#on fire for You all of the day and all of the night

[defmaybe]

Someone in the Crowd

12 Days of Christmas: Day 12, January 5th, 2025

ITZY’s Lee Chaeryeong & Shin Ryujin x Male Reader

10.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: The work itself is going to be a little confusing because of the frequent perspective shift, hope you enjoy it! Also, thanks for the support during the last twelve days!

—

Another Day Of Sun

“So, Yeji,” Ryujin lets the last words trail off in the air. She’s twisting her ankles in nervousness. “I’d like to ask you something~”

Yeji doesn’t look up from her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. “What is it, Ryu?”

Ryujin giggles. She can do this. “You know you’ve always been my role model in a lot of things, being the strong and fierce leader you are~”

“Yeah, sure, strong and fierce.” Yeji pulls up an air quote, clearly amused by her friend’s sudden compliment.

“Yes, I love you, Yeji,” Ryujin sulks, putting her hands on Yeji’s shoulder. Yeji’s walls are crumbling.

“I love you too, Ryu,” Yeji says, without looking into Ryujin’s eyes. She’s still focused on her book. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Ryujin is more of a romance type than a fantasy one.

Ryujin giggles again. “Hehe, so, as I’ve said, I’d like to ask you for something.”

Yeji clenches her brows a little, but her eyes are still on the book. She flips it to another page. “For something?”

Ryujin’s smile is so bright it hurts. She’s definitely going to get this. Yeji’s giving in to her! “Tonight–”

Yeji suddenly closes her book, and Ryujin’s gleeful expression collapses. Fuck. Yeji didn’t even mark the page she was reading on!

Ryujin is definitely not going to get this.

“Tonight?”

—

Chaeryeong is waiting in her room, kicking her feet in a burning anticipation. Will she have to stay here tonight?

The US tour has been, to say the least, draining for the girls. Yuna is still asleep at two in the afternoon after last night’s show, while Jisu is now throwing profanities into her microphone to her Helldivers' teammates. Chaeryeong and Ryujin, on the other hand, have been planning to go somewhere on their last night in the US. They just have to ask for Yeji’s permission first.

She really needs this, and all she hears are faint mumbles from Ryujin and Yeji talking. Her heart is beating fast.

She really needs this, and it’s killing her.

She really needs this.

—

“Y–Yeah, t–tonight,” Ryujin stutters. Her face turns pale from fear. Is Yeji going to scold her?

“It’s not safe, Ryu. Do you know what can happen here?” Yeji’s expression is nothing but concern, caring for her friend’s well-being. Ryujin knows this, but the blazing fire inside her tells her to keep going.

“Yeji, please, I’m so tired from the tour. I really need this!” Ryujin argues, but it proves fruitless, as Yeji rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t, Ryujin.” Yeji uses her full name. She’s serious about this. She throws the book onto her bed with a thud.

“But–”

“Nothing’s going to change my mind. Try,” says Yeji, her posture inviting Ryujin to bring up an argument.

She has already made up her mind. It’s over.

“F–Fine, Yeji,” and Ryujin walks away, heart full of disappointment.

—

Chaeryeong watches Ryujin walking into the living area, crestfallen. Oh, it was no for an answer.

“Is everything okay, Ryu?” she asks. 

“She said no,” Ryujin answers, still looking down on the floor despondently.

Poor Ryujin, she’s so bad at persuasion.

“I’ll talk to her.”

—

“Yeji,” Chaeryeong says.

Yeji is back to her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Chaeryeong is more of a mystery type than a fantasy one.

She looks up from her book, adjusting her glass a bit. “Same thing?” God, she just read Chaeryeong so damn easily.

Chaeryeong sighs, walking towards the bed before sitting down. The bed creaks a little. “You know, Ryu has given her all for this tour. It’s normal that she’d need some relief. You understand how our lives go, right?”

Yeji sighs. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry, Chae. It’s just not safe out there! I can’t let you guys risk your lives just for a night out. What if you get abducted? What if someone recognizes you?”

“We’ll be careful, Yeji. I can assure you of that.” Chaeryeong pleads, putting her hand on Yeji’s. Chaeryeong has nothing but her promise.

Yeji sighs again. She’ll probably see their effort through the tour. They deserve this.

“Fine, Chae. Be careful, alright?” Yeji plants a kiss on Chaeryeong’s forehead. “Have your pepper sprays ready. Have our numbers on the speed dial.”

Chaeryeong beams. She’s going to have a lot of fun with Ryujin tonight. “Thanks, Yeji.”

—

“So, for the first week’s assignment, just give me anything, alright? Just give me anything you got.”

The professor’s words echo inside your head.

Well, what’s it going to be?

It has been the question you’ve been asking yourself since last Monday, and it’s Sunday now. You’ve tried picking the ones from your Japan trip years ago, but none of them looks good enough. You’ve gone to the Statue of Liberty. You’ve gone to Central Park. You’ve gone to the Brooklyn Bridge. None seemed to work.

Should I pick something from my home? No, that’s too cliché. Should I pick someone? That’s even worse. Everyone’s going to laugh at you.

So, here you are, in a bar at 6 PM, venting your struggle to your bartender uncle in a nightclub—under this eye mask the bodyguards insisted you wear.

You just can’t find a photo to hand in for the first assignment.

—

“Is there any bar you’d recommend to us, mister driver?”

The young driver has had his mouth opened wide for at least a few minutes now, unable to find a voice in his throat. Ryujin has to ask for the third time, and he’s still in shock to see his idols in the back of his seats.

“Mister driver?” Ryujin asks again. Her patience is running thin. Is her presence that shocking to someone?

“Let’s just open Google Maps and pick some random bar, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says.

“W–Wait,” the driver finally says something. “I know a place. I–It’s pretty private.”

Ryujin smirks at the response, and it sounds like a nice place to be tonight. “Take us there, mister driver.”

—

The night wears on, and people are filling the club. You’ve been looking at the photos on your phone for three hours now, and you just can’t seem to find the perfect photo for tomorrow.

The techno music shakes your body, sounds like Reznor and Ross. The colored lights get into your eyes sometimes, but they’re having less effect than they should’ve been. You’re still concentrating on your device. Some people have even bumped into you, but only an apology and your eyes are back at your phone.

“Anything yet, tiger?” your uncle asks, shaking his bartender thing you’ve never cared to learn its name. It kind of works as a percussion instrument.

“Nothing as always,” you reply with slight disdain. You’re going to be doomed when the sun rises.

He laughs, pouring the contents inside his percussion into a cocktail glass. “Try going out there and dancing! Perhaps you’ll find an inspiration~”

You smile softly back at him, but dancing really is not your thing. “I’m not really good at it, uncle. I’ll have to pass.” You take a sip of your Long Island Iced Tea.

He pulls your glass back, staring into your eyes with an encouraging smile. “Look, I’m not going to let your ass sit here being all hopeless like that. Get out there and dance!” he orders, smiling.

You sigh, giving in to his demand. “Fine.”

“Get someone back to your place too if you can!” your uncle says with a smirk before you walk away into the raving crowd.

—

“Thanks, mister driver,” Ryujin says before handing back the freshly signed Crazy in Love album to him. He’s shaking with excitement.

Ryujin and Chaeryeong get out of the taxi to a normal-looking nightclub. Two muscular bodyguards are standing beside the door. Damn, they look scary.

“IDs please,” one of the bodyguards says sternly, and both Ryujin and Chaeryeong comply immediately, showing their cards.

The bodyguards examine the IDs carefully, making sure that the women are of age. The air thickens, and Ryujin finds her limbs freezing up. Are they going to be recognized? Are they going to be denied from getting inside? 

After a while, they finally nod in agreement and give the IDs back to her. Ryujin lets go of the breath that she doesn’t know she has been holding.

“Here are your masks. Enjoy the trip!” the other bodyguard says, winking at them with a smile. The tension drops. He hands two fancy-looking eye masks to the women.

He probably knows her and Chae.

—

Someone in the Crowd

Fuck, how can Ryujin hear her in a place like this?

The EDM music blares through the club. The colorful lights shine onto them. Chaeryeong scans over the club to find a quiet corner to avoid recognition. They still have to be cautious, even with a mask on. Sadly, there’s none, leaving them with only two options: leaving, or trying to blend in with the crowd.

Chaeryeong weighs the choices. The first one leaves her despondent, while the second one contains the risk of getting exposed by Dispatch by tomorrow morning.

This is hard.

But before she can decide, Ryujin drags her into the lively pack of people.

“We deserve this!” she shouts, pulling Chaeryeong’s hand into the crowd.

Chaeryeong feels unsure. She needs this, of course, but the fear of uncertainty lingers, and she just can’t let it go.

“Really?”

“Don’t live to regret this, Chae! We only live once!” Ryujin shouts.

That alone seems to make sense to Chaeryeong.

—

You aren’t sure what moves you are making. They probably look funny. God, you’re embarrassing yourself.

The bass vibrates the air around you and the crowd. You find yourself in the middle of the club, seeing people grinding on each other (even one another can be seen beside you, you swear). You start to feel the heat growing in your pants at the sight. If someone would be beside you right now.

The DJ announces something you can’t quite make out. The crowd roars in rejoice as you’re bored to death. Suddenly, the music changes to ITZY’s Wannabe. Holy shit, you recognize this. You can dance to it, at least a little.

Jansorineun stop it

People start to do Shin Ryujin’s iconic shoulder dance beside you, and you can’t help but join in. Her high-pitched singing voice fills the air with energy, and it flows through you so damn freely, injecting the missing liveliness into you. It’s giving you the life you’ve been missing for the last three hours.

Araseo halge

And that’s the first time you’re having fun tonight.

—

They’re singing their song?

Chaeryeong looks over at Ryujin to see her dancing to it, and she can’t help but follow her friend’s iconic move, smiling. She looks around to see the people also imitating the move. Damn, Ryujin must be so happy.

As the song goes on, Ryujin and Chaeryeong are laughing and dancing joyfully. People are singing and moving to their song! She finds herself beaming uncontrollably to see her efforts not going to waste. It’s like there’s a spotlight shining on them, and that couldn’t make her happier.

I wanna be me, me, me

The crowd cheers, along with Ryujin and her. The concept and message feel so simple, looking back, but the effect it had on people makes Chaeryeong so ecstatic. 

Just be yourself.

This really is their night.

—

After a little over three minutes in heaven, the song ends, transitioning to the citizen-darling APT. You’re still enjoying it, but the thirst in your throat starts to grow. 

It’s time for a drink!

You go back to the bar, evading the people grinding on each other (or one another, you don’t judge them, anyway) to your destination. You tap your hands softly on your thighs to the rhythm of the song.

You find your uncle waiting for you, standing in front of your seat, smiling happily at his nephew’s effort. He’s making a drink in his percussion thing. You’re making him proud.

“How did it go?” he shouts, shaking the drink masterfully.

You let out a somewhat drunk laugh. “It was fun. You were right!” Alcohol is starting to have an effect on you.

“Told ya,” your uncle says, before walking to the other side of the bar, leaving you tapping your fingers to the song alone.

—

Apateu apateu, apateu apateu

Chaeryeong dances to the beat joyfully. She loves this song, always has been. Her arms and legs are moving in sync to the beat. She’s happy. She’s ecstatic, even.

What she hasn’t realized yet is that–

“God, I fucking love this–”

–her friend is missing.

“–song.”

Apateu apateu, uh uh-huh uh-huh

Ryujin is probably going to the toilet, though. Maybe she should just keep dancing along to the song. Ryujin should be back soon.

—

“Long Island Iced Tea, please,” Ryujin says to the bartender. A young man is close to her. He’s tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song disinterestedly. Is he waiting for something?

The bartender laughs. “Well, my nephew also likes it! Wanna make it two?” He asks the young man, who seems lost in his head. He only nods.

Ryujin lets out a small smile, before taking the seat next to him. He seems nice. Should she talk to him a bit?

“So.”

The young man turns to her.

“Having fun?”

He nods, smiling.

Ryujin lets out a small laugh. What should she start the conversation with?

“Do you listen to ITZY?”

Fuck, why did she ask that? What if–

“Yeah,” he says groggily. He’s clearly starting to get drunk. Thank god, she can probably show her true colors with him without much worry.

“Were you here when they played Wannabe?” he asks. His uncle hands him the Long Island Iced Tea.

Ryujin can’t help but let out a smile. He recognizes one of her songs! She then softly makes the shoulder dance, making him chuckling and following her moves.

He seems like a cool guy.

—

Where the fuck is Ryujin?

Chaeryeong starts her search for her friend, who has now been gone for twenty minutes. She’d never go for a long bathroom break anywhere outside of the hotel, of course. ‘They’re dirty’, she once said.

Chaeryeong scans the crowd for a short-haired woman in a blue denim jacket, but there’s none to be found. Her heart rate rises. What if she was actually abducted?

Fuck.

She tries to call Ryujin, but she doesn’t answer. She needs to go somewhere she can rely on.

Shit, the bar it is.

Chaeryeong walks towards the white area in the club's corner. She’s going to ask someone if they had seen a short-haired woman in her denim jacket, blue. She’s going to find Ryujin without raising a suspicion. She’s going to find her friend.

And be it fate, be it a mere coincidence. She does a double take, then a triple take. She finds her friend sitting at the bar, talking to a young man. Ryujin is rejoicing in the conversation, so does he.

Thank god. 

—

“Hey, I thought I lost you!”

A sound comes from your right. You look over to find a tall, long-haired woman walking towards you two. She’s in a tight-fitted dress that shows off her curves beautifully. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” says the short-haired woman. She seems calm, unlike her friend, who looks a bit worried, hands shaking beside herself.

“Thank god,” the long-haired woman says, annoyed by her friend’s antics. “Don’t fucking go somewhere else alone, alright?”

The short-haired woman only giggles.

The long-haired woman shakes her head. “So, who’s this guy?”

The short-haired woman introduces you to her friend, who’s listening intently. You give her a handshake before dragging the chair behind you close for her to sit down.

And the night begins, for real this time.

The conversation goes on. Many Long Island Iced Teas are served to the three of you, and by the time you look at your watch, it’s eleven already. 

Time flies when you have fun.

The conversation with these two unknown women has been nothing short of calming to you—a contradiction to the raging music around. You’ve talked about your life as a photography student, while they’ve talked about their careers. You find out that they work together, and you understand how tiring and demanding their job is.

“Is it fun working with your friend?”

The two women look at each other before laughing. “Well, it’s good sometimes. But yeah, there are times that I get tired of her face,” the short-haired woman says, as the other nudges her shoulder softly.

“Damn you.”

You look at your watch again. You should go to bed now; class is tomorrow morning!

“So, it has been nice talking to you guys–” you’re trying to sound as polite as possible before drinking up the last of your cocktail. “–but I have a class tomorrow morning, and–”

“Aww–” the short-haired woman sulks, kicking her feet like a child “–can’t you just stay? For us?”

“Yeah, please?” the other woman chimes in.

You genuinely appreciate their gestures, but you can’t stay up late like this, especially in a nightclub.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I really have to go.”

Ask for their contacts!

You pull your phone out of your pocket. “Can I have your Instagrams?”

The women smirk at each other. “Sure, if you can promise you’ll tell nobody about this,” the long-haired woman says.

It’s a bit weird, really, but they probably have their reasons. “Sure.”

The short-haired woman is the first one who types into your phone. She giggles while doing so. Fuck, should’ve cleared the search history first, those IVE Instagrams.

“Seems like you’ve followed me already~” the short-haired woman says, giggling, before handing it to the long-haired woman, leaving you confused.

Is she? She looks kinda familiar.

“And me too~”

You narrow your eyes. Have you met them before? Under that mask, you think there’s something about them, but you just can’t quite make it up.

She hands you back the phone, and your eyes widen at the realization as you look at your search history.

They signal a ‘shhh’ with their fingers, smiling.

They’re @iamfinethankyouandryu and @chaerrry0.

—

Ryujin then laughs at the man’s shocked expression, before closing in on his body. She gets so close to him she can feel his warmth on her. She plants a hand on his thigh, and he shudders in response.

“You know the implications, right?”

He can’t seem to find a word out of his mouth, still hanging open. He must be so damn shocked to meet his idols in a nightclub like this, and they’re lusting over him!

—

With the teasing image, Chaeryeong’s core starts to heat up with desire. She’s a little apprehensive, but with him still seems to be lost on what to do, or what to say next, she has to make a move. She follows Ryujin and touches his thigh.

“Come on, do you want us?”

She then glides her hand up his inner thigh, feeling his muscles. It gets closer and closer to the growing tent in his pants, before she stops just right before the contact. His breath hitches.

“I–I–”

“Don’t be shy, pretty boy. You’re quite a catch yourself~” she says, followed by the hottest lip bite she can make. He sucks a sudden at the sight.

“W–Won’t you guys get caught by D–Dispatch or something?” he asks, voice shaken. His hands are trembling with pure anxiety. “I mean, I’d be v–very honored to be with you two tonight.”

“Well, fuck Dispatch,” Ryujin says, and Chaeryeong nods in agreement. “It’s not everyday we get to do this.”

—

A Lovely Night

The taxi ride to the hotel starts quietly. He’s trying his best to not pull the driver’s attention to the fact that he’s heading to Ryujin’s hotel in the middle of the night. If the driver knows, it’s over for the three of them.

Ryujin, though, can’t keep her hands to herself, snaking down to his crotch whenever she can. She wants this so fucking badly. She’s getting wetter and wetter as the seconds go by. Her core is aching with unbridled lust.

He’s so damn big.

—

Chaeryeong can’t risk having her fame tarnished with a single night, but god fucking damn, why does Ryujin keep touching his cock?

“Want a touch, Chae?” Ryujin whispers into her ear.

Chaeryeong slaps Ryujin’s hand away from his length, not wanting to indulge in such perverse action. “Don’t fucking do that, Ryu!” Chaeryeong sneers quietly, and Ryujin giggles. Fuck, why is she so insufferable?

But Chaeryeong can’t deny the ache building up inside her crotch. She’s feeling it. She needs a release.

—

Ryujin doesn’t stop with Chaeryeong’s words. They only spur her on even more. Her hand finds its place under his tight boxers, and she starts stroking it softly. Her other hand grabs some creased dollar bills for the taxi driver. She’s going to keep quiet about this.

“How much do we have to pay you, ma’am?”

“Just don’t kill each other and you’ll be fine,” the taxi driver says.

—

Ryujin’s aroma is intoxicating you. It’s so sensual, and your cock is so hard because of it. You can’t help but let out a moan. She looks into the rearview mirror to see the well-being of her customer, but she doesn’t seem to care, as she switches back to see what’s on the road without a word.

Ryujin’s smell reminds you of those femme fatale you’ve seen in the movies—sensual, manipulative, dangerous. This is so heavenly for you.

After a while, Chaeryeong puts her hand on your body, feeling your tight abdomen. Her finger draws a pattern on your toned chest. She’s admiring your strong frame.

“You do feel good, pretty boy.”

—

“So,” Chaeryeong says, unsure of what to do next.

“Where do you want to start?” Ryujin asks.

You turn to her. Her eyes are bored into yours. She’s expecting an answer from you. Don’t just say ‘I don’t know, Ryujin’, but where should you start?

“Where do you guys usually start from?”

What a dumbass question! Do you think they bring a guy back to their hotel and do this every day?

“Kissing, perhaps?” Chaeryeong chimes in. “We should start slowly, what happened in the taxi doesn’t count.”

“I have a little game,” says Ryujin. Her hands are groping your back and chest. You shudder at the contact. “Let’s compare our kisses, shall we?”

You gulp, hands trembling, but you’re trying to keep your cool. “Sure, who should I–”

Ryujin captures your lips in a searing kiss, as Chaeryeong unlatches herself from you with a small whine. Ryujin’s tongue invades your mouth aggressively. There’s a faint hint of raspberry covered in that heavy Long Island Iced Tea she drank over the night. Her hands dig into the under of your waistband, groping your raging bulge through your boxers, making you jolt in response. You moan and moan into her mouth.

Your hands start to have a mind of their own. Your right hand snakes under her shirt to feel her toned back, while your left hand finds itself on her lacey bra, kneading her soft, firm breasts. God, she has a nice body. She moans and moans into your mouth.

“Damn.” You hear Chaeryeong say from the back, as you start to get used to Ryujin’s body.

Suddenly, Ryujin pulls back from the burning kiss. She’s panting softly, clearly satisfied with the kiss. “Could’ve used more tongue, but this is already pretty good.”

You try to catch your breath, feeling like Ryujin pulled the air out of your lungs. “Th–Thanks, Ryujin.”

“Your turn, Chae,” Ryujin says.

You turn to Chaeryeong. She’s staring into your eyes blankly. She’s as unsure as you.

You give her an offer, “Do you want me to–”

“I’ll–I’ll do it.” Chaeryeong says, before taking a deep breath. “I just–need to get used to your body a bit.”

Her hands start to find their rhythms. She starts from your hands, holding on to them softly. She then wanders upwards along your arm, feeling your lean muscles.

“You take care of yourself well,” she says, voice laced with sultry.

“Th–Thanks, Chaeryeong.” Your appreciative words are rewarded with a smile from her. Her hands then travel over your body. Her left hand finds your erection under your boxers. She’s stroking it softly, enough to earn a whimper from you. Her right hand runs over your back, sending pleasure through your frame.

“Nghh~”

After a few pumps, her hand leaves your cock, making you groan in the sudden absence.

She then grabs your chin gently, before pulling you into a loving kiss. The faint scent of your cock remaining in her hand flies into your nostrils. 

Chaeryeong doesn’t let her tongue slip into your mouth like Ryujin did. She merely has a taste of your Long Island-laced lips. You can taste the strawberry resting on her mouth, mixed with the Long Island Iced Tea she drank throughout the night.

Your hands feel her pert breasts on top of her tight-fitted dress, squeezing them, kneading them. She has been taking care of herself well; you can feel it. You wander down to her wet cunt under her panties, and she gasps softly into your mouth. You’re sure that she loves this.

“Mmm, that felt good, baby,” Chaeryeong says, muffled into the kiss.

You feel her puffy cunt on your palm, seeking her wetness with your fingers. You find out that she shaves, before you plunge yourself into her drenched cavern.

“Mmmph!” she rasps. Her body turns into a jelly, able to be controlled to your liking. You dig your fingers deep into her sweet, wet cunt, before curling up to where she’s sensitive the most. She falls into your embrace. You hear Ryujin chuckling on your back. Chaeryeong’s body warmth emanates into yours. Her wet cunt is welcoming your fingers easily.

Still, you can’t let her cum so soon. You regretfully pull out of the kiss and her wetness, before sucking on your fingers lewdly. She tastes so salty and musky. God, what a pleasure to your tongue. Chaeryeong pants.

“S–So,” Chaeryeong says, still trying to catch her breath.

“Who’s better?” Ryujin asks, staring into your eyes.

You let out a sigh before answering, “I get to feel Chaeryeong’s pussy, so–”

“Hey! That’s not fair! You didn’t even touch my panties!” Ryujin sneers.

—

“Stand up and face me.” Chaeryeong watches Ryujin ordering, and he complies immediately. His erection pokes through his pants into a tall tent on his crotch.

She admires his stiffness for a while. She seems eager to take in the image of his big cock. Her hands toy with his bulge playfully, eliciting moans from him. 

She then grabs onto his waistband, looking up into his eyes.

“Ready?”

He nods.

Chaeryeong watches her friend pulling his pants down, revealing the bulge under the boxers. He’s fucking horny for them, isn’t he? Chaeryeong can feel the heat building up within her core. She needs a release, but she isn’t brave enough to let it out yet.

The show continues, as Ryujin pulls his boxers down. His erection springs freely. 

God, he’s so big.

Ryujin admires his length for a while. Her eyes are now gleaming with desire, and Chaeryeong can’t help but start to rub her core, sending shockwaves through her body. Fuck the reticence. She needs to cum.

“Again, you said that you didn’t touch my pussy when I kissed you, right?”

He nods sheepishly. Ryujin is going to make him feel her cunt.

Ryujin then pulls him down and captures his lips aggressively again. Chaeryeong lets out a gasp. This time, she brings his hand into feeling her puffy cunt, and he pushes his soft fingers into her. Chaeryeong can hear her friend moan needily into his mouth.

“Mmmph, that feels so good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says into the kiss. His fingers turn upwards to stimulate Ryujin’s inner walls, making her body shiver. Chaeryeong watches their bodies turning into a needy ball of lust. He’s so good at this.

Chaeryeong can’t bear the beckoning heat inside of her anymore. She pushes her slender fingers into her pussy, playing with the inner walls of herself. She quietly moans at the lewd sight. 

—

You hear Chaeryeong moaning from the back. This probably spurs her on, so you lose yourself deeper into the kiss. You push your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, and she gasps at such audaciousness. She wants your tongue, so you give her your tongue.

Your finger is still working on Ryujin’s g-spot tirelessly, trying to elicit moans out of her mouth. She responds willingly to your touch, and you love the way she reacts like this.

“So–So good, Ryu,” you utter, trying to keep yourself from getting lost in the situation.

—

Ryujin softly plants her lips onto the head of his throbbing length, rewarding her with an airy moan from him.

“Fuck!” he cries in a whisper.

He composes himself well. The other three aren’t going to wake up if he can keep his voice down like this.

“Come on, Chae,” Ryujin unlatches herself from his stiff cock, but still keeping one hand on it, stroking softly. “Make him cum.”

“B–But I don’t wanna kiss you, Ryu. I–”

“Now is not the time, Chae. Just come here,” Ryujin signals her friend to give him an otherworldly blowjob with her. She’s too drunk to care about kissing Chaeryeong right now.

“I–uh–fuck, alright!” Chaeryeong finally gives in, and Ryujin smiles at her friend’s compliance.

Let’s give him the blowjob he’ll never forget.

Ryujin plants her lips onto his cock again from his front, taking in his intense taste. He’s driving her insane with his cock. He rasps quietly in pleasure. His mouth hangs open, and Ryujin is sure revelling in the way he’s feeling her on his cock right now.

Chaeryeong then joins in on his back, starting to take a swipe of her tongue on his hardened testicles. Her hands land on his muscular ass. He’s covering his mouth to not let out a loud moan. God, what a sight for Ryujin.

—

Chaeryeong doesn’t want to kiss her friend. It’s weird to be Ryujin. So, she just paints his balls with her saliva hungrily, meticulously avoiding her friend’s lips. Her hands are roaming over his back—a courtesy of her, while Ryujin takes his front.

She then feels his hand gripping onto her head from the other side. Ryujin is getting it too. He’s pressing Chaeryeong harder into his ass. Their makeup starts to get messy from performing their oral masteries on him. He moans and cries silently in ecstasy while also trying his best to not wake the others up. Chaeryeong can’t help but to run her fingers down between his ass cheeks, and she gets another whimper from him.

His balls taste so damn salty, so musky, and that’s driving her insane. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. She uses one of her hands to dig down her tight pants and rub on her swollen clit. It feels so good. It feels like she’s going to fly.

“Shit, this feels so–ahh,” a soft moan leaves Chaeryeong’s mouth as she plunges her fingers into her cunt, curling them up where she needs it the most. Her silenced whimpers hit his balls. God, this feels great. 

—

The pleasure these women are giving you is unreal. Ryujin creates a suction around your cock, bobbing her head back and forth. She’s so damn good at this. While on the other side, Chaeryeong drags her tongue from your sack up to your puckered hole. Fuck, it feels so damn good.

You press their heads into your aching heat, and they seem to accept it eagerly. Both Ryujin and Chaeryeong up their antes for you, and that brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head.

“Girls?”

“Yes?” Chaeryeong and Ryujin answer at the same time. They stop their oral masteries, making you groan softly at the sudden detachments.

“Can you guys like–sucking my cock at the same time?”

The two women look at each other. It’s going to make them think. You see Ryujin nodding, but Chaeryeong hesitates a bit.

“I–”

“I–I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, Chaeryeong,” you say. 

—

Chaeryeong has certainly given some blowjobs, but this is the first time she’s going to do it with Ryujin. Hell, it’s the first time she’s going to do it with another woman. This is huge for her.

Chaeryeong contemplates for a few heartbeats. This is going to change the dynamic between her and Ryujin forever. On the other hand, the alcohol-induced aching inside her core is ravaging her inhibition. Plus, they’re just having a little fun anyway, nothing serious.

Fuck it, let’s do this.

She then shoots a grin back at him. “Alright, pretty boy, get on the bed.”

—

He quickly complies with her order. Ryujin watches his erection twitching in pure anticipation before turning to Chaeryeong.

“Let’s do this.”

Chaeryeong nods. She doesn’t seem to be weirded out by the prospect of kissing her friend anymore, and Ryujin couldn’t be more happy with the fact.

Ryujin then climbs up the bed, crawling towards him like a predator. Her eyes look into his hungrily, before taking a long lick from his balls up his shaft. He moans uncontrollably, still keeping his volume low, trying his best to not wake up the other women.

“God, you’re so good at this, Ryujin,” Chaeryeong says, following Ryujin’s lead onto the bed.

Ryujin giggles before giving him another wet lick on her throbbing cock. She has to make him falter under her touch. She gives him a lick, and another, and another. He groans, moans, and whimpers with her sensual contact. 

And if that isn’t already enough, Ryujin takes his mushroom-shaped tip into her filthy mouth, coating him with her saliva. He grunts in pleasure. His body turns rigid.

“My god, Ryu–Ryujin,” he moans her name out, and that encourages her even more. She takes in more of his length with each bob of her head, staring from just the tip, going deeper and deeper. Eventually, her nose hits his pubic bone, taking him in fully and staying right there. She can’t think straight right now, with a cock stuffed in her mouth like this. She wants him to lose control. She wants him to moan her name uncontrollably.

She’s making gagging sounds. Her eyes are watery. This cock is too big for her, but her capacity means shit if that means she gets to hear her boy moan like this.

“Hey,” Chaeryeong snaps Ryujin back into reality, pushing her arm softly. “This cock isn’t just for you, Ryu.”

Ryujin regretfully pulls back from his hardness, slowly. The cock inside her throat is now gone. She whimpers at the sudden lack of filling in disappointment. Black streaks from her makeup are now forming from her tears.

“F–Fine.”

—

His cock is now slicked with Ryujin’s drool. He’s going to taste like Ryujin, isn’t he?

“Can I have him for a sec?” Chaeryeong asks her friend, still trying to catch her breath after taking an entire cock inside her mouth.

“Go–cough–ahead, Chae.”

“Thanks.”

Chaeryeong begins her show slowly, but there has to be sensuality in it. That’s her aim. She works down his taint first, drawing breathy moans from him. His taste is so intense, so addictive. It’s his pure body scent mixed with Ryujin’s raspberry. It’s like an aphrodisiac to her.

She doubles her efforts, drawing a straight line up from his testicles, to his shaft, to his leaking tip. Her tongue is making him whimper erratically, and she’s relishing in it. It feels good to have him lost in pleasure like this.

“You’re doing this pretty well too, Chae,” Ryujin says, finally recomposing herself beside Chaeryeong. He’s shaking.

Chaeryeong can only smile, her lips still busy kissing a trail on his thick cock. She’s smearing her essence all over him. He’s going to taste a bit–different after this.

“God, shit, just suck me off already, Chaeryeong,” he pleads, making Chaeryeong chuckle.

“I’ll wait for Ryu, pretty boy.”

Ryujin slowly recollects herself by the side as Chaeryeong is busy teasing his cock, wiping her own drool off her mouth. Then, she finally rejoins the play, starting by licking the underside of his hardness. He moans in ecstasy.

“Fuck!” he cries out, making Ryujin giggle softly.

Chaeryeong knows that it’s time for her to go in, so she pulls back, taking him on the left side. She’s inviting Ryujin to take the other side of his cock. Ryujin does so, and he lets out a whimper.

—

You’re absolutely revelling in the pleasure these women are giving you. Ryujin and Chaeryeong are giving you one of the best blowjobs you’ve ever had. The amount of saliva is perfect. The technique is immaculate. The sight is nothing short of exquisitely vulgar. You’re struggling to find a purchase in the bedsheets.

They’re sliding up and down on your cock from the side. When one goes up, the other goes down, keeping your cock being fully taken care of by their mouths the whole time. The pleasure on your cock shoots through you like a bullet. Fuck, this feels great.

Ryujin then syncs her movement with Chaeryeong, now moving together in an up and down motion. Their lips make contact when they’re at the tip of your cock, and sometimes, they put on a show for you, kissing each other with your cock in the middle. Their tongues pierce into each other’s mouth, grazing your aching tip as they kiss.

With such a lewd sight, you can feel your orgasm coming. Your legs grow tense. You’re going to cum from this double blowjob from your idols.

“Girls, I–I think I’m gonna cum.”

Both of them only reply with a giggle, before sealing the tip of your cock with a sensual kiss, one that’s so damn pleasurable for your dick. The view is just too splendid for you—two women kissing on your cock. The sensation is unreal. This is just too much. You can’t hold it anymore.

“Fuck!”

Cum is fired out of your cock into the kiss, and the women both hum in satisfaction. Your cock twitches between their dirty mouths. Your whole body jerks and spasms between them. Your whole life leads to this, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

Your whole body shudders in rapture, unable to make sense of the pleasure coursing through it. Cum is shot out of your cock into their mouths, and they seem to be happy to share your nectar together.

Your orgasm inevitably dies down. You’re starting to catch your breath. They look up at you with nothing but lust inside their eyes.

“That tastes good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says, scooping the remnants of your cum on her cheeks with her fingers, before plunging them in Chaeryeong’s mouth. She seems to be taken aback by it, but eventually, she happily accepts her friend’s fingers. Fuck, what a sight.

Chaeryeong is sucking her friend’s fingers with her eyes closed, trying to take in the salty taste of you as much as possible. She lets out a satisfied hum in the action, and you feel like you’re ready to take on both of them again.

—

Chaeryeong loves this. She loves the way Ryujin’s fingers are toying with her tongue. She loves the way his salty taste engulfs her like a tsunami. Chaeryeong fucking loves this.

“So good,” she says, muffled into Ryujin’s fingers, before they’re pulled out of her mouth, leaving Chaeryeong whining in disappointment with a string of saliva.

Then, as she opens her eyes, she is welcomed by the sight of Ryujin unbuttoning her shirt, ready to bare herself in front of them. Her black, lacy bra comes into view. 

She looks so hot.

“What, do I look that hot?”

Chaeryeong recollects herself immediately. She’s caught staring at her friend’s body. How embarrassing!

Ryujin only giggles before removing her outer garment. Her toned tummy is now visible. Chaeryeong watches the man drool over her friend’s body, and she can’t help but chuckle at him.

—

Ryujin is now boiling with lust. She needs to get rid of this fabric cage as soon as possible. Her pussy is drenched, and she needs something inside her.

She quickly unlocks her black, lacy bra she’s wearing, exposing her firm breast for the other two to see. She feels so–naked, so–vulnerable, but fuck it, she needs something inside of her now, and it’s going to be his cock.

“Alright, you two–oh my god, will you guys just fucking stop looking at me and strip, please?” Ryujin sneers, fed up with their gazes on her. She wants a cock inside her now, and if their clothes are staying on like this, all this juice would be for nothing.

“O–Oh, sorry, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says before quickly unzipping her black dress from behind. Ryujin watches the act in contentment. Chaeryeong’s small breasts slowly come into view. Along with her friend, he strips himself off his shirt, revealing his toned abs for the women to see. Fuck, he looks delicious.

“Hey,” he says, chuckling, snapping her back into reality. “Ready?”

“Y–Yeah.”

He moves her chin closer into another torrid kiss. His Long Island-laced lips touch hers. His tongue pierces into her mouth with aggression. They are intertwined in a battle for dominance. His free hand grabs and squeezes her breast, eliciting a jolt in her body. Ryujin moans out into the kiss in pleasure.

She then hears Chaeryeong huffing. “Come on, guys. This isn’t just about you two!” Chaeryeong says, annoyed by the sight of the two kissing.

Ryujin giggles, before pulling Chaeryeong into the kiss. Their tongues are intertwining messily, drool is dribbling down their chins onto the bedsheets. Their hands are desperately clinging on to one another, trying to have their fair share of arousal.

“Oh god,” Chaeryeong utters, barely catching the chaotic rhythm of the kiss. Her drool leaking everywhere, splattering on Ryujin’s and his body. “Th–This is fucking—mmm.”

—

God, this is embarrassing for her.

Chaeryeong is having a hard time catching her rhythm. She’s trying, but the other two are so adept with their tongues it’s making her crumble.

“Goddamn it, s–slow down, guys,” she utters into the blazing kiss. Her hands are caressing Ryujin’s and his body. She knows that her spit is leaking, but she has to catch up.

She hears the other two giggle with her struggle. Fucking bitches.

Ryujin would be the first to pull back from the kiss, panting, leaving the two of them in the act. She leans back a little, clitoris already swelling with arousal. 

“Alright, can you fuck me yet, pretty boy? A woman needs a cock over here,” Ryujin says, teasing her nub with her fingers.

“Just–Just go, she needs this,” Chaeryeong says. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he pulls back from the kiss with a slight whimper.

“O–Okay,” he says, as Ryujin flips onto her stomach, hands and knees on the bed. She’s ready to take his cock.

—

Ryujin is on all-fours, ready to take his cock that she has been craving. She needs his cock inside her cunt. She wants to be plowed. She wants to be fucked.

“Yesss~ put it inside me, put it inside me,” she rasps—so eager, so needy.

He frantically tries to line up his cock against her cunt. His mushroom tip ghosts past her a few times, making Ryujin groan in dissatisfaction. Chaeryeong crawls to the front of Ryujin, spreading her legs. She’s going to have Ryujin eat her out.

“So, I’m supposed to be the middle woman here?” Ryujin playfully teases. She’s more than willing to taste Chaeryeong’s nectar.

“Y–Yeah–ahh! Fuck!”

Chaeryeong’s head falls backwards as Ryujin presses the tongue against her pretty cunt. Ryujin is quite sure that the other women might hear that, but Chaeryeong’s wetness and texture is just too exquisite for her to care. Ryujin lavishes her friend enthusiastically, lapping up the nectar that has been building up through the night.

“Nghhh~”

Chaeryeong’s taste is driving Ryujin insane. She’s salty. She’s musky. She’s perfect. Ryujin just keeps swiping her tongue against Chaeryeong’s folds, eliciting guttural, deep groans out of her friend. At the same time, he plunges his cock into Ryujin’s cunt from the back.

“Mmph! Shit!” Ryujin moans. His cock starts to fill her pussy as she’s lapping at Chaeryeong’s delicious cunt with reckless abandon. His cock is so big, making her feel so full. His hands grab onto her slutty waist for a hold, simultaneously locking Ryujin in place. She becomes a whimpering mess between the groaning him and the shaking Chaeryeong.

