#on top of that (lol i know right?) my friends... *sigh*

[liesandspookyfairytales]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, but it's Price x reader x Gaz centered Word Count: 2.2k A/N: So this fic is inspired chapter 14 of @boolger's (our lesbian godmother) fic 'Adventures of 141’s Bunny'. Let me know if you guys want me to write a different one that's centered around SoapGhost of even with the entire taskforce.

Also, what do you guys think about the way I write smut? I don't have much experience so I'm a bit unsure lol.

Warnings: Smut, MNDI, 18+!

Comments, likes and reposts are greatly encouraged and appreciated!

For once, it was quiet at home. Simon had dragged Johnny out on a date for the two of them, John was in his office down the hall, doing paperwork and Kyle and I had cuddled up on the couch to watch a movie. The second we got home, he laid down on the couch and pulled me on top of him, acting like a weighted blanket. Soon after, Simon and Johnny had left and John disappeared into his office after kissing us both.

Kyle’s chest was a ridiculously comfortable pillow. I snuggled in deeper while engrossed in the movie, eager to see which love interest the main character would choose. Kyle’s hand started tracing down my spine, dipping under the hem of my (Simon’s) shirt before tracing back up to toy with the clasp of my bra.

I let out a pleased hum as the feeling and bring my hand up to run my fingers over the hem of the short sleeve hugging his biceps. Kyle chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and moves to kiss my forehead. I lift to look at him, loving the soft look in his eyes. Shifting to straddle his lap, I press my lips to his. Kyle groans as I bite his lip, pushing my tongue in his mouth to explore. His hands slide down to my hips, gripping them tightly to grind over his hardened cock.

Breathy moans spill from my lips as I enjoy the pressure on my core. Kyle kisses me again, moving his lips against my own. “I-I’m close,” I groan, pulling back to look at him. He’s close too, I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his panting. I begin moving my hips on my own, speeding up and pressing down harder.

Kyle’s head drops back to rest on the arm of the couch, baring his neck and giving me the perfect opportunity to attack the supple skin. I cum hard as I latch onto his neck, sucking, kissing and biting. My hips stutter, Kyle’s hands using my body to chase his own orgasm. The overstimulation is intense and I suck hard onto Kyle’s skin.

“Mommy-” he whimpers as he cums. The name doesn’t register right away, my brain hazy from the orgasm. But once my thoughts start to clear up, I sit back on his lap, looking at the panting man beneath me. “Did you just call me mommy?” I ask, heat coursing straight to my pussy.

Kyle flushes, shifting uncomfortably. “I did, didn’t I?” He looks away, clearly embarrassed. I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Why?” He cringes and makes himself as small as possible. I kiss him gently, “I’m not judging you love, I just want to know.” Kyle hesitantly meets my eyes and shrugs, “I don’t know,” he whispers. “You call Simon and John daddy when we have sex and I just- I don’t know, it felt right I guess?”

I hum, giving him a gentle smile and bringing my hands up to rest on his shoulders. I notice that his grip on my body slowly becomes more sure again. “Did you want to do it before?” He nods shyly and I tilt my head, “then why didn’t you do it?” He sighs, “before I met you guys, I was dating this girl… it slipped out once when we had sex and she freaked out, saying I was a creep and a pervert.” I scoff, feeling myself get angry at this mystery woman, “that’s ridiculous,” I tell him.

“Yeah… afterwards it turned out she told her friends and they started harassing me over it,” he admits. “They what-” my eyes widen. “That’s complete bullshit, what the fuck!” I exclaim, feeling angry at my boyfriend's behalf. I reach out to cup his cheeks, “don’t you ever believe that, okay? If you want to call me mommy, you better start doing that, got it?” He gives me a smile as he nods and leans into my hand, turning his head to press a kiss against my palm.

“I don’t think it’s wrong for you to be into that and I know that the others won’t think anything wrong about it either,” I reassure him as he still looks unsure. “Are you sure?” he asks and I nod firmly. He hesitates, “because I’ve kinda been wanting to call John and Simon daddy,” he admits. I blink at him for a second before smiling, “they absolutely love it when I call them daddy, so why wouldn’t they love it when you do?” I point out. He sighs, but agrees. I can see that his story still bothers him though.

“Now, tell me how I can take your mind off of that bitch and her bitchy friends.” Kyle hums as he thinks about it. “I want to fuck you,” he says and I nod, “we can arrange that-” “While daddy fucks me,” he shyly admits and I choke, causing him to recoil. I quickly grab him, “I thought that you calling me mommy was sexy, but fuck, you calling John daddy is a whole other level of sexy.” His eyes widen as he smiles softly.

I stand up, tugging Kyle with me as we make our way to John’s office. We push open the door when John tells us to enter. I stop in front of John’s desk leaning back against Kyle as he wraps his arms around me. “What is it?” asks John, looking up from his papers. “There’s something Kyle wants,” I say and I feel Kyle tense slightly. John hums and looks up at Kyle with a knowing smirk. “Well then sergeant, what do you want?”

Kyle whines softly, “John-” I tsk, interrupting him, “nonono, ask him the same way you asked me.” His whine turns louder and he buries his head in my neck. I can practically feel the heat of his flushed cheeks. He whines a soft “mommy” in my neck, soft enough that John can’t hear him. I place my hands over his, rubbing my thumb reassuringly. John stands and walks around his desk, stopping in front of us. “Use your words sergeant,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Kyle lifts his head slightly, looking at John from under his eyelashes. I squeeze his hand to encourage him. “I want you to fuck me, daddy,” he whispers, barely audible. John hums, surprised and with heat in his eyes as he encourages Kyle to continue. “I want you to fuck me while I fuck mommy,” he finally states, more confidant than before.

“Is that so,” John groans, “You want your daddy to fuck you while you fuck your mommy, huh?” Kyle nods eagerly. John turns to me, “well then, we better give our pretty boy what he wants do we?” “I think our pretty boy more than deserves it,” I respond. Kyle whines at the names, rutting against my back.

“Uhuh, we didn’t say you could do that, now did we?” John asks sharply. “No daddy,” Kyle whimpers. John hums as he tugs you out of Kyle’s arms and into his own, removing you as a barrier protecting Kyle. We both look at the man before us. He looks so pretty with blown eyes, parted lips and an obvious bulge in his pants.

“Mommy better take you upstairs then, right pretty boy?” Kyle nods eagerly and I take his hand, pulling him with me to the stairs. John follows close behind, his hand connecting softly with Kyle’s ass. Kyle eagerly follows into our bedroom before turning to look at us, waiting to be told what to do. 

“Sit on the bed, pretty boy,” John tells him. Kyle quickly obeys, faster than he would obey John’s command in the field. I crawl onto the bed and settle on my knees behind Kyle, stroking his chest. “I think daddy deserves some attention, don’t you?” Kyle nods eagerly. “Use your words pretty boy,” I chide. "Yes, mommy."

After giving Kyle the go ahead, he tugs John closer by his belt, widening his legs so the man can stand between them. John hardens at the sight of Kyle looking up at him with wide eyes and strokes his cheek. Kyle slowly undoes John’s belt and pants, tugging them down slightly before slotting his mouth over his clothed cock. John groans, raising his hand to cup the back of Kyle’s neck. I bend down to nip at his neck, grazing John’s fingers with my teeth.

After a bit Kyle pulls back to tug John’s boxers down with his teeth. As he takes John’s cock in his mouth, John’s hand shifts form Kyle’s neck to tug me up and kiss me. I hear Kyle moan as he watches us kiss, while sucking John’s cock. I whine as I feel Kyle’s shoulder grind into my clit. 

John moans loud as he cums down Kyle’s throat. He throws me back onto the bed and pulls Kyle off his cock, the younger man whining as he goes. “You take care of mommy okay? I’ll just get what I need to fuck you nicely.” As John turns away, Kyle is on me, tearing the clothes off my body while somehow simultaneously pulling off his own clothes. “Easy pretty boy, we’re not going anywhere.” I reassure him. Kyle just whines in response before latching his mouth on my nipple, while playing with the other.

