, closer to his growing bulge, his patience then would snap. He’d grab your wrist suddenly, leaning in close to whisper, "Fine, then. If you're so brave, let’s finish it here."

Without waiting for your answer, he’d drag you to the dirty bathroom, pushing you into a stall. "You wanna act like a dirty girl? Then you get treated like one." He’d say, motioning you to kneel on the filthy floor just to make sure you understood the consequences of teasing him like that.

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John "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny would light up like a Christmas tree. The moment your hand rests on his thigh, he’d lean back with a grin, his legs spreading just a bit wider to invite you in. "Aye, don’t stop now.." He’d whisper, clearly enjoying the game. He’d egg you on, guiding your hand even higher, fully aware of the risk of being caught in the middle of the cafe.

If you hesitated, he wouldn’t let you off easy and his own hand would find its way between your legs under the table, not caring who might see. "Guess we’re giving ‘em a show today, bonnie."

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Simon "Ghost" Riley:

There's no beating around the bush with this man. He would catch on immediately and wouldn’t let you get away with it. He’d grab your wrist before you could move further and give you a knowing look. ''You’re not doing that here.'' He’d say, his expression serious.

He’d tease you a bit, asking if the three times he had you earlier weren’t enough and calling you greedy. ''Be good until I finish my whiskey, then we'll sort you out.'' He’d promise. You’d know to behave, or else he’d make sure you’d regret it but only when he decided it was time.