His length nudges her g-spot softly, making her knees weak. She falls stomach-first onto the bed, so ready to be prone-boned. Her tongue keeps up the work tirelessly. Chaeryeong is still a shaking lump of flesh in front of her, and Ryujin has to make her friend cum.

A cock inside her spurs Ryujin on. She licks her friend’s pussy even faster, and Chaeryeong starts to put the pressure on Ryujin’s head, pushing her head deeper into her cunt. Ryujin can’t think straight anymore—cock in her cunt, cunt in her face. The two of them are taking over her senses—the size, the taste, the scent. It’s everything Ryujin wants.

—

This pleasure feels like a sin to Chaeryeong. She can’t quite comprehend the feeling coursing through her right now. Ryujin’s tongue is doing wonders on her pussy, but she’s her friend! How are they going to look at each other tomorrow?

Still, the pleasure overwhelms her senses like a goddamn tsunami. It’s fucking electric every time Ryujin’s tongue glides past her swollen clit. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. Hell, her hand even presses Ryujin’s face deep into her needy pussy!

“So–So good,” Chaeryeong mewls. Her head falls backwards.

The grip on Ryujin’s head becomes tighter. Chaeryeong is trying to intoxicate her friend, making her drunk with her pussy. The strands of Ryujin’s short hair find their places between Chaeryeong’s hands. Ryujin is drunk in her pussy, and Chaeryeong, even if it is so foreign, is loving it.

—

Shin Ryujin’s cunt feels too good.

You pound into her with reckless abandon, eliciting moans and whimpers suppressed by her friend’s cunt. She’s lying stomach-flat on the bed, so perfect for your domination. Her juice spills out of her needy pussy onto the bed. Those poor staff. They’re going to have a lot of work tomorrow.

You lie down against the smoothness of her back, feeling her warmth. You’re putting your weight on her. Your head is right beside her. Such a perfect view to watch Ryujin eating Chaeryeong’s cunt. The sight of her tongue splaying on her friend’s cunt is obscenely vulgar. Chaeryeong’s meaty thighs are shaking in pleasure.

Your hands roam over the front of Ryujin’s body, feeling her abs, her firm tits, and eventually, you grab onto the front of her neck. God, what a body. You pull Ryujin’s face out of Chaeryeong’s cunt, leaving a string of juice between them. Ryujin is so drunk in pleasure coursing through her—your cock inside her cunt, and Chaeryeong’s cunt on her pretty face. Her eyes are barely open. Her expression is so damn puzzled by the situation.

Suddenly, you pull Ryujin in for a sensual kiss. The remnant of the earlier Long Island iced tea lingers. Then, there’s the violent taste of Chaeryeong’s salty juice on her lips. It’s so good. You plunge your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, making her moan as your cock keeps plowing her cunt with no abandon.

—

Chaeryeong is barely able to catch her breath as Ryujin’s tongue leaves her cunt. God, what a feeling she just had. It’s a bit of a whiplash, but her finger will do. She pushes her digits into her own cunt again as they kiss, watching the rough fucking in front of herself. She curls her finger where she needs it the most, prolonging the intense pleasure she felt from Ryujin’s tongue. She’s chasing her own orgasm, and she’s sure that she’s so fucking close.

“Oh god, oh god, oh goddd!”

Chaeryeong sprays her juice onto her friend’s face, making her the first victim of the night. She cums, hard. Her body shakes with intense pleasure as her fingers are knuckles deep into her cunt, curling up at the right fucking spot. Her body falls onto the soft bed, limping, shaking.

“Nghh~ Ch–Chae, you t–taste good,” Ryujin stammers, eyes barely open, body all limp under his dominance.

She can only catch her breath quietly, in front of the rough fucking Ryujin is taking.

—

The sensation is just too foreign for Ryujin to comprehend at this point. Chaeryeong just squirted on her face, and then she got knocked out from the sheer intensity of her own orgasm. Ryujin can’t move. She’s merely a spectator of this debauchery, and the best part is she’s more than willing to let him fuck her into oblivion.

“Nghmm, s–so g–good,” Ryujin mewls, so cock-drunk with the violent pounding from her back.

He gives her ass a loud spank, making her moan in the mix of shocking pain and surprising pleasure. His cock grazes against her wall so well—perfect curve, perfect length. He’s everything she could’ve asked for.

“More!” Ryujin says.

—

You give Ryujin’s reddened cheeks another harsh spank, making her yelp. Her ass is so fucking soft. You’re loving this. She’s loving this.

“More, p–please!” she mewls, she’s barely holding herself up from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Your fucking cannot get rougher at this point—the ass slap–

“Ah!”

–the violent pounding. It’s making Ryujin dazed. It’s making Ryujin lost in the throes of pleasure. And the best part? It’s you doing all of this.

—

If he keeps up the pace, she’s going to cum in a minute.

Her pussy is getting stretched by his cock. He’s making her feel so full. It’s hitting all of her right spots. She keeps moaning and moaning in the wake of this divine delight. Her body feels limp, unable to move, but she loves this. She’s getting a cock inside her cunt, and she couldn’t have asked for more tonight.

The wave starts to form. It’s far, but it’s there. Her muscles tighten in this bliss. She’s going to cum!

“Oh god, I–I’m gonna–”

Her words are cut off with another slap on her ass, making her cry an unintelligible sound out. She finds the sound weird, but that’s the least of her concern right now.

“–cum, nghh.”

The wave hits. Ryujin’s orgasm crashes into her like a goddamn tsunami. Her body turns rigid in the wake of this divine delight under his. She lets out a loud wail. Her hands find purchase in the bedsheets, gripping onto them with her dear life. She savors it hungrily. She knows she’s going to fucking remember this, she’s going to.

After what felt like an eternity, she comes down from her peak. Ryujin slowly catches her breath with her still-fluttering eyes. She just had one of the best orgasms in her life. She’s going to cherish this moment, she’s going to.

—

That blowjob plays a part in delaying your orgasm. Thank god.

You drag your cock out of her spent pussy. It’s glistened in her filthy juice, shining against the nocturne. You watch her as she basks in the afterglow, trying to make sense of what just happened.

(Well, you’re also trying to make sense of what just happened.)

“Oh god,” you utter. Chaeryeong slowly sits up on the bed again, hair all messy after her mind-breaking orgasm.

“Should we–Should we take–a break?” you weakly ask, barely holding yourself together.

“Another round, p–please.”

“Fuck me, this time,” Chaeryeong blurts out, seeing the damage you’ve inflicted on Ryujin. “I want the same package as hers.”

Fucking hell.

—

You are sure that you aren’t going to forget this.

You’re fucking Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, as she eats Shin Ryujin’s pussy from above. Ryujin is looking up at you with her doe eyes, so dazed by the overwhelming pleasure she’s feeling. Chaeryeong’s ass feels so tight, so right. You can’t help but moan her name out in pure ecstasy. This is going to leave a mark on you forever. 

Your balls ghost past Ryujin’s face. Sometimes, she’d stick out her tongue to make your body jolt when you thrust into Chaeryeong’s ass. Ryujin moans and writhes under her, so lost in the pleasure her friend is giving. This must feel so right for her.

“Fuck, y–you’re so tight, Chaeryeong,” you utter, eyes barely opening with the intense pleasure coursing through you.

“You–You better c–cum in my a–ass–ah!” she replies, shaken as your cock plow into her ass.

“M–More than happy too, M–Miss Lee.”

—

She now knows why Ryujin was so ecstatic when she’s fucked like this.

He feels so full in her ass, full in the way no one has ever made her feel before. He pounds her without any relent, making sure that she will never forget this. The sensation is just electric. The sensation is just overwhelming, and she’s loving every second.

Ryujin’s taste is also nothing short of insane. She’s perfectly salty. The texture is perfect. Her scent is driving her insane. Chaeryeong keeps lavishing her friend’s cunt tirelessly, so fucking determined to make her cum with her tongue.

“G–God, fuck. Y–You taste so fucking good, Ryu,” she mewls, voice shaken along with the movement of his cock in her ass.

She hears Ryujin giggle from below.

—

Two layers of drunkenness can be a little overwhelming for Ryujin—one with the alcohol, another one with the sex, but she’s fucking revelling in this.

His balls are swinging above her face, and she makes sure to stick out her tongue whenever she can, to make him cum in her friend’s ass. Ryujin grabs onto his thighs softly, leaving enough room of strength to make him move freely. Her nails dig lightly into his skin, leaving crescent marks on him.

Down below (or above, it doesn’t matter anymore), Chaeryeong sure knows how to eat pussy. She’s lapping Ryujin’s cunt masterfully, eliciting moans and moans out of her lungs. She’s so fucking drunk in the sex she just can’t think straight anymore.

The familiar sensation builds up in her loins—the same sensation for when his cock was in her cunt, the same sensation for when her fingers are knuckles deep into her wet, tight cavern. She’s going to cum.

“Oh god, oh god, gonna cum!” Ryujin mewls, so hazy from the relentless pleasure crashing onto her.

Instead of any reply, Chaeryeong only laps on her cunt faster and faster and faster. Ryujin’s head is feeling like it’s going to explode. She’s so dizzy. She brings her finger down to rub herself off, making her hips buck into Chaeryeong’s face with bliss.

Ryujin becomes the first to cum twice in this messy debauchery. Her cunt sprays gushes of juice onto Chaeryeong’s face. Her friend shows no sign of disgust, instead latching her lips on Ryujin’s clit, making her scream in pure delight. Her hands find purchase on the bed sheets tightly, as her scream pierces through the quiet nocturne.

—

Well, Yeji is definitely going to hear that.

Ryujin tastes great—perfectly salty. Chaeryeong feels torn. It feels so wrong to be her friend, but who can resist Ryujin’s charm?

Ryujin’s legs twitch in the corner of Chaeryeong’s eyes. She seems to be really lost in it. Chaeryeong keeps her mouth on Ryujin’s needy pussy, casting her in a state of bliss. She tugs it. She nibbles it. She’s making her friend scream with her filthy mouth, all the while taking his cock in her snug ass.

The sensation from behind her is going to put her in the same fate as Ryujin. Her muscles are blazing now. She’s going to cum with a cock in her ass!

“I–I think I’m gonna c–cum too, nghh~”

“At your service, Miss Lee,” he replies, pounding as fast as humanly possible into her. It’s coming. It’s coming.

Gushes of her own juice are discharged onto the damp sheet. Her body writhes with pure ecstasy. Her head falls onto the bed. The current just cuts through her so easily as she breaks the silence in the same way Ryujin did. This feels too fucking good.

—

It’s fucking unforgettable.

You keep fucking Chaeryeong through her unyielding orgasm. Her ass clenches around you as she cums violently. Ryujin is now panting below you, face full of bliss—eyes barely open, tongue hanging out from her slutty mouth. Chaeryeong’s arms are barely holding herself up. She almost collapses onto her friend’s body, writhing with pleasure. What a fucking sight.

You chase your orgasm relentlessly, not giving up even if Chaeryeong and Ryujin already did. Even thrust, every breath, everything in your life was leading to this moment, and you’re not going to waste it.

The familiar feeling builds up within your loins. You keep chasing it. You keep running for it. You’re going to cum inside of Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, and you’re not letting anyone stop it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu–ah!”

To say that it’s one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had wouldn’t be a hyperbole (up there, rivalling the one that you just had by their mouths mere minutes ago). You can literally see stars within your eyes as you unload globs of cum into Lee Chaeryeong. Your body shakes with unyielding bliss. You grunt—loud, stark. Your nails dig into the waist of Lee Chaeryeong. To cum inside her ass is just utterly divine. Your breathing stops. Everything stops. At this moment, it’s just you, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong in this debauchery that no one is going to rob away. This is the fucking high of your life.

You slowly come down from the precipice. You feel so dizzy from the heavenly sensation you just felt. Your cock twitches its last portion of cum into Chaeryeong’s ass, before you drag yourself out of her tightness. Her asshole gapes, missing your cock. Your cum flows out of her gaped asshole. Fuck, it’s beautiful.

“Fuck,” you utter—lost, dazed. You just did something you can’t comprehend, and it’s going to forever stick with you as one of the best moments of your life.

“Yeah, fuck,” Chaeryeong pants, before collapsing on top of Ryujin.

—

City Of Stars

“I know it’s a bit weird to ask you this.” you pause, unsure of your next words. Are they the right people to ask?

Fuck it, you just had the most mind-blowing sex with them. A question wouldn’t hurt.

“But I have an assignment due–” you pause again, looking at your watch. It's a little after two “–today.”

Ryujin laughs quietly. “What? Are you going to have us help with your assignment?”

You can only smile shyly, looking left and right at their ethereal, after-sex faces. “Kinda, yeah.”

Both women let out a laugh. “Sure, go ahead,” Chaeryeong says.

“As I’ve told you, I’m a photography student–”

“Wanna work for JYP after you graduate?” Ryujin asks.

You chuckle. “If it means I’ll see you two again, definitely.”

“That’s our boy,” Ryujin says, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“Well, as I’ve said, I have an assignment due in like–seven hours,” you continue. “I need a photo to hand in this morning. It can be pretty much anything.”

“Anything?” Chaeryeong asks, her hand gently caressing your shoulder.

“Yeah, anything.”

The three of you say nothing for a heartbeat, letting the silence hang in the air. They’re probably trying to help you.

“That seems like a straightforward assignment for me,” Ryujin says. Her hand roams down your body once more, making you shiver.

“Yeah,” Chaeryeong adds, giggling at your response. “Couldn’t have been so hard.”

She gives your cock a slight touch with the back of her hand, and your breath hitches a little.

“My suggestion–” Ryujin leans in to pepper your neck with kisses, sending pleasure through your body “–just pick something that screams you.”

“Ryujin, ngh~”

“You know, I wanna be me, me, me,” she continues between her heavenly kisses.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be somebody,” Chaeryeong adds, her hands starting to jerk you off now. “Choose something that’s only you could’ve done.”

“Hhngn~”

The muscles start to tense up again.

“Yeah, because nobody else can do that,” Ryujin adds, still planting small pecks over your now-willing body. Her hands are everywhere.

“Good night, baby,” Chaeryeong coos.

And your vision turns white.

—

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ pretty when you cry ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? a part three, ultraviolence, and a part four, shades of cool.

˚ ༘♡ hwang in-ho, the man you once knew as young-il, the man who betrayed you in the most loathsome way imaginable, had taken control of your recovery. he rarely left your side in the early days, overseeing every detail with the precision of someone who understood pain all too well. his compound, sprawling, isolated, and fortified, became your prison. it was a place of unsettling contrasts, sterile medical equipment juxtaposed with lavish decor, soft furnishings that did nothing to dull the edges of the sharp reality you now inhabited.

˚ ༘♡ you were angry, your heart a storm of rage and bitterness, each glance at him igniting the fire anew. though, in the quiet moments, when he checked your bandages or sat silently by your side as you drifted in and out of restless sleep, you found yourself conflicted. his hands, steady and careful, worked with a tenderness that unsettled you more than the betrayal ever had. the small comforts he offered, adjusting your pillows, bringing you tea, gnawed at the walls of your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ days blurred into one another. your questions about jung-bae and gi-hun were met with deflection, his answers vague and evasive. each time you pressed, his expression darkened slightly, as though the weight of those unanswered truths bore down on him as well. “you’ll know when the time is right,” he would say, his voice serene, leaving you fuming with frustration and sorrow.

˚ ༘♡ as the weeks passed, your leg began to heal. the searing pain dulled into an ache, and eventually, the ache faded altogether. though your body recovered, your mind remained caged by the stark truth of your reality. in-ho allowed you freedom within the confines of the compound, but every step you took was shadowed by masked guards, their presence an ever-looming reminder that escape was futile.

˚ ༘♡ you tried anyway.

˚ ༘♡ the night was quiet, the air thick with tension as you crept through the corridors, your heart pounding in your chest. every creak of the floorboards felt deafening, every shadow a potential threat. you had almost made it to what you thought was the outer gate when strong hands grabbed you, pulling you back with a force that sent terror crashing over you. the guards didn’t speak, their blank masks only adding to your dread as they dragged you back to your room, their grip unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ when in-ho appeared later, his expression was unreadable. he didn’t yell or chastise you. instead, he sat across from you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t name. “i can’t allow you to leave,” he said softly, his tone devoid of malice. it wasn’t a threat, but it felt worse. his disappointment lingered in the air, suffocating, and you hated the guilt that bloomed in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ time moved forward, and with it, your body healed. the ache in your knee, once sharp and consuming, faded into nothingness, replaced by the intensity of strength you hadn’t felt in weeks. you could walk without hesitation now, no longer second-guessing every step. yet the freedom of movement felt hollow within the compound’s imposing walls. they surrounded you, stark and vast, a constant reminder of your captivity.

˚ ༘♡ you sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over the faint scar peeking out from beneath the fabric of your clothing. the skin there was pale and slightly raised, a delicate line etched by pain and betrayal. you traced it with a mix of resignation and vexation, trying to reconcile the life you had before with the one you were living now.

˚ ༘♡ the sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts. you glanced up to see in-ho stepping inside, his presence filling the room with an air of quiet authority. he no longer wore the faceless mask that had once concealed him, his features open and bare. though his expression was calm, the weight of unspoken words seemed to settle between you, causing the air to feel suffocating.

˚ ༘♡ “would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked. his voice was measured, each word chosen carefully. though his tone was steady, there was an undercurrent of uncertainty, as if he was bracing himself for rejection. it wasn’t a demand, nor was it an expectation, it felt almost… tentative.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands resting in your lap. your anger hadn’t disappeared, it still lingered, simmering just beneath the surface, but it had softened with time, dulled by the care he had shown you. despite everything, despite the betrayal that still stung, he had been there, ensuring your recovery, tending to you with a patience you hadn’t expected.

˚ ༘♡ “i don’t think so,” you said at last, your tone gentle yet cautious. you weren’t trying to hurt him, though the words clearly did. you saw it in the way his face shifted, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features before he composed himself once more.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t leave. instead, he lingered by the door, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “you need to eat,” he said quietly. his voice lacked its usual authority, replaced instead by something softer, something that bordered on worry.

˚ ༘♡ you turned your gaze toward the window, your focus slipping to the darkened landscape outside. the compound stretched endlessly into the night, its shadowy corners likely crawling with guards you couldn’t see but knew were there. “i’ll eat later,” you replied, the words barely above a murmur. they lacked bitterness, though the weight of unspoken emotion hung in the room.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was thick and suffocating. you expected him to retreat, to leave you to your solitude, but he didn’t move. his presence remained, steadfast and unwavering, as if he refused to let the distance between you grow any wider.

˚ ༘♡ and though you wouldn’t admit it, even to yourself, his refusal to leave made something in your chest ache. it wasn’t anger, or resentment, or even guilt, it was something far more complicated, something you weren’t ready to confront.

˚ ༘♡ you sat on the floor of your room, your legs pulled close to your chest, trembling as grief consumed you. the weight of unanswered questions bore down on you, suffocating and relentless. your heart ached for the friends you’d lost in the chaos of the games, dae-ho, jun-hee, jung-bae, gi-hun, and the others whose faces haunted your dreams. they deserved more than silence. they deserved answers.

˚ ༘♡ tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you pressed your palms into your eyes, your breath hitching with every sob that wracked your chest. the quiet elegance of the room around you only deepened the pain, its pristine luxury a cruel reminder of the blood and suffering you’d endured to end up here. “please,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the plea. “tell me… tell me what happened to them.”

˚ ༘♡ in ho’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, as he crossed the room to where you sat. you didn’t meet his gaze, you couldn’t. instead, you gripped your knees tighter, shaking your head as the words spilled from your lips in a broken stream. “where are they? are they alive? do they even… do they even have a chance?”

˚ ༘♡ he crouched in front of you, his movements calm but hesitant, as though he feared his presence might shatter you further. his hands hovered near yours, unsure whether to reach out. “i can’t give you the answers you’re looking for,” he said quietly, his tone soft yet somehow unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you choked out, anger flaring through the grief as your head snapped up to meet his gaze. “why can’t you? they’re my friends, they…” your voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence dissolved into tears.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, his silence infuriating and devastating all at once. the patience in his expression was unbearable, as though he thought his stillness could soothe the storm inside you.

˚ ༘♡ your cries grew louder, your sobs echoing in the quiet room as you pounded a fist weakly against his chest. “please,” you begged, the word almost unintelligible through your tears. “don’t do this to me. i need to know.”

˚ ༘♡ still, he said nothing. instead, his arms encircled you, pulling you gently but firmly into his embrace. his warmth was immediate, his presence solid and unyielding. he rested his chin lightly against your hair, his grip tightening as though he feared you might slip away entirely. “shh,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “i’m here.”

˚ ༘♡ you shoved him away with what strength you had, though it was feeble compared to his hold. “don’t,” you spat, your voice raw with anger and anguish. “don’t comfort me when you’re the reason they’re gone.”

˚ ༘♡ his hands settled firmly on your shoulders, his grip rigid yet careful, as though he feared hurting you but refused to let you slip away. the strength in his touch sent a wave of frustration through you, fueling a final attempt to twist out of his hold. his chest pressed against yours as he pulled you closer, his body a barrier against your escape.

˚ ༘♡ “let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaking with the effort to sound stronger than you felt. but the words wavered, your conviction cracking under the weight of exhaustion that had crept into your limbs.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” he replied, his tone low but resolute, the firmness in his voice more unnerving than anger would have been. “you need me,” he added, quieter now, his words tinged with a gentleness that made your heart clench. “even if you don’t want to admit it.”

˚ ༘♡ your struggles faltered, the tension in your body draining as the fight ebbed away. you sagged against him, your head dropping slightly, your breathing uneven and strained. his embrace shifted, becoming something softer, something that felt almost protective. his arms wrapped around you fully now, holding you close as though shielding you from a world you didn’t even recognize anymore.

˚ ༘♡ the warmth of his breath brushed against your temple, and you froze as his lips pressed softly to your cheek. the kiss wasn’t meant to persuade or plead; it was a silent confession, an unspoken attempt to reach past your anger.

˚ ༘♡ “i love you,” he murmured, so quietly you might have thought you imagined it if his voice hadn’t carried the weight of those words so deeply.

˚ ༘♡ your entire body stiffened. the confession hit you harder than you could have anticipated, settling heavily in your chest. the sincerity in his voice wrapped around you, tugging at emotions you didn’t want to feel. your throat tightened painfully, but no words came. they wouldn’t. you couldn’t make yourself respond, couldn’t allow yourself to validate the truth in what he said.

˚ ༘♡ instead, silence fell between you, louder and more damning than anything you could have said aloud. his arms didn’t loosen their hold, his face remaining close to yours, his breath steady against your skin.

˚ ༘♡ then, as if sensing your hesitation wasn’t refusal, he leaned in. his lips met yours with a deliberate slowness, a patience that felt entirely at odds with the world he had dragged you into. the kiss was tender, yet there was an unmistakable urgency in the way he moved, as though he needed you to feel the emotions he couldn’t put into words.

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to push him away, wanted to scream that he had no right to this moment, no right to you. but your body betrayed you, your lips trembling as they parted against his. the flood of emotions, anger, despair, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing, surged through you all at once, making it impossible to pull away.

˚ ༘♡ when the kiss broke, your breath came in shallow bursts, your heart pounding erratically in your chest. his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your damp cheeks as his gaze searched yours.

˚ ༘♡ “will you ever let me go?” you asked, the words spilling out before you had a chance to stop them. your voice was fragile, the question carrying all the weight of the fear and longing tangled inside you.

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, the sharpness of his features dimmed by the flicker of something raw in his eyes. his hands didn’t move, his hold on you steady but not forceful. “i can’t,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. his voice cracked slightly, betraying the struggle beneath his calm exterior. “not in my heart.”

˚ ༘♡ the pang in your chest deepened, and the next question came almost involuntarily, your voice trembling under the strain. “will you keep doing this? will you keep the games going?”

˚ ༘♡ his face darkened, but not in anger. it was a shadow of something more potent, regret, or perhaps inevitability. he lowered his head slightly, his forehead close to brushing yours, his words deliberate and gentle. “yes,” he said, the softness of his tone cutting deeper than any cruelty could have. “i have to. one day, you’ll understand why.”

˚ ༘♡ the finality in his voice was suffocating. you stared at him, your tears still falling as you searched his face for any trace of doubt, for even the smallest crack in his conviction. his gaze remained stable, his eyes holding nothing but certainty, an unshakable belief in a path you couldn’t follow.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was heavy, filled with the unsaid words that hung between you. and as his arms tightened around you again, pulling you close to his chest, you felt the hollowness of his words settle into your own heart. hwang in-ho was a man who loved you, but he was also a man you could never truly understand.

a/n: part five!!! let me know if you have any requests and your thoughts on the story so far!!🤍

[choerrypuffs]

AITA for setting my cheating ex's car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

pairing: firefighter!haechan x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 8.6k

synopsis: revenge is best served cold―or on fire. literally.

author’s note: luvpuffcore is finally back!! ilysm cat and moon and thank you for another amazing year of friendship <333 i truly am the #1 most successful fan of all time 🤩 also special shoutout to cat for letting me use some of her creepy dms and moon for sharing her league knowledge yall are god's strongest soldiers fr !! happy new year, my loves ✨🎆💞

warning(s): mentions/threats of violence, sexual jokes, y/n commits arson but in a girly pop way (pls don't try this at home), character assassination of mark

playlist: get him back! by olivia rodrigo ― is it new years yet? sabrina carpenter ― drinks or coffee by rosé ― risk by gracie abrams ― mastermind by taylor swift

additional: check out a nonsense christmas: reddit edition!

r/AmITheAsshole

u/justgirlythings-arson119 • 3d

AITA for setting my cheating ex’s car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

I (24F) caught my boyfriend cheating on me with a discord kitten he met on League of Legends two days before our anniversary. I proceeded to have the biggest crash out ever known to man, bought a gallon of gasoline, went to his house in the middle of the night, and lit his car on fire. I had completely forgotten his cousin was a firefighter in the area, and he showed up at the scene, which hindered my masterful plan a little bit. Luckily, my ex didn’t press any charges though because no way in hell he’s going to admit he has a discord kitten in a court of law. Anyways, the next day, my ex groveled and begged me to go to his family’s Christmas party with him so that he could save face in front of his mommy. Long story short―let’s just say it didn’t go well. His cousin ended up driving me home, and I think maybe I’ve fallen for him? 

⥣ 9.8k ⥥ 1,439 Comments

mcballs-im-lovin-it0323 • 2d YTA for not crashing out even harder bc i woulda slept with his entire bloodline if he played in my face like that 🙂‍↕️

➥ Reply ⥣ 2.8k ⥥

picklepounder1010 • 1d would’ve had him calling me mama, papa, auntie, uncle, grandma, grandpa etc fr 😩 ➥ ⥣ 943 ⥥

god-of-donuts0423 • 1d YTA for dating a lol player

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

goonknight1027 • 5h no way this post is about that twink lol streamer ➥ ⥣ 629 ⥥

part one | oh, i wanna key his car…or light it ablaze?

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:03 PM heyyy u play lol too 😂

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:05 PM im a yasuo main 😂

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMwhat kinda asian are u

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMwhatchu look like

onyourmark 12/1/2024 3:10 PMsorry was that too much 😂😂😂

Your best friend, Rosie, has to put your phone down and take a few deep breaths. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Keep going. You haven’t even seen the worst of it,” you respond through a mouthful of strawberry ice cream, completely deadpan. 

onyourmark 12/7/2024 6:21 AM ahh 😂😂

onyourmark 12/7/2024 6:22 PM *kisses you*

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PM can i tell U something weird :3 😂

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:40 PM[Audio Message]

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PMi wrote this rap about my feelings for y baby girl

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:39 PMbecause uve been such a good gril for me

onyourmark 12/12/2024 5:57 PM holy fck holy dcking fck that body of urs is absurd

Rosie covers her mouth with her hand, closing her eyes in a grimace. “No way he copied Adam Levine unironically.” 

“Keep going.”

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AMwhen can i see u

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AM ill be free after christmas

onyourmark Yesterday at 1:20 AM after annyign fam stuff 😂😂😂

Every message Rosie reads feels like another sucker punch in your gut and your ego, but you just dig your spoon into the tub of ice cream with even more force and let her keep going. Every time you blink, you feel dried up mascara flaking off your eyelashes and getting stuck in the dried tears and snot on your cheeks. 

“‘Annoying fam stuff?’ Is he talking about your anniversary?” Rosie demands.

Yes, your anniversary with your now ex-boyfriend, Mark Lee, is on Christmas. You used to think it was romantic. What a goddamn idiot you were. 

“At least he called me family,” you reply wryly, a hysterical laugh rattling in your chest like a wet cough. 

Rosie shakes her head and hands your phone back to you. “I can’t read any more of this. I’m going to be sick. I thought Discord mods and Discord kittens were just memes. I can’t believe people like him actually exist.” 

You just shrug.

“Where the hell is he now?” She crosses her arms. 

“Probably at his parents’ house. They’re on a ski trip, and they won’t be back until tomorrow,” you sigh, getting a headache thinking about how you were going to explain this to Mark’s parents. 

“Good. Change the locks on your door before he tries to come crawling back. He’s done mooching off you,” Rosie huffs. 

“You were right,” you state matter-of-factly, “That he was just a jobless bum loser who’s a momma’s boy.” 

She looks guilty, leaning over and giving you a hug. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You think about the time you first met Mark, when the two of you were just starry-eyed freshmen in college together. He was so awkward and shy that it took almost an entire semester for him to finally look you in the eye. He followed you around like a sad puppy and would get flustered at any prolonged amount of attention you gave him. After about three years of him being hopelessly in love with you and unable to work up the courage to ask you out, you finally decided to give him a chance in your final year of college. It was a white Christmas, and you remember his trembling hands holding your face, freezing cold fingertips brushing your cheeks, and how red his nose was when he leaned in to kiss you. He looked at you as if you were a goddess that was put on this Earth purely for him to worship. 

Maybe that’s why you moved in together with him when the two of you graduated, even when he was unemployed and you supported him financially. Maybe that’s why you smiled and nodded when he told you he wanted to try being a Twitch streamer. Maybe that’s why you gifted him his first microphone for his setup, or baked him a cake when he finally got his first viewer (even though it was actually a secret account that you made in order to boost his confidence). Maybe that’s why you never complained when he started skipping out on dates (sometimes even your birthday) in favor of growing his audience, or when he bought you extravagant gifts like jewelry or designer clothes without any clue of your preference or size. Maybe that’s why you chose to ignore the churning feeling in the pit of your stomach when you noticed his eyes starting to drift towards anything but you.

Maybe you were always the one who worshipped him. 

It’s almost comical how easily almost a decade of your life has gone down the drain―and all it took was a couple of laughing emojis. In the end, the one who loves more is always the one who loses the most. 

You gave up your best years to Mark Lee, and yet you seemed to have run out of tears to cry for this man. 

Instead, all you have left now is pure, unbridled rage boiling inside of you. It’s the kind of anger that needs to simmer first―the kind that manifests first as a calm indifference before it finally bubbles over into a complete meltdown. But you’ll be damned before you set fire to your mental health and personal belongings that you worked tooth and nail for over a man who ruined your life. 

So, you’ve decided to set fire to something else. 

“Rosie,” you say softly, your voice chillingly serene. “I’m going to set his car on fire.” 

Rosie laughs. “Want me to be your getaway driver?” 

“No, I wouldn’t want to implicate you,” you respond smoothly. “Besides, I want him to know that I’m the one who did it.” 

She looks at you for a moment, trying to decide if you’re joking or not. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes. I don’t have the energy to care about him anymore,” you answer―only a half lie. “You should go now. I know you have a late shift tonight.” 

Rosie gives you another tight squeeze. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m off this weekend, so we should go get drunk off our asses.” 

After she leaves, you slowly get up and make your way to the bathroom. You wash your face in the sink, scrubbing on the gunk off, and apply a fresh layer of makeup. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to make sure you look hot as hell (pun intended). Once you’re done, you make your way to the nearest gas station and purchase a gallon of gasoline before promptly driving to Mark’s parent’s house. 

By the time you get there, it’s already close to midnight, and not even the darkness can shroud Mark’s new Tesla Cybertruck. You remember when he bought it because you had to pay for half of his rent for the month because he was saving up for it―the smug grin on his face, as he announced it to his Twitch chat. You’re embarrassed at how happy you were for him, and you didn’t even have the heart to tell him how hideous you found it. The truck’s mirrored exterior reflects the moon in the starless night sky, and the full moon almost looks like a shiny, pretty bullseye calling out for you to destroy it. 

Without hesitation, you get out of your car and immediately start dumping gasoline all over and around the car. The scent of gasoline normally makes you nauseous, but the scent of revenge smells even sweeter. Before you take out your lighter, you pick up a large piece of broken concrete from his driveway. With all of the strength you can muster, you hurl the concrete into the driver side window of the truck and watch your reflection shatter along with the glass. 

The car alarm starts blaring, and you wait for the light in Mark’s room to blink on. You see his silhouette as he opens his blinds and peers out, just to lock eyes with you. He gawks at you like he’s just seen a ghost, and it doesn’t take long for him to make his way down to you. As he stumbles down the driveway, you take out your lighter and flick it on, letting it slowly slip from your fingertips. Your heart swells with a hysterical sense of glee as his eyes widen, the orange flames reflecting in his teary eyes. His Cybertruck is set ablaze with a Hollywood-esque level of perfection, and the fire gives your face a golden glow as if you were the starring actress. 

“Y/N! Are you fucking crazy?” Mark hollers over the crackle of the flames, voice breaking. 

“Oh, you bet I fucking am,” you laugh. 

“I’m gonna sue you―you bitch! Have you thrown in jail!” he screams, fishing his phone out of his pocket and punching in 911 on the keypad. “I’m calling the cops right now!” 

“Do it, you spineless piece of shit! I’m going to make sure everyone in this damn neighborhood and on the internet knows what a lying, cheating, soul-sucking little leech you are!” you yell back at him. “I’m going to ruin your fucking career first and then happily walk my ass down to the police station.”

That makes Mark stop in his tracks, his thumb hovering over the dial button. He can’t control the fear on his face. “No one is gonna believe you.” 

“Aw, you sure no one will believe me when I show everyone the screenshots of your DMs with uwukittenbb69?” you taunt. 

“I’ll say they’re fake!” he nearly screeches. 

“Let’s fucking go then! My word against yours. We’ll see who they believe,” you challenge. 

Mark falters and takes a small step forward. “W-Wait…” 

Unfortunately for him, he’s interrupted by the squealing sirens of a firetruck pulling up to the street. You and Mark exchange glances, and you silently dare him to report you, before both of you turn towards the firefighters exiting the truck. 

“Mark…and Y/N?” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of the approaching firefighter’s voice. You watch in horror as the firefighter removes his helmet, and you get a clearer look at his face. Tufts of wavy caramel-colored hair sticking out, a youthful and angelic face that doesn’t suit his occupation, and heart-shaped lips turned downwards in concern―it’s Mark’s cousin, Donghyuck. You’ve met him a decent amount of times at family gatherings, and he sometimes drops by you and Mark’s apartment to deliver homemade food from his mom. Donghyuck has always been kind to you, and you didn’t want him to see you like this.

Donghyuck’s confusion is short-lived before his attention falls back to the fire and how close you are to it. He quickly grabs your arm and pulls you away from the burning truck. 

“Be careful. Are you hurt?” he asks carefully, eyes scanning your face with precision. “And why aren’t you wearing a jacket? It’s freezing out here.” 

You open your mouth to try and fumble out an answer, but you flinch at the sound of Donghyuck’s colleagues blasting Mark’s car with water from the firetruck’s power hose. All that’s left of the Cybertruck is a deformed and blackened pile of scrap metal with a plume of smoke rising from it. You can’t help the sense of satisfaction you feel. 

“Don’t breathe in the smoke. It’s not good for you,” Donghyuck urges, gently sticking an arm in front of you and gesturing for you to step back even further. “Come with me. There’s blankets in the back of the truck.”

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to say, shaking your head. “I’m not cold.” 

It’s true; the fire you set has been more than enough to make your insides feel all warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t look like he believes you but doesn’t try to push any further. 

“Okay, so what the hell happened here? We got a call from the neighbors saying there was a blazing ball on fire in Mark’s driveway and that the two of you were in a screaming match.” 

“Ask Mark,” is all you say. 

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“It was an accident.”

As if on cue, Mark suddenly materializes next to you and Donghyuck―a restless expression on his face. He probably thought you were telling Donghyuck what he did to you and rushed over. 

“What?” Donghyuck’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You’re saying that was an accident?”

“Yeah. I was just…messing around. Don’t worry about it. It was an accident,” Mark says through gritted teeth, sounding completely defeated. 

The corners of your mouth twitch when you chime in, “A senseless accident.” 

Donghyuck is completely speechless as he glances between the two of you. However, you look past him and watch the fireworks exploding in the dark sky. Pulling out your phone, you see that it’s midnight, meaning it’s officially the 25th of December. Glancing over at Mark, you see him trembling in the cold with a sniffly red nose and bloodshot eyes. He’s staring straight at the ground, fists clenched. 

You smile. 

part two | part two | wanna push him in the fireplace and watch him burn!

When you finally get home that night, you draw yourself a steaming hot bubble bath and even use the fancy bath bomb that Rosie bought you. After you get dressed, you make a charcuterie board and pour yourself a glass of wine as well before falling asleep to a Hallmark movie playing on your television. It’s probably the best sleep you’ve gotten over the past month. 

You wake up in the morning feeling refreshed, a certain five-foot-nine burden lifted from your shoulders, and text all of your friends and family your holiday greetings. Rosie invited you out to her family gathering because she didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas, but you declined. You decided to stay home and get some cleaning done. Of course, by cleaning, you mean boxing up all of Mark’s stuff and donating it to Goodwill. You initially wanted to burn everything, but you’ve committed enough arson already. 

Just as you’re getting ready to make a hearty breakfast in preparation for the mass Mark exodus, you hear the door to your apartment being opened, and your blood runs cold when you realize you haven’t changed the lock. Then your cold blood begins to boil at the audacity that Mark still must have in his pathetic little body to even dream of stepping foot in your home. 

Gripping your frying pan tightly, you march out of the kitchen to greet him. Mark at least has the sense to shrivel back when he sees you approach him. To your delight, he looks absolutely terrible. It’s obvious he didn’t get any sleep nor did he feel the need to change out of his pajamas. 

“I know you’re mad,” he says quickly, holding his hands out as if ready to block a punch.

“If you actually knew that, you wouldn’t have stepped foot in my apartment,” you say nonchalantly. “You have ten seconds to give my key back to me and get the hell out before you have to call the cops again.”