I hear John moving around in the background before he appears behind Kyle, naked and with a bottle of lube in his hands. “Go on,” he encourages Kyle as he ruts against my thighs, “go make your mommy feel good.” Kyle obeys and slides his cock through my folds before sliding in. I groan at the feeling, never growing tired of the stretch and the burn when one of my lovers fucks their cock into me.

John stops Kyle from properly fucking me, making him hold still inside of me. “I got to prep you sweetheart.” He says as he lubes up his fingers, before pushing one into Kyle. Kyle moans and drops his head on my shoulder. “Daddy,” he whimpers and I shush him, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him still. “It’s okay, you’re so good for us,” John coos, moving his finger in and out, causing Kyle to moan as he adds another finger. 

The sound of Kyle moaning paired with John’s gentle words are intoxicating. The younger man's moans grow louder with each extra finger. Soon, John deems Kyle prepped enough and moves to lube up his own cock, before gently pushing in. Kyle shudders as John slides in, choked moans falling from his lips. John stills once he’s completely inside, giving Kyle time to get used to the feeling.

Once Kyle gives him the go ahead, John starts thrusting in and out, quickly building a rhythm. Kyle starts moving inside of me too, gently at first. I groan at the feeling of his cock dragging along my inner walls, still feeling a bit sensitive from my earlier orgasm.

Every time John thrusts in, Kyle gets pushed deeper in me. Kyle soon turns into a moaning mess, ‘daddies’ and ‘mommies’ falling from his lips like a prayer. I can feel his cock pulse and twitch inside of me and I clench down on him. He comes with a hoarse shout, collapsing on me, tears even falling as John fucks him through his orgasm. Kyle’s orgasm triggers my own, making my vision black out for a second. John continues thrusting despite Kyle’s protesting whimpers, chasing his own orgasm.

As he cums, he bends over, folding himself over Kyle’s back to press kisses between his shoulder blades before he kisses me. The three of us stay like that for a bit, coming back to earth after the intense orgasm. But too soon, John pulls away and out of Kyle, causing our pretty boy to whine. John shushes him gently, before he lifts the man to slide out of me too and settles him next to me.

Kyle immediately snuggles into me, like magnets drawn to each other. John gets up from the bed and disappears into the bathroom. As I cuddle with Kyle, I hear the tap running. John comes back with two warm cloths. He tends to Kyle first, gently cleaning him up while cooing softly at him. After he grabs the other cloth and turns to clean me up. I whine at the feeling of my sensitive pussy being touched, but John quickly finishes. He tosses the cloths into the bathroom, before settling in beside Kyle.

“You did so good for us, love,” I tell Kyle, who looks at me through hazy eyes. John hums in agreement as he spoons Kyle, leaning over him while rubbing his arm. “So good that you let mommy and daddy take care of you,” he murmurs. Kyle whimpers an ‘I love you’ before he falls asleep.

John and I stay awake for a bit longer, talking quietly before both of us fall asleep as well. None of us hear Simon and Johnny come home or see their disheveled appearance, or the way Johnny looks flustered and Simon’s smug grin. They quickly change into their sleep wear before settling in beside us, completing our group cuddle.

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 15

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5k+

Note: THANK YOU ALL so much for the love recently!!! i would like to say my plan for this series has uhhhh changed and gotten a lot longer. oops. I'm just having too much fun.

I'm also making a more conscious effort to make Will sound more northern and not... like me. lol.

xxx

It’s hot. I’m sweating, but I’m used to it. I mean, 28 degrees? Please. That’s barely warm enough to make me swap out a T-shirt for a tank top in Brisbane, much less make me act like the heat is out to get me.

Will, however, is acting like he’s being slowly roasted alive. Every few minutes, I hear him let out a dramatic sigh, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s in some action movie.

“It’s so hot,” he complains, again, standing by the car with his arms stretched out. “I’m melting man.”

I roll my eyes and grab a box of kitchen supplies. “Will, it’s 28 degrees. Get over it. You’ve lived through worse.”

He throws me a look, eyes half-closed, clearly trying to will the sweat off his brow. “You’re a freak. It’s like a bloody oven out here. How are you not sweatin’?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Mate, Brisbane summers? This is nothing. You’re just soft.”

He groans, but he keeps going, lifting a box into the car, his motions slow and exaggerated, clearly feeling the heat more than he’s letting on. “Swear down, you’re built different. Like—proper freak behaviour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, swatting him away a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Now stop complaining and help me get these boxes in.”

We fall into an easy rhythm, loading the car in relative silence, save for his occasional grumble about the weather and me offering completely unhelpful advice about drinking more water or manifesting a breeze.

As he sets a final box down, he pauses. “By the way, Monaco’s coming up,” he says, almost casually.

I blink at him. “Right. The brand trip.”

He nods, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. “Still wish you were coming. Would’ve been fun.”

I try to smile, but it falters before it can settle. “Yeah, I know. Just... can’t really take time off right now. Not after taking a week off to move.”

He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in the way he looks at me then—like he’s trying to decide whether or not to say more. But he doesn’t. Just gives a half-smile and closes the boot with a soft thud.

I gesture toward the flat. “I’ve got one last thing to grab. Wait here.”

He nods, already pulling out his phone, probably to melt into TikTok or some group chat with his mates. And I walk back inside, my chest feeling just a little too tight for the temperature outside.

I hurry back upstairs, my feet moving faster than my mind. I grab the last of my toiletries — shampoo, face wash, deodorant. The essentials. There's a knot in my stomach, one I can’t quite shake. The move is almost done, but I can’t ignore that nagging feeling. Like something’s missing, or I’ve forgotten something important. I try not to dwell on it. It’s just change. And change is always weird.

Stuffing the last of my bathroom things into a bag, I glance around my old room. The bed’s gone, the space left behind a queen-sized hole in the middle of the mountain of boxes. Honestly, it’s already filling up fast. I have no idea how Will and I managed to disassemble and reassemble that bed earlier today. It's impressive. We’re like a chaotic, sleep-deprived IKEA team.

I turn to head downstairs and almost trip on the way down. It’s hard to focus with everything in my head. But then I hear voices from the garage—Will and George. I slow, listening, unsure if I’m about to walk in on something awkward. But instead of that, I hear... laughter?

Only, it’s not quite right. Not full laughter. Just short bursts—sharp and a little too controlled. The conversation is light on the surface, but something about the tone feels clipped. Like they’re both working overtime to keep things casual.

I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, caught in the strange stillness of it. It sounds friendly, but not warm. Not really. Still, the quiet illusion of normalcy settles something small in my chest. Whatever weirdness I was bracing for... maybe I imagined it.

I take a breath and push open the door to the garage.

They’re standing by the car, both with arms crossed now. Will’s leaning back against the car like he’s trying to appear relaxed, while George’s hands are deep in his pockets, his expression unreadable—but not unfriendly. Just... closed.

When they see me, their voices quiet down a bit, but it’s not awkward. George gives me that warm, open smile. "Alright, I guess you’re all packed then?"

I nod, trying to keep things light. "Yeah, just about."

George looks around the garage. "Looks like you’ve got most of it sorted. Where’s the rest of the chaos?"

"Already at the new place," I say, laughing a little. "I swear, it looks like a small disaster zone upstairs. But it’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll remember whatever I forgot once I’m halfway to my new place."

Will is still leaning against his car, and is pulling out his phone, his fingers scrolling idly across the screen.

George chuckles, nodding. "Sounds like a good plan."

Then his smile fades just a little, a flicker of something more serious. I glance at him and realize it’s not the same relaxed George from before. He looks almost... sad? Maybe not sad. Just distant.

I don't know why, but I feel like there’s more he’s not saying. And then, just as I’m about to ask him about it, he speaks again.

"So, uh, I guess this is really happening, huh?"'

I blink, surprised at the question. "Yeah. It is."

He gives me a small, sheepish smile. "I didn’t realize you were moving today... I thought I had more time to mentally prepare for this."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean? I swear I told you."

George rubs the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. "I guess I just wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve caught on."

I laugh, surprised. "Well, I mean, if it helps, I can make it up to you. Maybe take you out to dinner sometime? It'll make up for eight months of rent-free living."

He raises an eyebrow, that usual smirk of his returning. "Only took you the better part of a year to 'find your feet,' huh?" He's grinning now. "But seriously, yeah, let's get dinner. Just us, like old times."