“Chill, chill,” he mutters, “I’m just here for my stuff―”

“Don’t tell me to chill. I’ve always hated it when you tell me that. It makes you sound like a patronizing douchebag, which you are, of course,” you snap. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to let you just waltz in here and casually get your stuff. Most of which I paid for, by the way.”

“Y/N, come on,” he sighs. “at least let me get my PC setup.”

That makes you burst out laughing. “Holy shit. You really have the gall to ask me for your PC setup? Are you on actual crack? Get the fuck out!”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry, okay? Just one more thing―”

“Don’t make me swear to Jesus on his birthday―” 

“My mom wants you to come to the Christmas party this afternoon,” he blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I…haven’t told her yet. I wanted us to tell her, um, together, after the party.”

He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand what he’s implying. He wants to make it seem like the breakup was mutual to save his reputation and because he knows his mom will lose her mind. He’s pretended to be her perfect little boy his entire life, a momma’s boy to the very core, so he can’t ever let her know what a bottomfeeder he is. 

“Is this some sort of social experiment to see how far you can push my limits before I finally snap? Again?” you ask incredulously. 

“Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything. I won’t ask for my stuff anymore. I won’t tell anyone about the car thing. I promise you that you won’t ever see me again if you do me this favor,” Mark sputters.

You hate that you still hesitate, despite how much you’re disgusted by him. It makes you feel like you haven’t completely axed the part of you that was in love with him, and that sickens you. However, Mrs. Lee has always been like a second mother to you, and it doesn’t feel right to just cut her off without a proper goodbye just because her son is a cretin. You suppose this could be good closure for such an ill-fated relationship. 

“You swear on your life that you’ll leave me alone forever after this?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Mark nods profusely.

“Fine. I’m only staying for an hour, and I don’t care if the party isn’t over yet. We’re going to tell her within that period or else,” you state. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Y/N.” Mark opens his arms to hug you, and it takes every fiber in your being not to whack him across the head with your frying pan. 

“Do not touch me,” you warn, “Now get out.” 

To his credit, he promptly hightails it out of your apartment (perhaps he finally noticed the murderous glint in your eye). You almost immediately regret agreeing, but you tell yourself that today is the last day that you’ll ever have to deal with the likes of Mark Lee again. Putting a hold on cleaning, you get ready for the party instead, donning a cute holiday fit that you had prepared especially for today since it was supposed to be your anniversary. Now, it makes for a great revenge dress. 

Mark had texted you to let you know to bring a gift since there would be a white elephant gift exchange, and half of you wants to call him and scream at him for not letting you know sooner and the other half is screaming at yourself for forgetting to block him. Not having enough time to go out and buy a gift, you decide to wrap up the scarf that you knitted for Mark. You stayed up all night after you got off work to make it for him, and it looks a bit wonky, but you thought he would appreciate it. You feel bad for whoever receives it, but there has to be a few duds in the mix or it’s not a true white elephant experience. Maybe they can use the scarf to wipe up their dog’s piss or something.

When you drive back to Mark’s parents’ house, it’s an ironic clash of atmospheres. The place is decked out with Christmas decorations, an amalgamation of rainbow lights, inflatable snowmen, and wreaths on every door and window. Yet, you can also see remnants of the dark burn marks in their driveway. Mark must have managed to call a tow to take his Cybertruck away just in the nick of time. You do wonder how he managed to explain the burn marks, though. 

Taking in a deep breath, you hype yourself up in your car visor mirror before stepping out and walking to the front door. Before you can even knock, Mrs. Lee opens the door and envelops you in a bear hug. She smells like sugar cookies, and it occurs to you how much you’ll miss her. 

“Oh, sweetie! I’m so glad you’re here,” she coos, cupping your face. She then ushers you into the living room, linking her arm through yours. “I was so worried because I thought the two of you got into a fight while we were on our trip.”

You just smile uncomfortably. “O-Oh.” 

“A mother’s intuition is always right, you know,” she says, winking, “Plus, I knew something was off when Mark told us he’d be staying at our place for a couple nights. Poor boy was a mess, you know. He somehow managed to total his car in the driveway! Can you believe it? He really needs you around to whip him into shape!” 

You hope she can’t see you holding in a laugh. As you’re walking, you scan the room for Mark, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t surprise you one bit that you’re being treated as fodder so he can hide in his room. 

“Anyways, say hi to everyone!” She leads you directly into a circle of Mark’s aunt and uncles. You give them all an awkward hello and try to slink away while they all converse, but one of Mark’s aunts turns towards you. 

“So, how long have you and Mark been together, honey?” she asks. 

“Um, about four years―”

“Oh, but they’ve known each other for much longer than that. Seven years! Mark had the biggest crush on her, you know,” Mrs. Lee interjects. 

“My goodness, does that mean we’ll be hearing wedding bells soon?” Mark’s aunt teases. The rest of the circle oohs and ahhs, and you want to strangle yourself with a garland. 

“I mean, what is he waiting for anyway? He’s making loads of money on the Internet now, isn’t he?” she continues. 

“Exactly. I want grandchildren, you know,” Mrs. Lee huffs. 

Unable to bite back your words anymore, you clear your throat loudly. “I have something I need to―” 

“Oh, Y/N! I’ve been looking for you,” another voice chimes in. 

All of you turn around, and a gasp nearly escapes you when you see Donghyuck standing in front of you. He’s in a white cable knit sweater, and his wavy hair looks so fluffy that you almost want to reach out and touch it. His cheeks are a bit flushed, probably because he’s in such thick clothing (or Mrs. Lee’s famous spiked eggnog). Without his uniform on, he looks much softer, dreamier. 

“You…have?” you ask, bewildered. 

“Yup! Come on, I gotta ask you something,” he answers cheerfully, gesturing for you to follow him. 

You’re a bit wary of what he’s scheming, but you’d rather risk it than have to deal with any more marriage talk, so you gladly let him whisk you away from the crowd. Donghyuck leads you to a less crowded part of the room, swiping a piece of chocolate cake when he walks past the dessert table, and tucks himself into a corner that’s concealed by a giant Christmas tree. 

“Here we go. I introduce to you my super covert corner that I stand in when I want to avoid nosy relatives,” he says in a sing-song voice before offering you the cake in his hand. “Would you like some German chocolate cake made by yours truly? It’s pretty damn average, if I do say so myself.” 

You pause, only just now realizing that Donghyuck helped you out. You suppose you have nothing to lose, so you accept the cake. “Oh. Thank you. So, you didn’t have anything you wanted to ask me?” 

“Well, actually, I do,” he hums, giving you a sheepish grin. “You set Mark’s car on fire last night, didn’t you?”

Part of you already expected this question coming, so you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Are you accusing me?” 

“Why, I wouldn’t dare. Besides, I don’t need to. I know you did,” he says casually, shrugging.

Even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. In fact, Donghyuck almost seems to find it amusing. 

“Do you have proof?”

“Mark told me,” he states sweetly.

You sigh loudly, immediately giving up the ruse. “I knew that damn lowlife would yap.” 

“So, what did he do?” 

“Of course, he told you what I did but didn’t tell you what he did,” you snort. 

“What, he cheat or something?” 

“Worse.” 

You pull out your phone and show Donghyuck Mark’s Discord DMs and watch his expression morph into disgust as you indulge in the cake he gave you. The dessert is perfectly average as he said, but there’s something charming about it. In that way, the cake is quite similar to its maker. 

“As a government employee and resident fighter of fires, nothing justifies arson,” he states after a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “but this comes pretty damn close.” 

You give him a smug I-told-you-so look.

“But seriously, what you did was really dangerous, Y/N. You could have injured yourself badly. That jackass is not worth getting third-degree burns over. There are better ways to get revenge, you know,” he lectures.

“Like what?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, like TP or egg his car or something. Slash his tires?” 

“God, are you from a 90s movie or something? That’s lame as hell,” you snort, taking another bite of cake.

“Dig your key into the side of his pretty little souped up four-wheel drive? Carve your name into his leather seats? Take a Louisville slugger to both headlights? Slash a hole in all four tires?” He wriggles his eyebrows. 

“Are you quoting Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood?” you ask incredulously.

“Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats…” Donghyuck sings, purposefully off-key. 

You can’t fight that smile that spreads across your face, and it eventually turns into a full-on belly laugh when he continues to sing. It’s the first genuine laugh, the first moment of brief happiness and relief, that you’ve felt in a long time. You thought you had it when you set Mark’s car on fire, but something still coiled in the pit of your stomach like simmering, black smoke. In this tiny little corner that smells of pine needles and chocolate cake, you feel free like a clear sky after a long winter storm.

“For the record,” Donghyuck says, voice gently dipping, “you’ve always been too good for him, and everyone knows it―including him. He’ll regret what he did to you for the rest of his life. That’s your revenge.” 

Your breath staccatos in your chest at his words. You tell yourself that he has always been a smooth talker, but he looks at you with such honesty and warmth that you want to believe him. 

“Have you always been this sweet?” You meant for the words to come out in a teasing manner, but your voice is tinged with breathlessness. 

Donghyuck grins, and his lips remind you of the heart-shaped lollipops that you see in the store during Valentine’s Day. “The sweetest.” 

A part of you wonders what would happen if you craned your neck and kissed him right here and now. Not because you’re romantically interested in him, of course. Rather, it would be a spectacular way to get revenge on Mark. Most girls go for the brother or the best friend―maybe even the dad if one is particularly ambitious―but the cousin is an untapped (pun NOT intended) medium for revenge. 

You wonder if Donghyuck tastes like cookies or wine-filled chocolates or spiked eggnog or even fruitcake. You really hate fruitcake, but you suppose you wouldn’t mind for the sake of revenge. 

But you would never do that to him. He’s much too kind of a person to be involved in you and Mark’s mess. The fact that you’re able to confide in him and he actually takes your side is something that you truly appreciate. As much as you want to torment Mark, it’s best to just end it here. 

“You can use me too, you know,” Donghyuck adds.

“Huh?” You blink.

“For your revenge,” he clarifies. “Use me. To make him jealous, to bully him, whatever you want.” 

For a moment, you almost believe he somehow read your mind. 

“Just wanted to let you know,” he says, shrugging, “since you probably think it would be too mean. Plus, I think you would need my help anyways.”

That makes you feel greatly offended. “What is that supposed to mean? You say that like I didn’t set a car on fire.” 

“You’re too naive in your thinking. Revenge doesn’t always have to be loud and in your face like that. It’s a lot more fun when you break them down psychologically in more subtle ways,” he explains.

“So, you―as a government employee―can’t approve of me committing arson because I got cheated on, but you―as a government employee―can casually and openly discuss waging psychological warfare on another civilian. On said person who cheated on me, who also happens to be your cousin because you seemed to have forgotten that, ” you point out sardonically. 

Donghyuck just smiles before slightly leaning in, eyes flickering down to your lips. You open your mouth to retort but your words instantly die in your throat, softly gasping when his hand brushes your chin as he reaches over and swipes a bit of chocolate frosting from your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Sure I can,” he answers smoothly, “because, unlike a certain someone, I won’t get caught.” 

“I didn’t―”

“And by the way, Mark didn’t tell me you set his car on fire.” 

You gawk at him as he walks past you with a content grin on his face. “Now come on, I hear my aunt calling for us.” 

Maybe you need to take back your earlier statement of Donghyuck being too kind. He might actually have more screws loose than you.

.

.

.

You almost completely forget about Mark until he finally comes downstairs for the white elephant exchange. You’re in such a daze from your earlier interaction with Donghyuck that you barely recoil when Mark takes a seat beside you on the couch, especially since Donghyuck is sitting in the rocking chair directly across from you. 

The gift exchange begins once everyone has drawn a number, and you honestly just dissociate for the first half of it. Keeping your gaze trained on the piece of paper that has 26 scribbled on it, you don’t look up until you feel Mark get up beside you and pick a gift from the pile. You’re praying to both Jesus and Santa that he doesn’t pick yours, but you suppose you've been deemed a sinner and also put on the Naughty List (maybe for setting your cheating ex’s care on fire?) because Mark somehow manages to find yours in the pile of presents. 

When he opens it, you can tell by the way he quickly glances at you that he knows it’s yours. After all, he saw you practicing your knitting throughout the week. He happily wraps it around his neck and beams proudly. “I love it.”

The way he carefully looks back at you makes you want to smack him into the new year. You know he’s trying to get on your good side, and you make it clear with your scowl that it isn’t working. 

You’re actually grateful that it’s your turn next so that you’re able to get up and walk away from him. Wanting to get this entire situation over with, you haphazardly grab one from the top of the pile. Your heart sinks when you take out the stuffing paper from the bag and realize that it’s Mark’s gift. You contemplate putting the paper back in and not opening it at all, but you cave under the pressure of all the expectant pairs of eyes on you. 

In typical Mark fashion, his gift is a signed T-shirt of his own merch. It’s an obnoxious yellow color with his Twitch username and a giant screen printed image of his face plastered across it. He’s written his signature right over his forehead, so it makes him look like he has random chicken scratch on his face. 

“Oh, it must be destiny!” Mrs. Lee exclaims, clapping her hands together. 

You force a smile before returning to your seat, doing everything in your power to ignore Mark’s stupid giddy expression. Shoving the shirt back into the bag, you casually kick it away from you. 

A couple more people take their turns, and you’re counting down the seconds to when this is finally over so you can go home. Eventually, it’s Donghyuck’s turn, and he saunters towards you and holds his hand out. 

“Gimme.”

You blink at him.

“Your gift. I’m stealing it,” he explains, wiggling his fingers. 

“You want…this?” you ask, completely baffled. 

“Well, duh. It’s going to sell for a lot of money, you know.” He winks. 

You can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s helping you out again. “This has to be unethical. Aren’t you a government employee?” 

“Government employees need to make money too,” he replies, sighing. 

“Well, if you really want it, I guess I have no choice,” you huff, faking exasperation before handing him the bag. 

You’re smiling when he takes it and walks back to his chair, and you hear Mark grumble something under his breath. Turning to him, you raise an eyebrow, snippily asking, “What?”

“I said,” he repeats so loudly that it reverberates throughout the room, “when did the two of you get so friendly?” 

A silence falls over everyone, and the two of you are now center stage. 

“Are you really going to do this now?” you hiss. 

“I noticed that the two of you were getting awfully cozy behind the Christmas tree earlier,” Mark retorts, shrugging. 

Donghyuck gets up to intervene, but he doesn’t have time to even react before you grab a pillow from the couch and chuck it in Mark’s face. 

“You’ve got some nerve. Was this your plan all along? To make me look like the bad guy in front of your family?” you demand, feeling your face grow hotter and hotter from rage. “You and uwukittenbb69 were getting awfully cozy too, don’t you think? I’d say snug as a bug in a goddamn rug even.” 

Mark stands up in a flash, his eyes frantically glancing at his mom before pointing his finger at you. “Baby, I told you she was just a friend.” 

You nearly choke on air when you hear him call you that. Making a beeline towards the pile of presents, you begin to toss them at Mark with each question you add. “You absolute lunatic. Do friends beg each other for pictures of their tits? Do friends write raps confessing their love for one another? Do friends blow off their anniversary with their girlfriend so that they can meet up for a quick booty call? And yes, I’m saying quick because you and I both know it’ll be a speedy endeavor.”

“What on Earth is going on?” Mrs. Lee cries out as Mark tries his best to swat away the presents being hurled at him. 

“You’re a psycho bitch,” Mark yells. “It’s not like I actually slept with her. We were just messing around online. You got jealous over nothing. And you set my car on fire!” 

“You wanna see psycho?” you snap, throwing the present in your hands down onto the floor and marching towards him with your bare fists before you suddenly stop and take in your surroundings. You see the horror and shock on everyone’s faces, the way they’re looking at you, and then perhaps most clear of all―Mark’s expression. He’s angry just like you, but there’s a glimmer of victory in his eyes. As if he’s bested you in some manner. 

And he has. You’re the villain now.

Taking in a deep breath, you will yourself to walk over to Mark in a calm manner, looking him directly in the eye. 

“You’re nothing except a liar and a cheater, Mark Lee. That will never change that no matter how much you try to spin it in front of your family. You built your success off my back, and I hope that haunts you for the rest of your life. May you receive everything that you’ve done to me tenfold. That’s all I want to say—” You pause. “Oh, and I’ve always thought your Cybertruck was fucking ugly.” 

You reach over and snatch the scarf from his neck before turning and walking out of the door, feeling like you finally managed to cut off the ball and chain around your ankle. Just as you’re about to reach your car, you hear someone calling after you. 

“I’ll drive you home,” Donghyuck says once he catches up to you. 

“I’m not so distraught that I’ll become a hazard on the road,” you say wryly

“Well, when it comes to being around a car, you’ve certainly proved that you’re not exactly at your most dangerous when you’re behind the wheel,” he jokes. 

“You may have a point,” you acknowledge, giving him a small smile.

“Let me drive you home, Y/N. I’m worried about you,” he insists again, much quieter this time. 

“How are you going to get back then?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ll call an Uber or something.” 

“That would be such a waste of money,” you snort.

“Not if it’s for you,” he says almost instantly. His normally brown eyes almost look auburn when under the golden glow of the sunset. 

There’s such determination, such assurance, such warmth in his gaze that you let yourself be surrounded with, no longer having the energy to resist him, and it feels like falling onto a soft cloud after a long, winding journey. For once, you just want someone to take care of you, even if it’s just for a moment. 

“Fine. Do as you please,” you relent, tossing him your car keys before walking around to the passenger side and climbing in. 

Donghyuck looks relieved, beaming when he situates himself in the driver’s seat. You try not to be impressed with the way he easily backs out of the driveway with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the headrest behind you, maneuvering the wheel with a deftness you’ve never seen before. Then again, he does drive a massive fire truck on the daily, so your Toyota probably isn’t much of a challenge for him. 

He drives with his eyes staring straight down the road―almost too focused―because you know he’s trying not to look at you. Probably because you’re making it abundantly clear that you don’t want him to look at you, leaning your head against the window and away from him. It doesn’t mean that you don’t see his wandering eyes, almost as if it were second nature, drift back to you in the reflection of the window.

“Pathetic, right?” you finally say, feeling suffocated by the heavy silence.

“What’s pathetic?” 

“Me.” 

“Why would you be pathetic?” Donghyuck grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as the leather creaks under the force of his hold.

“Mark was right. I talked a big game in front of him, but in the end, I was just the psycho ex-girlfriend. I told myself that I would never let him hold my emotions hostage anymore. That I would erase any care I had for him left in me. Because indifference means that I’m truly free. But I couldn’t do it. I really hate him, to my very core, and that means he still has power over me. I hate that most of all. I want him to feel the same pain I did, and I want to exact revenge on him, but at the same time, I want to move on with my life. I’m like a dog chasing my own tail; it’s pathetic.” 

You wanted to sound more lighthearted about this, turn it into a joke, but Donghyuck seems to draw out a vulnerability within you that makes you want to tell him everything you’ve been trying to desperately ignore. 

“Y/N, you’re dealing with the end of a long-term relationship. It’s only natural that you have confusing and conflicting feelings about everything. You’re not pathetic; you’re human. Mark stole your girlhood and your youth, and it’s going to take time for you to heal from that. It’s impossible to immediately get back on your feet after what he did to you. None of this is your fault, so don’t ever berate yourself,” Donghyuck’s voice trembles as he speaks. “I promise you that one day, you’re going to wake up and you’ll realize that you don’t remember what Mark's favorite food is. His favorite movie. His favorite color. Then you’ll realize that you can barely even remember what his face looks like when he’s sad, happy, angry. Eventually, you’ll forget about him entirely, and all the pain he caused you will just be seconds of your life that evaporates from your mind completely.”

When he speaks to you like there’s nothing he’s more sure of in this world, it makes you want to believe him. You want to be his promise. 

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his for just a moment before pulling away. Your touch is feather light, but you hope he didn’t notice the way your fingertips lingered a second longer. 

The two of you fall quiet again, but this time, the silence is much more comfortable now. You’re almost disappointed when he pulls into your apartment complex, unsure of how to say goodbye to him. 

“Would you like some hot cocoa or something?” you blurt out when he parks. “I think I have some in my apartment.”

You don’t realize how suggestive your offer sounds until it’s too late. Donghyuck hesitates for a moment, and you can tell he’s debating on if he should tease you about it or not. To your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s getting dark soon, so I should head back.” He pulls out his phone and starts ordering an Uber. 

“Want me to wait with you then?” You’re not sure why you keep insisting on staying with him, but this day has been so batshit insane that you almost feel like a passenger in your own body. 

“Probably not a good idea,” he chuckles.

Now, you feel both confused and slightly offended again.

“And why is that? I know I’ve been a bit of a menace today, but still…” you trail off awkwardly. 

Donghyuck pauses for a moment as he stares at you; his face is closer to yours than it’s ever been because you’re sitting right next to him. You can tell he’s thinking very carefully about his next words. It occurs to you that, for a guy as seemingly flippant as him, he is actually quite thoughtful.

“You know, I’ve been compared to Mark my entire life,” he begins, musing. 

“Sooo…you didn’t want me to wait with you because you’re gearing up for a trauma dump?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Donghyuck holds his hand up in front of you, shushing you. “Shh, let me have my big moment.” 

“Sorry. Please proceed.” 

“Ahem. As I was saying, I was but a poor, innocent wee boy living in the shadow of the golden child in our family. Mark was always the more athletic, the funnier, the more charming one. His grades were ass, but he always managed to get out of trouble because he was the favorite. When I got my job as a firefighter and he was unemployed, my family barely congratulated me or even acknowledged it at all because they were afraid they would upset Mark. You see, I’ve actually lived quite a tragic life,” Donghyuck sniffles, wiping away a fake tear. 

“What a shame that they can’t see how wonderful you are,” you chime in, a smile in your voice. 

Your honesty in response to his joke visibly catches him off guard, and he blinks a couple of times before your words finally register. 

“Right?” he huffs dramatically, but he can’t seem to meet your eyes completely as a light flush dustes his face and ears. “But fret not, I didn’t particularly mind. It was nice not having to live up to any expectations. Besides, I was happy for Mark when he finally got successful as a streamer. We were raised like brothers, and I always admired him. I was proud of him.” 

“Ha, little did you know—”

“All this to say that, growing up, I’ve never been once jealous of Mark,” Donghyuck states proudly. 

Then he slowly looks over at you with longing eyes, almost as if his body turning itself towards you is a natural reflex. His expression is so soft and affectionate that it nearly takes your breath away. 

“That is, until he met you.” 

So, this is what Donghyuck looks like when he’s in love. You wonder if it would ever be possible for you to wake up one day and not remember it. 

But you aren’t sure if you return his feelings in the same way. Just like you couldn’t bring yourself to use him for your revenge, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to wait for you while you figure out the mess of your current emotional state. The one who loves more always loses, and you don’t want to lose Donghyuck. 

“I just wanted to tell you that,” he continues, “I’m not expecting a response. It’s for the better you don’t respond right now anyways. If you want to pretend like this conversation was all a bad dream conjured up by sleep paralysis and never want to talk about it again, I’m okay with that too.” 

You smile. 

“But…if you’re able to, just look my way sometimes. I’ll do everything in my power to keep your attention, even if I have to get on a unicycle with a clown nose and juggle. And, if one day, you find yourself looking for me on your own, let me know. Then, I’ll ask for an answer,” Donghyuck promises.  

True to your word, you don’t give him an answer. Instead, you take the scarf that’s been laying across your lap—the scarf with a few holes thanks to missing yarn and sections where you accidentally knitted the pattern in the wrong direction. Now it’s a bit stretched out due to you snatching it off Mark. 

But this scarf, as average (maybe even less) as it may be, is charming in its own way. 

Leaning forward, you wrap the scarf around Donghyuck’s neck. He watches you in complete awe, in a trance, as if he were in a dream and any movement would wake him up. 

“I should head inside now,” you say quietly, trying not to giggle at his stupefied expression.

He only nods dazedly, and you’re certain that would have been his reaction regardless of what you said. It takes a few more beats for your words to actually click before he clears his throat loudly. “Right. Yes. You should.” 

He hands you your keys back before stepping out of the car and opening your door for you. “I’ll wait down here until you get inside, and then I’ll go meet my Uber.” 

“Thanks for driving me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him. 

“You’re welcome. Good night, Y/N.” Donghyuck puts his hands in his pockets and tucks his chin into the scarf as he watches you go.

As your hand hovers over the doorknob, you know you should just open the door and walk inside so you don’t keep him waiting in the cold. You really shouldn’t look back because it would mean that you wanted to. Not because he asked you to. 

But you do. You look back—

only to meet his eyes, the two of you exchanging knowing smiles.

extra | is it me? am i the drama? i don’t think i’m the drama…

r/AmITheAsshole

u/justgirlythings-arson119 • 9h

(UPDATE) AITA for setting my cheating ex’s car on fire? (and then falling for his cousin)

So, it turns out my cheating ex got catfished. His supposed Discord kitten was actually some random guy and his friend who were dicking around. They ended up leaking the DMs so they’re all public now for those who would like to read them (by now, I’m sure you all know who my cheating ex is). I would highly advise against listening to the rap confession though. Godspeed if you choose to. I am also selling his expensive PC setup on Facebook Marketplace if anyone’s interested. Happy New Year!

P.S. I ended up inviting the cousin over for hot cocoa. He’s very sweet. 

⥣ 11.3k ⥥ 2,293 Comments

pissrevolver1122 • 8h rip bozo got catfished by me n bro for some robux 

➥ Reply ⥣ 3.8k ⥥

pooprevolver0205 • 8h can’t believe bro actually jacked off to a pic of knees LMAO ➥ ⥣ 1.9k ⥥

piss-k1nk0219 • 2h yall are about to have the awkwardest family get togethers ever lmao

➥ Reply ⥣ 910 ⥥

bigsnowballs0813 • 4h $5 and an iced coffee for the pc take it or leave it

➥ Reply ⥣ 748 ⥥

femboyluvr0701 • 1h are u gonna set the cousin's car on fire too

➥ Reply ⥣ 639 ⥥

justgirlythings-arson119 • 1h probably not he’s very good at putting out fires :(  ➥ ⥣ 482 ⥥

[greenpurplemylove]

Biggie In The City Lights🪙 (PJS)

→ pairings: ceo! husband! jay x corporate worker! female! reader.

synopsis: rough handsy sex with Jay in front of a mirror after you gave him a hard-on while he was at work.

→ genre: smut, angst and fluff.

-> now playing: TiO, Zayn.

-> wc: 5,6k

warnings: SMUT, swearing, dom! jay x sub! reader, unprotected sex (wrapeth t bef're thee tapeth t), pwop, mentions of getting reader pregnant, cunnilingus and pet names (daddy, baby, pretty girl, darling, doll, sex doll).

-> A/N: basically you and jay are corporate workers, you both just work in different companies, and jay just happens to be a ceo in one. yea3x I know I’m very VERY late to the party, but mostly bcs this semester has been a fucking train-wreck for me, so I just had to keep up w my peers. this is purely self indulgent btw, I can't help myself the man has just been hitting so different for me, like damn I need him and I need to recreate every Juno position w him. yea so 5k+ words of straight up porn that I could cough up so pls leave a like, reblog, and comment haha. anyways, enjoy. not proofread btw!

smut tags under the cut!

smut tags: mirror sex, back shots, missionary, bondage (jay ties your hands behind your back with his belt), tit sucking, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, and breeding kink.

🪙

“Spread your legs.” he murmured at the shell of your ear as he glanced at your figure in the mirror.

His hands sliding further up your lacy emerald green brassiere as you complied like a servant.

His usual gentle touch was laced with erotic rush, the flesh of your breast and your nipples hardening against his palm jolted arousal straight to his dick as if he hasn’t gotten used to touching them every now and then.

You’ve had your fair share of fucks all over your shared apartment. The bed, most certainly. The shower. The couch. The coffee table. The kitchen island. And occasionally, the floor.

Though tonight how ever, he decided to switch things up. Prompting instead to have you bent over the dressing table,

ass plump against his bulge and tits spilling against your bra like twin peak mountains in front of the mirror,

all for him to relish and ruin after having to deal with your promiscuous actions for the day.

Your ‘promiscuous’ actions being none other than you getting him all worked up and hard in a club while he was having a conversation with his work colleagues.

Noting that he was already too tired and horny for you to be interested in the conversation in the first place though.

The lewd pictures you sent to him prior to this was the only thing running through his mind.

The pictures you sent to him of you spreading your bare pussy with your fingers for him while he was at an important board meeting that very noon,

made him all the more sexually frustrated he was at you when you came in the front door of the club.

Even in your near messy clothing after work made him all worked up. If he squinted his eyes a little bit he swore he could imagine the soft pink after sex glow looming over your cheeks as the shot he took oozed down his throat like liquid fire.

But ultimately, as the night passed by, the touch of your palm stroking dangerously upwards against his thigh was what made him snap and stood up quicker than lightning, as he was already in his breaking point and your touch sent him over the edge.

Leaving a quick getaway excuse to his co-workers just to take you hand-in-hand with him as you exited the club, his grip a little tighter than you might like.

Indicating his overbearing, almost leaking frustration at you.

“Holy fuck.” he spoke, dazed at the view in front of him similar to a pubescent teenagers’ reaction at discovering porn for the first time.

You pressed your lips together as an attempt to hold back your moans.

Feeling his fingers caressing the band of your underwear that was covering your clothed cunt. It didn’t take long for him, however, to strip that pretty pair of underwear from your body.

Leaving your bare folds on display for him similar of that to a page on a playboy magazine.

The smell of the sandalwood and cinnamon scented diffuser in front of you drove further up your nose, his eyes molted in arousal as he eyed you through the mirror,

taking in your salacious expression as you both made eye contact.

Your eyes trailed to his right palm through the mirror as he lifted it before hurling it down making you let out a yelp as he roughly smacked your ass,

the sound echoing against the walls of your shared bedroom.

“Don’t you look at me like that y/n.” his tone firm as his palm came down on your ass again, this time it made your body almost lurched forward against the dresser at the mercy of his palms. “Not after what you’ve put me through today.”

You can only gasp and yelp at the feeling as he clasped your wrists behind your back with a single hand, an ideally intimate replacement for a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

The forceful blow of his palm left a stinging sensation on your ass, but being the gentle natured man at heart that he was, he spared a few merciful strokes after every mistreatment as an attempt to help sooth the stinging feeling.

“Jongseong.” you moaned as he stroked your ass that was red from all the harsh strikes done by his slender veiny hands,

feeling the corners of your eyes tearing up as you tugged on your bottom lip, tilting your head to the side.

Too flustered to see the pornographic view on the mirror in front of you.

“You’re not being fair.” you whined as you looked pass your shoulder, letting out a sigh as you see his hand spreading your ass apart.

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow at you,

“How so?” the tone of his voice sweet like honey to your ear, contrary to his previous vices.

You could only sigh at the mercy of fingers, as they spread your folds. The view of your glistening entrance made him almost weak in the knees,

his eyes softened as you doted his features through the mirror, his cheeks grew cherry red and his gaze spilling with lust at the sight in front of him.

“I’m already half naked and your still fully dressed.” you spoke, the erotic shame nearly muting your lips as they pursed and eyes widen,

silently begging for him to start stripping his opaque, sleeve-wrinkled white shirt off of his shoulders as you eyed him through the mirror.

Praying to see his muscle contorting at every move and to feel his naked skin against yours.

Your silent prayer was then met with a scoff as your eyes met in the mirror. A devilish smirk pried from his soft pink lips as he eyed you like he had his fingers wrapped around you.

When in fact, he does quite literally have his fingers wrapped around you. Gripping onto your body so tightly you were sure they’d scar in the morning.

“I’m only being fair darling.” he spoke with his sultry tone, hot as the summer sun.

His lips then latched onto your lower back, just above where he’d clasped your hands together making you sigh as his kisses trailed upwards.

As his lips traced to the back of your neck, in a swift quick motion, he casted aside your hair onto one shoulder before gently looping it around his palm, pulling your head slightly upwards,

your neck exposed to him more than ever as his lips started kissing, sucking, and bitting on your neck. The sensation of his lips was enough to make your insides pool wet.

A moan slipped pass your lips as you feel his tongue grazing over your weak spots, feeling his smile forming against your skin making you tug on your bottom lip and roll your eyes back as a response.

You feel a shiver down your spine as you feel his breath coming closer towards your ear, making you press your lips together as he bit a small part of your ear.

“Tell me baby, do you like it when I do this to you?” he whispered at the shell of your ear, the deep sultry tone of his voice made your pussy throb as his words and touch set a vicious spark trailing down to the pit of your stomach.

You wanted to speak, you really did. But the feeling alone preyed you into silence as his eyes landed on your face through the mirror, vicious, lustful, and hungry only for you.

The heat on your face grew warmer as you felt him tug on your hair making you lean your head to face him, before he latched his lips on to yours.

The kiss grew rough and passionate as he slipped his tongue in making you let out a moan before he pulled away abruptly.

“I know you can tell me y/n, I can see it at the tip of your tongue.” he whispered as his lips trailed kisses on your neck making you let out a whine before he pulled away from your back completely.

A cold wind coming through your back at the loss of his warmth, sending shivers down your spine as you feel your nipples harden at the sudden gush of cool air.

“I thought you’d be the one to talk, after those pictures you sent me while I was at work.” he teased as he let go of the hand that was gripping your hands together before spreading your ass as he watched your slick pooling against your folds.

Your hands gripped onto the sides of the dresser as you felt the rush of pleasure surging over your veins.

“Did you enjoy teasing me? Did you love the fact that I got a hard on at work because of you?” he whispered rather harshly making you press your lips together as he pressed his clothed bulge against your entrance making you let out a whine.

He sighed as he watched the zipper cover of his formal cotton pants slowly stained wet from your slick. He let out a silent groan as he gripped onto your waist, forcing you to grind on his clothed cock.

His eyebrows knitted together and his mouth hung loose, lost at how good your folds felt against him. Soaked and bare just for him.

You rolled your eyes back at the sensation, grinding harder against him, making him let out a moan.

All of a sudden his movement halted, your eyes widen in wonder as you looked at his face through the mirror.

“Fuck it.” was the last thing you heard him whisper before unclasping his belt. Removing it from his jet black pants as he used it to tie your hands together behind your back, making you let out a whine.

“Jongseong, please no, I wanna touch you.” you begged as your face grew redder. But your words were only met with a harsh slap to your ass making you yelp.

“Then you should’ve thought about that about before sending me those nudes.” he whispered as his words were laced in arousal, frustration, and dominance with every syllable pouring from his lips.

Unzipping his pants and boxers before stripping them off of his body and shoving it to the side unceremoniously.

His rock hard dick already in between your ass cheeks at dial speed before his hands caressed the sides of your body as he kissed your shoulders longingly.

The sweet taste of your bare skin worked him up like no other. The smell of your everyday perfume still thinly clinging onto your skin as they trickled up his nostrils, adorning him with a comforting familiar scent.

You moaned as you felt his hands stroking up your bra, kneading your bare breasts ever so selfishly before unclasping your bra gently, removing them from your body and discarding them to the side.

Pressing your back against his chest, his arms cling over your shoulders making you let out a faint gasp as you felt his arm lightly choking on your throat, the pressure enough to send sparks straight to your cunt.

Taking the bottom part of his shirt in his teeth, eyeing your lustful expression that was staring right back at him through the mirror before lining his cock up against your entrance, beckoning you to spread your legs further.

His tip now grazing against your entrance, teasing it momentarily as you feel him slowly pushing in, making you roll your eyes back at the mercy of his cock stretching your walls.

You yelped as soon as he began to thrust into you, taken a back by his actions when he didn’t even give time for you to adjust.

It wasn’t like you needed to adjust much, considering how good he fucks you and how he makes sure your pussy molds into the shape of his cock every single time.

“Jongseong!” you gasped as his rhythm grew frantic, his cock burying himself deep in your pussy with every thrust.

His eyebrows knitted together in concentration, letting out a groan as the fabric of his shirt dropped above your ass, the soft cotton grazing against your sensitive skin sending shivers up your spine.

For a moment his thrusts paused, the grip of his elbow soon left your throat as he gently placed you against the vanity table, your chest pressed against the cool wooden surface before he resumed his rough pace. Making you let out a loud moan.

Every thrust of his hips pushed you further against the dressing table, his dick exploring every single inch of your pussy. Your moans grew louder as waves of pleasure surged over your body almost intensely.

The squelching sounds of your wet thrusts echoed against the walls, the sounds leaving your mouths and the vanity slamming against the wall adding to the obscenity making it all seem like a sluttier recreation of a porn clip you’d find on twitter, only in this version none of you were faking it.

“Fuck y/n, you take me so fucking good.” he cooed as he leaned his head back, eyes screwed shut and jaw clenched.

A string of curses leaves his lips as he watches his cock coated with your juices. Coating him thicker with each dive he took into your pussy, trickling down to the fabric of his shirt, tinting them darker, marking them in glistening erotic sin.

“Holy shit.” you whimpered as your eyes rolled back from the overwhelming pleasure. Feeling the vanity table beneath you shook as you jerked forward with every push of his cock, his dick buried to the hilt of your cunt every time.

The mirror shook. The cabinets under the vanity shook. The items on the table shook harshly, threatening to fall off the table.

For a moment you were scared that the dresser would break from how good he was fucking you. How good his dick felt filling your pussy up at such a pace.

But all of those thoughts grew blurry and numb in your head as you lost every sense of self you had left at the mercy of his cock.

Slowly numbing your mind and your body at every given thrust, fucking you dumb.

Your mind was hazy like a cloud until you felt his hand gently grabbing your hair, making you look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth hung loose as you felt his dick caressing your spot, eyebrows knitted together as your face turned bright red against the mirror.

Your face was a sweaty mess. The flush on your cheeks prominently displayed whilst your eyes slowly empties out at his mercy, tears forming on the edge of your eyes, your lipstick smeared all over your lips and mouth, and your mascara leaking down onto the apples of your cheeks.

Soon, you felt the smooth fabric of his shirt mixed in with the heat of his skin pressing against your back.

“Look at you.” he whispered against the shell of your ear as he continued to thrust his dick into you making you roll your eyes back and whimper. “You take me so well pretty girl.”

“Coating my dick with your pussy, fuck, what a sight.” you moaned his name as you felt his hand spreading your ass open, giving him a better view of your pussy drenching his cock completely.

“So pretty for me.” he groaned as he lopped your hair around his palms, tugging on it harder, giving you a clearer view of yourself in the mirror.

Your body was coated in a thin layer of sweat from how hard your body was pressed against the table. The sight of your breasts glistening in sweat made his cock twitch inside of you, a hiss seeping through his lips as a result.