I feel a little lighter after that exchange. Not everything has to be so heavy. And George... well, George has always had a way of making things feel more manageable, even if it's just for a moment.

"Alright," I say, trying to get Will's attention. "Well, I guess we better get going before Will starts complaining about the heat again."

George laughs, and I feel like it's the most natural thing in the world. Will makes a grumbly noise in response.

George grins, and look over at Will, still leaning against the car, clearly a little too hot for his liking. He looks up from his phone, clearly grumpy.

"Ooh, look at me, I’m from Australia! This is nowt but a light breeze. Back home I’d be wearin’ a jumper in this!" Will says, putting on the worst Aussie accent I’ve ever heard.

I roll my eyes, grinning. “Alright, alright,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “Come on then, Captain Dramatic We’ve got flatpacks to conquer, not a heatwave survival guide to write.”

I glance at George one last time, giving him a half-smile, and he gives me one back, this time just a little more thoughtful. I turn away quickly before I second-guess anything, and head for the car, trying to ignore the strange feeling that seems to be hanging in the air.

We climb into Will’s car—a plush, newish Lexus. Nice, but not flashy. I’m still vaguely shocked he even drives. I always figured the Londoner in him would've ditched his license the moment he figured out the Tube.

He starts the engine, and the air-con kicks in with a low hum. I buckle in, glancing over at him. He’s leaning back in his seat, eyes closed for a second, one hand dragging across his forehead like the heat's physically punishing him.

Usually, he'd be complaining by now—some dramatic monologue about the temperature or the boxes or my “questionable” packing system. But he’s quiet. Not silent, just… duller. Dimmed, somehow. Like he’s buffering.

At first, I chalk it up to the heat. Or maybe he's just tired. We’ve been lugging boxes around all morning.

But then he looks at me—just for a second—and it’s not the usual cheeky, half-smirking Will. It’s more distant. Like he's there, but not really plugged in. I blink, trying to brush off the weird feeling twisting in my stomach.

Something’s off. I just don’t know what yet.

“You alright?” I ask, looking at him sideways.

He blinks, shakes his head as if coming out of a trance. “Yeah. Just… tired. Heat’s getting to me, I guess.”

I raise an eyebrow but don’t push it. “I told you to stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Will lets out a small chuckle, but it’s a bit too forced. “Right, right. I’m fine.”

The silence between us feels heavier now, like something’s pulling us in opposite directions, but I can’t figure out what. I want to ask him what’s changed, why he’s so off, but something stops me. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to get that feeling in my stomach—the one that always comes up when things are shifting and I’m not sure where they’re going.

Is he regretting helping me move? It's been a big day already and it's not even 11am. Is he realising that the boyfriendy side of things is just not for him - not with me?

His hands are gripping the wheel just a little too tightly, his jaw tense. He’s not saying much, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s been this quiet because of the heat—or because of something else.

I try to shove the thoughts down, like stuffing too much laundry into a washing machine and praying the door shuts.

I glance at him as we drive. “You good?” I ask again, this time gentler. “I know moving’s a pain. Don’t feel like you have to go to IKEA with me today.” I pause. “Or any day.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just looks out at the road, like the answer’s in the next postcode somewhere. After a beat, he finally turns toward me—but only halfway, like when people drive and can’t fully take their eyes off the road, but want you to know they’re there. His lips curl into a tired smile. “Yeah. I’m good. Just… a lot going on today.”

I nod, but something about his tone makes me feel like he’s not talking about moving. Maybe it’s just me overthinking, but the tension in the air feels like it’s building up, like something’s about to happen and I don’t know what.

By the time we arrive, I’m more confused than ever. Will is quiet, his eyes darting around like he’s searching for something he can’t find. The second we park in the dim, slightly echoey underground garage of the new flat, he seems to snap back into focus.

The hum of distant cars and the faint flicker of fluorescent lights fill the space around us. I’m halfway through unbuckling my seatbelt, reaching for my purse, when Will’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Do you think George will be alright with all this?” he asks suddenly, low and careful.

George.

Always back to George.

I freeze, the movement stalling mid-air. “What?”

“You know, with you moving out, and all the… changes?” His eyes stay fixed on the dashboard, but I can tell there’s something heavier behind the question.

I shrug, trying to keep it casual. “He’s fine. He hasn’t said anything. He’ll be alright.”

But deep down, I know I’m only telling part of the truth. George hasn’t said anything — and I’m not sure if that’s because he’s really okay with it, or if he’s still pretending it doesn’t matter.

But , let’s be real — I was offered his spare room until I ‘found my feet.’ I’ve done that now. This move was always the plan.

Will’s gaze flickers toward me again, studying me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m hiding something. He doesn’t say anything else, but the quiet between us feels even more loaded now. Like there’s a question hanging in the air that neither of us is brave enough to ask.

I start to open the car door, but Will’s voice stops me.

“I just… don’t want you to get caught up in all that,” he says, his tone a little off. It’s a weird mix of hesitant and serious. “I just want this to be… easy, you know?”

I glance over at him, brow furrowed. “This?”

“Us,” he says, a little too quickly. His eyes flick to the steering wheel, then back at me. It’s like he’s testing the word out, trying to make it sound right. “I want this to be simple. Not… complicated.”

I blink, trying to catch up. My heart thuds a little too loudly in my chest. “Okay,” I say, though it doesn’t sound as certain as I want it to. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want it to be complicated either.”

Will doesn’t respond right away. His fingers drum on the steering wheel, but his gaze is still fixed ahead, distant. It’s like something’s shifted in the space between us, and I can’t put my finger on what it is.

I feel the tension in my own chest now, the weight of all the unspoken things lingering in the air. I want to ask him what’s going on, but he looks so… careful, like he’s trying to hold everything together, but not quite sure how.

Finally, he exhales, his face still unreadable. “Yeah, just don’t… don’t make it harder than it has to be, okay?”

I nod slowly, unsure of what to say. “Sure. I mean, that’s what I want too.”

Will glances at me again, then turns his attention back to the 'tenants parking only' sign in front of him. He takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for something, but I still can’t tell what.

And just like that, I’m left with a pit in my stomach. Something’s off. But I can’t figure out what.

xxx

“See?” he says with a grin, setting down his Swedish meatballs like it’s a proper treat. “All I needed was a bit of scran and some proper cooling. Maybe I was a bit narky before.”

I roll my eyes, teasing him, “A bit? You were practically melting.”

He chuckles, his whole posture shifting as he takes his first bite. “I’ll admit it. I’m naff with heat.”

“You’re from England,” I say, sarcastic, “You don’t even have heat.”

Will shrugs, clearly in a much better mood now that his belly’s full. “That’s fair enough. But I’m still all about the AC and meatballs, so I’ll keep moaning anyway.”

We laugh, and for the first time today, everything feels... easy. The tension that had been hanging between us is gone. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the awkwardness of that earlier conversation. Either way, we’re back to being ourselves, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter.

xxx

Will nudges me as we walk through one of the showrooms, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m tellin’ ya, we could build a proper fort with all these pillows,” he says, grabbing a stack and chucking one at me.

I barely catch it, and it lands in my lap with a soft thud. “Alright, now you’re just daft,” I laugh, tossing it back.

But he’s already grabbed two more, lobbing them at me like some kind of cosy siege. I duck, giggling, and throw one back, barely missing his face. We both crack up, and for a moment, it feels like we’re in our own little world, just mucking about.

Suddenly, he reaches out, grabs my hand, and before I can protest, pulls me over to the nearest couch. He sits me down and settles beside me, his arm brushing against mine. It’s the first time he’s touched me today, and I feel a flutter in my chest — subtle but electric.

“Alright, that’s enough pillow warfare,” I say, trying to steady my breath between laughs. “We’ve got a flat to furnish, not a pillow fort to build.”

Will grins, squeezing my hand lightly. “Who says we can’t do both, eh?”

“You’re impossible,” I say, shaking my head, but the smile on my face gives me away.

“Impossible in a good way, yeah?” he says, giving me a cheeky grin.

I roll my eyes, but can’t help but smile wider. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Proper lucky, that,” he says with a wink. “Otherwise, I’d be knackered.”

A bit later, after Will’s just given me some proper rubbish advice on picking a rug, he suddenly points at this massive sectional sofa. “I’m tellin’ ya, if you ever need a couch, that one’s a belter.” Without waitin’ for a word, he legged it across the showroom and flopped down on it like he owned the place. “Comfort’s where it’s at, innit? This is the future of proper lounging, no two ways about it.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure it can’t fit in the flat, though.”

He grins, clearly having a blast picking out pieces he thinks I’ll need. “Well, I’d offer me help, but I’m pretty sure ma back would give out if I tried to lift this entire thing.”

I scan the shelves, trying to decide what I need. “I’m thinking just the smaller stuff today —shelves, maybe, and a nice chair for reading. I don’t need another bed just yet, the guest room can wait.”

Will hums, looking at the couch section. “You sure you don’t need a couch, mate? I mean, your place is looking pretty bare without one.”

I glance over at the couches, and my stomach drops. Sure, some of them look nice... but their price tags? No thanks. "I’m good without a couch for now," I say, narrowing my eyes at a particularly overpriced one. “IKEA couches are just... too much for what they are. Honestly, I could get a much better one secondhand.”

Will raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Fair enough. But what about these shelves then? Bet you could do with a bit more storage, yeah?”

I nod, already thinking about how messy things tend to get when there’s no proper place for anything. "Yeah, I definitely need more storage. Maybe some bookshelves, or something to hang my future plants on."

We continue walking through the showroom, and Will’s already grabbing a couple of things to throw in the cart—mostly small items like picture frames and throw blankets. I’m distracted by a sleek little coffee table when Will’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“You sure you wanna keep that knackered old bedside table?” he says, referring to my bedside table he unceremoniously shoved in his car boot this morning. “Thing’s seen better days, hasn’t it? Looks like it’s been through a war.”

I cross my arms. “What’s wrong with it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I like it. Reev found it for me on Facebook Marketplace. It’s got character.”

Will looks at me like I’ve just suggested I buy a whole set of porcelain garden gnomes. “Character? You mean ‘fallin’ to bits, smells like joss sticks’ chic? That thing’s got more wobble than a dodgy pub stool.

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re being dramatic. Besides, it’s perfectly functional. It was free! And it’s got history.”

He snorts. “History? Yeah, if by history you mean ‘cheap’ and ‘fallin' apart.’” He glances over at the matching tables, clearly imagining how they’d look together. “Come on, you could get two nice matching ones for not much more than the price of that... whatever that thing is."

I scowl at him, pretending to be offended. “First of all, it's vintage. Second of all, it was free. Third of all, I like it.”

Will grins. "Alright, alright. But you know I’m right."

I roll my eyes. “Sure, Will. You’re totally right. I’ll just get rid of my, incense-scented treasure I inherited from my friend.”

“Alright, alright—y’win. But at least get yourself a desk, yeah? Sommat that’s not hangin’ on by a thread.”

"Deal," I say, chuckling, and add a couple of shelves to the cart.

After we’ve picked out what feels like half the store, we start sorting through what will fit in his car and what will have to be delivered. Will's getting into the logistics of it all, calculating how many boxes will fit in the backseat and whether we’ll need to make two trips, and what can be delivered straight to the flat by next week. I’m genuinely impressed with how well he’s handling it—it's like he's done this before.

“Alright,” Will says with a satisfied smile, tapping his phone screen, “If we play it smart, we can squeeze the lamp, shelves, an’ all them baskets in one trip. But I’m tellin’ ya now—if I’ve gotta play Tetris with the boot, I’ll be expectin’ a medal at the end of it.”

“I’ll buy you a drink,” I say, half-joking. “I’ll even let you pick where.”

“Deal,” he says, grinning wide.

xxx

We make it back to the flat just as the afternoon sun starts to dip, the air still warm but not as suffocating as it was earlier. Will’s already started on building the set of shelves—he’s got the instructions spread out in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s quiet, focused, his usual commentary missing as he clicks the pieces together. The speaker hums softly in the background, playing a playlist we threw together in the car. It's a mix of chilled-out tunes and random 90s hits. It's nice, and it still feels more curated than spontaneous.

I sit on the floor, sorting through boxes scattered around me, labeling everything like it matters more than it does. Clothes in one pile, kitchen stuff in another. Books to the left, random knick-knacks to the right. The only sounds are the rattle of tools and a barely-there synth line from the speaker. It should feel comforting. And maybe it does. Mostly.

I glance over as he places the final shelf onto the frame. “Hey,” I say, breaking the silence. “You want a snack or

something?”

He looks up, blinking like I’ve pulled him out of somewhere far away. “Snack? Uh, aye, go on then. What were you thinkin’?””

I tap my chin, pretending to think. “Tesco run. Meal deal. Sandwich, crisps, drink. The works.”

That gets a smile out of him—small, not quite lighting up his whole face like it usually does. “Canne argue with that.”

“You want anything in particular?”

He shrugs. “Whatever. You know what I like.”

I pause at that—because I do, and that used to feel like something. Now it just sounds like... delegation. Like he’s keeping a hand on the door.

“Chicken and bacon?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

Will nods. “Classic. Thanks.”

I push to my feet, brushing off my knees. “Alright. You keep playing handyman. I’ll grab the goods.”

He gives me a half-salute, more out of habit than humour. “You got it.”

The door clicks shut behind me. The air outside feels cooler now, and for a second I can’t tell if that’s the weather or just the shift in the room I left.

When I get back, he’s finished the shelves and has started unpacking the coffee table we both agreed was a dumb purchase. He looks up when I walk in and gives me a grin—easy, practiced.

“Mission accomplished,” he says, holding up the shelf like a trophy.

I smile back, setting the Tesco bag on the counter. “You’re a natural.”

Will rummages through the bag, pulling out the sandwiches. “Perfect. You’re a legend.”

We sit side by side, eating on the floor. The music’s still playing, the crisp bags crinkling in our hands. The quiet isn’t awkward—but it’s not full, either. It’s the kind of silence that gives space, not comfort.

I keep waiting for him to lean in, to say something, to make a joke or ask how I’m feeling about the move. But he just eats, legs stretched out in front of him, nodding along to the music like he's somewhere else entirely.

Still, I don’t say anything. I just lean into it. Because maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Simple. Easy.

I’m not sure what snaps him out of it, but suddenly he turns to me, mouth still half-full of sandwich.

“This is crass, but—”

“Oh god, here we go,” I mutter under my breath, already preparing for whatever nonsense he’s about to spout.

"I'm excited to fuck you on every new surface in your new gaff.”

“William!" I gasp, nearly choking on my crisp. "You could’ve just said 'christen the flat'!”

“Aye, but that doesn’t quite get the message across, does it?” he grins, his laughter bubbling up as he proudly enjoys the shock he’s caused.

A heat spreads across my cheeks. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it too—the idea of us here, in my flat with no roommates who will make a comment in the kitchen in the morning.

xxx

The next week feels like a blur. I spend most of it making trips to ASDA and TKMaxx, picking up whatever I can—throw pillows, mismatched kitchen utensils, a few random plants that will probably die within a month. But it’s all mine now. It’s starting to feel like a home, slowly but surely.

I found a couch on Facebook Marketplace. It’s nothing special—well, it’s actually a little lumpy, and the cushions are a weird shade of beige—but it's better than nothing, and it’s mine. I post the details on Airtasker and within an hour, I’ve got a guy lined up to move it for me. It’s a little sad how exciting that feels, but it’s progress.  

I’m making my way through the week, one trip to Pinterest board at a time, when Will starts coming over after work. He’s been really sweet about it all—helping me with whatever I need, always offering to build furniture or move things around. Every evening, I hear the familiar sound of his keys in the door, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter.

It’s the little things. Like him bringing over takeout because I’ve “been too busy to cook” (even though I’ve definitely eaten the same instant noodles three nights in a row). Or him teasing me when I say I still haven’t figured out where to put my wine glasses, despite the fact that my shelves are almost full. The way he jokes that I’ll probably just put them on the windowsill, like some sort of millennial cliche.