Your eyes trailed down to your stomach, the bulge of his dick visible in your lower stomach every time he buries his cock deep inside you, making you whine as his thrusts grew slower but harsher, your body lurching forward every time he slips into you, leaving you feeling so good and lost in your own pleasure at his mercy. “So fucking pretty for me.”

“Tell me pretty girl, why’d you sent those pictures?” he whispered as he leaned forward, pressing his clothed chest against your back as his eyes bore holes into your expression, sharp and precise, ready to have you completely spent at his touch.

You could only whimper and moan, oblivious to his question as he angled his dick right at your spot. Making your legs instantly jelly-like with every thrust as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

Anything but pleased with your silence, he groaned in frustration before leaning back, pulling your hair harder, and sending a harsh slap down your ass making you let out a loud moan. “Answer me.”

His tone low and firm, almost impatient for your answer as he continued to fuck you like his own personal sex doll. Doing anything and everything just to toy with you, just to have you so close to your orgasm then ripping it away from you, just to torture you enough to leave you coming back for more.

Truth be told, he loved fucking you like this. He loved fucking you hard and rough, it was perfect to get the anger and frustration of running a whole damn company out of him. He loves it even more when he knows how much you liked it as well.

At first he was reluctant to fuck you that way, since he’s worried he might accidentally hurt you at some point. Staying true to the gentle-natured ways of his upbringing.

But thankfully, after some reassurance from you, he fucked you like a mad-man that hid behind a finely tailored suit and he has never looked back since. It drives him especially hard when you go to lengthy measures just for him to have you bent over, moaning and screaming as he fucks you over and over again.

Tonight definitely became one his favorite moments with you. Your body felt like heaven sent him a personal care package and the fact that he gets to see almost every angle of your body through the mirror, front to back while he fucks your tight drenched pussy raw, drives him insane in the best way possible.

The silent sigh leaving your lips grounds him back to reality, a silent snicker leaking pass his seditious smirk. His dimples showing on one end of his lips. Like pin-sets pinching a small part of his pink, flushed, arousal-glistened cheeks as he watches your lips struggling to form proper audible sentences.

“Don’t be so tight-lipped doll, tell me and I promise I’ll fuck you exactly how you want me to.” he whispered at the shell of your ear making you weak in the knees as his thrusts grew slower. His words made you weak, oh so weak. You couldn’t help but melt at his voice, his deep sultry voice that practically pried your lips open to speak amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

“I want you.” your lips finally loosens, eyes rolling back at the feeling of his tip grazing against your cervix.

“Wanted you to fuck me like this.” you continued earning a satisfied smirk from him as he thrusted into you making you yelp, his pace gradually increasing.

“Like this doll?” he whispered as his hand gripped the table beside you while his other hand held onto your waist. You nodded in response, his smirk growing wider as you let out an audible ‘mhm’.

Soon after the table beneath started shaking again, this time your shared items started rolling down the vanity and onto the cold ceramic floor beneath you, a silent testimony to the erotic sight going on above them.

Your moans grew louder as you feel the knot in your stomach becoming impossibly tight, a string of curses leaking from your lips followed in pursuit.

Feeling his orgasm growing near, his thrust grew sloppier, the pleasure coursing through his body becomes almost overwhelming as he leans his head back, eyes rolled back, letting out a soft string of moans. Engulfing himself deeper at the oh so wonderful feeling of your walls clamping down onto him, sending him into a dopamine induced state of pleasure.

He was lost. Completely lost. Feeling your cervix clinging onto his tip, edging him closer to his high.

Oh, how good it would look like to have you cumming all over the dresser under his touch. He had it all envisioned in his head. The way your legs would shake from your orgasm, whilst he gave it to you just the way you like it, rough and passionate.

And since you were now married, he could cum inside you all he wants, with your permission that is. He envisioned the way you’d react when he fills your pussy up with his cum, imagined having it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. But being the person that cherishes a more traditional preference, he had other plans.

A strand of curses slipped pass your lips as you felt him pull out of you completely, followed by a disappointed whine as you watched him straighten his posture, unclasping your hands from his belt.

You straighten your back as you glanced at him almost confused, whilst he looked at you up and down, bitting his bottom lip as he caressed the sides of your body making you let out a sigh.

“Y/n, as much as I would love to see you come undone in front of the mirror-” he looked at you through the mirror before grabbing your waist, pressing your back against his clothed chest, his lips pressing against your ear as he whispered. “I’d love it even more to see you cum all over our bed.”

Shit, you were a goner at this point.

Absolutely fucking gone at his words. It felt like liquid magic seeping into your skin, feeling it coursing through your veins, sending shivers up your spine as you nodded, glancing at him through the mirror.

His sharp gaze piercing you like his personal prey as he started sucking at your neck, leaving hickeys all over while his hands cupped your breasts, thumb circulating your hardened nipples making you lean your head back against his shoulder blade,

eyes screwed shut feeling his dick wet with your slick grazing against your ass whilst his head propped back right next to your earlobe, his mouth softly nibbling at your ear making you sigh. “Would you like that y/n*?*”

“Fuck yes jongseong.” you complied completely as your body clung to his touch. Feeling the usual comforting smirk arousing against your skin, his eyes looking at your salacious expression, trailing kisses from your neck to your shoulder.

“Then get on the bed for me pretty girl.” he whispered in your ear before pulling away.

Getting on the bed with your back facing the sheets, he soon followed on top of you before swiftly unbuttoning his white blouse.

A stadium wide cheer erupted in your head as your hands stretched forward to caress his bare chest like clockwork, helping him discard the last piece of clothing that was depriving you from feeling his bare skin against yours.

His skin felt warm and soft against your finger tips, muscles tensing and relaxing at your touch.

The way your hands grazed against his body excites him, as if he’s never gotten used to your sensually comforting touch. With anticipation and desire leaking from your touch, he could feel how impatient you’ve become since he had you bent over in front off the mirror just moments ago.

The way you looked under him as well could have sent him over the edge. Your face glossed with a thin coat of sweat, a few of your baby hairs sticking to your forehead, tits practically looking like they’re begging to be sucked off by his mouth, legs spread, thighs plump, revealing your glistened pussy like a Christmas dessert for the upper echelons, all for him to relish and indulge himself in.

All for him only.

A sigh seething through his lips as he eyed you with all the lust, passion, and love he had in the world for you. You looked like goddess beneath him. So beautiful and captivating, all for him.

He dove his lips onto yours in an instant. Melting into a passionately desperate kiss, only you as his thumb brushed against your clit, earning a moan from you, eyes closed, mouth open in pleasure.

Your head moving slightly away from his lips at the sudden soft rotating motion of his thumb, before he cupped your cheeks, almost forcing you to face him before slipping his tongue into your mouth, cupping your lips against his once again.

Your fingers draped against his hair, caressing them as your tongues lapped against each other, fighting for dominance. That wasn’t until he pulled away from you, a string of saliva still clinging between your tongues whilst he starts lowering himself, sucking on every inch of your skin until his lips landed on the valley between breasts.

Like clockwork, cupping your breast in his mouth, his tongue began to swirl against your hardened nipples making you let out a silent gasp and moan.

“Jongseong.” you moaned as you felt his lips sucking, pulling and tugging on your tit, releasing them with a loud ‘pop’ as it bounced back onto your body. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his thumb started circling your clit faster while his mouth continued his lewd vises on your tits, sending you into an overdrive of pleasure after the previous build-up.

“Shit.” you cursed as your fingers ran through his hair, moving his bangs away just to get a better view of him sucking your breasts. As you did so he stared up at you, eyes so sharp and intense all while his lips clasped down onto your left tit, his teeth bitting lightly onto your nipple.

“God y/n, I need you.” he spoke moving upwards, taking your lips again, the kiss more desperate than the last. Pulling away for a moment, giving you an opportunity to push him further against the edge, your mind pried your lips open to speak, to speak of something lewd enough to get him to put his dick inside of you, to make you reach a heaven-like orgasm.

“Give it to me then.” his pupils dilated at your words, pulling away as your legs hung against his hips, lust and love swirling amidst his eyes, the dark dimly lighted room dramatized the intense gaze spilling from his eyes, your lips parted open and eyes dazed. “Give it to me jongseong.”

With a sigh leaving his lips, he hung your legs against his shoulders in an instant, aligning his cock right at your entrance, drunk in the mere effect of your words, wanting nothing but to have your lips parted open, screaming and moaning his name under him all night, like a melodious track record that only he gets to listen to on repeat.

Gripping onto your hips, soothing the sides of your body, he slips his dick inside of you, your pussy drenched already mixed with the feeling of his pre-cum lingering inside your walls. Your eyes rolled back as you felt his tip hitting your cervix.

“Your gonna be the death of me baby.” he spoke as he soothed your legs, his previous actions contrary to the sharp thrusts that came after. The bed frame shook, the squelching sounds of his thrusts overwhelmed both yours and his ears, your moans and his groans echoed across the room.

His dick was exploring every single inch of your pussy at every thrust and you fucking loved it. You thought it couldn’t get any better, that was until you felt him angling his thrusts onto your sensitive buds that sent you closer than ever to reaching your orgasm. The knot in your stomach threatening to unwind.

“Oh fuck jongseong.” you cooed as you feel your orgasm growing near.

“Gonna cum jongseong, gonna cum.” you sobbed as tears started pooling at the edge of your eyes, a satisfactory smirk appeared in his lips, indulging in your sex-induced expression he inflicted on you, enjoying every moment of it as he feels himself getting closer to his own high.

“Hold it in for me for awhile yeah?” he spoke softly, his hand going up to stroke your cheek, calming down your nerves. His lips trailing kisses from your jaw to your lips, feeling his thrusts gradually slowing down, melting into a tender, loving manner.

Your fingers gripped onto his shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his skin, mouth agape, eyes shut, back arching from the pleasure of it all. He hissed at the sensation, the pain further fueling his desire for you.

“Y/n you feel so good inside me, fuck.” he moaned, feeling your chest pressing against his.

“Jongseong, wanna cum with you.” you spoke under him amidst your broken moans and whimpers.

“I know baby, I’m gonna cum.” he whimpered as he feels himself twitching against your slick velvety walls that was hugging him so tightly, so lovingly. “Tell me baby, where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside, please.” he halted for a moment, eyes wide looking at you from your request, almost as if he was taken aback, hearing such lewd request seeping past your lips.

“Y/n, are you sure?” his eyebrows raised in curiosity as his eyes trailed your body, your knees shook and twitched at his gaze, hips bruised red from the his grip, the look in your eyes begging for him to fill you up.

“We’re married now right?” you asked as you lifted your head up to reach his ear, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. Blood surging through his veins as you did, anticipating your answer, bodies already hot and needy for each other.

“I want you to put a baby in me.” you spoke in a seductive, almost desperate tone.

It felt like his whole world came into a pause, the image of you pregnant with his child coming into view, him becoming a father to your child, it all felt so desirable and irresistible to him. Especially with the way he was so so close to giving it to you.

He’d dodge a bullet if you asked him to, he would even go to hell and back if it meant he could have you in his arms. And here you are now, giving him the permission that he’s dreamt of having since he got down on one knee for you. So really, who was he to deny giving you what you want?

“Fuck.” he cursed as he placed your legs on his hips, hands gripping onto your inner thigh tighter than ever before, just enough to have you sighing in pleasure, just enough to give him a wider view of his cock going in and out of your pussy.

“You really want me to do that?” he cooed as he looked up at you, gaze almost piercing, silently begging for you to have meant what you said.

He shuttered at the feeling of your walls clenching onto him as you gave him a nod.

“Give it to me, daddy.” you said wide eyed, pupils dilated, wanting nothing more than for him to knock you up.

He sucked in his breath, letting out a deep sigh as he eyed you lustfully before proceeding to fuck you so hard, you were seeing stars. Sobs of pleasure flung across the room, leaving your lips with each thrust of his hips. “Want me to give you my cum huh?”

“Want me to make you a mom huh? You wanna make me a daddy?” he cooed against the shell of your ear, his tone contradicting the rough and demanding thrusts of his hips that made your eyes roll back as you gripped onto the sheets harshly that your knuckles turned white.

“Yes daddy.” you repeated as your visioned turned white as well. He was fucking into you with his cock twitching at every clench and flutter of your walls. He was close, so close, and so were you.

“Take it then y/n, take it all.” He chocked out, jerking his cum into you, painting your walls with it, letting your orgasm wash over you as his followed shortly.

You sighed at the feeling of his cum filling you up past your cervix, leaving you breathless as he pulled out and plopped down next to you, out of breath.

You were both of breath as he cupped your cheek, making you look at him as he dotted at your sore and fucked-out expression, giving him something to reminisce about once he’s back in his office by monday.

He smiled at you, the apples of his cheeks glistening from sweat as he kissed you tenderly before pulling away. You smiled back at him as you nuzzled your face against his neck, your hand pressing against his bare chest, feeling your pulse and his still surging frantically, gradually steadying down from the high.

His hands immediately wrapped around you, sweeping back your sweaty hair as he nestled his head on top of yours. Giving you a loving kiss on your forehead as he stroked your hair in between his fingers.

“Jongseong.” you called his name out tiredly, making him let out a small hum as he looked at you. He smiled at you, almost as if he was reading your mind.

“You want me to run you a warm bath?” he offered as you nodded immediately, smiling and giving him a peck on the lips as a thank you note making him chuckle before he slowly carried you to the bathroom in his arms.

It felt as though each of your problems have disappeared. Leaving the demanding world outside the comforts of your apartment for the night as you bathed with him. Feeling contempt, comfortable, and loved in his arms.

[cherrylibby]

Spitfire and Smirks

word count: 2145

“You ass!” you snap, your voice slicing through the smoky haze of the bar. The room is alive with murmured conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional roar of laughter. A neon sign flickers erratically above the pool table, casting shifting shadows over Jake’s figure as he lines up his next shot. He’s so engrossed in the game that he doesn’t notice your approach until you’re standing just behind him, your anger radiating like heat off asphalt on a summer day.

The sharp clack of pool balls colliding echoes through the air, but your tone drowns it out. Jake Seresin straightens, turning toward you with a curious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes flick to yours, a glint of amusement lighting them as if your anger is nothing more than a passing storm cloud.

Before he can react, you shove him hard.

Jake stumbles back, his boots scuffing against the faded linoleum floor. He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rich and unbothered, like he’s heard this all before. Leaning the pool cue against the table with lazy confidence, he crosses his arms and tilts his head at you. The soft hum of a country song plays in the background, adding to the tension between you.

“Hey, watch it, sweetheart,” he drawls, his grin widening as his gaze sweeps over you. The nickname, said with that infuriating smirk, feels like gasoline on the fire of your anger.

You shove him again, your hands trembling as frustration pours out of you like a dam breaking. “Why did you do that? Why!” you demand, your voice cracking slightly. Around you, a few patrons glance your way, but most return to their drinks, too familiar with Jake’s antics to be surprised by the scene.

Jake stumbles back another step, but he’s still smiling, as though your anger is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all day. “You know,” he says, tilting his head, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your cheek. The contrast between his rough fingertips and your heated skin sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. His thumb traces along the curve of your jaw, his voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “Don’t be too upset now. I was just having a little fun.”

The intimacy of the moment twists your stomach into knots, but your anger burns hotter. You slap his hand away, your glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Fun?!” you scoff, your voice rising. “You think ruining another one of my dates is fun?”

Jake straightens, his grin faltering for a split second before he recovers. “Feisty as ever, Spitfire,” he mutters, his voice laced with exasperation. His gaze lingers on you, softening slightly as if he’s about to explain himself, but you’re already done with him.

“Unbelievable,” you spit, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and hurt. Without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and storm toward the door. The dim bar lights reflect off the polished surfaces of tables and chairs as you shove open the door, letting in a gust of cool night air.

The parking lot outside is dimly lit, illuminated by a flickering streetlight and the faint glow of neon signs from nearby buildings. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you march toward your car, your heart pounding in your chest.

“And where the hell are you going, Spitfire?” Jake calls out, his boots thudding against the pavement as he follows. His voice carries a mix of amusement and frustration that makes your blood boil even more.

“Away from you!” you shout over your shoulder. “Or else I’ll run you over with my car!”

Jake’s laugh is sharp, echoing in the quiet night. “You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, but his footsteps don’t stop.

You reach for the car door handle, your fingers barely brushing the cool metal before his hand wraps around your wrist. The strength in his grip halts you instantly, though it’s not painful. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice dipping into a tone that’s firm and unyielding.

“Let me go, Jake!” you snap, twisting in his hold, but he spins you around effortlessly. Your back presses against the cold metal of the car, the chill seeping through your clothes.

Jake leans in, his frame towering over you as he cages you in with his arms on either side of your head. His scent—leather, cologne, and the faintest trace of whiskey—invades your senses, making it impossible to ignore his closeness.

His teasing edge is gone, replaced by something darker, more serious. “We’re not done talking,” he says, his voice low and steady. His breath is warm against your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

Tears well up in your eyes as you blurt out the words that have been eating away at you. “How could you tell him about me being a virgin?” you choke out, your voice trembling. “I’m already insecure, and you… you used it against me? Seriously?”

Jake’s expression shifts instantly. The smirk vanishes, replaced by a frown that deepens with every tear that spills down your cheek. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he says softly, his thumb brushing away a tear. His touch is gentle, but you slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” you snap, shoving him with all your strength.

Jake stumbles back a step, his scowl returning. “Come on, Y/N, let me make it up to you,” he pleads, his voice quieter now. His eyes lock onto yours, searching for any sign of forgiveness. “Please, just hear me out.”

When he reaches for you again and you flinch, he freezes. His expression falls, guilt clouding his features as he lets out a heavy sigh. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he struggles to find the right words.

“Look, I know I messed up, Spitfire I do. But please, I just want to make things right,” he pleaded, taking another small step towards you.

Jake kept his eyes locked on you, not tearing his gaze away as he stopped directly in front of you. Even in the dim night light he could still see fresh tears in your eyes, guilt filling his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly. Jake gently reached out to take your hand, his touch feather-light as if afraid you’d pull away again.

You don't pull away as Jake gently cupped her cheek, caressing as he leaned forward "I'm sorry for everything" He apoglize "It was a mistake I didn't mean to cause you pain, please" He pleads "let me make this up"

He gently pulled your face closer to his, his hands still cradling your head. He looked down at you, his gaze soft and sincere "Thank you, Spitfire," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you once again, holding you close against him. He buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent as he savored the feel of you in his arms.

He continued to hold you close, his arms encircling your middle like a protective barrier. His breaths came out in soft, warm puffs against your neck, each one punctuated with a light press of his lips to your skin.

You cross your arms over your chest, your glare unwavering. “Why should I? You think an apology is going to erase the humiliation you caused me?”

Jake’s shoulders sag, and he lets out a long breath. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? I was stupid and jealous, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I just… I didn’t want him getting too close to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear.”

“Jealous?” you scoff, shaking your head. “So your solution was to humiliate me? That’s twisted, Jake.”

“I know,” he admits, his voice dropping even lower. He steps closer, cautiously, his gaze locked on yours. “It was wrong. All of it. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I just… I didn’t want to lose you, okay?”

“Lose me?” you repeat, your voice trembling. “You can’t lose something you don’t even have, Jake.”

That hits him like a punch to the gut. He winces, his jaw tightening. “I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m asking you—begging you—not to walk away. Let me fix this. Let me fix us.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and for a moment, the cocky, confident Jake you know is gone, replaced by someone raw and vulnerable.

“You hurt me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“And I hate myself for it,” he replies instantly, stepping closer again. “I’ll do anything to make it right. Anything, Spitfire. Just tell me what to do.”

You stare at him, your heart warring with your mind. Part of you wants to walk away, to leave him to stew in the consequences of his actions. But the way he looks at you—with desperation, regret, and something dangerously close to love—makes it impossible to move.

Jake’s hand rises halfway, then falls back to his side, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you. His gaze softens, and the usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be found. “I don’t expect it to be easy,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I know I messed up—big time. But I’m standing here, asking you to give me a chance to make it right.”

You shake your head, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest like a shield. “You humiliated me, Jake. You made me feel small—like a joke.”

His face falls, and he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep his emotions in check. “You’re not a joke,” he says firmly. “You’re everything to me. And that’s the problem, Spitfire. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I lashed out like an idiot. I thought if I pushed everyone else away, maybe I’d have a shot with you.”

Your breath catches at his confession, and you stare at him, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you see is Jake—raw, unguarded, and utterly sincere.

“And what makes you think you deserve that shot?” you ask, your voice softer now but still laced with hurt.

“I don’t,” he admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I’m willing to spend every damn day proving that I can be better—proving that I deserve you.”

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and you quickly wipe them away, frustrated by how easily he still gets to you. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you,” you mutter.

Jake’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Is that a good thing?” he asks, stepping closer.

You don’t answer, but you don’t step away either. His proximity is overwhelming, his warmth chasing away the night’s chill.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to know… I’m crazy about you, Spitfire. Always have been.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, and for a moment, you hate how easily he disarms you. But then his hand rises again, this time hesitating near your cheek.

His hand cups your cheek, the roughness of his palm a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s afraid of pushing too far. The kiss is soft, almost apologetic, and it sends a shiver down your spine. But when you don’t pull back, he deepens it, his other hand moving to your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you fades, the cool night air, the distant sounds of the bar, and the hum of passing cars all melting away. All that matters is Jake—his warmth, his scent, and the way his lips move against yours as if trying to say all the things he can’t put into words.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, both of you breathing hard. His eyes search yours, still pleading, still vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice a low rumble. “For everything.”

You nod, your hand resting on his chest where you can feel the rapid beat of his heart. “I’m still mad at you,” you say, but there’s no venom in your tone anymore.

Jake smiles, a genuine smile that makes your chest ache. “I’ll take mad, as long as you’re still here.”

For the first time that night, you let yourself smile, just a little. “Don’t make me regret this,” you warn, your voice soft.

“Never,” he promises, sealing his vow with another kiss that makes your knees weak and your heart flutter.

[velarisdusk]

and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

word count: 1.7k author's note: listen.. i may write but i am no songwriter. i dont wanna hear shit abt these lyrics, i drove myself to madness for HOURS trying to come up with them ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The studio smelled faintly of old coffee and cedar, the latter courtesy of Cassian’s obsession with “ambience candles.” Their flickering glow did little to cut through the dim light of the room, but that was how they worked best—shadows stretching long across the walls, a backdrop of soft atmospheric music mingling with the faint hum of amplifiers. 

Cassian was seated cross-legged on the worn couch, his drum pad balanced precariously on one knee. Rhys sat opposite, his guitar cradled loosely in his lap as his fingers absentmindedly picked out a melody that might, one day, become something. 

Azriel lounged across the arm of a chair, his legs draped over one side, notebook in hand. He’d been silent most of the night, pretending to be engrossed in writing, but he hadn’t added a word in over an hour. His pulse thrummed low and steady, though it felt like it was trying to climb into his throat. 

He cleared it instead. “I, uh…” His voice broke the lull, and both heads turned to him, expectant. “I’ve been working on something,” he added, tone clipped, casual—too casual. “Thought I’d see what you think.”

Rhys’s guitar fell silent, and Cassian stilled his restless tapping. “Let’s hear it,” Rhys said.

Az’s fingers curled around the edge of his sacred notebook, the slight crinkle of paper betraying his tension. Still, he began to read. 

“Got a taste of sin, it’s dripping off your skin, Lost in your fire, pull me in, Your body’s a drug, and I’m high on the feel, Push me to the edge, make me kneel”

Cassian’s mouth fell open, and Rhys slowly set his guitar down, leaning forward as Az kept going:

“Whisper my name, and I’m already there, Fingers gripping tight, pulling through your hair. Take me in deep, make me lose control, I’m yours to break, body and soul.”

When he finished, the studio was dead silent, save for the faint buzz of the amp. Cassian stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. 

“Holy shit.” Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Az, I don’t know who did this to you, but she must’ve been a damn good lay.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “It’s just a concept.”

Rhys arched a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Sure it is.” He didn’t press, though, only added, “It’s good. Uncomfortably horny, but good. Way different from our usual stuff.”

Cassian grabbed his sticks, tapping out a beat on the drum pad with a lecherous grin. “Let’s lean in, boys. This is the kind of trashy filth that gets crowds throwing bras at us.”

Rhys’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he picked up his guitar again, plucking out something slinky, the kind of riff that felt like it belonged in a smoky, neon-lit club. “It’s dark,” he said, nodding to himself. “Sultry. Needs that dirty edge, though. Cass?”

Cassian’s grin widened as he began hammering out a beat—deliberate, aggressive, a rhythm that hit like a pounding pulse. “You’re singing this, Az.”

Azriel froze, shooting him a glare. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand chuckled, pointing at him with his pick between two fingers. “You’re the one who wrote this filth, so you’re singing it, lover boy.”

“It’s just a concept,” Az repeated, gritting his teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Cassian retorted, his grin feral. “Then why does it sound like you’re confessing to something you did last night?”

Az opened his mouth to respond, but Rhys interrupted, strumming a riff so suggestive it could’ve been banned on public radio. “Alright, focus, idiots. Let’s make this worth the headache.”

For the next hour, the song began to take shape. Rhys layered intricate licks over Cassian’s primal rhythm, the combination dripping with heat and tension. Azriel’s lyrics were sharpened, punctuated with pauses that hit like clenched fists, every word landing like a whisper pressed against the shell of your ear.

Cassian couldn’t help himself. “‘Tie me down, tear me apart,’” he sang mockingly into the mic, voice exaggeratedly gravelly. “Az, I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

Az snatched the mic out of his hand, deadpan. “Learn to shut the hell up.”

Cassian laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. “This one’ll wreck them. Absolute filth.”

Rhys leaned back, smiling lazily. “Filthy sells. And Az?” He tilted his head, studying his brother like a puzzle. “Next time you’re uh, inspired, maybe don’t hold back. This is… enlightening.”

Azriel only shook his head, flipping his notebook closed as Cassian howled with laughter, already promising to slap the song on the album. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Midnight wrapped around you like a blanket, the world outside still and quiet. The soft glow of your laptop lit your room as you settled further into bed, earbuds in place, ready for this moment. You’d been counting down for weeks, your excitement bubbling just beneath your skin. Finally, their newest album was here. 

It’d been months since the concert—months since you’d stood in that dark, electric space, his voice carving through the air like a blade. You could still feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, the heat of the crowd, the way his eyes had found yours for just a second too long.

You hit play, and let the first track wash over you, a rush of gritty guitars and smooth vocals pulling you in instantly. The familiar sound of Rhysand’s honeyed voice wrapped around you, rich and magnetic, while Cassian’s drums hit like a thunderstorm. But it was the deeper, shadowed harmony threading through the background that made your breath catch. 

Azriel. 

Hearing him again sent a shiver through you, unbidden memories tugging at the edges of your mind. You’d spent one unforgettable night with him, his low, dark voice murmuring filthy things in your ear—words that had set your skin on fire and lingered long after the moment ended. His presence had been like gravity, drawing you closer, holding you there, even when you weren’t sure you could take it. 

And now, hearing that same voice woven through the music, backing Rhysand’s lead, was enough to make your pulse race. You didn’t know if you wanted to rewind the track or keep going, chasing that sound, that pull. 

You let it play. Each song unfolded like a gift—raw emotion, sharp edges. You found yourself nodding along, your fingers drumming softly against the blanket as you let the music consume you. But you couldn’t ignore the way Azriel’s harmonies caught your ear, his voice dipping into the pockets of the melody, haunting and magnetic. 

The opening notes slinked through your ears, unhurried but charged, the tempo slow enough to make your breath hitch. This was different. Azriel’s voice took the lead, a rare spotlight for him on a track, with Rhysand providing backup vocals—a reversal of their usual dynamic. It was striking, intimate, and laced with something that felt far too personal.

“Past the greenroom, whispers low, ‘No one’ll see, now don’t let go.’ Your nails, your teeth, the sting, the scrape— Pull me under, I’ll beg, I’ll break.”

You froze.

The blanket bunched in your fists as your mind caught up to what you were hearing. 

No.

Your thumb hovered over the pause button, but you couldn’t press it. The way Azriel sang it—low, raw, and dripping with heat—made it impossible to think straight. His voice wrapped around the lyrics like a confession he hadn’t meant to give, and Rhysand’s smoother backing vocals added a dangerous edge, amplifying every word. 

You yanked one earbud out, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, the words looping in your mind like a broken record. But the harder you tried to dismiss it the more the connections gnawed at you. His mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, murmuring reassurance as his hands slid under your shirt. You’d laughed, breathless, trying to quiet yourself as his lips pressed to your neck, but he’d just chuckled, low and dark, “No one’ll see. Just let me feel you.”

And “now don’t let go”—your stomach flipped at the memory. His voice, husky and commanding, echoing through his dressing room as he hauled you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. His teeth grazing your jaw, his hand gripping your thigh. “Now don’t let go, sweetheart,” he’d rasped, right before pressing you into the wall and wrecking you. 

Your breath came shallow, heart racing as the memories sharpened, aligning too perfectly with every word. The song ended, and silence pressed heavy against your ears. Before you could think, your thumb hit replay. 

Your knees tucked up against your chest as the opening notes filled the air again. You closed your eyes, the melody threading through you, every word lodging itself deeper. Was it just your imagination? Or was there something unmistakable in his voice—a heat, a pull, that felt like it was meant for you?

Your chest tightened as the song finished, leaving you breathless and stunned. “No way. No way,” you muttered, shaking your head, but your hands were trembling as you pressed play again. 

You got up, pacing your room with restless energy, the song still blasting through one earbud. Each time you heard it, new details jumped out at you—an inflection here, an ad-lib there. It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be. 

The realization hit you all at once, like a weight in your chest. The lyrics weren’t just abstract poetry. They were something real. They were yours. 

You needed to see them perform this live. You needed to hear Azriel sing those words like looking out at a crowd, to watch the way he carried himself under the stage lights. Would he meet your gaze if you were there? Would he falter, even for a second, knowing you’d heard every word and recognized yourself in them?

And more than anything, you needed to talk to him. To get his attention again, to hear the truth from his lips. 

[chancloud8]

CHAPTER 2

series masterlist

Pairing: OT8 x reader

Word Count: 4,8k

Tags: bodyguard!ot8, idol!reader, banter

Summary: you're still resisting your new bodyguards and while there seems to be a brat war going on between minho, seungmin and you, you slowly warm up to some of the others. a/n: I nearly deleted the whole chapter and started over like six times while writing this lmao. I hope you like it <3

With Chan and Minho on your heels you storm into Yoona’s office without knocking. Luckily for you she’s not in a meeting nor is she on the phone or she would have probably fired your ass on the spot. Your manager looks up from her computer and frowns at you.

‘Where’s the fire, Nabi?’ 

‘Don’t Nabi me,’ you hiss, balling your fist to stop yourself from angrily pointing at her. You might be angry, but you still respect the woman. 

‘Ah, so you’re that mad at me,’ Yoona sighs, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair. ‘Go on then, give me your worst.’ 

You grit your teeth and look over your shoulder at your two future bodyguards, pondering if you should really give Yoona a piece of your mind with them present. Chan looks worried, but when you meet Minho’s gaze he just raises his eyebrows at you, fueling your anger. 

‘They are not moving in with me,’ you growl, taking a step forward to create distance between you and the two men. ‘You can’t force this on me.’ 

Yoona stays silent, knowing you well enough that this won’t be all. 

‘You want them to follow me around all day, fine, but I’m not being watched twenty four seven, Yoon. Even Faris isn’t with me at night now, so why should they?’ 

‘Yeah and look what happened, some lunatic tried to break into your house,’ Minho mumbles. 

‘I moved!’ you yell, turning around to glare at him. 

Minho isn’t impressed and once again raises his eyebrows at you. ‘And you think that no one will find out your new address? I’m sorry to break your bubble, Princess, but stalkers are named just that for a reason and you have some real messed up fans.’ 

‘I also bought a new fancy security system,’ you cross your arms, not breaking your eye contact with him. 

‘Even those can fail, Y/N,’ Chan says, stepping forward with his hands raised as if he’s trying to show you he means no harm. ‘If something really happens it still takes a few minutes for someone to reach you.’ 

He has a point, but you’re not going to give up this easily. 

‘I’ll get a guard dog then,’ you shrug, only partly bluffing. 

Minho snorts and shakes his head. ‘You’re impossible you know, you should be grateful.’ 

‘Grateful?’ you laugh humorlessly. ‘Sure buddy, I’m oh so grateful that I’ll lose even more of my privacy.’ 

They really don’t get it, do they? As an idol you already have little to no privacy, your life being led by your manager and the company you signed under while the media and your fans watch your every move. You love the life, your fans and even the hard work you have to put in, but sometimes the sacrifices still hurt. Sometimes you wish you could experience normal life again, like going to the grocery store or the mall without security or people following you around. 

Minho glares at you and opens his mouth to say something else, but Chan steps in front of him. ‘And we understand,’ he says softly, smiling kindly at you. 

‘Well, I don’t,’ Minho grumbles. 

‘We do,’ Chan keeps his eyes on you as he speaks. ‘I know it will be a sacrifice to share your home with us, but Faris and Yoona picked this house for a reason.’ 

You glance at Yoona and she nods. 

‘It might be a big house, but I’ll still know you’re there. I’ll never be home alone. I won’t be able to walk around in my underwear in my own fucking home or dance on the table while eating ice cream straight out of the carton.’ 

‘You still can if you want to,’ Chan grins. ‘But I get your point and I promise you that we’ll try to be as invisible as possible.’ 

‘There must be another way? Can’t you take turns guarding my door or something?’ you try again. 

‘Selfish much,’ Minho says under his breath and this time Chan also glares at him. 

Anger starts to bubble up in your belly again, but before you can even think about yelling some more, Yoona appears next to you. She wraps her arms around you and presses a kiss against your temple.

'Just get over it, darling, this is happening.’ she says. ‘Now go home and enjoy the peace and quiet while you still can. Tomorrow Minho, Felix and Hyunjin will join you for training and by this weekend they will all move in.’ 

You open your mouth to protest some more, but Yoona is already walking back to her desk, letting you know that this conversation is over. You know her well enough to know that no matter what you say or how much you beg, she won’t change her mind on this. When you risk to glance at the men, Minho grins at you and Chan smiles. 

‘Fuck my life,’ you mutter. 

****

You don't talk to any of the men again and just ask Faris to take you home so you can spend the rest of the day mopping in your room filled with unpacked boxes while Faris sits downstairs doing god knows what.

The next day you feel a little better and when you eat your breakfast you text Jisung.

You: Sorry about storming out yesterday.

Jisung:You’re already forgiven (by me at least)

You: Tell Minho to leave his judgement at home

Jisung:How did you know I was with him?

You:Lucky guess. Will you be at the company today?

Jisung:Yes, I'm already on my way. Chan is picking you up.

You frown at your phone and look at Faris who's reading the paper across from you while sipping his tea.

'You’re not coming with me today?' You ask him, pushing away your half eaten bowl of porridge.

Faris looks up with a smile. 'Ji-a has an appointment I'd like to be at, so I asked Chan to be with you until I'm back.'

'Oh, of course,' you give him a small smile in return. 'You should definitely be with Ji-a.'

Faris folds up the paper. 'It will be good for you to spend some time with him, Nabi, just give him a chance.'

'Yeah, okay,' you nod. 'I'll try.'

‘Good,’ Faris smiles. ‘I’m sure you’ll grow to love them.’

‘We’ll see,’ you smile back. ‘Chan and Jisung seem really nice at least.’ 

When the man beams at you, you promise yourself you’ll try to be a bit easier on the whole situation, if only to make Faris happy. 

Chan arrives shortly after you clean up your breakfast and you quickly grab your bag and trusty water bottle, trying very hard not to stare at how good he looks in his dark blue suit. It's a crime really and you already know that one of these days he’s going to catch you staring. 

‘You ready?’ Chan asks.

You nod and wave at Faris. ‘Give Ji-a my love.’ 

‘Will do, Nabi. Try and not piss off too many people today, yeah?’ 

You laugh. ‘Can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.’

Chan chuckles as he holds open the front door for you. ‘Should I warn the others?’ 

You shrug as you follow him to the car, already taking out your phone to text Jisung you’re on your way. He quickly replies with a thumbs up. 

‘Why don’t you sit next to me?’ Chan asks when you reach the car. ‘I’d like to talk a bit if that’s alright.’ 

‘Oh, sure,’ you nod before walking around the car to get to the other side. 

The smell of coffee and sandalwood hits your nose as you get into the passenger seat and you smile in surprise. There’s two to go cups on the dashboard and the sandalwood must either be Chan’s cologne or some sort of car perfume. It smells nice. 

Chan sits down behind the wheel and when you’re buckled up he reaches for one of the coffee cups and hands it to you. ‘Faris said you like cappuccino.’ 

Your mouth forms a surprised ‘oh’ and you happily wrap your fingers around the cup. ‘Thank you,’ you smile genuinely at him. ‘Caffeine is the way to my heart.’ 

Chan chuckles and starts the car. ‘I’ll remember that.’ 

You take a sip of your coffee and close your eyes when the creamy taste of a perfect cappuccino hits your tongue. 

‘Where did you get this?’ you ask Chan, twisting the cup in your hand to look for a logo or anything that will tell you where it’s from. 

‘It’s self made,’ Chan says, his eyes on the road. ‘Do you like it?’ 

Your eyes widen in surprise and you take another sip, nodding happily. ‘You made it? It's delicious.’ 

‘No, I don’t like coffee, but we have a fancy coffee machine at our dorm. The guys are very particular about their coffee and prefer to make their own.’

‘I guess that will be one pro about you moving in,’ you sigh. ‘So who made it then?’ 

‘If I tell you, will you tell them thank you?’ 

You look at Chan with narrowed eyes, taking notice of the grin on his face. 

‘It’s Minho isn’t it?’ 

‘Yes, he’s the coffee king in our dorm.’ 

‘Damnit,’ you mutter. 

Chan laughs and you can’t help but smile. His laugh is adorable and you notice he giggles a lot too. It doesn’t fit his bad boy image, but you like it. 

‘So, will you?’ Chan asks, looking at you. 

‘Thank him? Hmm probably not.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

You snort. ‘He’s a brat.’ 

‘He says the same thing about you,’ Chan smiles. 

‘Of course he does,’ you roll your eyes and take another sip of your coffee. ‘He’s lucky he makes good coffee.’ 

‘He’s also a really good dancer.’ 

‘And you’re not just saying this cause you’re biased?’ 

Chan laughs again and damnit you could get used to that sound. ‘I probably am, but both Minho and Hyunjin danced professionally before they joined the program. Minho has even toured before.’ 

You blink at that piece of information and purse your lips. He must be good if he toured with an idol before, they don’t just hire anybody. 

‘What about Felix?’ you ask, steering the conversation away from Minho. 

‘He mostly danced for fun, but took a preference to martial arts. He’s very flexible and I’ve been told he picks up choreography crazy fast.’ 

All of this makes you very curious to see the three of them in action in a bit and a small part of you secretly hopes that they’re not as good as Chan and Yoona say, because if they are, it gives you one less reason to dislike them and you’re not ready to make friends with either of the men that are rooting up your privacy. 

During the rest of the ride you stay silent, looking out of the window and humming along with the music Chan puts on. He doesn’t push you to talk and you’re grateful for that. Chan seems great and you’re sure that in time you’ll get along splendidly, but for now you simply refuse to make too much of an effort and if that makes you the brat Minho thinks you are, so be it. 

The company building looms up before you and you quickly finish up your coffee as Chan maneuvers the car into the parking garage. As soon as the car stands still, you open the door and jump out, not waiting for Chan. 

‘Y/N!’ Chan calls out after you. ‘Wait up!’ 

You ignore him and press the button for the elevator, tapping your foot as you wait for the doors to open. Luck isn’t on your side and it doesn’t take long before footsteps sound behind you. Gritting your teeth in annoyance, you turn around to face Chan while trying to decide if you should apologize for running or not. 

Your eyes widen when you’re not met with Chan’s face. 

‘I knew you’d be a runner,’ Seungmin says, shaking his head like he’s disappointed to be proven right. 

Before you can argue, Chan appears beside him, frowning and holding your water bottle in his hands. Shit. The look on Chan’s face actually makes you feel guilty for running out on him like that.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. ‘I–’

‘Are you though?’ Seungmin interrupts you, crossing his arms. 

You glare at him. ‘I am actually, stop being a–’ 

‘A little brat like you?’ a new voice pipes up. ‘That’s impossible.’ 

Minho. Of course. 

You roll your eyes at him and turn to face the elevator again. ‘Please, I just walked to the elevator without Chan, if that makes me a brat, it makes you a bit of a drama queen don’t you think.’ 

A hand grabs your wrist and pulls so you have to turn around. 

‘I don’t,’ Minho glowers at you. ‘We are here for a reason and you better start to accept it soon or one of these days something will actually happen.’ 

‘Min,’ Chan puts his hand on Minho’s shoulder. ‘Let’s all calm down here.’ 

The elevator doors finally open and you pull your wrist out of Minho’s grip and get inside, pushing the button for the second floor. 

‘Yes, calm your ass down, nothing happened,’ you mumble in their direction. ‘I was without Chan for about ten seconds.’ 

‘That’s all it can take,’ Seungmin says, standing beside you. 

Chan gives you a pleading look as if to say ‘please don’t fight this.’ 

You hold up your hands in surrender, but you don’t say anything. The tension in the elevator is thick and you're glad it’s only a short ride up. Minho leaves without saying anything else and you’re already dreading dance training later. 

‘Come on,’ Chan says, gently placing his hand on your back and pushing you in the direction of your studio. ‘I think we need to have a proper talk.’ 

Seungmin follows and you can’t help but throw him an annoyed look over your shoulder. He just rolls his eyes at you and you grit your teeth, looking ahead again. You might try with Chan and Jisung, but Seungmin and Minho could bite your ass. 

‘Here,’ Chan says, handing you your water bottle. ‘You left this when you jumped out in a hurry.’ 

You open your mouth to apologize, but Chan shakes his head and gives you a sad smile. ‘No need to apologize when you don’t really mean it. I’ll earn your trust eventually.’ 

God damnit, why does this man need to have such adorable puppy eyes and cute dimples you want to poke with your finger. 

'Good morning!' Jisung greets you with a grin when you step into his office. He’s behind his desk that’s littered with papers, two cups of coffee and an empty bowl that probably held ramen if you guessed the smell that lingers in the room correctly. ‘How are we feeling today?’ 

‘She already ran away from Channie Hyung,’ Seungmin says as he drops down on the couch. 

You groan in annoyance. ‘I don’t think you can count walking ahead to the elevator as running away, but okay.’ 

‘You still should have waited for me,’ Chan says, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. ‘I don’t care that we’re inside your company, you need to stick close to at least one of us at all times.’ 

‘Okay,’ Jisung claps his hands. ‘I see you’re all feeling fine on this beautiful morning, but I haven’t had enough coffee yet for arguing.’ 

‘Preach,’ you mumble, sharing a grin with your new assistant. 

‘You had two coffees already,’ Chan frowns, eying the two cups on the desk. 

‘One actually, the other one was Minho’s,’ Jisung says and he chuckles when you pull a face at his name. ‘How about we all take a little time to wake up some more. Maybe you guys can get us some more coffee while I talk with Y/N here about some of the rules we came up with?’ 

‘Rules? Jisung, come on, I thought you were on my side here,’ you sigh, pouting at him. ‘I’m not a child, you don’t have to give me rules.’ 

‘Apparently we do,’ Seungmin says. 

‘You’re really getting on my nerves here, buddy,’ you glower at him. ‘If anything it’s behaviour like yours and Minho’s that sets me off, so how about I give you some rules of my own huh?’ 

Seungmin snorts and cocks his head. ‘You have no say in this, missy, you’re not our boss.’ 

Jisung quickly grabs your arm when you’re about to jump forward. 

‘Minnie, get the fuck out of here,’ Jisung says, pointing to the door with a serious look on his face. ‘You’re not helping.’ 

‘Yeah, minnie,’ you grin. ‘Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.’ 

Seungmin just laughs and stands up, holding your gaze. ‘Sure thing, but remember that I’ll be watching you closely, little fly.’ 

‘Seungmin,’ Chan’s voice sounds stern and you grin at him, waving sweetly. 

‘Bye now.’ 

‘You know you’re not helping, right?’ Jisung chuckles, letting go of your arm as Seungmin and Chan disappear into the hallway. 

‘I know, he just brings out the worst in me I guess,’ you admit with a grimace. ‘You might have already gathered this, but I don’t really like to be told what to do and I’m very stubborn.’ 

‘You don’t say,’ Jisung gasps, acting like he’s surprised. 

‘Oh shut up,’ you laugh. ‘You would be too when you’re a famous idol with no real say about basically anything you do. I can’t really act out about it, because I chose to be here and I’m grateful about it too, but sometimes it just gets too much you know. I guess you guys are just an easy target for me to lash out at, at the moment.’ You blink when you realize what you just told him and clear your throat. ‘I didn’t mean to drop that on you, sorry.’ 

‘Don’t be,’ Jisung says, grabbing your hand and giving it a little squeeze. ‘I’m glad you did. I can’t even imagine the pressure you must be under constantly and us coming in after what I think is a pretty scary moment in your life, probably doesn’t help.’ 

‘Not really, but maybe Minho was right and I should be a bit more grateful, at least towards my company, that they care enough about me to hire a shit load of bodyguards.’

‘Maybe,’ Jisung smiles. 

‘If you tell Minho I said that, I will kick your ass,’ you threaten. ‘I’m nowhere near ready to be nice to him.’ 

Jisung laughs and holds up his hands. ‘My lips are sealed, I’m just glad you’ve seemed to accept me at least.’ 

‘You’re very easy to like,’ you shrug. ‘And maybe it helps that you also pose as my assistant, so it feels less like you’re watching my every move.’ 

Jisung hums. ‘Maybe, but I’ll be with you just as much, if not more.’ 

For some reason that thought doesn’t bother you as much and you sigh, leaning against the desk. ‘Well, since I like you right now, let me apologize in advance for when I’m in a mood. Caffeine and food usually helps though.’

‘Good to know, are you ready to go over some of our rules now?’ 

‘What if I say no?’ 

Jisung chuckles. ‘I’ll email them to you, print them out and hang them all over your studio and I’ll keep texting you until you read it anyway.’ 

While you only just met him yesterday, you somehow know he would actually do all that. 

‘Fine, tell me.’ 

‘It’s pretty simple actually. You’re not to go anywhere with at least one of us present, even inside the company.’ 

You make a face, but don’t interrupt as Jisung continues. 

‘If you need to go to the bathroom we won’t go in with you obviously, but other than that you shouldn’t be alone unless it’s in the comfort of your own bedroom of course. If you want to go out, just tell us in advance so we can scout the area if needed and make sure there’s enough security. When you want to go somewhere with Felix, Hyunjin or Minho, someone else still needs to go with you so your fans will know you always have a bodyguard.’

‘I’m sorry, I know I’ve asked this a million times already, but is this really necessary? You talk like I’m a fucking royal in line for the throne.’ 

Jisung shrugs. ‘Until Chan and Yoona feel the threats against you are down and there are no more assaults, yes we do think it’s necessary. I know it seems excessive, but trust me that you’re not the only idol who gained a team of bodyguards.’ 

Somehow that thought hasn’t even crossed your mind. It makes sense though, with the increase of accidents and violence against idols, especially the girl groups and solo artists. It’s insane really and it makes you sad to live in a world where people think it’s okay to act like this. 

‘I didn’t know that. I really need more friends in this idol world,’ you mutter, looking down at your hands. 

Sure you met other idols before and while you get along great with a few, they were all in groups and you always feel like the odd one out when you hang out with them. 

Chan comes back inside then, carrying two coffee cups and a brown bag. ‘I come bearing treats.’ 

You share a look with Jisung. ‘Bribing me with caffeine and food, huh I see how it is,’ you joke, remembering what you told Jisung earlier and loving how Chan’s lips immediately turn up in a smile. 

‘Don’t tell me you’re that easy,’ Jisung laughs next to you, poking your side. 

‘Yah!’ you squeak out. 

Jisung’s eyes sparkle. ‘Are you ticklish?’ 

‘No.’ your eyes widen. ‘You just startled me.’ 

No way are you going to let him know this weakness of yours. Besides, you can get crazy violent when someone won’t stop tickling you. You once kicked your uncle in the face when you couldn’t breathe anymore from laughing. 

‘Mhm, sure,’ Jisung grins, but he doesn’t try again and turns to Chan to grab the coffee. ‘Thanks Hyung.’ 

After your second coffee, Chan comes with you to your studio and you spend the rest of the morning working on your new songs with your headphones on. Occasionally you glance up to look at Chan, but never meet his gaze as he quietly works on his laptop. 

At first it goes well, you’re in a nice flow and happy with the results, but then you get to the song you’ve been struggling with for over a month already. There’s something missing, there must be, but you just can’t put your finger on what it is exactly. 

‘Ugghh,’ you let out a frustrated groan when you listen to it again, letting your head drop to the desk with a loud thud. 

There’s a headache developing behind your eyes and you blindly reach for your water bottle. Your fingertips touch the bottle, but it’s too far away to actually reach it. With another groan you lift your head and stretch your arm a little further. 

‘You doing okay over there?’ Chan asks from his spot on the couch, his voice sounding far away thanks to your headphones. 

‘Peachy,’ you reply, pulling the bottle towards you with a victorious smile. 

You pull your headphones down to hang around your neck, chug some water and then turn your chair to look at Chan properly. He’s already looking at you, a frown on his face and you can basically taste his disapproval. 

‘Don’t even try and lecture me on working this long without breaks and for not having proper light, I know this headache is my own fault,’ you say before he can even open his mouth to scold you like Faris usually would. 

He blinks in surprise, but then he lets out a laugh and nods. 

‘Alright, I won’t say anything, but do you want to tell me what’s troubling you?’ 

It’s your turn to blink at him now. ‘Huh?’ you let out dumbly. 

Chan laughs again and gets up from the couch, putting his laptop aside. He pulls out the second chair at your desk and sits down next to you, his head tipping towards your computer. 

‘You’re obviously struggling with something. Is it lyrics? The beat?’ 

Your first instinct is to snap at him, to tell him to mind his own business, but he’s looking at you so sincerely that you can’t help but sag your shoulders and give in. 

‘I’m not sure actually, that’s the problem,’ you admit, debating if you want to play the song for him or not. Faris did tell you that Chan, Jisung and Changbin used to make music. Fuck it. You’re going crazy if you don’t fix this anytime soon. ‘Would you like to hear it?’ 

The surprise is clear on Chan’s face, but he nods immediately and holds out his hands for your headphones. Nervous butterflies twirl in your stomach and with a deep breath you hand them to him before you can change your mind. He puts them on and gives you an encouraging smile. 

Biting your lip you press play and watch as his eyes widen when the music starts. It's a catchy beat and you can’t help but smile when his head starts to bop up and down. His face doesn’t give anything away and you nervously play with the bracelets around your wrist as you wait for him to finish. 

‘Wow,’ Chan says, putting the headphones down. ‘I knew you were good, but this..’ he shakes his head with a smile. ‘It’s really good Y/N, like really really good.’ 

You feel your cheeks heating up at his praise. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘I think I know what you mean though,’ Chan says and he points at your laptop. ‘May I?’ 

You frown and look between him and your precious laptop that holds all your hard work. 

‘I think it’s a very easy fix with the beat in the bridge,’ Chan smiles. ‘You can do it yourself, I just want to point out where I think it is.’ 

It’s clear to you he knows what he’s talking about and you’re curious to find out which part he means. You slowly push your laptop over to him and get rewarded with a wide grin. For the next hour the two of you work on the bridge, editing and adjusting the melody. Your cheeks hurt from smiling when the song keeps sounding better with every adjustment you make. 

‘You could be a producer,’ you tease, when Chan offers another idea to add to the song. 

A knock on the door causes the two of you to look up and you don’t know why, but you feel like a kid getting caught stealing candy. It’s not like Chan isn’t allowed to help you, but it hits you then what you’re doing and your body tenses anyways. 

‘Hyung? Noona?’ a deep voice calls out that you immediately recognize as Felix. 

‘Come in,’ you yell, quickly saving the progress of your song and closing your laptop. 

The door opens and Felix sticks his head inside, grinning when he sees you and Chan huddled together at your desk. You quickly jump up, causing both men to laugh at the panicked look on your face. 

‘No worries, I won’t tell Yoona or Minho you’re warming up to Channie Hyung,’ Felix smiles. 

‘That’s not it,’ you blush, turning around to grab your bag and water bottle. ‘I’m late for practice aren’t I?’ 

Felix nods. ‘Minho sent me to get you.’ 

You growl at the sound of his name and Chan snickers, standing up as well. ‘I’ll walk with you and get you some food seeing as you haven’t eaten anything since this morning.’ 

‘You don’t have to, I don’t think I can eat much before dancing anyways or I’ll feel sick.’ 

‘I have a banana in my bag if you want,’ Felix offers, rummaging around in his bag and holding up the yellow fruit for you. 

‘Perfect, thank you Felix,’ you smile, accepting the banana. You turn to Chan as you start to peel it. ‘I promise I’ll eat a proper meal after practice. You should have lunch, I’ll be fine with Felix here, right?’ 

You bite off the tip of the banana as you look at Felix and the blonde nods, his eyes flicking to your mouth for a moment before he blushes and looks at Chan. 

‘We’ll be fine Channie,’ he agrees with you. ‘It’s one floor down and Minho and Jin are already there warming up with the others.’ 

‘Alright, just keep an eye on Minho. These two are likely to bite each other's heads off,’ Chan sighs, patting Felix’s shoulder. 

You snort and take another bite of your banana. 

‘I’ll bite something else if he isn’t careful.’

a/n: I wanted to add dance practise to this chapter, but it already got way longer than I planned so next chapter it is ;) I really hope you still like it, even if it might move a little slow -i guess thats slow burn and a multi chaptered fic tho- big smooch to you all <3 taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @eastjonowhere @stellmeiv @bookishcaptain @flylis @deadpool15 @0325ale @thatgirlangelb @iknow-uknow-leeknow @nchhuhi @shycreationdreamland @readr1221 @beewilko

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Of Duty and Desire | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Extra Long One-Shot

This is my first Ominis fic, I hope I do all you Ominis lovers proud :') The plot was heavily inspired by these (1, 2, 3) artworks by @tamayula-hl !!! (they literally create such gorgeous work, I fuckin swoon every time I see them ;.;)

Summary: After years apart, you are forced into a marriage with Ominis Gaunt, someone you once considered a close friend but who pushed you away after Sebastian's breakdown in fifth year. The rift between you has left years of unresolved tension, and on your wedding night, the two of you are forced to confront the fallout.

Words: ~15,700

Tags: Explicit Smut, Pureblood Politics, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The Gaunt family estate loomed like a mausoleum under the pale light of the crescent moon. Its dark stone walls seemed to absorb the light, and the air inside carried a suffocating chill that no roaring fire could banish. Ominis sat alone in his room, the only illumination coming from a single flickering candle perched on his desk. The Gaunt family ring, heavy and ornate, turned slowly between his fingers.

Tomorrow, it would sit on your finger.

His chest tightened at the thought of the ceremony, the vows, the look he imagined you’d give him as you forced to say, I do.

He wished you still saw him the way you did all those years ago, back when you’d shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. He’d thought you were remarkable then—fierce, clever, and endlessly loyal to the people you cared about. He still thought so, though the years had placed a wall between you.

A wall he had built.

His hands clenched into fists, the metal of the ring biting into his palm. He could still hear the echo of your argument, that fateful day when Sebastian’s descent into darkness had reached its breaking point. You had wanted to help him, to pull him back, while Ominis had been determined to stop him at any cost. The two of you had stood on opposite sides of a chasm, and in his frustration, his fear, Ominis had pushed you away.

But now? Now, you were to be his bride.

The marriage contract had been delivered two months ago, the parchment sealed with the Gaunt crest and bearing the oppressive weight of their expectations. You had no grand family name, no wealth or influence to rival the Gaunts, but you had something far more valuable: ancient magic.

Your family had no power to refuse the offer—not when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. You’d been given no choice, and neither had he.

Ominis exhaled a shaky breath, setting the ring down on the desk with a soft clink.

The bitter irony was that you had been right about Sebastian all along, and Ominis had destroyed what you had years ago for nothing.

Ominis had doubted Sebastian—had believed that his obsession with dark magic would destroy everything and everyone in its path. But eventually, with time and a painful amount of humility, Sebastian had begun to heal. He had come back to them. He had proven himself capable of change, of redemption.

And you’d seen it all along.

Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. You’d begged him to give Sebastian a chance, to believe in the person he could be. But Ominis had been too blinded by his own fears to listen. His distrust had cost him Sebastian’s friendship for years. And worse, it had cost him you ever since.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows braced on the desk. The weight of it all was suffocating.

The memory of your expression when you’d arrived at the Gaunt manor two days ago lingered in his mind.

Even without the clarity of sight, he could feel the weight you carried. He’d “seen” the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as you’d clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, he’d felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.

But you hadn’t spoken to him. Not then, and not since.

What could he possibly say to make this better? “I’m sorry” was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of course—sorry for every cruel word spoken in the heat of fifth year, sorry for not trusting you, sorry for not preventing you from falling into the Gaunt nightmare—but no apology could undo the damage.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, smoothing his hair as if that would make any difference. “Come in,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt family’s house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. “Master Ominis,” the elf began, its voice trembling, “your bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

“She—she is pacing, sir. She looks… upset.“

Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. “Thank you,” he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.

You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be? Tomorrow, you were being forced to marry him and tie yourself to a family that cared only about what they could take from you. And worse, tied to him—a man who had pushed you away when you’d needed him most, who had no right to ask anything of you, least of all forgiveness.

But the thought of you pacing alone in the gardens, trapped in your own swirling emotions, was unbearable. Ominis didn’t know if he could say anything to help, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, and when he reached the door to the garden, he paused, letting his wand hum faintly to map the space before him. He sensed the vast openness of the ahead, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and dying roses.

And there you were.

Your silhouette materialized in his mind like a shadow against the darkness. You were pacing, just as the house-elf had said, your movements quick and restless. It was a knife to Ominis’s chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.

Care.

No, he thought bitterly, that wasn’t the right word. He loved you. He had loved you since before he even understood what love truly was. And that made it all so much worse.

Because you would never love him.

Ominis stood stiffly in the doorway. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by your thoughts and frantic steps that sent gravel crunching underfoot. But when he shifted his weight, the faint sound of his movement caught your attention. You stopped abruptly, your head turning toward him, your posture instantly stiffening.

“Ominis,” you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. “…Couldn’t sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He recognized the tension in your tone, the way you carefully shielded yourself with polite indifference. It was the same tone you’d used with his parents when you arrived, the one where he’d sensed every ounce of resentment you’d tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.

“No,” he said softly, stepping further into the garden. “I was told you were out here.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice carrying a detached sort of humor. "Not allowed a moment of solitude, hm?"

Ominis flinched inwardly, his wand picking up on the subtle tremor in your hands as you folded your arms across your chest.

“I thought… perhaps you might want to talk,” he said carefully, his voice low.

“With you? No,” you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didn’t matter. You turned your back to him. “Talking to you won’t help.”

Ominis winced but didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth.

You laughed, soft and humorless, as you turned back toward the fountain. “Sorry,” you echoed. “Of course. And that makes it all better, does it?”

He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. “I mean it,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“Do you?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ““Because last time I checked, you’re the one who pushed me away."

Ominis froze, the accusation cutting through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

You turned fully to face him now, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Do you think I don’t remember?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. “The things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was… like I was the problem?”

“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Nothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, we’ll stand in front of your family and say the words they want to hear."

You turned abruptly, your footsteps crunching against the gravel as you moved past him. “Goodnight, Ominis,” you said, your tone clipped and distant as you made your way back toward the manor.

He turned slightly, his wand picking up the blur of your retreating figure as you disappeared into the cold, sterile halls of the estate. The faint trace of your magic lingered in the air, turbulent and raw, and he hated himself for not being able to ease it.

~~~

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the fragile moments of sleep Ominis had clung to in the restless hours of the night. The Gaunt manor, usually oppressive in its quiet, was unnaturally alive with activity. House-elves scurried through the halls, their frantic movements punctuated by the clinking of silver trays and hurried whispers. His parents had spared no effort to make the day grand, though their motives were far from sentimental.

Even worse, his extended family had descended like vultures, eager to witness the union that would bind your ancient magic to the Gaunt bloodline. Even Ominis’s older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvolo—arrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins he resented filled the halls, their haughty laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.

Ominis moved through the chaos like a ghost, his mind as numb as his steps. He had imagined marrying you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, but never like this.

In his dreams, you loved him back. Your smiles were soft and unguarded, your laughter warm, your hand reaching for his not out of duty, but out of choice. But those dreams had always been fragile, built on a shaky foundation of what-ifs and hope he’d never dared voice aloud.

You wedding band weighed heavily in his pocket, a cruel reminder of the vows he would unwittingly force you to take. He told himself he was doing this to protect you—that he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasn’t a lie. His parents had made their expectations clear: defy them, and Ominis would pay the price. The Gaunts had always been dangerous, even to their own blood. He’d seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or “disappeared” for daring to cross the family.

And that didn’t even encompass what they might do to you.

The sharp knock on his door startled him. Ominis straightened instinctively, brushing a hand over his hair as if readying himself for battle.

“It’s me,” Sebastian’s voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.

“Come in,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was dressed sharply, though his tie was slightly crooked—a detail Ominis would have pointed out if he’d had the energy to notice.

“You look like hell,” Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.

“I feel worse,” Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.

Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.

“…You love her, don’t you?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice blunt and cutting straight to the point. He had never been one to dance around difficult questions.

Ominis let out a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Sebastian said, standing straighter, arms crossed. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. “You already know the answer to that, Sebastian,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “You’ve always known.”

“Humor me,” Sebastian pressed.

Ominis’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Of course I love her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?”

Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. “Because you’re acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now you’re marrying her. She’s about to be your wife.”

Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. “My wife?” His voice rose, edged with frustration. “This isn’t a marriage, Sebastian. It’s a transaction. A cage.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. “She doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want me.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his calmness almost maddening. “But you love her,” he pointed out again. “That means you can make something of this. You can try.”

Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Try what? To pretend that she doesn’t hate me?” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. “She does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldn’t she?”

Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. “You were scared. We all were. What happened back then…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ominis snapped. “I made my choices. And now, she thinks I’m no better than my parents.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. “She thinks I’m just like them, putting her through this. And maybe she’s right.”

“She doesn’t think that. You’re nothing like your parents,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesn’t actually hate you.”

Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. She’s hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.”

Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

“Am I?” Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself she hates you, but did you ever stop to actually talk to her about it? Or did you just decide she hated you because it was easier than dealing with the mess you made?”

The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldn’t deny it. He had avoided you for years, too ashamed of his actions to face you properly. He had assumed the worst because it was safer than hoping for anything else.

Sebastian sighed heavily, glancing over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. The ticking sound, once faint, now seemed to echo in the room like a countdown to inevitability. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Ominis.

“We’re out of time,” he said flatly. “They’re going to be expecting us downstairs.”

Ominis didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He looked like a man on the edge of breaking, and for a moment, Sebastian considered calling the whole thing off himself. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. This wasn’t a fight they could win—not here, not now.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged, his voice softer. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ominis exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood, his movements stiff and reluctant, his fingers brushing down the front of his suit as though trying to compose himself. His family had ensured every detail of his appearance was perfect—he looked every bit the polished Gaunt heir, the image they demanded. But inside, he felt hollow.

Sebastian gave him a faint nod, adjusting his own crooked tie. “You’ll survive this,” he said with a slight smile. “Everything will work out.”

Ominis didn’t respond, his throat too tight to form words. Instead, he followed Sebastian out of the room, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of activity that filled the manor. Every step felt heavier than the last, the anticipation building in his chest like a storm.

The courtyard garden had been transformed into a grand display of pure-blood prestige. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn, and a narrow aisle flanked by enchanted, softly glowing flowers led to an altar at the far end. Ivy climbed the stone arch that framed the altar, its dark green tendrils twisting delicately around clusters of pale blossoms.

Ominis stood at the altar, his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his wand tucked away in his sleeve. The suit he wore was immaculate, tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. But even as he stood there, a picture of composure, his mind churned with unease.

Beyond him, countless guests sat in waiting—pure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had tried—and failed—to escape.

His extended family dominated the seats closest to the altar, their self-satisfied smirks and sharp whispers grating against his already frayed nerves. The Gaunts had arrived in full force, a parade of arrogance and entitlement, each one more intolerable than the last.

Ominis’s parents sat in the front row, their expressions masks of triumph. His mother, draped in rich emerald, surveyed the scene with quiet pride, while his father sat like a statue, his posture rigid, his face a cold, unyielding mask. And then there was Marvolo, lounging casually in his seat beside them, his smirk a permanent fixture as though the entire event were for his personal amusement.

Across the aisle sat the members of your family, their expressions far less composed. Your mother’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.

The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldn’t have been starker. Ominis’s family were predators, their confidence unshakable, while yours looked like cornered prey. And you… you were the sacrificial offering, the tether between their worlds.

The low hum of chatter faded as the first notes of music filled the courtyard, soft and lilting yet as heavy as a tolling bell. Ominis stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. This was it. The beginning of the end. The melody floated through the air, a cruel, elegant herald of what was to come.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominis’s wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them—two figures approaching the altar. Anne and Sebastian. The only two friends he had managed to invite to this sham of a wedding. His parents had objected, of course, but for once, Ominis had refused to yield. If they were going to strip away every ounce of choice from this union, he would at least ensure that two people who truly cared about either of you would stand witness.

Anne walked with quiet grace beside her brother, her head held high and her movements calm, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She had always been your rock, and now, she looked every bit the part.

Sebastian, meanwhile, walked with his usual subtle defiance, his jaw clenched as though he were biting back a dozen remarks that would surely have caused a scene.

As the Sallow twins joined Ominis at the altar, the music softened, a momentary pause that signaled what came next.

And then, you appeared.

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift as the music swelled once more, drawing every gaze to the entrance. Ominis’s wand hummed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could truly see.

Shapes and shadows sharpened in his mind, the lines of the archway and the glow of the enchanted lanterns framing you like a painting. Your figure materialized with unprecedented clarity, every detail irreversibly etching itself into his memory.

You were breathtaking.

The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to chase after you down the aisle, casting a warm, ethereal light as you stepped forward, arm looped through your father’s. Your gown was simple yet striking, its flowing fabric a cascade of soft ivory that hugged your figure just enough to suggest elegance without excess.

Your hair was swept into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face and neck, accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbone. The tasteful touch of makeup enhanced your features without overpowering them, the faint flush of color on your cheeks and lips lending you an almost otherworldly glow. You looked every bit the part of a bride—refined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully. Despite everything, despite knowing how wrong this was, he allowed himself a single moment of cruel, fleeting hope. He imagined that this was real. That you had chosen this. That the soft shimmer of your gown, the elegance of your updo, the deliberate grace with which you moved—all of it was for him.

For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your father’s arm and walked toward him because you loved him. That your choice to stand before this crowd, to become his wife, was born of something true, not forced by the iron will of his family.

But reality was cruel.

He could feel it in the tremor of your hand as you reached the altar, in the absence of warmth in your fleeting glance as your eyes locked with his. There was no joy in your expression, no affection, only quiet resolve and resignation. You weren’t here for him. You were here because you had no other choice.

Your father released your arm hesitantly, his hand lingering for a brief moment as though reluctant to let go. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight as he gave you a faint nod. You stepped forward alone, taking your place across from Ominis.

He caught the slight hitch in your breath as the officiant spoke. It was subtle—so subtle that no one else would have noticed—but to him, it felt like a scream. He wanted to reach for you, to close the distance, to bridge the gap he had created all those years ago. But his hands remained at his sides, his palms clammy against the cool fabric of his trousers.

The officiant’s words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominis’s ears. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his chest, the heavy thud of his heartbeat as he focused entirely on you.

And then the moment came.

“Do you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The words cut through the fog in his mind like a knife. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his throat tightening painfully. He could feel his parents’ gaze burning into him, his father’s unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowd’s silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.

His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.

“And do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ominis held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for your response. The pause that followed felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity. For a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But when you spoke, your voice was quiet and steady, though devoid of any joy.

“I do.”

The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiant’s voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.”

Ominis froze.

How had he forgotten about this part? He’d imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this moment—the one he had once dreamed of with such hope—had slipped through the cracks of his planning. The girl of his dreams was standing right there, so close he could feel the warmth of you, and now he was meant to kiss you.

His hands twitched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as he forced himself to move. The crowd was watching, their silence heavy with expectation. His parents’ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was you—the tension radiating from your frame, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened as you waited.

He stepped closer, his wand mapping the space between you. His hand hovered near your waist, uncertain, before finally settling there lightly. He could feel the delicate fabric of your gown beneath his palm, the warmth of your body through the material.

Ominis leaned in slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not with the weight of obligation hanging between you like a curse.

With his eyes fluttering closed, his lips brushed yours in the faintest, most hesitant of kisses. As he expected, you were still—frozen, unmoving, your lips soft but lifeless against his. The kiss was chaste, obligatory, and for a moment, it felt like a dagger to his heart.

And then something expected happened.

You kissed him back.

Ominis’s mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at first—a gentle press, a shift in the way your lips moved against his. But then it deepened, and the world seemed to explode around him. Fireworks erupted in his mind, a kaleidoscope of sensation, your warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

The taste of your lips, soft and slightly sweet, was unlike anything he had ever known. It was perfect. You were perfect. In that moment, everything else faded away—the oppressive weight of the crowd’s gaze, the suffocating expectations of his family, the years of distance and resentment between you.

His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, and he revelled in the curve of you beneath his fingers. It was everything, you were everything, he had ever dreamed of and infinitely more.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

You pulled away slowly, your movements deliberate, as though reminding both of you that the moment had passed. Ominis’s hands lingered at your waist for a fraction of a second before he let them drop to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to hold on to the ghost of your touch.

His breath was unsteady as he straightened, his mind reeling. You’d kissed him back.

Why?

Had it been part of the performance? A calculated move to play the part of the perfect bride? Or had it been something else entirely?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The officiant’s voice rose again, announcing the end of the ceremony and you were slipping your hand into his. Swallowing hard, Ominis led you back down the aisle.

The crowd rose to their feet, their clapping a dull roar in his ears as he walked with you at his side. Every step felt surreal, the moment between you still crackling like static in his chest.

He didn’t dare look at you. Not now. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever answer your expression might hold.

But as the two of you passed beneath the ivy-draped arch, stepping into the unknown future that awaited you both, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, that kiss had been real after all.

~~~

The reception had been nothing short of torturous for Ominis.

If the kiss at the altar had left him confused, the evening that followed only deepened the storm in his mind. Because from the moment you both entered the grand hall where the reception was held, you played the part of the happy bride.

You’d smile at Ominis, soft and convincing, allow him to hold your hand, to rest his palm lightly against the small of your back as the two of you made the rounds, greeting the guests who had gathered to witness your union.

You spoke to guests with grace and poise, weaving stories of your Hogwarts days into the conversation with ease. Tales of late-night library study sessions, Quidditch matches, and the occasional mischievous escapade were all recounted with a fondness that left Ominis reeling.

You spoke of those moments as though they had been golden—untarnished by the years of bitterness and distance that had followed. And for the guests, it was a perfect performance, a portrait of a couple deeply in love, bound not just by obligation but by shared memories and affection.

The guests were relentless in their attention, each one more insistent than the last in prying into your lives. How you met, what your future plans as a couple might be, when you fell in love, was it love at first sight.

Ominis had been stunned at how quickly you answered the last question. You didn’t miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. “Oh, absolutely not,” you said, your voice light with humor. “Our first meeting was… let’s say, less than ideal.”

His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.

“He found me in his personal study spot,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll never forget how furious he was.”

There were a few chuckles from the guests, and Ominis forced himself to smile faintly, though his mind was racing. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The Undercroft. But you’d never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.

You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. “I thought I’d made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.” A few more chuckles rippled through the group. “But a few days later, he apologized. He didn’t have to—he could’ve just ignored me forever—but he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasn’t easy at first. We’re both… stubborn.” You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. “But we figured it out.”

Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These weren’t just pretty words spun to entertain the guests or to appease his family. This memory was real. Every moment you described was real.

In fact, he probably knew these memories better than you did, because he had held onto them as tightly as a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. They were the only part of you he’d been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadn’t fractured them beyond recognition.

“The moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,” you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. “We’d spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of us—Ominis, Sebastian, and me.”

Ominis’s heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.

“It had started snowing that afternoon,” you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. “We’d bought sweets at Honeydukes, browsed the shop windows, even picked up a few last-minute gifts. By the time we made it to the Three Broomsticks, we were freezing.”

The guests chuckled, and Ominis’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite himself. He could almost feel the icy wind again, the way your cheeks had flushed red from the cold.

“And then,” you said, your smile widening slightly, “Sebastian—being Sebastian—managed to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.”

More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way you’d looked—your expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.

“But then,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, “he gave me his coat.”

That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he’d just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and warm. But now, hearing you speak of it, he realized maybe it had meant more than he’d ever understood.

“And not just that,” you said, your voice softening. “He left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didn’t have to, but he did. And when he came back, he handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

Ominis’s throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when he’d handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then you’d smiled—a small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.

“That was the moment,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. “The moment I realized he wasn’t just my friend. That he was… more. That I loved him.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guests’ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your voice had softened, the way your smile lingered just a fraction longer than it needed to.

Were you simply using a real memory to bolster your performance? Was this a carefully chosen story to charm the crowd? Or was there a flicker of truth buried beneath the polished delivery?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Ominis. The guests continued to press you both with questions, and you answered them all with the same ease and grace. He played his part, too. Smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, but his mind was elsewhere, racing with memories of that day in Hogsmeade so long ago, of the way you’d looked at him then, and the way you’d spoken of it now.

By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhausted—not from the physical effort of the evening, but from the mental and emotional toll it had taken.

And now, as the two of you walked through the opulent halls of the hotel where you would be spending your first night as husband and wife, the weight of it all was beginning to crush him.

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation and the soft rustle of your gown. The hotel was grand, each detail designed to impress, but Ominis barely noticed any of it. His focus was entirely on you—the way you walked beside him, close but not quite touching, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Finally, the two of you reached the door to your suite. Ominis hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the ornate handle as he inserted the key.

Exhaling slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The suite beyond was as opulent as the rest of the hotel—richly furnished, with soft, glowing light and an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A chilled bottle of champagne sat waiting on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it.

The two of you stepped inside, and Ominis’s chest tightened as he shut the door behind you, the finality of the moment settling over him like a weight. Here you were. Alone with him, no audience, no expectations—just the two of you and the silence that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

You moved toward the corner of the room where the house-elves had neatly arranged your bags, the contents folded with meticulous care.

Without a word, you pulled a set of pajamas and your toothbrush from the bag, your movements quick and purposeful. Without meeting his gaze, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed through the stillness of the suite, louder than it had any right to be, and Ominis exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood there, motionless, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Then, with a quiet sigh, he began to loosen his tie, the fabric slipping easily from his collar. He tugged it free and let it drop onto the nearest chair before running a hand through his hair. The day’s events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape—your words, your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and the kiss at the altar that had left him reeling.

It was too much.

Ominis moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat heavily on the edge. He toed off his shoes, one after the other, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples as he tried to push the chaos in his mind into some semblance of order.

But there was no clarity to be found. Only questions he was too afraid to ask and doubts he couldn’t shake.

The sound of water running in the bathroom was faint but constant, a reminder that you were just on the other side of the door. He wondered what you were thinking, whether the evening had left you as drained as it had left him. He wondered if you’d meant the things you’d said during the reception, if there was truth hidden in the warmth of your words, or if it had all been part of the carefully orchestrated performance.

More than anything, he wondered what would happen when you came out of that bathroom—if the silence would continue to stretch between you, or if one of you would finally be brave enough to break it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, his movements mechanical as he made his way toward his own bag to prepare for bed. He crouched down, his fingers brushing over the neatly packed contents until he found his sleepwear.

He stood, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against his skin as he worked to unbutton it. His fingers moved methodically, one button at a time, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.

This wasn’t how a wedding night was supposed to feel.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so strained, so heavy. There should have been laughter, warmth, the giddy sort of nervousness that came with embarking on a new chapter together. Instead, there was unrelenting tension. A chasm of unspoken words and unanswered questions that neither of you seemed ready to bridge.

Ominis shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him as he reached for the waistband of his dress pants. He unclasped them, the fabric loosening around his waist.

And then the bathroom door opened.

The quiet click of the handle made him freeze, his hands stilling as he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

You stepped out, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Without his wand, Ominis couldn’t sense the details of your expression, couldn’t see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, how you were reacting, and it left him feeling unmoored.

The air between you felt charged, the silence stretching out like a thread pulled taut. He was acutely aware of his state—bare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of him—what you saw when you looked at him now.

He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wand’s mapping magic had given him a sense of his own features over the years, an understanding of the angles and planes of his face, the height and shape of his frame. He had been told, more than once, that he was conventionally attractive—sharp, aristocratic features that bore the unmistakable stamp of his bloodline.