And, of course, the way he always stays a little longer than he plans, helping me with my flatpack furniture, his hands steady and familiar. It’s easy to fall into this rhythm with him. It feels... natural. Like we’ve been doing this for months, even though it’s only been a week.

But there’s something off. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

It’s like a quiet shift, subtle but impossible to ignore. He’s here almost every evening, still helping out, still making sure I don’t lose my mind trying to put together IKEA flatpacks. But the way he looks at me has changed. Maybe it’s how his smile lingers a second too short when I laugh, or how when I catch him staring, his eyes no longer hold that same playful warmth. It’s not coldness, just distance. Like he’s holding back, and I don’t know why.

When he’s close, it feels like he’s pulling away. The space between us isn’t just emotional anymore, it’s physical too. Whether we’re brushing past each other in the kitchen or lounging on the couch, I notice it—the growing gap that wasn’t there before.

The way he holds me in bed has shifted. He’s still there, still pulling me close, but it’s more like... he’s going through the motions. I miss the way he would hold me like I was worth figuring out. Like every touch meant something—like I mattered, like it was real.

Now, it’s all about getting the job done. He’s still affectionate, but it’s no longer playful or intimate. It’s like he’s trying to be present but is keeping himself on the edge, like he’s afraid to get too close. Every touch feels more like an afterthought than something genuine.

I miss the way he’d hold me until I fell asleep, his fingers running through my hair as if he wanted to memorize the way I felt. Now, it’s just quick kisses, a brief squeeze of my hand. It’s not bad, but it’s not us anymore.

I think back to that ridiculous moment on move-in day, when he joked about “christening every new surface.” Even though I sensed something was off, it felt like we were starting something real—something full of heat and laughter. But no such thing has happened yet. Now that spark feels like it’s flickering out. I miss the cheeky grin, the lightness in his voice—the way he used to be playful with me. I keep wondering if he ever really meant it, or if it was just him being funny in the moment.

I try not to let it get to me. After all, I guess we're still just friends. And friends help each other out, right?

God, it’s so silly to be this upset about not getting railed on my kitchen counter. Humbling, honestly.

But still, the way he’s pulling back, without saying anything, is driving me mad.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00@migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[nanamisbbygirl]

uv index

type: nsfw minors dni

includes: pervy best friend gojo + geto x afab!reader

summary: it was a big mistake to ask for help applying lotion at the beach, especially when you’re with geto suguru and gojo satoru.

cw: threesome, fingering, unprotected p in v, oral sex (m!reciving), cream pies, lots of fondling, public indecency and gooner behaviour lol

a/n: come get your dinner y’all i put my whole pussy into cooking it up.. enjoy!

the beach was perfect this time of year, especially with the way your skin felt as it soaked up the summer sun. you laid on your belly, as you shared the abnormally large towel with your friends, suguru and satoru.

suguru was sitting to your side, staring out at the ocean as satoru reemerged from the water, droplets dripping down his body. he met you both with a pout on his lips.

“are you guys coming in or what?” he was disappointed in the fake he seemed to be the only one enjoying the beach for what it was.

“soon,” you hummed, “let me tan a little longer.” you reached for your beach bag, pulling out some tanning lotion.

“you know that stuff isn’t good for you,” suguru grumbled.

“yeah neither is smoking” you remind him, causing him to scoff a little. although your next question appears to snap them out of their grumpy moods. “can one of you rub this on my back— i can’t reach it myself.”

both boys perked up, fighting over who would go first. suguru held the bottle in his hand, squirting the lotion along your back. they looked down at how suggestive it seemed to be, gulping, he reached forward to touch your skin.

his large hands caressed your back, massaging the tenderness of your flesh. you let out a relaxed sigh, as suguru’s hands made their way down your body.

you felt him stop at your mid back, teasing the hem of your cheeky bikini bottoms, wondering how far he should go. that’s when you felt a second pair of hands— satoru had joined in, apparently itching to have a turn.

he had lathered his hands with the tanning lotion, creeping his way up your legs, his fingers faintly lining your inner thighs.

suguru took initiative, lowering his grasp, making sure to coat every inch of you with the lotion. his fingers slipped under the thin straps that were holding your bathing suit in place, tempted to untie them.

before satoru got the chance to, his friend had claimed his spot hovering over your butt, palms pressing into your perky cheeks. his hands moved carefully in circular motions, being sure to pull at them, allowing him little peeks at your lips — you wanted to tan everywhere, right?

the black haired boy was drooling over you, once again leaving satoru to feel left out. although; he didn’t whine this time, instead leaning towards your ear while his free hand met the spot where your top tied together.

“you might want to take this off— wouldn’t want to get tan lines.” he whispered delicately, as though he wasn’t fulfilling his devious desires. you didn’t have the chance to protest as he undid your top in a blink of an eye. you hugged your breasts, hoping that nothing would slip out.

“we’re in public guys!” you squealed, as both their hands temporarily stopped. suguru and satoru looked around them.

“no one’s around, don’t worry and don’t fuss.” suguru declared, but it still put you on edge. it was hard to think straight with the stimulation they were providing you with.

satoru begins to reach for your breast, hoping that you’ll easily comply with him.

“cmon don’t you want your front side to tan a little, too?” just like that he was able to flip you effortlessly, leaving you to cling to your now ill fitted top.

you get a look at both of them, how they’re glowing in the sunlight, their swim trunks becoming extra tight. you can trace the outlines of their dicks with your eyes, holding your breath at the situation you managed to get yourself into. they both stare back at you, an animalistic urge in their eyes.

suguru splashes the lotion against your stomach then placing some into satoru’s greedy hands. it’s almost too much to take in all at once, you feel yourself wiggling around trying to pick who to focus your attention on first.

satoru rubs his hands together, making the most of the lotion suguru provided him with.

“move your arms, peach.” he laughs with the pet name. he nudges your arms and judging by the look on his face he wasn’t gonna let anything stop him from having his way.

so, you complied with satoru’s demand. you removed your arms, placing them to the side of your head, causing the bikini top to begin to slide up, revealing more of your tits. this made satoru grin.

while all this was happening, suguru was still working away, making sure every part of your body was oiled up, reflecting the sun. his hands carved out your body as if he was a sculpter, rubbing his thumbs against your hips before pressing down on your lower stomach. he continued down, outlining your cunt, carelessly running his hands under your bottoms and groping your soft butt.

he pulled you into him, forcing you to straddle his waist as he rests you on his thighs. you can feel his bulge against your pussy, it’s driving you crazy how close you are but how distant your pleasure seems to be.

you can no longer pay attention to suguru, as you feel your nipples being gently rolled around in satoru’s fingers. he gives them cheeky little pinches before kneading your breast, squishing them with his huge hands.

“fuck you’re so hot,” suguru mutters, grinding up and drown, chasing the friction between the two of you. you whimper as satoru fondles your breasts, flashing his friend a mischievous look.

“she seems pretty desperate doesn’t she?” satoru asks suguru. “as if this wasn’t her plan the whole time. do you think we should give her the attention she wants?” he says this without missing a motion, taking as much of your boobs into his hands as possible. you can tell by the way he licks his lips he wants to put them in his mouth, but he’s holding back, as if to get suguru’s opinion on the matter.

“depends,” he huffs, holding onto your hips, “how bad does she want it?” they talk about you like you’re not even there, as though you’re not already in such a vulnerable state for them.

“whaddya think, peach? what should we do?” satoru looks down as you, holding your left breast tightly as he anticipates your response.

“i.. i want more,” you say, but it’s not the response he’s looking for as he pinches your nipple.

“gotta try harder than that: be specific.”

you take a shaky breath, looking back at suguru to see if there’s any sympathy and maybe he would be kinder without having you embarrass yourself more in front of your friends.

“you heard what he said, peach, tell us what you want.”

throwing your head back, you gulp: “please fuck me.” you start, “use me however you want.” you say it quietly the first time, which again, was not to their liking.

suguru leaned forwards, slapping your one breast, “say it loud and clear, or else you get nothing.” his stern tone make a chill roll down your hot back.

“i want you to use me,” you say, choking back a whimper, “to fuck me— both of you. please?” your lip quivered, making satoru let out a deep chuckle.