But those compliments had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, slicked-back blonde hair—all of it tied him far too clearly to the Gaunt family, to a legacy he resented with every fiber of his being. Even his tall, lithe frame, lean from years of discipline and sparring practice, seemed more like a reminder of his upbringing than something to take pride in.

And now, standing here in this charged silence, he couldn’t help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heir—a pawn in the endless, suffocating game of pure-blood politics?

He had no way of knowing. And for a moment, he almost reached for his wand, desperate for the faint hum of its magic to ground him. But he resisted, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t sharp or cold—just quiet, almost tentative.

“N-no,” Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. “I—I should be the one apologizing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. “I’m finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,” you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. “Or… I can just turn around, if that’s easier.”

Ominis’s fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows you’d exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.

“No, I’ll—I’ll use the bathroom,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

His toothbrush and pajamas in hand, Ominis disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He set his things down on the counter and leaned heavily against the sink, exhaling a shaky breath.

The mirror above the sink offered no reflection, but he didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find there—a pale, drawn expression, tension etched into every line. He let his fingers trail over the cool porcelain of the sink before reaching to splash cold water on his face, hoping it might clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He quickly changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, though the routine didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.

When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water he’d splashed on his face, he reached for his wand then stopped in his tracks. The bed, massive and draped in luxurious fabrics, was untouched. Instead, you had set up a makeshift bed on the floor using a collection of spare blankets and pillows.

You were kneeling beside it, smoothing out a blanket, and when you noticed him, you straightened, brushing your hands against the fabric of your pajamas.

“I thought…” you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. “You should take the bed.”

Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “You… you don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. “The bed is yours too.”

You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll be more comfortable here.”

Ominis stiffened, watching you adjust the blankets and pillows as though you could somehow make the situation less absurd. It struck him all at once just how wrong this was. It was your wedding night—a night meant for intimacy and closeness—and yet here you were, offering to sleep on the floor.

Did you hate him that much? That the idea of sharing a bed with him, even in the most innocent sense, was so unbearable?

He couldn't keep quiet.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. “Ominis, it’s fine,” you said, your tone polite but insistent. “I’ll be more comfortable here. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he replied quickly. “It’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—especially not tonight.”

“It’s not wrong if I’m choosing to,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “The bed is yours. I don’t mind.”

Ominis’s frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with this,” he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back. “I said I don’t mind, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are we doing this? All this… politeness and decorum?”

Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? There’s no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. It’s just us.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “Maybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, haven’t we?”

Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didn’t look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. “After fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “I was trying to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “From Sebastian.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put this on Sebastian. This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldn’t argue with it—not entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time he’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do.

“So no, you weren’t protecting me,” you continued sharply, your voice rising. “You were punishing me.”

He flinched as though you’d struck him, his sightless eyes widening. “Punishing you?” he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. “Why would I—”

“Because you didn’t trust me,” you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. “You thought I was wrong. You thought I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t on your side. So you pushed me away and you’ve done it ever since.”

“No,” Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. “Because that’s what it felt like. That’s what it’s always felt like. And now—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. “And trust me, I know this isn’t what you want.”

Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldn’t want you—you of all people—was almost too much to bear.

He’d imagined it—dreamed of it, hoped for it in the quiet, unguarded moments of his life. For years, he had spent his nights picturing you by his side, your hand in his, your voice soft and full of laughter as you spoke his name. He had clung to the idea of a future with you like a lifeline, even though, due to his own stupidity, it was impossible.

“If anyone doesn’t want this,” Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, “it’s you.”

You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. “You’re right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Even if I didn’t realize it, I did punish you.”

You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve given you every reason to hate me,” Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, “For what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.” He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. “I… I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate this—hate us—and I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didn’t want this—that I didn’t want you—you’re wrong.”

You rose slowly from where you’d been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy and unbearable, his breath shallow as he waited, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then, finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “So… you... don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said immediately, the word escaping before you’d even finished. “Never.”

You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, “Then why did you…?”

You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Ominis said, the words escaping him sharper than he intended. His voice cracked slightly as he exhaled shakily, lowering his head in a mixture of frustration and shame. “Because I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words he’d held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didn’t push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escape—trapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.

“Because... because I’ve always loved you,” he stammered, his voice faltering but steady enough to carry the truth. He lifted his head slightly, his sightless eyes turned toward you as though he could see the effect of his words. “Always.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. He could hear the faint rush of blood in his ears, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo his racing thoughts. Even the soft cadence of his own uneven breathing felt deafening, filling the space as though to taunt him with the vulnerability he couldn’t take back.

“I…” you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You… loved me?”

“Love,” he corrected softly. “Present tense.”

Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. “Why... why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didn’t want you getting tied up with my family—with the Gaunts. I didn’t want you dragged into… into this.”

He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. “Not that it ended up mattering,” he added bitterly.

You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. And now—

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you said softly.

"...Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t have cared about your family,” you said again, your voice a little steadier now. “I never cared about any of that.”

Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. “You…” He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what you’d said. "You didn't?"

“No. In fact, I don’t care,” you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “Present tense.”

Ominis felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, his entire world tilting on its axis as his mind scattered, his carefully constructed thoughts unraveling at the edges. Present tense.

The implications swirled in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to fully grasp. If you didn’t care—if you truly didn’t care—then what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?

“You mean…” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. “You mean you still…”

You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. “What I mean,” you began quietly, your voice barely audible. “Is that I... I love you too.”

Ominis thought he might collapse under the weight of your words. His head swam, his legs trembling as if they could no longer hold him upright. It was too much—too good to be true.

Surely, he’d imagined it.

This had to be some cruel trick of his mind, conjured from the depths of years of longing and guilt. Perhaps he was dreaming, caught in that fragile space between sleep and waking where impossible things felt real. Any moment now, he’d wake in his cold, oppressive bed at the Gaunt manor, the warmth of your voice nothing more than a fleeting echo in the dark.

But the longer he stood there, frozen and breathless, the clearer it became that this was no dream. You were still there, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the silence.

“You…” His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. “You… are you sure?”

“Yes, Ominis,” you said again, this time with a small, amused smile. The warmth in your voice should have soothed him, but instead, it sent his heart racing even faster.

“You’re serious. You… you lo—”

The words caught in his throat as you stepped closer, your movements soft but deliberate. The sudden proximity sent a shockwave through him, and what he was about to say dissolved on his tongue. The world narrowed until there was only you—the warmth of your presence, the faint rustle of fabric as you drew near, the soft sound of your breath mingling with his.

And then you kissed him.

The contact was gentle at first, tentative, as though testing the boundaries of a moment that neither of you could take back. But the moment his mind registered what was happening, something inside him snapped. Ominis dropped his wand, the dull thud barely registering in the haze of sensation that overtook him. His hands found your waist instinctively, trembling as they settled against you, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

It was everything—more than he had ever dared to imagine. The taste of you, the softness of your lips against his, the faint sigh you let out as you pressed closer. You were all he could feel, all he could think about, and the overwhelming reality of it, of you, left him breathless.

When you finally pulled away, his chest heaved, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to find his breath.

“That story…” he murmured, his voice low and uneven. “The one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it… was it true?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldn’t see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.

“Yes,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “It was true.”

Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. “Merlin,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “All this time…”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years he’d spent aching for you, the nights he’d lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifs—it all seemed so absurd now.

“You really…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “You realized then?”

“At Hogsmeade?” you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes... I did."

Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. “Because of some clothes?” he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Because I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?”

"Sounds a lot less romantic when you say it like that," you mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring your voice. You glanced away, fidgeting slightly as though unsure how to explain yourself. “It wasn't just the clothes. I’d been falling you for some time, but I hadn’t really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just… clicked.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Clicked,” he repeated.

You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. “You’ve always been… well, you, Ominis,” you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you weren’t sure how much to say. “You, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when you’re angry, it’s controlled, measured, refined. It’s like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. He’d spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his family’s legacy—the refinement, the composure, the quiet dignity that others associated with the Gaunt name. To hear you speak of it now, as though it were a part of him you valued, left him unsteady.

“And me?” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve... I've never been like that. I’m messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. I’m… I don’t know. Chaotic, I guess.” You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominis’s chest ache.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always been my perfect opposite,” you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “My foil. You’re steady, and quiet, and level, and I’ve always felt like… like you even me out.”

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. “You don’t need evening out,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re brilliant just as you are.”

You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Well... that doesn’t change how I’ve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.”

He was too overwhelmed to trust his voice, too unsure of how to put everything he felt into words. So instead, Ominis reached for you, his hand settling gently at the nape of your neck. And he held you there, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your forehead.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his voice quiet and raw as he asked, “Well, I’m here now. So… what are you thinking?”

You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m thinking…” You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe we can share the bed after all.”

"Is that so?" He murmured.

You nodded, your smile widening slightly. “Well, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room. And besides…” You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. “You are my husband, after all.”

The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. He’d spent the entire day dreading what being your husband would mean, burdened by the weight of your resentment and his own guilt. But now, standing here with you, knowing you loved him, hearing you call him that—husband—filled him with an overwhelming, almost unbearable mixture of relief, joy, and hope.

Wordlessly, Ominis gently guided you toward the bed, his hand ghosted along your back. When you reached the edge of the mattress, he paused, his fingers brushing yours as he coaxed you to sit.

“Wait here,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and steady, though his chest was still tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Retrieving his wand from the floor, Ominis turned toward the small table where the champagne sat waiting, the chilled bottle glinting faintly in the soft lamplight. He reached for it with steady hands, though his heart was anything but calm. He needed the drink—something to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this moment—the knowledge that you loved him, that he was about to share a bed with you not as strangers bound by duty, but as something far more significant.

Pouring the champagne into two crystal flutes, he turned back to you, carrying both glasses with a surprising steadiness for someone whose mind was in complete turmoil. Handing you one, he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, closer than he’d dared to in years.

“To... new beginnings?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a tentative edge as he raised his glass slightly.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze meeting his, before a small smile curved your lips. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

The crystal chime of the glasses meeting seemed to echo in the quiet room, a sound that felt impossibly delicate in the stillness between you. Ominis brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip as his mind raced, the taste of the champagne crisp and cool against the tension still thrumming in his chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You looked…” His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. “You looked beautiful today.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. “Ominis…” you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You were… you are, the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I can…” He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I didn’t need to see you the way others do. I could feel it."

Your cheeks flushed faintly, and you glanced down at your own glass, swirling the champagne slightly as if to distract yourself. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress… it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didn’t respond right away, instead lifting your glass in a swift motion and draining the champagne in one determined gulp. Ominis raised a brow at your boldness, his expression hovering between amusement and surprise. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward, stretching across his lap to place your empty glass on the bedside table.

The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him. His entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he stammered, a rush of warmth crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. He gripped his champagne flute more tightly than necessary, the coolness of the glass a poor counterbalance to the fire you’d ignited in his veins.

“You seem… tense,” you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tense?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. “I’m not tense.”

“You’re holding that glass like it’s about to leap out of your hand,” you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.

You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. “If you say so."

Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldn’t betray the chaos now swirling inside him. But you spoke again before he could, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

“By the way,” you said with deliberate slowness, “did I ever tell you that you clean up very well?”

He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You,” you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. “In your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.”

Ominis’s face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. “Th-thank you,” he managed.

“You’re welcome,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. You leaned back onto your hands, the bed giving under your weight. "You really are very attractive, Ominis," you added softly, the undercurrent of sincerity that making his heart ache.

You’d never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.

“Why are you—why are you saying this?” he asked, his throat tight.

“Because it’s true,” you said simply. “And because I can.”

Ominis exhaled shakily. “You’re... you're very bold."

“And you are shy,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. “I told you it’s a good thing we balance each other out.”

He wasn��t sure whether to be flustered or comforted by the ease in your voice. The warmth radiating from you, the teasing lilt in your tone, and the sincerity beneath it all—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered.

"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.

Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Oh, I think you do."

Before he could respond, you leaned forward again, reaching past him toward the small table beside the bed. But this time, your free hand rested on his thigh for balance, the contact sending heat through his veins and a gasp threatening to pass his lips.

“Let’s see…” you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. “Huh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?”

Ominis barely heard your question, his attention consumed by the weight of your hand on his leg, the warmth of your palm seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried—and failed—to focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.

“I suppose it’s tradition,” he managed weakly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. “Though you’d think they’d leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.”

You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominis’s arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. “Really, I can—”

But you were already on your feet, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Before he could protest further, you were kneeling in front of him on the floor.

“Let me help,” you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldn’t quite place.

He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.

“I-it’s fine, truly,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. “It’s my fault.”

Ominis held in a groan, fighting to maintain even a shred of composure. Heat had already been pooling in his abdomen, a slow, insistent burn that now threatened to spiral out of control, but with your hands so dangerously close, with you kneeling before him, he felt as though his very sanity was slipping through his fingers.

His mind raced with a flood of thoughts—improper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to give in, to let go of the rigid self-control that had defined so much of his life.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Y-you really don’t need to,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. “I can handle it.”

“No, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.”

Help. The irony of the word wasn’t lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worse—what truly horrified him—was the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed closer—too close—and he couldn't handle another moment.

Ominis shot to his feet so suddenly that it startled you, his wand clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The movement sent the towel slipping from your fingers as you instinctively leaned back, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his.

The image that his wand painted in his mind was delicious and utterly disastrous: you, on your knees before him, your hair slightly mussed, your lips slightly parted, and those impossibly wide eyes staring up at him.

He clenched his jaw, quickly lowering his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the image wouldn’t leave him. It was burned into his mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Ominis opened his mouth, but his words came out as a jumble of incoherent stammers. “I—I’m sure the house elves packed… something—uh—extra pants.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. “I should—probably just—”

He moved to take a step, desperate to escape, but then your hands were on his thighs, stopping him mid-motion.

"Running off on me, are you?"

"I—I just thought—"

You tutted and gave him a gentle push, coaxing Ominis to sit back down on the edge of the bed. He resisted for a moment, but your persistence, combined with his legs trembling beneath him, left him with little choice. Slowly, he sank back down, his hands gripping at the sheets.

“There,” you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. “That’s better.”

Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain he’d never been in a worse predicament in his life. You were now kneeling right between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs, the heat of your palms searing through the thin fabric of his sleepwear.

He was painfully, achingly hard now, pressed uncomfortably against the fabric, and he knew—he knew—you must have noticed.

How could you not? You were so close, on your knees before him, your face dangerously near to the source of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to will his body into submission, but it was no use. The evidence of his desire was blatant, inescapable.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.

“You can’t be very comfortable like that,” you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. “Your pants, I mean. All damp and cold.” The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “Maybe you should just take them off.”

Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doing—knew you weren’t nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out. Couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of him—some reckless, desperate part of him—wanted to see how far you were willing to push him.

“I—I think I’ll just wait until—”

You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. “Until what?”

Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. “Until I’m alone.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Alone?” you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. “Why? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"

His wife.

He swallowed hard. “You… you are,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. “That you can’t be comfortable around me? That you can’t let me take care of you?”

“Take care of me,” he repeated hoarsely, the word catching in his throat as his mind spiraled. He knew exactly what you were insinuating, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Isn’t that what a good wife does?” you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.

Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. “…This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. “Is it?”

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. “And what happens,” you asked, “if I keep playing?”

Your hands trailed upwards and his entire body went rigid, his fists tightening so hard that his knuckles ached.

And then you did it.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants, your touch light as you began to tug. And Ominis's composure shattered, the remainder of his control finally giving way.

He reached out, his hands catching your wrists and stilling your movements as he leaned down, his sightless gaze locked on you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, your playful smile faltering for the first time, though your eyes still held a glint of challenge. “Ominis—”

“Enough,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. “You wanted to play a game, did you? Let me show you what it feels like to lose."

Ominis stood slowly, bringing your hands with him, guiding them back to the waistband of his pants. His breath was heavy, his voice low and rough when he spoke. “You started this,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Now finish it.”

Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. “Ominis, I—” you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You found out. Now take them off."

You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasn’t the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.

But you had pushed him to this point, hadn’t you? Teased and taunted, knowing full well what you were doing. And now, you would face the consequences.

Your fingers trembled as they hooked under the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fabric. The damp material clung stubbornly to his skin, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but Ominis revelled in it, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After a moment, the damp fabric finally gave way, sliding down his hips and pooling at his ankles, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “No teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"

“I…” You hesitated, your breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Tease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock at his bluntness. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he took in your reaction.

“Because if that’s the case,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “then you failed. Now... where were you?"

He reached for your hands again, skimming them along his legs before hooking them into the fabric of his underwear. Your lips parted, a soft, unsteady exhale escaping as you gazed up at him.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, you complied with his demand, the fabric yielding beneath your touch as you began to tug it down past his hips and over the hard length of him.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His one hand found your shoulder, the other tangling in your hair as you freed him from the confines of his underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against his heated skin.

He could feel your gaze moving over him, taking in every inch of his body. He didn't need to see her to know exactly what you were looking at. He could feel her hesitation, the quickening pace of your breathing, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Like what you see?" His voice was low and rough. It wasn't a question so much as a challenge, a dare for her to speak the truth he already knew.

There was a pause, a moment where he could feel her nerves battling with her desire. Then her voice came, soft and trembling, yet unmistakably honest. "Yes. I… Ominis, you're... fuck, you're so big.”

Her words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire he could barely contain. A slow, wicked smile curled his lips as his confidence swelled at the admission. He let his thumb trace the curve of your jaw, the movement gentle even as his grip on your neck tightened slightly, coaxing you closer.

Your hands trembled against his thighs, and he felt you hesitate again. That flicker of uncertainty was intoxicating, drawing out the predator in him that wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"I don't even know if I can..." you whispered,

"Oh, you can," he said, his voice a mix of promise and challenge. "And you will. Open your mouth."

Your lips parted without hesitation, your trust in him making something primal surge within his chest. Ominis let out a low, satisfied chuckle as he guided you toward him with deliberate care. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

He could feel your breath ghosting over him, the slight tremor in your shoulders betraying her nervousness. But when your lips finally made contact, wrapping around him with warmth and softness, a sharp groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth was intoxicating, your tongue brushing against the sensitive underside of him sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core.

He groaned, his voice low and gravelly, unrestrained. "God, you feel so good... yes, just like that."

His grip in your hair tightened, controlling your movements as he adjusted the angle with a firm but gentle tug. Each movement was controlled, his hips rocking forward slightly before pulling back just enough to keep you comfortable.

A low moan escaped him as your tongue flicked against the head of his cock, every slight drag of your lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through him like fire. His head tipped back briefly, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips.

"Relax your throat," he ordered breathlessly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Let me in. Let me feel you take all of me."

You responded instantly, a muffled moan escaping as you took him deeper, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through Ominis that left him teetering on the edge. His control slipped, and his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself further into the warmth of your mouth. The way your throat tightened around him, the way you surrendered so completely to his lead—it was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.

"I’m close," he breathed, his thumb brushing against your chin. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

Your kept pace, and every sensation sharpened, from the slick slide of your lips to the pressure of your tongue and the slight resistance of your throat.

Ominis's body shuddered violently when the tension coiled tight within him finally snapped, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips pressed forward, forcing you to take his release. He groaned your name, his voice raw and broken, the sound laced with unrestrained pleasure as waves of his release surged through him. He felt you swallow, the rhythmic pull of your throat around him drawing out every last bit of his pleasure and leaving him utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. “So perfect.”

His breaths came in uneven gasps as the intensity began to ebb, though the memory of your mouth on him lingered, searing itself into his mind. The slick warmth of you, your complete submission to him, was something he knew he'd spend his life chasing.

Finally, his grip loosened in your hair, and with a soft, wet pop, he pulled himself from your mouth, the absence of your warmth almost jarring. His legs trembled as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still buzzing. Yet, even in his post-climactic haze, his hands remained steady, tracing the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt entirely at odds with the raw dominance he'd displayed moments before.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, tilting your chin up to brush his thumb over your swollen lips.

Your breath was shallow, quick, and he could feel the faint tremor in your body under his hands. When you didn’t immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.

The image of you that materialized made his breath catch—your breathing ragged, your cheeks flushed a deep, fiery red, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath, your eyes glassy.

He breathed your name, his voice tinged with worry as he cupped your face again. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His fingers brushed your hair back, searching for any sign of discomfort, his unseeing eyes filled with an almost frantic need for reassurance.

You blinked slowly, as if coming out of a haze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. Your breath hitched, and when you finally spoke, your voice was rough and shaky. “No,” you managed,“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re alright? Please tell me the truth.”

You nodded, your unsteady, watery smile sending a wave of relief coursing through Ominis, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But that smile—soft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyes—made his heart falter for an entirely different reason. He had pushed you close to your limit; that much was undeniable. The sheen in your gaze spoke of intensity, perhaps even moments of overwhelming vulnerability. And yet, the faint curve of your lips said it all—you’d liked it.

You had trusted him so completely, surrendered so fully, giving yourself over to him for his pleasure, even when it stretched the boundaries of your comfort.

It was a realization that hit him hard, an almost overwhelming surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for.

But Ominis couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus on—taking care of you.

Ominis inhaled deeply, centering himself as he rose from the edge of the bed. He pulled back the covers with a smooth motion and turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “Come here,” he said gently.

Reaching down, his arms slid around you, steady and secure, as he helped you up from where you knelt on the floor. One hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, the other brushing against your arm as he guided you onto the bed.

Once you were settled, he tucked the covers around you, his hands lingering for a moment, brushing along your arm before moving to your face.

“There we are,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re alright,” he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. “Ominis, you can stop fussing. I’m alright.”

He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re alright, are you?” he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. “You can barely speak. Forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced.”

You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. “I mean it,” you said, your voice still raspy. “I’m okay."

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. “You need water," he decided, his brow furrowing slightly.

Before you could protest, he was already moving, locating a glass and filling it at the bathroom sink. He returned swiftly, slipping one hand beneath the back of your neck to help you sit up just enough. The other hand brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he murmured softly.

You sipped obediently and he smiled softly, chest rising and falling with a quiet steadiness now that he knew you were truly alright.

"You were so good," he murmured, as his fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. "Do you have any idea how amazing you felt?"

He leaned closer, his lips finding the flushed heat of your cheek, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, each one accompanied by a murmured word of praise. “So perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and reverent. "So well behaved."

His lips trailed to your other cheek, brushing against the soft skin as he continued. “It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took me—it was more than I could have ever imagined.”

You hummed softly, the sound a mixture of contentment and satisfaction as his lips trailed across your flushed skin. A shaky hand lifted from beneath the covers, reaching out to find his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you guided his lips to yours.

The kiss was a whisper, soft and delicate, barely more than a brush of your lips against his. Ominis exhaled against your mouth, his breath warm and steady, a low hum of contentment escaping him as he leaned into you. His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, cradling you as his lips moved against yours.

Your lips barely parted from his as you whispered against them, your voice still raspy but filled with quiet conviction, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Ominis stilled, as though trying to convince himself they were real. Then, his breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too,” he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. “Merlin, I love you so much. I always have.” He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite articulate. “After everything, after all this time… I never dared to hope we’d find each other again like this.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldn’t.

Ominis pulled back slowly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he adjusted the covers around you. He slipped into bed beside you, his movements careful, his body naturally finding yours as his arms slid around you, drawing you close. Your head nestled against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, and he felt your heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath his hand.

As he held you, Ominis let his mind wander, reflecting on everything that had brought you both to this moment. The pain, the distance, the longing—it had all been worth it for this, for you. A soft, contented sigh escaped him as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

As he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly in an unconscious promise to never let you go again, a single thought echoed in his mind: This is where I’m meant to be. With you. Always.

Divider Credit

[vifilms]

divine intervention, a higher power, some type of god looking above us threatening to crush human kind with an obedient hand — it’s what you think of as violet brushes her teeth in front of your bathroom sink— the mirror showcasing her god-esque reflection. flourished by love, renewed by white roses and promise, renewal of optimistic promise floods her with every look she throws your way.

cursed by perfection by the gods who created us. the muscles of her back contract with each slight of movement, the black ink mesmerizes your line of vision, she quickly catches your eye as you step out of the shower, body glistens from steam, droplets falling on the blindingly white marble floors.

easily, you ditch the towel hanging on the metal hook before stalking violet as if she's the prey you desperately need to sink your teeth into.

“we’re supposed to be leaving soon.” but violet doesn’t believe it, not when you’re giving her that in-disposable gaze, eyes saturated with lost as the need revives within you like gasoline on raging fire.

bare as the day you were born, you hop onto the counter top, vi spits the remainder of toothpaste coating her breath minty fresh. “or we could not.”

carefully, spreading your legs open for her, vi groans, not caring when her towel loses it’s hold around her waist, exposing the pink bush coming from her the muscular v-shaped line, leading you into what you’re craving most.

“we’re already gonna be late as it is. this isn’t helping, princess.”

“but all i wanna do is help.” you pout, feigning concern as vi slids herself between your legs and just like that she’s caught in your venus fly trap.

“baby, that’s nice but, ahhh—”

fingers she should have been prepared for glide over her slick pussy, your digits gathering the golden honey wealth, coating your skin thicker with each stroke.

“shit, you shouldn’t, we have to—”

“what? go? or come?” vi curses at herself before she drops her damn strands of pink against your shoulder, whimpering as you slide two fingers inside her soft walls, “two every different things, violet. i’ll give you a third option, yeah? how does me staying inside work? is that good for you, baby?”

“yeahhh, you know it is.” violet crumbles, hips bucking forward as she reaches down, playing with her clit as your fingers make home in her soaked pussy as she falls under your spell. each slight of your hand is a hex to her psyche, a reminder of what belongs to you, what only you can do.

what only you can make her feel.

“you’re just too pretty to not to fuck, baby. do you know that? how much i adore you, how much i treasure you — that i would do anything to make my babygirl happy?”

the words feel like a symphony to violet, her clit throbbing intensely as you flick her hand away, circling dramatic circles against the the pearly bundle of nerves. the tables have shifted, you have her right where you so damn well please, and violet submits to you with all the love her heart possess.

a tidal wave of reassurance coats her skin as the comfort of your wave wraps her up, as soothing as a warm blanket on a frosty night. the ice within her is gone and all she feels is warm, saturated heat. violet sobs into your neck as you fuck her through the impossible high, powder-blue eyes sob find a flood within them and the dam releases when you tell her much you love her. pussy and heart in harmony as affirmations of love are whispered in her ear, all else is forgotten.

it's all it takes for two infinitely promised lovers to melt for the other, transcending anything full of purpose, a pair of futures blending into an uncontrollable tsuamni of unknowns, trapped in the iron fist of nothing more than reduced to a blinding heat until a trail is discovered, a soulmates path to intertwined perfection.

violet's stuck and begging for more as she rides out each thrust of your fingers, a cracked shred of her whimpers echo throughout the walls. for a moment, you wonder if it's phantom, a moment plucked from your imagination but the skin of her inner thigh feels softer than her calloused hands. it's welcoming each graze of your blunt fingertip, begging for more of whatever she's willing to give.

almost as if your knees bend at the pew in a cathedral, she pleads for mercy, sharp teeth marking your shoulder with territorial need. then, violet falls. every sturdy and strong muscles becomes limp, blindful trust full of passionate love surrounds her heart until she has nothing else to give. this is all she's ever wanted.

to be truly yours.

[greengoblinswifey]

I wonder if dbf!rafe and reader use a condom 🙈

a/n— oh wow🤭let’s just say….

His lips were on yours, firm and demanding, pulling you into the vortex that was Rafe Cameron, your dad’s fucking best friend. His hands slid down your waist, gripping your ass and tugging you closer until your bodies pressed against each other.

Moments later, you found yourself on his bed, his body hovering over yours as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then lower, teasing you. Every brush of his lips felt like it ignited a fire under your skin.

When his hands moved to undo his belt, you smirked your voice teasing. “Not even gonna pull out a condom?”

Rafe paused, leaning down so his lips hovered just over yours. His expression was smug, his blue eyes locking with yours. “No,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I want to feel you, every single part of that pussy. I want you to throb against my dick, and I wanna feel every bit of it raw.” His hand slid up to your face, tilting your chin up. “I want that every fucking day. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“Fuck, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice laced between surprise and longing.

“Tell me you don’t want it just as bad,” he challenged.

“I do,” you admitted softly.

And Rafe continued. Every single time you could be alone with him, he’d fuck you raw, the box of condoms in his drawer still filled and brand new like the day he bought them. He wanted nothing separating him from your tight, wet walls. He loved to press you against whatever surface and stare into your eyes as his thick cock invaded your pussy. Every time he felt you drench his cock, it was as though he died and went to Heaven, why the hell would he give that up? You belonged to him, and he’d fuck you raw as much as he saw fit.

Like many nights before, you ended up underneath him. Legs pushed behind your head, his hand around your throat and his cock slamming into you, raw.

“You take it so well baby, like the slut you are,” Rafe panted.

You mewled in response, relishing in the feeling of his cock dragging across your walls, his tip brushing against your cervix and slamming into your g spot simultaneously. Who knew your dad’s best friend would be the one to fuck you better than anyone else had before.

“I’ll never get tired of feeling this pussy cream all over my cock,” he growled, “fucking cum for me. I can feel you clenching around me.

Your body convulsed underneath him and you cried out, squirting all over his cock pounding into you. A smug smile plastered on Rafe’s face as he looked down at the liquid spraying from your pussy, soaking his cock, abdomen and the sheets below.

“That’s my good girl, see why I don’t use a condom? I love feeling you fucking squirt all over my dick.”

[virtualchiyu]

Wildfire ꩜ .ᐟ

Pairings: jungwon x fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

warnings: vaginal (p. in v.), oral (f. rec.), porn

The café hummed with low chatter and the clinking of coffee cups against saucers. It was your usual spot for winding down after a long day, and tonight was no different—until you felt the familiar presence of someone sliding into the chair across from you.

“Late night?” Jungwon’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, soft but laced with that playful tone that always made you glance up.

“Something like that,” you replied, setting your mug down. His smile made your stomach flip, the kind that lingered too long, like he knew what he was doing to you.

You had met Jungwon through mutual friends, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to develop a rhythm—a steady pull that felt dangerous and electric. What began as casual teasing had grown into something else, an unspoken tension that followed every stolen glance and every lingering touch.

Tonight, he looked especially good in a plain black hoodie that stretched over his toned frame. His dark eyes were sharp, but there was an almost lazy confidence in the way he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said suddenly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’ve been busy,” you answered, though even you didn’t believe it.

Jungwon’s lips twitched as if he could see right through your lie. “Busy doing what? Thinking about me?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “You wish.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I don’t have to wish. I know.”

The air between you felt heavier now, the warmth of the café dimming as his gaze pinned you in place. You weren’t sure how he always managed to do this—make you feel like the only person in the room, like he was unraveling every one of your defenses without even trying.

“Come with me,” he said, standing abruptly. “Where?” “Does it matter?”

Your pulse quickened as you stared up at him, his outstretched hand tempting you in ways you couldn’t resist. Against your better judgment, you slipped your hand into his, letting him lead you out into the crisp night air.

The walk to his apartment was silent, but the tension crackled like wildfire. By the time the door clicked shut behind you, your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Jungwon turned to face you, stepping closer until you were backed against the wall. He didn’t say anything at first, his dark eyes scanning your face like he was committing every detail to memory.

“Do you want this?” he asked finally, his voice softer now, almost tender.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

That was all the confirmation he needed. His lips crashed against yours, and the world around you dissolved. His kiss was urgent, claiming, his hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t get enough. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as your body ignited under his touch.

Jungwon groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending heat straight to your core. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands slid under your shirt, his fingers skimming over your bare skin.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, gasping as his lips moved to your neck, kissing and biting in a way that left you trembling.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Bedroom,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You barely made it to his bed before he was on you again, his hands and lips everywhere at once. He stripped away your clothes with practiced ease, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his eyes roamed over your bare body.

Heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to respond before his lips were on you again, this time trailing down your body. He kissed his way down your chest, taking his time to worship every inch of you, his hands firm yet gentle as they held you in place.

By the time his lips reached the apex of your thighs, you were already a trembling mess, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands soothing against your hips. “Let me take care of you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his tongue flicked against your clit, drawing a broken moan from your lips. He worked you expertly, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as your body arched into him.

“Jungwon—” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pushed you closer to the edge.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up for a second until you were shattering beneath him, your cries echoing through the room as you came undone.

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips swollen and glistening as he hovered over you. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice low and full of satisfaction.

You pulled him down for a kiss, the taste of yourself on his lips only fueling your desire. Your hands slipped under his hoodie, pushing it up and over his head before fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Eager, are we?” he teased, though his breath hitched as you slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his length.

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his head fell back and a groan escaped his lips.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice strained as he grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “I don’t want to rush this.”

He guided you onto your back, his lips finding yours once more as he positioned himself between your thighs. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I want you.”

Jungwon didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed into you slowly, the stretch leaving you gasping as he filled you completely. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice full of awe as he began to move, his pace slow and deliberate.

Jungwon’s movements were slow at first, deliberate, his hips rolling into yours with a precision that made your toes curl. The intimacy of it all—the way his forehead rested against yours, how his hands framed your face so tenderly—was almost overwhelming.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice breathy and raw, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

Your hands clung to his back, nails dragging down his skin as he began to quicken his pace. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the sounds spilling from your lips only seemed to spur him on.

“Jungwon,” you gasped, the friction building into something unstoppable. “Faster—please.”

He groaned softly, adjusting his angle, and when his hips snapped forward again, a loud moan tore from your throat. He had found it—that perfect spot that made your mind go blank. He focused on it with laser-like precision, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“You’re so good for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire as he watched your face twist in pleasure. “So perfect.”

Your hands slid down to his hips, urging him closer, deeper. “Don’t stop,” you begged, and the desperation in your voice made his lips twitch into a smug smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, “I’m not stopping until I’ve ruined you.”

His words were a promise, and he kept it. His thrusts became harder, more erratic, and the sound of skin against skin filled the room. His hand slid down your body, his fingers finding your clit and circling it in time with his movements.

The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you and the pressure against your clit had you spiraling. Your body arched off the bed as the pleasure overwhelmed you, your walls clenching around him.

“Fuck—just like that,” Jungwon groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he felt you tighten around him. “Let go for me, baby.”

His words tipped you over the edge, and your release crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your vision blurred, and your entire body trembled as you cried out his name, the pleasure so intense it left you breathless.

Jungwon didn’t stop, riding out your high as his own release approached. His thrusts grew erratic, his breathing ragged as he buried himself inside you one final time, groaning as he found his own end. The warmth of him filling you made your toes curl, and the way he collapsed against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, only added to the intimacy of the moment.

For a while, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, heavy and uneven as you both tried to come down from the high.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice soft as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

Jungwon chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling out of you carefully. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm washcloth to clean you up. The tenderness of the gesture made your chest ache in the best way.

Once he was finished, he slid back into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he teased, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Me?” you laughed softly, looking up at him. “You’re the one who dragged me out of a café and then ruined me.”

Jungwon smirked, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. “I did say I wouldn’t stop until I ruined you.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile on your face betrayed your amusement. “Guess I should’ve believed you.”

His laugh was soft, and he leaned down to kiss you again—this time slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled away, his eyes softened as they locked with yours.

“Stay,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

You didn’t need to think twice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, reader is implied to be smaller than Gyomei but let's be real EVERYONE is smaller than him regardless of your weight or height, anal play/fingering, allusions to breeding, sub-ish Gyomei, masturbation, minor objectification, Gyomei is whipped, Stockholm Syndrome, accidental exhibitionism, Gyomei is a stone cold virgin (haha I am very funny), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

 Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

Not only does his lifestyle make having a partner difficult, but even the physical act of sex is something he’s never been particularly interested in. He’s just simply not that physical of a man – affection isn’t something he’s especially comfortable with, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you and keep you in his arms forever (and he really does mean forever, something he doesn’t hesitate in reminding you), touching you isn’t at the forefront of his mind.

And this is especially true in the context of sexual intimacy – it’s one thing to crave holding your hand, but it’s another to crave having your thighs wrapped around his head. It’s one thing to desire you falling asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest, but it’s another to imagine you perched on top of him, your pretty moans of his name making his cheeks feel hot and his pulse rising dramatically.

It feels disrespectful, more than anything, to imagine you in a sexual light; he’s already painfully aware that having any sort of romantic feelings towards you is wrong, but to doom himself even further with explicit, lewd fantasies of you? Just the thought makes him bristle, unease and shame crawling up his spine because only perverted men do that, men with no morals or self-control.

And he’s able to keep this mentality for an impressively long period of time - you’d be hard pressed to catch him having any sort of risqué thoughts regarding you for much of the time his obsession festers, the furthest possible thing being imagining kissing you and gently cupping your cheeks.

(And even then, the idea of slipping his tongue into your mouth makes his cheeks feel hot, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire and making him hurriedly forget the thought, instead busying himself with imagining hugging you or pressing a quick kiss to your temple. But as time passes, if his concentration lessens for even a single moment, then he’s suddenly thinking about you putting your tongue in his mouth, and suddenly he needs to sit down, his head feeling dizzy and light and overwhelmed.)

He manages to stay within the confines of innocent fantasies of you, physically conditioning himself to halt any thoughts further than holding you by pinching himself or biting his tongue, anything at all to deter such thoughts and reprimand himself. But really, while Gyomei may be a very morally guided man with one of the gentlest hearts, he’s still a man.

And like most men, he has needs – even if he himself isn’t truly aware of them.

And so, while he forces himself to stay respectful of you during the day, he’s not so in control of his thoughts at night. It’s not as easy to stop himself from playing out vivid, pleasure-filled scenarios when he’s in the grips of slumber, his subconscious running wild and imagining how you’d feel with your hands on his body, your soft breasts pressed against his own rigid chest, your lips kissing his neck, and the wonderful warmth between your legs that he’s absolutely sure would be such a tight fit, truly stretching you out in every possible way.

(And god, while the size difference intimidates him ever so slightly because he doesn’t want to hurt you, there’s something about the fact that you’re just so damn tiny compared to him that makes something primal and territorial stir in his gut, the sense of protectiveness and ownership he feels over you only amplifying, despite his wishes. And then he’s imagining the way you’d squeal and grasp onto him as he sends rope after rope after rope of thick, white cum as deeply inside of you as he can manage, and it’s only then that Gyomei truly gives up any hope of not viewing you in a sexual light because how can he not fantasize about stuffing you so full that you’re leaking it? Leaking him?)

He’s woken up to messy sheets, a sweaty body and heavy breathing more often than he’d like to admit, the cum smeared across his softening cock and the material of the bed making him feel dirty, ashamed and disgusting.

(And when he sees you later that day, you’ll notice he’s a bit quieter than usual, not standing as close to you as he normally would, but if you bring it up he’ll only tear up a bit, telling you to disregard his strange behavior, but not really giving you a reason for it. He can’t lie to you, it feels wrong, but he can’t tell you, either, so he settles with omission, praying you won’t push the issue further.)

And so, as time passes, slowly he’ll find himself becoming a victim of the lust that begins showing itself, rearing its ugly head when he finds himself wanting you most, the bouts of loneliness he feels late at night making fighting off his desire difficult.

But even then, Gyomei has the patient of a saint and could probably stave off his urges to actually touch himself for the rest of his life. Dirty thoughts, no, but the act of actually stroking himself or acting upon those thoughts? He could, if he really tried – or at least he could without the intervention of something outside of his control, something that pushes him to finally, finally give in.

And that intervention comes one summer evening, when the wind is warm and the night air is full of liveliness. The village he’d been sent to had a night market that was bustling, hence the presence of a demon slowly picking off the shoppers every night. Finding and destroying the demon was quick and easy, and as Gyomei wandered through the market after completing his mission, a wrong turn led to a rather shocking discovery.

The woman’s voice sounds almost exactly like yours, only a bit higher, a bit more slurred, a bit sultrier as she moans presumably the name of the man pinning her against the wall. The alleyway between the two buildings in the downtown segment of the town reverberates her cries strongly, the wet sucking and kissing noises as the man worked at her neck making Gyomei freeze, embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine.

Of course, Gyomei isn’t naïve – he knows about the intimate relations between men and women, and although he has no sexual experience of his own, the heavy breathing, racing hearts and wet plap plap noises echoing down the alleyway towards him tell him more than enough about what exactly is taking place just a few meters away. He knows that this is really quite a private moment, and he knows that he should really, really move.

And yet, the similarities between your voice and the woman’s make him pause, his legs suddenly feeling like lead, even as the man’s grunts and questions of you like that, baby ring in his ears, making Gyomei’s eyebrows shoot up because oh no, what a horribly inappropriate thing to be hearing.

A particularly harsh thrust and a nearly pained groan from the man has Gyomei suddenly moving, sensing that the man is close to his end and the Hashira would prefer to give them privacy during such a moment. He tries to continue on with his evening, focusing entirely on the feeling of the beads between his palms and the bustling sounds of the town’s evening life as he heads back towards the more populated area, but the damage is already done.

The woman sounded so much like you that it haunts Gyomei that night, the sound ringing through his ears on repeat and driving him nearly mad, forcing him to head back home to his estate early. Once he’s smelling the familiar air of his home (tinged ever so slightly by your scent, you having visited earlier that day and leaving a lingering reminder of you that he immediately deeply inhales once he enters), Gyomei relaxes ever so slightly, head dipping down in shame as he notices the way his trousers are still fitting tightly, the woman’s sounds and the small, barely-there thoughts he’s trying to repress about your sounds physically affecting him.

Furrowing his brow, he resigns himself to the knowledge that he’ll likely spend the rest of the evening hard enough to be uncomfortable, instead simply sitting and resting atop his bed. He tries to distract himself as the minutes slowly tick by, thinking of training, praying, and anything else he can conjure up, brain working as frantically as possible because the idea of you moaning his name in that same wanton, needy way just absolutely refuses to leave him.

It’s infuriating, really, and it leaves Gyomei with a heavy sense of shame in his gut because it’s just so, so disrespectful to be thinking of you in such compromising, lewd ways. It’s abhorrent, truly a sign of just how weak he’s become in your hands, all without you even realizing it.

The next few hours are painful, his erection remaining prominent and sweat beading his brow, his concentration waning the longer it drags on. Every time he lets his mind wander, it’s turning back to you – he’s thinking of the delicious smell of curried meat that was coming from a market stand, and suddenly he’s imagining the way you would suck on the meat stick, and it’s not long before he’s thinking of how you’d suck on his lips, his fingers, him –

He sits up abruptly, biting his lip and forcing himself to his feet. And eventually, as Gyomei tasks himself with whatever simple task he can think of as a distraction, the concentration and resolve eventually breaks. The neatly folded pile of his clothing in the corner of the room shouldn’t make him pause as it does, but as his fingers feel over the fabric to identify each piece, he can’t help but notice the presence of something new atop the other items – something lighter and softer, a material completely unlike the rough, thick fabric of his uniform.

Curiously, he brings the material up closer to his face, leaning down slightly and inhaling, only to immediately stop, eyes going wide because fuck, this is your shawl, isn’t it?

You’d accidentally left it in his home and he’d placed it in the corner with the hopes of keeping it out of the way to preserve it and not accidentally ruin it. And yet, as he stands there, muscles tense with each inhale bringing your scent to his nose again and again, Gyomei finds that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s so hard that it hurts, and with the smell of you filling his lungs, how can he possibly hold himself back any longer?

And so, with a heavy heart and shame creeping up his neck, Gyomei finds himself once again laying on his bed, back flat against the ground and swallowing heavily. He’s never touched himself before – maybe once as a young teenager, but he’s simply not had the time nor desire to, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s nervous.

But then he’s imagining the way you’d moan again, your pretty voice ringing in his ears, the syllables of his name rolling off your tongue like velvet, G-yo-mei whimpered in his ear as he kneads at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and kissing along the sensitive skin of your jaw.

And that’s all it takes for him to gently loosen the belt of his uniform trousers, his hand slightly trembling as he shuffles them down a bit, the cold air brushing against his freed cock and making him shiver slightly.

He’s slow and methodical as he very, very slowly relaxes. Guilt still consumes him, but he’s already got his pants off, cock in hand – and soon, he’s throwing caution to the wind and instead focusing on the idea of you.

He starts by imagining a simple part of your body – your hands, the ones whose fingers always brush his own, resting against his clothing as you compliment him, always feeling warm and soft and so, so very foreign. He swallows, his fist moving to grip himself at the base, the dull pleasure making his toes curl a bit.

Then he’s mentally picturing your arms, remembering the way they feel against his palms. He’s sure the skin there is soft, too, and he squeezes tighter as he thinks of the way you’d wrap them around his neck as he thrusts into you, hovering over you and trying to get as deep as he possibly can – he wants to feel every possible inch of you, to leave you stuffed full enough to be a gasping, stuttering mess.

He’s imagining your collarbone, his free hand coming up to trace his own for reference. He decides that your must be more delicate, softer, pretty and mirroring the shape of your jaw. Slowly, his hand begins moving upwards, a low, uneven breath falling from his lips because oh, this is a strange feeling.

He’s not entirely sure what breasts feel or look like, but as he licks his lips, he thinks back to all the (unpleasantly and unwilling) conversations he’s overheard from perverted older men. Soft, he thinks, and surely firm enough to grasp onto – one hand continues the slow, steady strokes as the other reaches up in front of him, shame eating away at him as he spreads his fingers, cupping and squeezing them as if your chest were right in front of him, your pretty tits bouncing, the plap plap noise of skin hitting skin filling the room.

He quietly groans your name as he continues to squeeze, head lolling back slightly against the floor, a strained look crossing his features because no, he knows the feeling that’s coming is an orgasm but dammit, he wants this to continue, even as depraved as it is. Even as disrespectful and rude – even as badly as he hopes and prays that you do this thinking of him, too.

His thumb comes up to quickly swipe at his tip, his abs clenching tightly at the sensation. He’s thinking of your stomach – it’s soft, he just knows it, the perfect thing for him to grab at, imagining the way he’d rest his head against the soft pudge of your lower tummy as he licks and sucks between your legs, feeling your thighs cage around his head, squeezing and crushing and fuck fuck fuck –

He groans your name, hips bucking up and up as he imagines what lays between those pretty thighs of yours, the exact picture a mystery but the idea making every nerve feeling like it’s on fire, white hot pleasure burning its way from the pit of his stomach through to every limb.

He’s sure fucking you would be heavenly – he’s heard women’s genitalia described as warm, wet, and tight, and the mere idea of you being that way is enough to get him gasping, his orgasm hurriedly approaching and his concentration too haphazard to use a technique to slow his breathing and delay the inevitable.

It’s futile, really, because when he imagines the way you’d clutch onto him and tell him such sweet praises, your pretty lips pressing against his desperately, whining that you want him, that you need him, it’s only natural for him to start bucking up into his hand, thrusting against his fist faster and faster and faster, the sound of his ass clapping back down against his bedsheets reverberating through the room, along with the wet slapping noise of his balls clapping against his fist as he imagines fucking into you harder, faster, more more more –

And just the idea of you moaning a breathy, adoring I love you, Gyomei is enough to get his back arching up, every muscle in his body going taut as spurt after spurt of warm, thick cum spurts from his tip, landing in rivulets across his chest, feeling hot and wet even over the fabric.

He’s panting, breathing heavily and bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock still pulsing and throbbing even as the minutes tick by, still mostly erect even as he grasps at the sheets, a fresh wave of tears beading at his eyes because what has he done?

Clarity rushes back to him and for a moment he’s in shock, the pleasure still numbing his senses. He’d masturbated to the thought of you – imagining your naked body touching his own, fantasizing about the way he’d taste you, how he’d ever so carefully ease inside you, a thumb constantly pressing against your clit to make sure everything feels as good for you as he’s sure it will feel for him.

He’s breathless, disappointed in himself, and as he silently sits up and washes himself up in the bathroom, scrubbing at the drying cum stains on his uniform, Gyomei can only sigh. It’s truly amazing what you’ve done to him – what you’ve reduced him to.

And yet, as Gyomei walks towards your home the next day with the intention of walking you to the market, he can’t help but subtly take wider steps, hoping to adjust himself as he grows hard at the mere thought of being close to you.

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

Due to his blindness, Gyomei perceives your beauty in more meaningful ways than simply your appearance.

He fell in love first with your voice, the things you say never failing to leave him in awe of your kindness and your humility. He falls in love with your laughter, loving the sound and finding himself speaking more often simply for the chance to say something that would amuse you.

(Something that both you and others will notice, if only because it’s extremely unlike Gyomei to say anything even remotely hinting at humor, and while his comments often don’t land as he intended, you’ll often times end up laughing simply because it’s so out of character and odd of him. And oh, in the moment Gyomei is basking in the sound of your laughter, committing every inhale of breath and slight snort to memory, obsessively replaying the sound over and over and over.)

And so, when he’s falling into the depths of loneliness, arousal and desperation for you becoming too difficult to handle, he’ll think of the lulling sound of your voice, the way you roll your letters and how you enunciate your words. He’s memorized your speech patterns, always trying to engage you in conversation just so that he can listen to you talk, eagerly absorbing everything you say because it all feels important, like he’d be doing you a disservice to not memorize every little quirk, mannerism and opinion you have.

And so while his love for your voice begins platonically and innocently (or at least as innocent as it can be, considering his feelings for you are anything but), Gyomei finds that over time, this sentiment begins changing.

Sure, he’s still in love with your voice, but now he can’t stop thinking about what you’d sound like when you’re out of breath, when you’re moaning, when you’re whining and keening and begging and needing him to please touch me Gyomei, I need it so bad please please please –

He’s fantasizing about what you sound like during sex long before he feels comfortable with it, his mind conjuring up all these questions and hypothetical scenarios without his control. He’s idly wondering if you’re more of a moaner, all high-pitched and girly, plentiful sounds that are expressive enough for him to very easily and quickly be able to read exactly what you’re feeling, exactly what you’re wanting. Or perhaps you’d be a little deeper, more of a groaner, more likely to let out sighs rather than whines. Or perhaps you’re just very quiet - he’d be happy with that, too, finding that the minimal sounds he does manage to get out of you are all the more rewarding, all the more precious and worthy of cherishing.

(He’s even found himself, in a moment of dissociation as he tries to sleep, mimicking what he imagines your noises would be like – he catches himself after the third moan slips out, immediately stopping himself and becoming mortified because oh god, does he now not even have autonomy and control over his own body and actions?)

And once he’s stolen you away, his hand forced by some external event, Gyomei’s love and appreciation for your voice persists. He’s still captivated by it, except now he’s paying even more attention, listening to your heartbeat and the way you breath, finding himself pressing his ear up against walls when he wants to give you space but still needs to hear you.

Once your sexual relationship begins, he’s absolutely addicted to drawing all sorts of sounds out of you – he wants to hear your every moan, your every comment, every everything because he wants to know exactly how you’re feeling and what he can do to make it better for you.

He’s always encouraging you to be louder, to be more expressive, always asking you questions during sex in attempts to get you to be more vocal. It’s selfish, sure, but with the way his cock throbs at the sound of your voice, can be really be blamed?

You just have an effect on him – one he absolutely adores, shivers running up and down his spine merely at the sound of you breathing.

His Fingers

Even outside of the bedroom, Gyomei is reliant on his fingers. It’s a necessary part of his job – wielding his axe and flail, praying, even simple day-to-day activities. They’re thick, and they’re strong – calloused and weathered with the scars of battle and a tough life, and Gyomei has remarkable dexterity and control over them.

And while he may be blind, Gyomei notices almost immediately that you seem to take a liking to them, once your fear and apprehension towards him starts to wear off, once you start to see him as less of a threat and more as a provider, a lover, even.  

So while he’s never really given them much thought, there’s just something about how you react to his thick, scarred digits that makes him positively swoon with happiness – it starts off relatively platonic, with you simply touching his fingers. Letting one of his hands rest in your lap, your smaller fingers comparing sizes, tracing scars and callouses, idly toying with them as you talk about something seemingly trivial to you.

(Little to you know that Gyomei is listening with rapt attention, every one of his senses heightened because you’re touching him, and it feels so soft and sweet and adorable that he almost thinks he might combust, his cheeks feeling warm and something fluttering in his stomach.)

It’ll move to you asking him to rub your shoulders, letting out little moans at the feeling of him running thumbs against your back, digging in – carefully, of course – against the tight, sore muscles of your shoulders, all the while Gyomei has to focus on continuing his job and relaxing you, ignoring the rather insistent erection pressing heatedly against his pants as a result of your sounds, the feeling of your skin, and the proximity of your scent.

And of course, you absolutely adore his fingers in the context of sex - one of them is enough to have you pleading with him to wait, please, the stretch is too much, you need a second to adjust, immediately pausing or pulling back, listening to you and asking if you’d like him to try again, if he should go slower, if you’d like to be done and instead do something else, or nothing else at all.

(He hopes, prays, even, that you’ll let him try again, that you’ll let him sink his fingers into you, curling and rubbing and mapping out every inch of you like some sort of sacred knowledge, like knowing you inside and out is his only purpose.)

And while Gyomei has never been an especially prideful guy, he can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rolls through him at the knowledge that he’s enough for you in bed, that he’s able to satisfy you and give you what you want at any time, sometimes even with just his fingers alone.

He had no experience before his infatuation with you began - he’d never even kissed someone, let alone fingered them or been inside them, but once he realizes how badly he wants to make you come, how desperately he needs to hear up-close the way you sound as your orgasm crashes through you, he’s suddenly learning as diligently as he can, taking into consideration your every whimper, moan and gasp.

Soon, he’s able to pinpoint your spot within the first three thrusts, and once he feels the way you tighten around him, almost as if you were sucking his fingers in further, deeper, he gets to work - he’s thrusting, curling, rubbing and stretching you out just how you like it, hearing the symphony of your noises and cries, along with the lewd squelching noises of his fingers pushing and pulling out of you again and again.

And when his calloused fingertips find your already swollen and sensitive clit? Honestly it’s game over – they’re never leaving the spot, quickly learning precisely how you like to be touched, the accuracy and ease of the movements nearly unfair as you squirm and writhe and gasp out his name.

Gyomei is determined, and he will get you to come, if it’s the last thing that he does. After all, how can he call himself good enough of a lover for you if he can’t even manage to do that?

DRIVE:

Before his infatuation with you began, Gyomei’s drive was quite literally nonexistent. The thought of sex hardly ever crossed his mind, and if it did, it was immediately shoved away, pushed aside for more important matters in his everyday life. Survival, hunting demons and saving innocents took all of his free time and energy, and touching himself was both unnecessary and a stark reminder of not having a partner.

(Something that doesn’t bother him up until he meets you – because now he’s suddenly hyper aware of what couples do. He’s constantly thinking of holding your hand, brushing back your hair and cupping your cheek, softly pressing his lips to the corners of your mouth and against your jugular, holding you in his arms at night to keep you protected from both the cold and any wayward demons. And of course, the other things couples do – the things that make him feel like some hormone-driven teenage boy for being so easily flustered, for being so horribly eager to try them out with you.)

His libido was essentially non-existent, and while he’d sometimes overhear Tengen talking in shockingly explicit detail to Rengoku about his latest sexual escapades with his wives, he genuinely never felt the need to even so much as think about intimacy like that, let alone indulge in it.

But once you worm your way into his heart, suddenly the urge to be with you in an intimate manner is just too much to ignore. Of course, it’s still very gradual – it takes years of friendship in order for Gyomei to even form romantic feelings towards you in the first place, much less feelings to this degree. And even once they’re realized, it’ll take a long while before he moves past fantasizing about simply sitting by your side and slowly breathing in the air you’re exhaling and instead towards fantasizing about fucking you until you’re crying.

But as time passes and he slowly gives in more and more to his better judgement, Gyomei finds himself idly toying with the thoughts lingering at the edges of his subconscious – ideas of how you’d feel underneath him, how your lips would curve against his skin, how you’d keen and sigh his name. It becomes too hard not to imagine the way your pretty cunt would suck in his fingers, clenching down and fluttering around him as he curls and thrusts them, listening to the beating of your heart and slowly but surely finding every spot that drives you absolutely crazy.

His drive is still quite low even once he realizes his infatuation with you (simply finding that while he very, very much wants to have sex with you, it’s not something he needs on an hourly or daily basis), but the more lewd, dirty thoughts about you are most certainly still swirling in his mind.

And really, how can he be expected to not fantasize about you?

 You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and Gyomei is sure that if you were to allow him to touch you in such an intimate way, he'd be in heaven. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your throat, the warmth of your pussy…

(He’s heard, once again mainly from Tengen but also from others he’s unfortunately overheard, that vaginas tend to be warm, hot even. Initially, he’d just thrown aside this information, having no use for it, but the comments flow back into his head as he tries to picture what your cunt must feel like. Warm makes sense, but then he’s thinking of how it’s supposedly so very wet, assuming the woman is aroused, and Gyomei can only gulp at the thought, imagining the wet schlock noise that would ring in his ears when he’s got you bouncing in his lap. And of course, the tightness – he’s gripping himself harder at the mere thought, gasping sharply as he brings his fist up and down, varying the strength of his grip as he imagines where you’d be tightest, how your walls would squeeze and massage at him just how he’s been told it is.)

And you make it very, very hard to keep the thoughts from entering his head once he's accepted his sexual attraction to you.

When he notices the little sound you make when you throw your arms over your head and stretch, how can he not think of the way you’d squirm and cry out when he gently, sweetly presses a finger inside of you, curling and rubbing at the spot that Tengen promises will make you feel good? And although he knows it’s probably a bit inappropriate to be thinking of you in such ways despite you not being married quite yet, he honestly can’t help it - you’re too attractive to him, you mean to much for him to not want to be with you in every possible way.

After all, Gyomei wants to do everything in his power to make you as happy as possible, and if it means burying his face between your legs for hours on end and bringing you to your high a few times, he’s already plopping down onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

(And even if you don’t really want it, Gyomei is still more than happy to taste you, practically begging you without saying the words, reminding you that he can make you relax, please allow me to pleasure you, it should help with your headache. And while it’s mostly for you, genuinely, there’s still a selfish part of him that’s hurriedly settling your pretty cunt over his face because he wants your thighs caging around his head, the taste and smell of you enveloping his senses, to have every ounce of your attention solely on him him him.)

He's not perpetually desperate for you in a sexual sense, but once Gyomei’s infatuation settles in for long enough, he will not turn you down should you offer.

That said, Gyomei will never force anything physical onto you in any capacity.

(And this is true In all senses – obviously he won’t force you into sex if you don’t consent, but he also won’t do things like holding your hand or calling you petnames, wanting everything in your relationship to be as reciprocated as possible. Except, of course, where your safety is concerned – if he looks the villain for kidnapping you, so be it, but at least he isn’t pinning you down and taking what he wants from you. Though with his stature, you’re aware that he could take practically anything he wants and you’d not be able to do a thing about it.)

While he isn’t especially experienced with romantic relationships, he’s more than aware that consent is everything, that each action and step should be accepted by both parties, whether it be a peck on the cheek or bending you over the nearest counter and leaving you sore.

Gyomei hates when you cry, and as the target of his obsession, this works in your favor - while you’re likely to develop sympathy and possibly even some warped sort of love for him, you won’t ever have to worry about being taken advantage of, or being put in a situation in which you’re forced to do something physical that you’re uncomfortable with. His top priority in any situation is you, and how can he justify shoving his tongue down your throat if you’re cringing, pushing at his far too muscular chest, showing obvious signs of fear?

How can he enjoy spreading your legs and running a thick finger up and down your folds when you’re shivering, whimpering with a few tears trailing down your cheeks?

He’d never forgive himself if he touched you without your consent, if he hugged or kissed or - heaven forbid, fucked - you without your explicit agreement, and this honestly ends up advantaging him in a strange way. It’s wrong and you know it, but eventually you’ll begin to grow fond of his gentle touches, his way of treating you as if you were made of glass, far too fragile and breakable for this world.

Perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome or the extreme isolation of only seeing one other person on a consistent basis, but eventually you’ll stop caring, justifying your growing yearning for his touch as simply a natural response to your situation. And at some point, you’ll want him to go further - no longer is a soft caress of your cheek enough; no, you want him to press his thumb against your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in just enough to pop it past your lips, settling on your tongue and telling you in that calming, deep voice of his to suck.

At some point you’ll decide that instead of him simply placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head as a sign of subtle, noninvasive affection, you’ll want him to instead have you on your knees before him, that same hand pressing your head down as you choke and gag on what you’re sure is a very, very sizeable cock. And once you voice these needs, gathering the courage and confidence that he won’t reject you (he would never, no matter how compromising or humiliating what you’re requesting of him is), Gyomei will be shocked, flustered, nervous, even.

When you shyly tug at his belt, kissing along the line of his jaw and whispering his name in a way that gets shivers erupting over his whole body, he won’t fight you. And all throughout the process he’s asking for your consent, refusing to move his hands until he gets explicit verbal confirmation that he can touch your back, your waist, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your cunt, your everything.

(Honestly, the question of are you sure, is this okay, does that feel good that constantly falls from his lips is almost too endearing, the ever-so-slight tremor in his voice giving away just how excited and nervous he is to be getting so intimate with you, as if the very, very insistent bulge pressing against your ass isn’t enough to tell by.)

It’s in moments where he’s completely vulnerable with you that the Stockholm Syndrome really accelerates: he’s slowly drawing circles against your clit and listening as if his life depends on it to the changes in your breathing, your moans, feeling the way your hips and thighs twitch at certain stimulation. It’s sweet, really, how attentive Gyomei is and just how anal he is about making sure that you’re comfortable with everything, and with each soft moan of his name and each orgasm he coaxes out of you, Gyomei can only thank whatever is listening, savoring the taste of you like a starving man and trying to memorize every inch of your body.

(It’s in the times of post-orgasmic bliss that he finds himself incredibly grateful for having prioritized your comfort and not pushed you into anything too early – sure, covering his mouth with the section of his happi you’d touched early in the day and absolutely yanking at his cock, his fist moving so quickly it’s nearly a blur wasn’t ideal, but it lead to this. All those evenings spent desperately trying to orgasm to release some of the built up sexual frustration and to minimize your chances of seeing the rather massive tent in his pants were worth it – anything is worth it to have you cuddled up in his arms, cheek smoothed against his bare chest, your soft breaths puffing against his nipple and making him lick his lips. Anything at all.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

In general, he’s a giver in bed. He’s not a selfish lover by any means – in fact, he’s almost infuriatingly generous, prioritizing your pleasure over yours no matter the situation to the point that it’s almost irritating. And because he’s so cautious and aware that he’s significantly larger than you and thus has a cock proportionate to his height and stature, he knows that he needs to take things slow and spend a very, very long time preparing your body to take him.

And Gyomei’s personal preference is to use his tongue on you – to spread your legs and leave you squirming against him, the taste of you invading every one of his senses and only driving him to lick with more fervor, to suckle harder, to give you more more more because he needs you to be ready and able to take his cock or he thinks he might go insane.

He likes the intimacy of using his tongue on you – it means you trust him, he thinks, and there’s something so wonderful about the lewdness and vulgarity of it all. Having his mouth on the most sensitive, personal place on your body, all while your thighs cage his head in, your hips twitching and your fingers tunneling through his hair. He loves the way he feels so close to you – like he’s experiencing the most real, raw part of you that he can, the feeling almost as euphoric and intimate as having his cock nestled inside of you, warm and snug and full.

He loves the smell of you – it’s musky and earthy, something that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and something resembling a groan slip from him at a mere whiff of between your legs, often leading to his hips bucking on their own, unconsciously moving to come closer to the source of your scent, his body physically unable to stop itself from trying to rut and fuck into you.

(Something that embarrasses Gyomei slightly, if only because he finds it rather pathetic just how poor his body-control becomes around you, ashamed at his inability to stop himself from responding so carnally, so perversely.)

He’ll often lean down and press his face against the pretty hair covering your cunt, nose-deep into it as he inhales, pants growing tight embarrassingly fast because oh fuck, he’s practically Pavolv’d himself into orgasming the moment he smells you, arousal blooming through him even though he hasn’t touched himself even the slightest.

And he’s not shy to tell you that you smell good, either – he’s always praising you in bed, but he’ll murmur to you that you smell divine, the compliment sounding throatly and groaned, and he’ll always finish it off by pressing soft, adoring kisses around the junctures of your thighs and pelvis, making sure every inch of space has been touched by his lips.

(And he gets very, very into it, too – he’s groaning lightly against your skin, letting his lips linger, letting his tongue come out to rub at the skin of your inner thigh, sucking slightly and letting go with a wet plop sound that makes your face feel hot and your stomach twist. It’s often at this point that he’ll wind up unconsciously very slowly grinding against whatever object is available, often the blankets you’re resting on and even sometimes your leg when he’s feeling especially needy, often when he’s returned from a prolonged mission. On those rare occasions, you may even feel something wet and very, very warm seep against your leg, hot cum already staining your skin and only serving as an omen for what Gyomei wants to do to you.)

He’ll trail kisses up to your clit, little kitten licks while he listens and gauges your reactions, trying to discover if you’re more in the mood for circles, figure eights, stripes, or – when a strange, unusual bout of possessiveness surges through him – the kanji for his own name.

(He’ll always grip onto you harder when he does this, still trying to be mindful of his strength, but with enough force to leave you completely immobile, utterly subject to whatever he wants to do to your body – a fact that both frightens him and excites some small, carnal part of him.)

He’ll station a thumb to work the pattern against you, rhythmic and steady, while his tongue darts out to dig between your folds, pressing shallowly into you while you twitch and whine, his thumb insistent against you. He’ll take his time to explore you, leaving no area untouched, and he’ll pull back with a few hearty sucks against your labia, licking his lips as he presses kisses against your stomach.

How would you like to come, my love? He’ll ask between kisses, the emphasis on the word ‘my’ subtle but still there. If you want to come solely from his tongue licking and sucking at you, he’ll be more than happy to – he’ll shift his positioning, laying on his back with you perched on his face, keeping his tongue stationary and instead moving you to the rhythm he knows you like, just so that all you have to do is sit there and take it, leaving your body completely in his control.

He’ll bring you to your high solely through sucking at your clit if you’d prefer, puckering his lips and keeping the pressure up, running his tongue over the sensitive skin and keeping them attached even when you buck up, your hips moving uncontrollably as you near your orgasm.

He’ll do both, if you want, able to multi-task and keep everything exactly as you like it, desperation motivating him because he needs to feel you come for him, to feel the way you muscles clench and spasm around him, to hear your pretty cries and feel your fingers dig against his scalp, pulling and yanking and making him groan lowly at the pain-twinged pleasure.

He just loves to please you really, and he can spend hours between your legs – genuinely, and without a single complaint. He’ll bring you a single orgasm or twenty, whatever you want of him, all you have to do is sweetly ask, to say his name and say please Gyomei, need another one, you feel so good and I want to come for you again all the while you grind against his tongue.

(If you really want to get him going, do all that and grab his free hand, slipping a finger or two into your mouth and sucking yourself, making sure it’s wet and sloppy and full of drool. He’ll pause for a mere second, before swallowing hard and immediately diving into your cunt, motivated because oh god, you never use your mouth on him – his own instigated rule, simply because he’s terrified he’ll choke you and kill you should he lose control and thrust down your throat. But this? Oh, perhaps he does have a penchant for your mouth, too, the oral fixation extending both ways and leaving him dizzy and light headed because even your fucking mouth is perfect, all warm and wet and smooth, making his cock leak so much precum that he idly wonders if he’s undergoing a single long, drawn-out orgasm because of the sheer volume.)

And Gyomei will be eager for the entire time he’s between your legs, keen to take you in any position – you laying down, from the back, you sitting on his face, anything that feels right – in any setting. He just loves the way you taste – how it’s so earthy, heavy against his tongue, natural in a way that makes him desperate for more, finding himself craving the taste at the most inopportune of times.

 (Thank god for the looseness of the uniform pants – you can notice the tent in them, of course, with just how often he’s sporting an erection in your presence, but this way his fellow slayers won’t notice – which is good, because as your sexual relationship progresses, it’s a near daily basis that a passing thought of your taste hits him, literally making him salivate and having to leave the room briefly.)

He just really, really likes using his mouth on you, and he won’t hesitate to offer himself up at even the slightest change of you wanting it. Even the slightest chance.

Praise

He’s not terribly vocal in bed, but when he speaks he makes it count.

His natural sounds during sex are much more controlled – he’s always letting out these long, shaky exhales, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawing tight because fuck you feel good. He’ll groan your name and often hiss lightly through his teeth, soft little ah-ah sounds falling from his lips when you’re sucking on him just right and riding him with the rhythm and angle he likes best.

And yet, he was very, very quiet at the beginning of your sexual relationship – only breathing heavily and giving you a slurred, rushed I’m coming right before so much cum is stuffed up into your cunt that you’re literally leaking around his still-hard cock inside of you. He was quiet mostly because he didn’t want to turn you off by letting out some of the more intense noises, groans that start low but turn into this higher, whinier sound, or chants and mantras of your name like a prayer when he’s gently rolling his hips into you, every muscle in his body clenching in an effort to restrain himself and not absolutely pound into you like he so desperately wants to.

He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but as he grows more familiar with your body and your sexual preferences, Gyomei finds that complimenting you seems to fall naturally off his tongue.

He already thinks of you as perfection in human form, idolizing you to such a degree that he knows it’s unhealthy but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s never seen your face, of course, but he’s sure that  you’re beautiful, fingers having groped and traced out every feature of your face, every slope and curve of your body (even the inside of your body, too, of course) more times than he can count.

And before he knows it, all sorts of praises are filling the wet, thick air between you as he fucks into you – his voice is still low and timbered, the vibrations making shivers shoot up your spine and your nipples harden up, his strained praise of you take me so well, love only serving to get you going faster, grinding and scooping your hips more aggressively and feeling the way he sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up underneath you.

A lot of his praises focus largely on your performance during sex – always complimenting you for the way you feel, telling you that you feel like heaven and that you’re perfect and that you’re everything I’ve been dreaming of quietly under his breath the first time he carefully, almost fearfully cups your tits in his hands, squeezing gently and waiting pointedly for your response, forcing himself to not cave and squeeze as hard as he can.

He’s complimenting parts of your body, too – telling you that your skin is so soft, that your lips taste so good, that your ass is so warm and perfect to grip onto while you’re riding him. Of course, not in such vulgar terms – he only gets crude when he’s right on the brink of orgasming, some of his more lewd, risque thoughts coming to life because fuck fuck fuck it’s like you’re milking him for everything he’s worth, cunt sucking him in so tightly that he thinks he might die and oh god oh god oh god –

Even then, it’s still nothing terrible, but he’ll switch out some of the sweeter terms for cruder ones, calling it a cunt rather than your warmth or something equally virginal, really.

(Which makes sense, considering that it’s extremely obvious the first time that you touch him that he is in fact a virgin, his startled little gasps at every touch even against his torso leaving some sort of power trip rushing straight to your head because while he’s this hulking, huge, powerful man, you have him crumbling with a simple brush of your index finger, every muscle in his body flexing so hard it nearly hurts when you lick at his tip for the first time.)

Instead of asking you with a rather polite please go faster, angel when he needs you to bounce on him at a quicker pace, he’s throwing his head back a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing as he clutches onto you, losing his composure and telling you that you feel so – so good, oh keep going, don’t stop, you’re making me so close to coming – please tell me I can finish inside of you…

Which brings up another major aspect of his praise kink – Gyomei always seems to be asking for permission, even borderline begging at times. It doesn’t read as begging often, though, simply because he's still the one in control most of the time, even if you’re on top or dictating the pace. But he’ll always slip in a please, or bite his lip and wait for you to give him permission, managing to stave off his orgasm long enough to hear you moan out a yes, please come inside me, and suddenly he’s calling you beautiful and clutching onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, cum spraying into you and leaving you squirming because you can feel just how hot it is and just how much there is.

During his orgasms he’s particularly vocal, not to an exaggerated degree but always babbling in that deep, groaning voice that gets high at the very end about how you’re perfect, how you take him so well, how you’re made for him, how he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you –

He genuinely finds you to be perfect, and every sexual encounter with him will leave you uncomfortably aware that he feels this way. He’s always complimenting you, and due to his lack of vision, the compliments are often extremely specific and leave you more puzzled than flattered.

He’s telling you that you’re the perfect size for him (this is often size closer to his orgasm, when he’s marveling and unable to fathom just how fucking tight you are around him), that you smell like how he’s always imagined (followed with a loud, audible sniff that’s trailed off with a moan, his voice higher than normal), that you’re so soft and squishy (this is always punctuated by particularly hard thrusts if he’s fucking you, and he’ll bury his face against the warm skin of your neck, hands groping at any fatty, squishy part of your body in a frenzy that’s rather uncharacteristic of him).

He just finds that while he’s normally able to stay composed and can be judicious about just how much he reveals he knows about you when he’s not touching you, the moment your skin comes into contact with his, a bit of his judgements flies out the door, instead focusing on the way you feel, how he’s been dreaming about this moment for months, guiltily wringing his cock dry at the mere prospect of getting to touch your used clothing, of getting to hear you breathing in his ear while he thumbs at his tip and lightly squeezes his balls.

You’re just so, so damn good – and in those moments where his admiration and obsession with become dangerously on display, you’ll feel equal parts disturbed and flattered, because really isn’t it just so damn pathetic that you’re able to turn such a large, important, strong man into a groaning mess that’s holding onto you for dear life with just a grind of your hips and a few well-timed, sultry phrases in his ear? Pathetic, sure, but also erotic, sexy in a way that scares even you for feeling it.

But Gyomei can’t seem to care, unable to stop himself form laying on the praise thick, not even conscious that he’s doing it – you just affect him that much.

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

Most of the time, Gyomei assumes a more dominant role in bed. He doesn’t really adhere to the dominant and submissive roles per say, but it’s rather because he holds so much power over you outside of the bedroom that it naturally follows between the sheets. You’re his captive, after all, and while you’ve slowly come around to him, perhaps even returning his feelings in some sort of deranged way, Gyomei is still undeniably the one in charge in your relationship.

So while he’s not shoving your face into the mattress and mounting you like some sort of animal staking his claim on you (though if you begged him hard enough, he might consider maybe doing something along the lines, but significantly toned down and with a constant question of is this alright, my love asked before each and every motion), between his size and his aura you’ll often find at the start of your sexual relationship that you’re following his lead, doing what he wants to do.

And this bothers Gyomei – he doesn’t like the fact that you still feel a shadow of fear for him, obvious in the way that you look to him for guidance and approval during sex, even though you have at least as much experience as him if not more. It makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of the reality of your situation, something he wants to escape from when he’s being intimate with you.

He wants to think of you as wanting to be naked in his arms and kissing him rather than you having talked yourself into it simply because he’s the only human being you regularly have contact with now. And to remedy this, Gyomei does his best to let you dictate the timing of his orgasms. He has impeccable self-restraint and control, and while it’s not necessarily easy, he’s pretty adept at holding off his orgasms.

(It’s a lot easier to come on command, of course, simply because all he needs to do is focus on the feel of you under his palms and around his tongue or cock, listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your voice and he’s already halfway there, only needing a single, final push to get him groaning and letting go.)

And while he doesn’t explicitly say it at the start, you’ll notice pretty quickly that he only lets himself go when you beg him to, only warning you with a clipped I’m close to coming as a prompt for you to tell him to either hold it in or release.

You’ll soon figure it out, and Gyomei absolutely loves the power structure that forms when you finally understand what he’s trying to do. There’s something thrilling about letting go of his control and handing it totally over to you. No longer does he have to be the strongest, wisest, or most senior – no, now he can just be Gyomei, just be your lover, the man unequivocally whipped and subject to your beck and call.

It’s freeing, almost, and he looks forward to seeing what mood you’ll be in each time your clothing gets peeled off. He’s not sure which mood he likes most – there’s something arousing about the way that you tease him, denying him his orgasm over and over and over, leaving him pent up but still attentive to your words, following your instructions and holding himself back, even when you’re doing things you know drive him crazy.

(Like bouncing on him just right, the feeling of your ass clapping against his thighs making his mouth feel dry. Or when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply, and you go and wrap a leg around him, drawing him closer, begging him to finish inside but stopping him just moments before his release, telling him nuh-uh, not yet, you only get to come inside me when you’ve earned it. Or one of the rare times you’ve convinced him to let you take him in your mouth, teasing him with tracing his tip over your lips and collarbone, alternating between suckling at his tip and pushing your breasts together to rub up and down his length, narrating to him the whole time exactly what you’re doing. They all make his face go slightly red, his fists clenching up and the muscles in his arms bulging, veins standing out and leaving you to drool slightly, entranced that this behemoth of a man is listening to your words like gospel, forcing himself to be good and do exactly as you say. Even if you’re not an especially dominant person, there’s still something that’ll get you going about that, some sort of power trip that leaves you feeling light headed in the best possible way.)

The edging only serves to make his orgasm stronger, to make everything feel more intense, his eventual orgasm ending up being way more powerful, arcs of cum shooting from his swollen, red tip with such intensity that it feels almost painful against your skin.