“well how can we say no? considering you asked so nicely.”

with that, suguru pushed your bottoms to the side, starting out with a single finger. he started at your hole, making his way up to your clit and then back down again.

“shit satoru, she’s so fucking wet.” he circles your open, making you twitch. he sinks the first finger into you, feeling just how your cunt clung to him, gushing all over his wrist.

“greedy girl,” he mumbled under his breath, adding a second finger. his hand flicked up, pumping in and out while satoru finally locked his lips against your breasts.

pecking them with kisses, his groans vibrated onto your skin, as he licked his way towards your nipple.

“feels so good,” you moan, feeling how your walls pulse around suguru. it was pure bliss, basking in the pleasure that was crashing over you like a wave.

“m close” you informed them as that familiar knot began forming in your stomach. just as you prepared for the best, suguru’s rhythm stopped.

“not yet, you haven’t even felt my cock yet.” you let out an embarrasing whine. suguru takes one of the fingers that was just inside you and glides his tongue across it, humming about how good you taste. “try it satoru.”

the white haired boy listened, detaching his hungry lips from your nipples and reattached them to suguru’s finger.

“mm—you’re right, so sweet!” he began a palming at his swim shorts, tired of the built up tension. suguru feels the same, and you hold your breath as they reveal what they’d been hiding all along.

both of them having their bathing suits pulled down just enough to expose their dripping cocks. both of them are long, although suguru’s seems to be a little bit thicker. their tips are flushing, sticky with precum, anticipating just how roughly they’re gonna use you.

suguru flips you on your stomach again, and you’re face to watch with satoru’s cock. his angry head stares down at you, making your mouth water with the way he strokes it.

from behind you, suguru drags his dick against your pussy, rubbing a circle into you swollen clit.

“please fuck me su, please” you beg, and they both laugh at how needy you’ve become for your friends.

“looks like she’s already learning how to be a good slut,” suguru exclaims, lining himself up with your tight cunt.

he slams his hips into you, grabbing your waist and driving you deeper and deeper on his cock. your eyes feel like they’re rolling behind your head, and your mouth falls open only for it to be filled by satoru.

he starts with his thumb, like he’s checking just how wet your mouth is. you swirl his digit on your tongue, fluttering your eyes open in order to look up at him. he can sense your hungry eyes and only juts his hips forward, giving you unfiltered access to his dick.

kissing his tip, you hear how much he’s enjoying it. saying your name softly under his breath, like he’s ready to crumble already. you stroke his cock carefully until he orders you to open wide, and you follow directions to a tee.

he paused for a moment, watching his friends steady pace, trying to match it. while suguru has pulled back a bit from your sloppy pussy, satoru fills your mouth. his dick as a slight upturn, hitting against the top of your throat.

both litter the air with their curses, praising how sexy you were, a cheeky little peach, a slut just for them. their thrusts soon become synchronized and while satoru is pushing your head closer to the base of his shaft, suguru reaches around you, stimulating your clit.

“her pussy’s so tight right now,” suguru tells his counterpart.

“trying to make me jealous?” satoru grunts.

“maybe,” suguru snickers.

they both intensify the speed at which they fuck you. geto slaps your ass as if bounces, swallowing his cock with every backwards motion. being in the position that he’s in, he can feel how you’re tensing up, your insides are tingling— you’re close. he can feel his own release building up, but he can’t finish before the two of you.

“are you gonna cum around my cock?” he asks, placing kisses along your back.

satoru groans; still not wanting to be left out of all the fun. he continues from where suguru left off: “are you gonna cum with my dick in your mouth?” he lets out a breath, “are you ready to have two holes filled with cum at the same time? wouldn’t that be fun?”

at that moment your toes curl, your back arching, tearing rolling down your face. as you unravel, the boys follow behind you. when they ask you about it later, you can’t remember who finished first, as every thought in your mind had vanished, all you could think of was how stuffed you felt.

cum gushed from your pussy and your mouth, swallowing as much of it as you possibly could.

satoru’s hand pet the back of your head, watching in delight as he cleaned up the last drop from the corner of your lips.

suguru let his cock rest inside you for an extra moment, groaning as you removed himself, eyeing the trail of semen that was slipping down towards your slit. he brought your swim bottoms back to their original positions, giving your cunt a pretty little tap.

“maybe we should come to the beach more often.” suguru laughs, seeing how you lay against the towel, surrendering yourself to them.

a/n: don’t forget to like and reblog if you liked it!

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner! Sukuna x mom/stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotage you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) rec drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club a front lol) Mafia ties. This part- A LOT OF FLUFF- cutsie asf, emotional, the END (happy end too) explicit sex, breed kink, teasing and Kuna being OBSESSED w/reader- WC- 6.8k

Ties into my Mob Gojo story- you'll see him and the reader from there - but you can read it alone. Art in the banner is by Sketch B on X divider by @/cafekitsune

<<<Part Seven - Playlist - Masterlist

Part Eight - final part

“So, Satoru is running everything while we’re gone!? How’d he handle that one?” You ask, as you and Sukuna lay basking in the beautiful sunrays of this beach, warming your skin as you lounge in these chairs, watching Miwa and Touma running around in the crystal clear waters. Sukuna chuckles, turning a bit to his side, sipping on the Mai Tai and sighing.

His body is glistening, god, you’d rubbed that sunblock all over his huge, tattooed body - you have to take good care of those, he let you know - and now it’s mixing with a little bit of his sweat in a sheen so delicious you want to lick your damn boyfriend. He smirks arrogantly at you as you stare, ruby eyes glinting in the sun over the dark sunglasses he wore.

“Something wrong brat?” He’s met with you clearing your throat, trying not to watch a drip of sweat roll down one of his chiseled abdominals.

“Nothing. Um… so how did it go?” You sip on your own drink, a fruity concoction that hits your tongue and bursts with flavor, earning your sigh, as the waves lap gently on the pristine white sand.

The breeze blows your hair around you softly, as Sukuna stares at just how gorgeous you are in your bathing suit, it’s so pretty like something some fifties pinup girl would wear, though he’d love to see you in less, he knows you like to be a little covered up with Touma here. Even so the red pops right against your pretty skin, glistening from the sunblock he’d thoroughly massaged on your skin.

He’s torn between wanting to drag you in the beach house he’d rented for you all and tear into you, or just press pretty kisses across your heated skin. His hand brushes on your thigh now, feeling it tense as he does, your breaths making those pretty breasts rise and fall in that top. He’s also torn between asking you then and there, or waiting until you’re alone tonight.

The ring is front and center in his head.

“Something wrong, Kuna?” It’s your turn to tease him, earning his scoff, as he sips his drink again, lounging in the sweet paradise, looking at the girl he hopes will soon be his wife.

“Nothing, brat. Hmm, you asked about Satoru?” You nod a little.

“He hates running things, how’d he take the news of having to for a week or two?”

Sukuna pauses, remembering. “He was definitely pouty about it.”

You giggle now. “How so?”

‘What!? No, no, no. Ask Suguru or something!’ Satoru crosses his arms and pouts as Sukuna informs him, earning the tall, pink haired man’s eye roll.

‘Satoru it’s literally called the fucking Gojo family.’

‘And you’re rich for taking care of shit for me! No, I have plans of my own, I can’t deal with all this boring shit.’

‘Just stomp your foot why don’t you, god you’re all brats.’ Satoru scoffs, as Sukuna pours them both a glass of whiskey, earning Satoru’s frown.

‘I’m not drinking that shit!’

‘Just have a drink with me, I need some… advice.’ Satoru slumps in the seat across from Sukuna’s desk now, sipping the amber liquid and sputtering, only making Sukuna chuckle.

‘Advice from me? For what?’ Sukuna sighs then, pulling out the black velvet box, and Satoru’s blue eyes widen. ‘Oh, Sukuna I can’t marry you I’m sorry, you’re just not really my type-’

‘Be fucking serious, god you’re an idiot.’ Satoru laughs maniacally, and Sukuna goes to put it up when he waves his hands.

‘No, no, sorry. I am well versed in diamonds, let me see.’ Sukuna downs his whiskey as Satoru studies it carefully, yanking a jewelers eye off his key ring and inspecting it deeper. Satoru had always been responsible for their counterfeit jewelry ring, so he knows that man is experienced in jewels.