(And he’ll finish wherever you tell him to, too – his preference is always inside of you simply because it feels the most intimate and it satisfies some small possessive side of him, but Gyomei will do whatever you want – you want him to finish on your chest? He’s painting your tits in white, droplets dripping from your nipples and drying in thick smears against your skin. Grab his hand and let his fingers feel over the mess he's made and he’ll lowly gasp, a smaller, less impressive spurt landing freshly on your chest, the feeling of his cum on you enough to get the last, sad little bit out. He’ll finish on your back, your ass, your stomach, your thighs, anything you want – just say the word and he’ll do it, eager to please you and make you enjoy your time with him, even if it means leaving his seed somewhere other than where it really belongs – inside you.)

But of course, Gyomei also loves the other side of you dictating his orgasms – that is, similarly to his ability to hold himself off, his refractory period is short. If you were to take advantage of that, you'll see him at the closest to pussydrunk you’ll ever get – make him come in quick succession, your hand steady and quick as you jerk him off, and you’ll see how the first orgasm is the familiar heavy load, the second is slightly reduced, the third even more so, and by the fifth orgasm he’s shooting blanks, abs clenching and unclenching so quickly that you almost feel bad for him, but the sounds he’s letting out are filthy. His normally low and masculine voice rises with each one, until he’s letting out something that isn’t quite a whimper but isn’t not one, either.

He loves the way you bleed him dry, your voice soothing and alluring even as you push him to the edge of his comfort zone, tears pooling in his eyes as you tell him to keep going Gyomei, I know you can give me another one, please give me another one paired with a wet, needy kiss to his lips.

You unlock all sorts of kinks and sides to him that he wasn’t aware even existed, and he’ll let you play with him as much as you please, eagerly setting down onto your shared bed, spreading his legs and helping guide you to your place in his lap, already rock hard below you.

He’s too big and powerful to be called pathetic, but he sure toes the line when you’re touching him, when you’re driving him absolutely insane.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

Though, only in very specific circumstances. By and large, Gyomei is painfully aware of just how extreme the size difference between the two of you is – and regardless of your height or weight, you are smaller than him. Small enough to make him worry constantly about accidentally hurting you, terrified that he’ll somehow crush you or bruise you or simply be too much for you. It’s his number one concern when doing anything sexual with you, worrying that even a single finger slipping into your cunt will make you squirm with more than just pleasure.

But by the same token, there’s something so inexplicably right about just how much bigger he is than you. It’s shameful, he thinks, and it makes him feel like some sort of freak for being attracted to the size difference, but it makes him feel stronger, more masculine, feeling like a true protector and provider for you because he can encompass your whole body simply by hovering over you.

And he’s reminded of it at every turn – his hand against your waist covers half the area, the skin soft and plush and warm underneath him, but he can feel the curve of your hip, the expanse of his hand just that much on your body. He can feel the way your fingers struggle to fully grab around his cock, fingertips barely touching even as you squeeze him tightly, and while it seems to frustrate you, Gyomei can only headily swallow, cock twitching in your hands because god, there’s no way that will fit inside of you, will it?

And yet as he swallows, oh so slowly eases you down as you straddle him, going slow and giving you ample breaks to adjust to his size, there’s something about the way he can feel you tremble, your cunt stretching to accommodate him that makes him fist at the sheets, struggling to maintain his composure.

(The warmth and wetness of your walls certainly don’t help his predicament, absolutely soaked and sensitive from the some three orgasms he’d already pulled from you in preparation.)

He’s cautious and terrified that he’ll hurt you, of course, and his concern for you weighs out over any sort of sexual pleasure he gets from the size difference, but it’s still present at the back of his mind, toying with him and begging him to just shove himself inside of you, to take a quick, harsh pace like his body is dying to, to use you as some sort of living cocksleeve for him to fuck into and fill up. He won’t ever do that, of course, but it’s one of the main motivations behind his deep, far-reaching thrusts, enjoying the way you gasp and claw at him when he’s nudged up right against your cervix, pressing and filling you to the point of you almost feeling that you’re being split in half.

He preps you well enough that you’re always able to just barely take him, too worried that he’ll hurt you otherwise, but he still can’t deny the allure of just how different your bodies are.

(And this extends beyond the bedroom, too – he loves the way you fit against his side when you cuddle against him, or how he has to lean down for you to press kisses against his face - something he absolutely adores and very does not mind leaning over for.)

It’s just sweet in his opinion, and while it gets blood rushing south more easily than he’d care to imagine, it ultimately only serves as another reminder that he needs to keep you safe and protected, that you’re too weak to survive in the real world without his aid.

(And, of course, some selfish part of him is satisfied with the knowledge that now that you’ve had him, you’d never be satisfied with another man’s cock, never able to feel the level of stretch and fullness that he can give you. Not that he’d allow you the opportunity to try with another man – he’s not terribly possessive, but the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, is enough to get his nostrils flaring, rage simmering through him because he absolutely does not want anyone else getting even remotely close to you in that capacity.)

Thigh Riding

Gyomei lives to please you in bed. Every sexual encounter with him sees your pleasure as the absolute priority – he’ll have pulled some three orgasms from you before he even thinks about reaching one himself, before he even really pays attention to the fact that he’s so hard he’s soaked the front of his pants through.

And he’s not picky about how to get you there – namely, Gyomei doesn’t mind being quite literally used for your pleasure, his every limb and feature available for your use. He’ll let you do whatever you want to him; bending him into all sorts of positions, giving him directions for how to finger your pretty cunt, laying down and letting you grind and hump at his face like he’s a mere pillow.

He loves to be of service to you, and he finds that the best sex is where he’s nothing more than a toy for you, at least at the beginning – hence, Gyomei grows to absolutely love having you ride his thigh. He’s huge, a hulking man with muscles so thick and defined that you’ll quite literally be drooling the first time you see them, sucking in a sharp breath when you touch him for the first time.

(And he’ll feel a mixture of pride and bashfulness grow inside him when he hears your little gasp – he’s overjoyed that you seem to like what you’re seeing and feeling, some small, anxious part of him having been terrified that you’d be repulsed by his size and the scars littering his body, that you’d find him to be too muscular, too intimidating. And you can tell, too, because the way that he visibly becomes harder afterward the gasp is a clear indication that you’re doing something to him, your mere presence and breathing getting him hard as a rock.)

He likes the physicality of the act – he keeps you steady on his thigh, the muscle large enough for you to straddle, and the feeling of your hands gripping onto his chest for support makes him oddly giddy.

 The first time it happens, Gyomei honestly isn’t sure what you’re trying to do - when you straddle his thigh rather than his waist, his lips part slightly, confusion evident across his features. But as your hips start moving, your exposed, wet cunt sliding against the toned, broad expanse of his thigh again and again, he’s suddenly grasping onto our hips, helping guide you up and down the length of his thigh, occasionally tensing his muscles in order to hear you gasp and cry out his name.

He wants to do everything he can to service you, to help you reach that wonderful high, and the only thing that’s rolling through his mind at that moment is how perfect you feel, the way his name slips from your lips as your body shakes in pleasure, how he can feel the pulses and clenches of your cunt even as you pick up the pace.

And when he snakes a hand down to thumb against your clit, he nearly comes from the sound that escapes you - it’s so wanton, so lewd and dirty but so fucking hot, and suddenly all he can think of is the repeated phrase of make her come, make her come, a mixture of desperation and determination leaving him frantically rubbing at your clit.

Gyomei will offer his thigh to you whenever you feel like riding it, and once you’ve finished, your body exhausted and laying down next to him, he’ll sneakily rub along the area where your slick has rubbed off onto his thigh, bringing his fingers up for a taste and groaning as your flavor coats his tongue, free hand reaching down to palm at himself, squeezing at his balls and shuddering. Gyomei can and will do anything to make you feel good in the bedroom, and he’ll never turn down the opportunity to see you fall apart on his thighs. 

(And if he’s feeling particularly needy or knows he’s leaving for a long mission away from you, he won’t bother to wash off his legs afterwards – he'll let your slick dry against his skin, wearing it like a sort of badge of honor, feeling connected to you as he slaughters demons even while you’re miles and miles away from him. It’s dirty, sinful, even, but it’s enough to keep him satisfied, to let him bear to be away from you while he does his duty. And yes, he’s running his fingers along the area occasionally and sniffing, his knees getting ever so slightly weak because the smell has the taste of you flooding his mouth, the sound of your moans ringing in his ears, even phantom touches of yours erupting all over his body.)

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyomei prioritizes your pleasure in the bedroom. He’s not a particularly sexual man, and so he views intimacy as being all about making sure that you enjoy it to the fullest extent possible – in many ways, he sees himself as merely a tool for you to use to reach your high.

(And if he happens to orgasm – which he always does when it’s you touching him – then great, but it’s not a necessity.)

And this is largely true – he really does want you to enjoy fucking him, and he’ll go to extremes just to make sure everything is as perfect as possible.

But Gyomei is only human, and as such he harbors a few fantasies that are entirely selfish, entirely about him – one of which develops by complete accident. He’s so terrified to hurt you that he’s constantly looking for ways to satisfy you without using his cock, because although he loves the feeling of your lips, fingers, or cunt wrapped around him (to the point that just thinking about it makes his composure falter ever so slightly, his jaw going a bit slack and his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly), he’s always concerned that it’ll be too big and you could hurt yourself if he fucks you with it.

And so, during the rare times he’d get off before he begins any semblance of a sexual relationship with you, Gyomei’s exploring alternative options.

And while it isn’t necessarily a way to help you get off, per se, he’d been idly gripping himself while thinking one evening, biting his lip and feeling awfully shameful of his actions but unable to bring himself to stop. He’d reached down further, sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully and delicately cupped his balls, idly squeezing and rolling them between his fingers.

But he must’ve been too deeply in thought, distracted by the idea of you, that his hand continued down, reaching and pressing against his skin, until a sudden, odd sensation made him pause, eyes going wide. He’s never even considered anything involving either your ass or his own, but at the single press of his fingers against his hole, the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest makes him feel a bit light-headed.

It’s dirty, taboo, and he hadn’t explored the thought any further that night simply because he was too embarrassed to have found it pleasurable, but it sticks around in the peripheral of his mind. There’s this ever-present question of what if, a sort of far-off fantasy that he toys with every once in a while, when he’s particularly needy and missing the feeling of your skin on his or your attention on him.

And the idea of you taking your time, worshipping his body and guiding him through a new, pleasurable experience makes more than just his cock swell, because there’s something so loving and calming about it, and letting himself be vulnerable in that way is something he hasn’t done for years – something he can’t afford to do, no matter how wonderful it sounds.

Of course he’d never, ever bring up the idea to you for two reasons – it bothers him a bit that you wouldn’t be getting any direct pleasure or stimulation out of it, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that he wants you to touch his ass, afraid that you’ll find him disgusting or flatly reject the idea. He'll keep quiet about it, and if you were to bring it up, you’ll see the way he subtly perks up, body tensing as he swallows, telling you that you don’t have to, I understand that you may not wish to.

But if you’re insistent, and you see the way it affects him, Gyomei will be putty in your hands – you can do anything to his ass, and he’ll take it so well, the only sign that you’re affecting him being the small, barely-there moans leaving his lips, a slight flush across his cheeks, and the copious, copious amounts of precum oozing from his swollen tip.

So really, play around – he’ll never request it, but it’ll only make his feelings for you grow stronger, his desperation and dependence on you growing because only you can make him feel this way.

“Gyomei, I want to try something new tonight.” You start, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He’s got you straddled in his lap, large hands resting on your hips and his back leaning against the near wall. At your words, he nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Anything you wish, angel.” His voice is low, deep, excited in a way that you can ever so slightly pick up on.

You take a deep breath, leaning up to whisper into his ear as you brace yourself on his chest. “Gyomei, I want to touch you. All of you.”

His hands lightly squeeze at your sides. “You have all of me, you know this. I am all yours, and you can do whatever you please with me.”

You laugh slightly and it makes Gyomei shiver, his grip tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. “No, I want to touch you where I haven’t before – somewhere new.”

You reach back and grab one of his hands, guiding it to press against your clothed ass, his index fingers landing on the indent between your cheeks.

Gyomei gulps. He’s silent for a moment, mind racing, but the semi-hardness underneath you throbs at your words, and you only smile as he shakily exhales, murmuring an “Are you sure?”

Carefully taking his earlobe between your teeth, you grind down onto him, your thumb finding his nipple over the fabric of his top. Humming, you let go of his skin with a kiss, telling him, “Yes, please… lay on your front for me, please Gyomei.”

Which leads to where you are now, with your big, strong captor laying on his front, arms kept tucked at his sides. This angle makes his muscles stand out, his sculpted back and the definition of his thighs nearly making you drool. And of course, the tan skin of his ass, muscular enough to make you grab handfuls of each cheek and spread them apart to get a good look at him. Coarse black hairs dabble over his skin, and Gyomei finds himself oddly self-conscious as he feels you staring. He’s laying with his head to the side, his breathing still a little quick, and he waits with baited breath for you to do something, to say something, anything.

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is to feel your soft lips press against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, making him jerk ever so slightly and stiffen up under your touch. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin as you kiss a trail down from his tailbone to his thigh, the hardness of his muscles never ceasing as you continue.

“Gyomei,” you whisper against his skin, “relax for me, please. I want to take care of you.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be less tense, only slightly shifting under the weight of your lips. You smile at that, planting another kiss. “So good f’me.”

That gets something small and uncharacteristically high sounding from low in his throat, but you don’t comment on it.

Your thumb comes down to press softly against his puckered hole, and Gyomei sharply inhales at the sensation, immediately clenching and shaking slightly at the feeling of you increasing the pressure, just idly rubbing circles over it.

The way you retract your hand without warning almost makes Gyomei grunt, confusion and disappointement contorting his face, but then your thumb is returning, something warm and sticky coating your thumn, and suddenly you’re pushing in, further and further until you break past the tight ring of muscle, Gyomei’s breath goes ragged because it feels strange –

It feels good, though, and as you settle in to your first knuckle, his toes curl slightly, the sensation odd but not unpleasant.

“How does it feel, Gyo?” You ask, pressing more kisses along his back and squeezing at his ass. He can’t quite answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your thumb inside him. Smiling, you lightly nibble at the skin of his lower back. “Know what I’m using for lube?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get used to the feeling.

Pressing your thumb just a hair further, you smile at the way he jolts, thigh muscles tensing hard enough to see visible definition. “It’s me, seeing you like this is making me wet enough that I’m using my own slick to prep you…”

That gets Gyomei groaning, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath him, but audible nonetheless. His cock’s painfully hard, pressed up against his stomach, and he can feel the wet pool of precum already staining his skin and the fabric of the sheets below him.

Humming, you press another inch or so in, curling your finger slightly and listening the way his breathing changes, trying to identify what he likes most.

“So pretty, Gyomei,” you start, and his eyes snap open when he hears the familiar sound of your fingers sinking into yourself, the small sigh you make only making him clench around your thumb and his cock throb underneath him.

Your thumb’s all the way in now, and as you slowly, shallowly begin thrusting it, you time it with your own pumps inside. “I’m fucking myself at the same pace as you, that way it’s like we’re together.”

Your voice makes him melt, and as you angle your thumb just right, a gasp tunnels its way through him, ripping him apart and making his hips jerk forward, humping at the sheets below him.

You smile. “There, huh?”

And immediately you’re abusing the spot, pressing tightly against it and rubbing it in a hithering motion, Gyomei’s hips twitching wildly at the feeling. He’s chanting your name under his breath as the pleasure begins mounting, eyes shut again and eyebrows drawn tight.

He’s embarrassed, truly, because even something as small as your thumb has him falling apart like this, desperation lacing his movements because this is building up to be a different feeling from his normal orgasms, something entirely different that makes his whole body tense up and stutter, a muffled groan sound, “It-It’s coming – “

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

[kodeeffa]

Now, isn’t this better?

Isn’t it better to be in front of the mirror and be able to know that your inner self has made its way out and what you’re now looking at is who you always wanted to be? You’ve tried your best to hide it deep down, but it was bound to come out at some point. Your late night snacking, secret meals, and outright gluttony days where you just had to let go for at least 24hrs. That belly couldn’t hide forever, no matter how many stretch marks you developed. Now those red stripes aren’t even limited to that ball of fat hanging off your torso though. They’ve made their way down your thighs and around your back, some even on your chubby little arms. Yessss, this is so much better. You wonder why you fought all these years to feel this good and free. The fat is so liberating and hot. You feel incredible and you notice that you’ve caught the eye of so many as the pounds are piling on. Some of those eyes are from people like me. People like me who want to help you grow even more massive and gluttonous. People like me and hogs like you go together like oxygen and fire. One feeds the other allowing it to grow hotter and hotter as it becomes more and more dependent on the other. There’s no extinguishing this flame, piggy.

[lilreidgirl]

Bad guy

Summary: Your ex boyfriend, Rafe, thinks he’s a tough guy so you have to put him back in his place, sort of

Warnings: MDNI(18+), oral (fem receiving), nipple play and boob groping, bloody nose and punching, switch!reader and Rafe, TOXIC reader and Rafe, very possessive, swearing, nicknames/name calling (angel, baby, big man, little bitch, etc…), very heavily inspired by bad guy cause I have writers block so I can only write things based off of songs…

WC: ~1.4k

A/N: Heyy guys!! Sorry, I disappeared, I’ll try posting more. But also first post of 2025!!!!

Fucking idiot.

That’s all that ran through your mind when you say the blood splayed out all over his white shirt and the guy you were just flirting with’s face. Red stained all over the sand under the boy’s nose, more and more liquid spewing from it by the second.

“Fuck!” The guy — you think his name was Jonathan or something — screamed, hand coming up to cup his broken nose. “I- I think it’s broken,” he whined, looking around at the people surrounding him with panic in his horse voice, “That motherfucker broke my nose!”

Just as he yelled out the wonderfully endearing term, your gaze fell on said “motherfucker” sneaking away, using the commotion of Jonathan’s screaming to slip away without being seen.

Motherfucker thought he was so smooth, huh?

You scoffed as you followed.

Soon Rafe had lead you both to a completely different bay, a small one almost no one knew about, one he had shown you on your second date.

“Rafe!” You called out his name as you caught up with him, watching as he immediately turned around, slightly feral looking eyes landing on your own.

“What the fuck was that?” You spat out. Of course, you already knew the answer; he got jealous when he saw you — his ex — flirt with another guy and lashed out. What more can one expect from a man, right?

“Oh, you’re asking me that? You’re the one who’s flirting with all these fucking men at parties like a fucking slut! You’re mine! Mine.” Your eyes studied the way he was staring at you, the expression on his face was one you could always recognise easily. The rage, the savagery, the insanity.

You used to be the one to calm him down, to slowly make that look fade away and blossom into a smile. The day you broke things off with him you promised yourself to never be the one to do it again. It wasn’t your responsibility.

“We broke up.” Your words carried a heavy weight with them, the weight crashing down on Rafe almost instantly.

“You belong to me.” He stated, a fire that seemed to have originated straight from hell burned behind his usually piercing blue eyes, now just a dark navy swimming amongst the shadows of the night sky and the calm ocean waves.

“Oh yeah? Think you’re so tough, huh?” You couldn’t have held back the chuckle that left you if you had tried which you definitely didn’t.

“Get on your knees.” Your voice ordered.

“What?” His mien shifted to one you couldn’t quite read.

“C’mon, big man, you heard me.” The tone of your voice was taunting and you couldn’t help but smirk at the way it felt to say it.

“Get. On. Your. Knees. Now.”

With an undercurrent of hesitation, he sank to his knees, bare skin of his shins hitting the sand as he squatted down in front of you.

His eyes travelled down your body, clad in a black bikini and white shorts. The marks he had left on your delicate skin when you were together still slightly present, little pink spots placed where dark hickies once lay, tiny crescents of his nails dug into your thighs, memories of bruises on your knees from all the times he’d made them scrape down onto the ground.

The gawking at your body didn’t go unnoticed by you. You leaned down, bending your knees under you, ass resting on your ankles so that you were eye level with him.

“You always were rough, weren’t you?” Your fingers glided over the slightly rough area of your joints. “Just couldn’t get enough?”

It was obvious that the questions were rhetorical yet he still answered with a short and eager nod.

As a cruel grin grew on your lips, you took hold of Rafe’s hand and guided it behind you. Like clockwork he promptly tugged at one of the strings connecting the bow that was keeping your bikini tight around your chest.

The flimsy piece of swimwear dropped to the ground, covering the little sandy surface that now lay under it.

“You’re so fucking stunning, angel,” he praised, the nickname making you huff away a suppressed laugh.

His large hands reached up, slim fingers skimming over your smooth mounds.

“You sure you wanna do this, baby?” You asked.

“God, yes.” One of his hands enclosed around your right breast, squeezing gently while the other pinched the nipple of your left breast between his fingers, rolling over it with his thumb.

Straightaway your head fell back in pleasure, breaths coming out in small pants as you questioned, “Yeah? Once we start this again, it won’t end.”

To your ears it sounded like a threat, it possibly actually was, but to Rafe’s? He was convinced it was the best promise ever made to him.

“Please.” He sounded desperate and you absolutely loved it.

“Stupid.” You muttered under your breath, unsure if Rafe had heard the whispered comment or not.

“Don’t you see what I do to you, Rafey?” Your fingers clipped into his blonde hair, tugging you closer together as your ass rose from your ankles.

“Your mommy fucking hates me, your sister avoids me at all costs, your friends think I’m crazy and I’d quite literally fuck your daddy if he let me.” A loud whisper left him as you pulled him even closer, roughly shoving his face against your chest. Right away his mouth wrapped around your left nipples, his silken tongue flicking and tasting at your sensitive bud as he moaned.

“I’m the bad guy.”

With a brutal force you hauled his face away from your body and stared down at his eyes as they looked up at you with a hint of surprise.

“And you’re my little bitch, huh?” Your lips met each other in a heated, dark kiss as your hands cascaded all over each other’s bodies.

After a few seconds, when it seemed Rafe had finally come to his senses he jerked backwards, breaking the kiss.

“Don’t call me that.” He spat, anger snd disbelief costing his beautiful features.

“I can call you whatever I want.” You snapped back, dominate overtaking your tone.

Instantaneously Rafe grabbed your thighs and in one fluid motion laid down on the sandy beach and yanked you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist.

“Acting like you can fucking order me around now, huh?” He questioned, eyes boring into your face.

“Outta teach you a lesson.” Was the last thing he said before he turned you around to face the same direction as him and tugged down your shorts and panties, stripping you of all your clothes, before dragging you to hover over his face.

Shaky exhales left you as you felt his hot breath hit your bare core.

“Rafe…” you whined as your hands settled on his shirtless upper body, nails digging into his pecs.

“Shh, angel, just let me take care of you, okay?” Before you could even think about answers he found respite between your supple thighs, his hands tainting your body, kneading and bruising at your soft skin while his rough, curling tongue laps over your soppy cunt.

With loud moans and whines ripping through your body, you dragged your fingers from his bare chest to his neck, wrapping your hands around his throat, feeling his tongue stutter against your clit which made an even more forceful groan escape you.

“Fuck, Rafe!” Your hands tightened around his neck, grinding your sex down onto his nose and mouth. “I’m gonna come!”

Your words made his actions even more vigorous and soon you were reaching your high, moaning his name as he tongue-fucked you through your orgasm.

After the trembling of your legs had slightly calmed down you collapsed forward, resting against his torso.

You felt a small kiss be placed on your sensitive clit, making your body jolt and cry out.

When you’d felt you’d rested enough you got up, quickly grabbing your bikini and shorts and putting them back on.

Rafe sat up and watched you get clothed again, ruffling his hair to get a bit of the sand out.

“So… does this mean we’re back together?” He asked.

“Uhh…”

@emma-e-a

[chososbabymama]

Boyfriend!Sukuna who has a habit of saying ‘no’ when you ask him to do something as he immediately gets up to do what you asked.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who buys your pitbull a thick gold chain, ‘so the other dogs at the park take her seriously.’

Boyfriend!Sukuna who SWORE he wasn’t interested in your silly little tv shows but sits with you every Sunday to watch South Central Baddies.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who has a habit of chewing on things (bottle caps, pen caps, straws, etc.) so you buy him flavored toothpicks after he chewed the bottom of your favorite pen.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who bought you a huge bouquet of flowers because he knew you’d been feeling depressed the past couple of weeks and he missed seeing you smile.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who openly expresses his love for the way you handle Yuji, treating his nephew more like a son (Yuji definitely calls his uncle ‘dad’, and it makes both of you beam with joy each time).

Boyfriend!Sukuna who took great pleasure in being able to provide for you, taking you on trips, paying for your hair, treating you to dinner. In his mind, it was his way of saying thank you for taking care of him and being there . Always making sure Yuji was taken care of, doing the grocery shopping, not to mention you doing your own work for graduate school, Ryomen Sukuna would be a fool to not show you how much he valued you and your efforts.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who doesn't care to impress your folks. He knew he was a brash man, a little rough around the edges, that he wasn't the type of person your parents imagined you'd end up with. It'd taken 4 shots of Tito's and winning gin rummy against your father for them to start opening up to him (your favorite part of that night was when they'd decided to do a duet and sing I Like It by DeBarge)

Boyfriend!Sukuna who remembers your first date, how nervous he was sitting across from you that night. The poor man had spilled his glass of water all over himself because he was so nervous (he’ll deny it was nerves and claim the waiter bumped the table), accidentally stepped on your toes under the table (several times), and even caught part of his jacket sleeve on fire from reaching over the tables candle. What broke him was when he tried buying you flowers on the way home to try and make up for it, you BOTH were horrified to see hives suddenly break out on your skin and find out through a late night ER trip that your were allergic to that specific flower. Sukuna wont admit this either but he cried like a baby in your hospital room and again when you talked later and said you still wanted to go on a 2nd date with him (appalling luck aside, the date went extremely well).

Boyfriend!Sukuna who likes to bite you. He’ll be lying on your stomach while you use his back to read your book, when you first feel him start to suck on your tummy you don’t think much of it. As soon as you feel teeth you move your hands and look down to see your boyfriend with your tummy LITERALLY in his mouth, wide red eyes boring into yours as if you weren't essentially being used as a chew toy.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who'd gotten your name tattooed around his ring finger after your 7th date.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who was more excited than you when building your first pillow fort, arranging several pillows and blankets around you both to make a nest of sorts (he wasn't at all amused when you'd asked him if his omegas heat instincts were kickin in)

Boyfriend!Sukuna who feels the square velvet box burn a hole in his pocket. His fingers drum against the table anxiously as he watches you play with Yuji, wondering if you wanted the same things he did. But suddenly, you and his nephew turn in his direction. You’d taken one of Yuji’s hands and waved it his way, both of you having wide smiles on your faces as you giggle and tell the young boy to, “say hi to big grumpy!” At that moment Sukuna knew there was no way in hell he'd let another day go by without putting a ring on your finger.

Husband!Sukuna who watches you and Yuji make a house for the gingerbread family in the kitchen. He watched with adoring eyes as the boy in your arms picks up 3 gingerbreads, all decorated differently. With a wide, toothy grin Yuji proudly shows them to the tall man; declaring that, "dad! dad! guess what? it looks just like us! Do you like it?" The pink frosting smudging both of your cheeks, hair being held back by silly cartoon headbands, the fondness Sukuna felt for the both of you. He made his way to the kitchen island, wrapping an arm around your waist and the other to ruffle his boys hair before pressing a kiss to the crown. Nodding and gazing at you both with adoration, he coos out a sweet "Yeah little guy, I fuckin love it."

[courtneedsleep]

The Way of the HouseBoyfriend: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Synopsis: in which you persuade your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, to play househusband with you for just one day. It’s going to a breeze because he’s good at everything—or so he thinks. Perhaps he had underestimated the way of the househusband. Word count: 2.2k Content: fluff, suggestive, crack, domesticity, thirst traps, kisses, female reader

“Just try it, Satoru. Just one day as my cutie houseboyfriend!”

Satoru Gojo was screwed, and not in the way he wanted to be with you on top of him. Turns out, being the honored one, the strongest sorcerer in history, meant he had little time at home to do the laundry, clean, and make proper meals.

The time supposed to be spent for chores was spent on you: he would never neglect you, ever. He’s always there for planned dates, always there for snuggles and kisses, always there for you, only you, by the end of the night. He’d do his best to take care of you in his own particular way. If you don’t feel like cooking that night, he’d bring home fried chicken or Chinese take out. While you would wash the dishes, Satoru would dry them with his Infinity in the blink of an eye (and complain that you were too slow, annoyed that you should be giving HIM the attention and not those damn dishes).

His workarounds were… passable, for the most part. You were so, so, so understanding. Truly. You knew that at times, you’d have to step up to maintain your little world with Satoru while he was out there kicking ass in the outside world. But by the sixth time Satoru stains your white blouse, you snapped.

“How many times do I have to tell you to NOT mix the darks and whites,” you gritted out. You were sick and tired of bleaching your shirts over and over again despite Satoru’s protest that he could just buy you more. “No, Satoru, it doesn’t work like that! It’s not resourceful and not good for the environment,” you’d answer back for the nth time. Enough was enough. Today is the day you’d train this menace your lovely partner the way of the houseboyfriend.

You clasp your hands eagerly together. “Who knows, if you do above and beyond, I might even promote you to househusband.”

Now that catches Satoru’s attention. His heart is beating two times faster, pumping blood straight down to his—

“Be my wife,” Satoru blurts out. Any conscience of thinking before acting is defenestrated whenever he’s with you. Just the idea of being tied to you, sincerely and forever yours, sends him into a mental frenzy. He wipes away the drool pooling at the corner of his lips with his sleeve.

You lift his blindfold up just enough to look at him in the eyes. “Maybe,” you tease with a wink that makes him throb, both in his heart and his d—. “You have to earn it though. And you do that by completing everything on the list I so kindly made for you.”

buy vegetables, tofu, and chicken

wash the windows (they’re so dusty!)

do the laundry—DO NOT MIX COLORS, I REPEAT, DO NOT MIX COLORS

fold the laundry <3

cook rice

You don’t trust Satoru to make dinner yet. Okay, technically he CAN cook (instant ramen), but that doesn’t mean he was GOOD at it. Satoru would often get distracted and end up burning the meal.

“Psh, that’s it? Baby, it’s only six things, it can’t be that hard. If this was all it took to be your husband, then I would have done it earlier!” Satoru boasts.

“That’s the thing. You should’ve done it earlier without any incentive or me telling you to do so.” Those words tug on Satoru’s heartstrings while simultaneously igniting a fire in him. He wants to be a perfect boyfriend soon-to-be husband, and he is going to prove to you that he is the one for you.

“Oh god, I have to have you,” Satoru murmurs and leans in for kiss. He whines when you stop him, hands cupping his face in place.

“Baby, my dude. Did you even hear what I just said?”

“I’ll be your perfect househusband everyday from now on. Won’t ever disappoint you again.” Satoru puckers his lips. He wants a kiss.

“Yes, yes, Satoru. I have to go to work now. When I get back, I expect the house to be nice and tidy and the rice to be cooked.”

You lean in to give him a short and sweet goodbye kiss. Satoru is hungry though. He likes the “sweet,” but not the “short.”

“One more.” Demanding, much? You shake your head. One more which means two more which means ten more. If you give him an inch, he will take a mile.

“I’ll give you so much when I come home from work. I’ll see you later, my sweets! Or should I call you my houseboyfriend?”

Satoru groans when you leave. Of all days, you just had to be working when he gets a day off. No matter. By the end of today, he will be your official househusband.

. . . . . . . . . .

Satoru was off to a good start, for he acquired the chicken breasts. The first time, his meany girlfriend smacked him on the butt for getting fried chicken the last time he was sent off on an errand. He thought that the love of his life would be too exhausted to cook when she got home from a long day of work... but he didn't take into account he had brought home fried chicken the past three nights!

The second time, Satoru actually did his job and brought home chicken breasts. He was going to take matters in his own hands (not a good idea) and make a "marry me" chicken to express his infinite adorations for her.

Except… it even possible to candy a chicken?

Satoru seasoned thoroughly on behalf of Gordon Ramsay's YouTube advice. Except that more-than-generous pinch of salt was not salt, but sugar! Not that Satoru could tell the difference, for he grabbed the first jaw he saw with mysterious white powder inside. Satoru ignored the dark brown crust of caramel on the outside, convincing himself it was just the pan’s fault.

He THOUGHT he was being smooth, sneaking a candy ring in between the butterfly cut of the chicken. But you couldn't even make it past the first bite, nonetheless reach the center of the chicken where the hidden gem lay. Hence, severe kitchen restrictions were set in stone on that faithful day.

Now, all that's left for Satoru to buy are tofu and vegetables.

Do potato chips count as vegetables? Ooh, sour cream and jalapeño-flavored chips! Jalapeño counts too, right? Satoru shrugs and tosses it in the shopping basket. Maybe, he should get at least one vegetable that isn’t processed so his partner won’t yell at him.

He spots a big-ass carrot, finding its size and shape comical. It’s definitely big, but surely not as big as his d—

BUY FOUR GET THE FIFTH ONE FREE!!

Ohohoho, just what his girlfriend needs: tofu! How could he miss that golden deal? Without hesitation, Satoru loads his basket up with ten packs of tofu. According to his calculations, he’s getting two packs for free! Not that it matters, because he can buy all of the tofu in this store and it wouldn’t make a dent in his bank account. But doesn’t it feel so gratifying knowing his lover will be so proud of him for saving money?

Satoru proudly struts out of the grocery store but there’s a feeling that’s gnawing at him, nagging him that he’s forgetting something. No matter; he’d make it up by getting lots of sweet treats for his dearest sweetheart (as if, Satoru wouldn’t finish all of the desserts first by the end of the week). Satoru mindlessly struts through the store, grabbing whatever he sees “necessary” to stock the pantry.

Chocolate cookies were a classic. He couldn’t forgo edamame-flavored mochis. Olive oil ice cream might pair nicely with that. He sighs as he begrudgingly tosses in a box of oatmeal raisin cookies that he knows his girlfriend likes, even if he deems it only for the ‘oldies.’

. . . . . . . . . .

Satoru Gojo does not want to clean windows. He wants you: to see you, to talk to you, to feel you. But noooo, he's stuck scrubbing these dusty motherfuckers. He NEEDS to spice things up a bit. He wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without a little mischief.

Satoru props up his phone on the counter and peels off his shirt. Oh, he knows he is the package, from those defined planes for tits to that teasing v-line dipping down down down... He lubes his abs with a generous amount of dish soap to create a glistening ✨ sheen ✨ so that the light will reflect off his abs.

Except the lighting was terrible! The ceiling lights were not doing his six pack justice. Satoru opens the window but to his dismay, his blonde-haired neighbor who just wants to take out the trash in peace catches him shirtless and red-handed with a bottle of dish soap in hand. Satoru waves even though sees his neighbor’s shoulders shrug up and down in a heavy sigh.

‘Oh well. Nanami’s lucky to have such a view anyways.’

Satoru presses record and films excess dish soap dripping down his apps and just right before it wets the waistline of his pants, he scoops it up with his fingers and smears it against his pecs because of the tease he is.

“You’re missing out, baby~” Satoru winks. “This househusband has been a good boy washing the windows, and now he’s waiting for you to come home.”

He smooches the camera and presses send.

(Poor poor Nanami stayed to witness his shenanigans.)

Why are you washing the windows with dish soap??? What the hell? Satoru, use Clorox wipes instead. What a waste… *sigh*

I can hear your signature sigh from miles away. It’s not a waste if it’s me 🙃😉

You send three photos to Satoru: the first of you shaking your head in disapproval, the second of you blowing him a kiss, and the third of you licking the whipped cream of the parfait Satoru packed for you for lunch off your finger. Satoru groans loudly as a bolt of heat is shot straight down past his soapy abdominal to his pelvis. He zooms in to your puckered lips wrapped around that little finger of yours, imagining what it would be like if it was something else… something bigger instead.

Excuse poor little Satoru for acting like a dog in heat. He can’t help it! Every little cute thing you do puts him in heat, and Satoru can’t control how his body reacts. It isn’t his fault that you aren’t here so he could show you just how much you affect him. He can’t resist the temptation, whimpering as he slides a hand down to touch the heat radiating from his pants. He should probably close the windows first.

The windows slam shut with a sharp bang, and Satoru manspreads on the couch with a hand between his legs. The picture will have to do for now…

. . . . . . . . . .

The garage creaks open, and Satoru gasps awake. For the past few hours, he was busy... taking care of some... assets... and quite literally passed out to the thought of you. Despite that his body is sticky and his mouth is dry, Satoru bolts up excited to greet the joy of his life.

Holy shit, she’s home!

…

Holy shit, she’s home.

Holy shit, I forgot to do the laundry.

And the rice.

Satoru has five more seconds to act before he gets his ass whooped. Well, more like two seconds because he spent the first three seconds panicking what he should do until he remembered that he's the strongest sorcerer in history.

In 0.05 seconds, he speeds upstairs and shoves the dirty heap of clothes on the floor into the closet, slamming the doors shut to prevent it from spilling out. He spends the next 0.05 seconds teleporting to his trusty neighborhood-friendly Nanami's house, stealing a bowl of freshly cooked rice. In the last second, he throws on an apron to pretend he's been hard at work... cooking rice in the rice cooker? No matter, it's fitting for a househusband who's ready to greet his wife.

The door opens, and Satoru immediately pounces. You are met with a faceful of cleavage, your face smothered with the sweet, slightly musty e s s e n c e of Satoru.

"I missed my wife!" He hugs you tightly.

"I missed my houseboyfriend," you choke out, air knocked out from your lungs. Satoru squeezes you tighter.

"Househusband," he corrects.

"Why are you only wearing an apron and boxers? Where's the rest of your clothes?"

"Because I'm seducing you." Lies. As if he didn't just wake up a few minutes ago. He just didn't have enough time to put himself together. "Is it working?"

"Mm, I'd say so." And you seal his lips with a kiss. "I gotta change out of work clothes, baby. Then I'll show you how to make fried rice."

Satoru gulps. Shit shit shit. He didn't anticipate this. He's about to stop you, but you're already making your way upstairs. He's prepared for you to scream his name but it's surprisingly quiet. Too quiet.

When you come down, you have a calm grin except the corner of your eye is twitching and that you are holding a sandal with a firm grip. A grip so tight that it was as if the sandal you were choking was Satoru's neck.

"Satoru Gojo. Love of my life. Sweetest bean. My dude. No laundry. Rice from a bowl we don’t even own. Dish soap on windows????" You smack the sole of the sandal against your palm. It was going to be a long light.

“Just wait until you see the tofu—” SMACK. If there’s one thing Satoru knew well, perhaps very well, about you, it’s that you never miss.

Houseboyfriend!Satoru was not promoted to househusband!, instead stuck as housedishwasher! for the rest of the week.