He whistles then, studying the prismatic diamond embedded in gold. ‘Is it a good one?’

‘Impeccable clarity, as close to perfect as you get. And the cut?’ He whistles again, handing it back to Sukuna now. ‘You’re going for it, huh?’

‘I am. That’s why I need you for a week, okay?’ Satoru sighs now, nodding, earning Sukuna’s exhale of relief.

‘Marriage will protect her more, as would adopting the kid.’

‘I know that but…’

‘You love her.’ Sukuna glares again, but sighs, nodding. ‘She’ll say yes, Sukuna, don’t worry.’

‘Never thought I’d say this, but I appreciate you.’ Gojo hugs Sukuna then, and Sukuna shoves him off, scowling. ‘Don’t push your fucking luck, Satoru.’

“He took it fine.” Is all Sukuna says, you stare curiously, watching a blush dance across his tanned cheeks, and he glares at you. “What!?”

“Nothing you just weren’t very descriptive for that long stare into space.” He leans close, tilting your chin up, and his hot, calloused palm makes you tremble.

“Just wait till we’re alone later.” His words get you, god they always do, if paradise wasn’t already so perfect, to know tonight you and Sukuna get to go to dinner together - alone - is even more thrilling.

You love time with Touma, Miwa and Sukuna together, but of course you also really loved spending some alone time with your boyfriend. How could you not, when he looks at you this way, when he treats you this way, like you’re his everything, and he’s become your everything along with Touma, truly. Love in a different way, of course, but you love them both so much it hurts.

“Nervous about our date, brat?” He teases, feeling the heat of your cheeks as he leans over, fingers brushing against one.

“Excited.” He smirks a bit, pressing a kiss when Touma runs up, dripping water off his swimsuit, and Miwa runs up behind him.

“They’re kissing!” Touma’s words make you both break apart, laughing, as Miwa takes your hands, yanking you up.

“Get in the water babe!” You run after her, eyeing a scowling Sukuna and a bouncing Touma before turning to the shore and running in the water, warm and pleasant against your feet, splashing on your ankles. “It feels so perfect, doesn’t it?” she collapses back in the water, splashing you, making you giggle.

“It’s so perfect, ah! I’ll never wanna go back.” You lay with her, covering your face as the sun beams down, the water lapping against the both of you, little seagulls squawking, fish swim around you both as your fingers slip along the wet sand, letting the grains fall between your fingers.

“I think I have the best job ever?” You giggle looking at her now, the sun lighting up her pretty blue locks.

“You deserve it, you helped me when no one would.” She blinks back tears, holding your hand, while the two of you lay there, and you feel your throat closing with emotions. “It’s true!”

“Oh I just love that you’re safe and happy. The money is amazing but mostly I enjoy seeing how bright you’re becoming.” You hug her tightly, over her in the water as she giggles, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Should I get jealous?” Comes Sukuna’s voice, gruff as he shades you from the sun, large shadow over the two of you while he crosses his arms, Touma is clinging to his back, arms around his neck as you all giggle.

“I was telling her I have the best job and she tackled me!” Miwa is giggling when you kiss her cheek again.

“She is clingy.”

“Hey!”

The day goes by in a beautiful haze, the four of you are back in the pretty beach house cooking together, as the sun sets and the breeze filters through the floor to ceiling windows, filtering the scent of salty sea through the home. Sukuna’s nibbling on everything as you’re cooking, despite you smacking at his hand and glaring, stealing bites for Touma like the troublesome duo they are.

“Yummy, mmm!” Touma’s licking sauce off his fingers, Miwa starts cleaning him up, while Sukuna’s hand comes to the small of your back.

“You’re yummy.”

“Shh!” You elbow him now at his whisper, just making him chuckle against your ear. “Go get Touma’s hands washed for dinner, and wash yours!”

“Your mom is too strict, kid.” He earns another glare as he hoists Touma up in the air, Touma’s little arms and legs out as he makes airplane noises, melting you immediately. You sigh, tasting the sauce now, as Miwa starts grabbing plates.

“I love that man.” You say dreamily, she smiles at you then.

“Well of course you do, written all over your face,” the sound of running water from Touma and Sukuna softly splashes while you and Miwa start plating the meal, and she murmurs softly, “You excited for tonight?”

“I am, what surprise could he have, we’re already in Fiji.” You take a sip of water now, letting the cool liquid filter down your throat, sighing, and seeing Miwa’s grin. “You know something!”

“Sure do.” You giggle now, rolling your eyes.

“You won’t tell me I’m sure.”

“I got paid not to.”

“No wonder you love this job so much.” You’re both murmuring and giggling when Sukuna and Touma come out now, Sukuna’s thrown on some loose kimono that looks far too good on him, a matching black silk one for Touma. “You two look so handsome, oh goodness!”

You snatch up Touma in your arms and give him smooches, making him peal out a cute little laugh, holding on tightly to you. Sukuna winks over at Miwa, who knowingly smiles back, since he’d let her in on his plan - honestly everyone knew about it except for you, blissfully unaware of the ring ready to be placed on your finger.

It was surely insane and maybe too soon if Sukuna was rational, but that is the last thing Ryomen Sukuna was, he was not rational a day in his life, and certainly not when it came to you. He loves you so deeply, obsessively in fact. He knows it's an obsession, from the moment he saw you, and everything for him shifted, he thought his life was amazing until he realized the gaping hole in it.

You.

Before he even spoke to you, met your son who he loves, before you kissed him, before any of it, he just saw you and folded. At first irritated that you made him so pathetic, now he was absolutely secure in his fate, that he was a simpy little bitch for you. There was truly no helping it - to him you’re the Queen of the city, just side by side with him.

And he’d give you anything, more than anything - all of him. He’s a little quiet during the dinner, as nerves eat at him just a bit, he is secure in your love but he knows your last marriage was terrible, and he doesn’t know if you’re going to stress about it again, or worry about committing again. He was fine with waiting, but he needed everyone to know you were his.

His and only his forever, he cannot accept a world where you’re not, where everyone doesn’t know that you are, and he can never lose you. Forever was an insane question to ask you, it’s only been a couple months of knowing you, and now you’ve sunk so deep into his soul, the perfection of just sitting next to you, watching Touma bouncing around as Miwa tries to get him to eat, it’s all too perfect.

It feels right.

The weight in his pocket is heavy, his hand on your thigh, comforting even as he feels it should tremble, luckily he has just about the steadiest hands there are, smirking at you and feigning ease, like he wasn’t panicking. If you said no he’d just keep asking you every single year forever.

Pathetic, he’s so pathetic for you.

“Time for bed, Touma, kiss them good night.” Miwa says later on, and Touma jumps in your arms, already giggling as you kiss his cheeks, too warm from so much sun today.

“Tomorrow we will make sandcastles!” You say softly, as he yawns, reaching his little hand for Sukuna now.

“I’ll make the best one.” Sukuna challenges, and Touma glares, snuggling up to your chest.

“I will! I’ll make mommy a castle!”

“I’ll make a bigger one.” Touma sticks his tongue out as does Sukuna, before ruffling Touma’s hair, making you roll your eyes.

“You two are entirely too much. Off to bed baby.” You kiss him again, and Miwa winks at you two before she takes him back to the room, you start to clean up the food now, putting it away and putting the plates in the sink with gentle clicks, as Sukuna comes up behind you, brushing your hair back and making you shiver.

“You put those dishes down, and come with me now, brat.” You turn and eye Sukuna, heart fluttering with excitement.

“You’re so demanding, papakuna.”

“You love to annoy me.” His ruby eyes glint, a smirk so playful, before he turns you to him, pressing your back against the counter. “Why do you annoy me so much?”

“You love it. You love me.” He exhales, cupping your face, so serious now, while the breeze billows the soft white curtains, stirring your red kimono around, as his flutters, revealing more of his strong chest, which your hand trails up. “You’re so serious, what is it?”

“Come with me.” Is all he says again, grabbing you by the hand now and dragging you out of the house.

“Your legs are too long, hold on!” You’re struggling to keep up with him, giggling as the two of you walk along the well lit trail from the beach home, he locks the home up and takes the key, slipping it in his pocket. “So secretive!”

“Hush now brat.” He pulls you against him, the two of you eye the beautiful sight of the moonlight reflecting over rippling waters, gentle laps along the shore, the stars illuminating the sky like you never see back in the city.

“It’s beautiful here.” You whisper, and he looks at you then, sighing.

“Yes, it is.” You turn back to find his eyes on you in the dark, like you are the most beautiful star, he may not say things like that but you feel it from his touch, from his look, from every way he treats you. You look down shyly, holding his hand entwined in yours, huge and tattooed and ever so strong, always making you feel safe.

Safe and at home.

“I want to go to Fiji every year, will you promise me?” Your words make his heart race now, like it’s about to thump out of his chest, he takes a breath now, unable to form a word. “That sounds spoiled, oh my god!”

“No, it doesn’t. And I want you to be spoiled, anyway…” He trails off, tugging at you again. “Come on.”

Thinking you’ve said too much, you’re just a little quiet as he walks you further down the beach, your bare feet now making little trails along the sand, the breeze making you shiver just a bit, Sukuna wraps a big arm around you then. You rest your head, enjoying his warmth, as the two of you quietly walk, it feels so different than your usual.

Usually Sukuna is calling you a brat and teasing you, and you’re giggling and calling him Kuna, both poking at each other, but there are times of quiet, like at night when you’re reading, and he holds you, just laying there and watching you. You asked why he was so interested sometimes, but he never answers, just watching you and stroking your hair instead.

In quiet, contemplative moments, you feel such peace with him it’s difficult to describe. When you took a strip job, you expected drama, stress, perhaps feeling hard on yourself - you never expected to fall in love with one of the owners. Never thought a man so powerful would fall for you, that you would get the attention of a man like Sukuna, and what a man he truly was.

You aren’t afraid of the quick connection, not a bit, it should be scary, but you’re open to learning more about him - his past, bit by bit. Who he was, just scratching the surface of some of the things you all have just started sharing. His past, how he became who he was, as he learns more about you, the family dynamics of each of you clearly weren’t the best growing up.

But that just makes the two of you more ready to create a beautiful life for Touma, in months Sukuna has gone above and beyond what Naoya ever did, in this time he made you feel beautiful again, safe, loved. The connection was so intense it was as if Sukuna was his own sun, and you’re a planet just being pulled constantly, his brightness endlessly addictive.

You never, ever want to let go, never want to leave his field of gravity, you never want to know what it is like him and Touma are just your world, and you can’t help but be excited for the future. He speaks of filling you up, having babies while you’re lovemaking, but you know he’s kinky - god he is a force in the bed that you’re not sure you’ll ever adjust to - but was it more?

Imagining having a baby gets you heated, the thoughts so insane - though you were still very much on the pill, it’s not something you all haven’t spoken of yet, far too early for it you’re sure. But the timeline on your love was insane, it was not something you could explain, the amount of insane love you all have for each other, the ease in being with him, the passion and devotion.

“You’re quiet, too.” He says, pulling you out of your thoughts, and he looks down at you then, you’re so lost in his eyes you don’t notice the pretty gazebo set up for the two of you, when he cups your face and leans down. “Thoughts, what is going on in that pretty head?”

“They’re about… babies…” Sukuna exhales then, leaning down and kissing you, tugging you close in his embrace as you tremble, body aching for him.

“Mmm, fuck you’re gonna distract me.”

“From what, silly?” You tease, nipping at his lower lip.

Would he have to propose with cum pouring out of your pretty hole? You needed to stop messing with him before that was your engagement memory. He takes a breath and stands so tall, tilting his hair, the pink softly shining under the moonlight with glittery strands that you ache to run your fingers through.

“Stop staring at me and look.” He has to turn you now, you gasp as you see it - the beautiful set up he’s made for you.

The gazebo is all lit up with strings of fairy lights waving gently in the breeze, hidden in a little cove all tucked away, ivy climbing up the sides of it making it like some fucking movie you’d dream up. He helps you step up to it now as you take it all in, a table with two chairs and wine chilling on top of it, two glasses ready for the both of you.

“Sukuna, how did I not see this earlier!?” You whisper, touching the table gently, eyeing him then, choking up with emotions.

“Crying already?” He teases gruffly, touching your cheek gently now, you exhale nervously, eyes filling up when he picks up the pretty black bottle and the glittering gold corkscrew, opening it with a pop as you look around, seeing the view of the beach from higher up, the pretty reflections glimmering.

“Oh god it’s so perfect here, you didn’t have to do this!” You take the glass of wine from his proffered hand, fingers brushing against each other, Sukuna is still quiet but he smirks just a bit, taking his glass and turning you.

“Do you like it here, brat?” His voice is soft as he holds you with one arm, his chin resting on your head, facing you toward the pretty serene picture in front of you.

“Like is not the word, I’m in love with it. Paradise with you.” You expect him to chuckle or tease, but he’s quiet, sighing now, sipping his drink as you pick up yours, big hard body so strong behind you.

You're overwhelmed by the beauty and thoughtfulness of it all, your heart racing when he eases back, pressing a kiss on your neck, watching the goosebumps rise on your soft skin. “Pretty sure paradise is that pretty pussy.”

“Kuna! The moment!” Sukuna laughs just a bit, but your body already responded, and he takes notice of it, humming softly and slipping a hand down your waist and hip, exhaling and tickling your ear.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and leads you back into the gazebo. You take a seat, looking at how the soft lights glimmer across the crystal glass filled with the sweet red wine. 

“How did you set this up?” You ask softly, leaning forward, your hand on one of his strong thighs over his black pants, he smirks a bit, thighs wide.

“I had Miwa help me. She’s loving her pay increase.”

“She sure is!” You laugh a bit and kiss him once more, thumb brushing across his lower lip. “This is perfect.”

“It’s… I… you…”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit!?

Not Sukuna getting nervous, no, no, no that can’t happen. You’re blinking a bit, looking so beautiful you make him want to speak the stupidest, corniest words, you’re a woman they would pen poems for - but Sukuna was not doing that. He couldn’t describe you in any words, he was a man of actions, of kissing you until you can’t speak, of pleasuring your pretty body until you’re a mess under him.

Sukuna doesn’t know how to say it, how to go about it, even though he has planned this for a week, he can’t function suddenly, not watching the wind sweep your hair, the silk dancing on your skin. Torn between eating you up right on this table and panicking, he can’t figure out how he does this!?

He hates romantic movies, so he can’t remember one for shit, and you do deserve all of this, Fiji, the gazebo, the expensive wine, and the fucking ring. It’s your first ‘date’ and he’s proposing, is it too insane? He’s trying to talk himself up, play it in his head, but nothing works then and there, except kneeling between your thighs, making you heat up.

He knows how to do one thing, and that’s fuck you, eat you, make you feel so fucking good, easier than words. Sukuna bends down, pressing kisses along your bere thighs where your kimono parts, you gasp at the sensations, setting down your wine as he kisses higher and higher. He feels your heat against his lips, groaning, lips pressing higher as your hips shift.

“Is this why you brought me out here? To taste me?” Your words almost take him out, he groans a bit, pressing a hungry kiss right where your cunt is over your shorts, and you’re gripping his broad shoulders with a cry.

“No, not just that.” He pulls back then, sighing, eyeing you so seriously you pause then, blinking.

“Kuna, is everything okay? You seem-”

“You’re going to marry me, brat.” He’s scowling now, you think you must have misheard him, mouth dropping when he reaches in his pocket, your eyes widen so big it’s almost comical to him, as he clears his throat.

“Huh? You… oh! Oh!? Oh?” You’re covering your mouth when Sukuna’s pulling out that box, it feels unreal, you never thought you’d feel this, hear this, when he pulls it open you get a glimpse of a diamond prettier than anything you’ve ever seen, like the moonlight itself, leaving you speechless.

“It’s not up for discussion.” He says angrily, and you realize he’s up on one knee now, your entire body is shaking as you try to collect your thoughts. “You are going to be my wife, got it?”

You laugh and cry suddenly, a mix of emotions that are unstable, leaving Sukuna to stare at you, red eyes narrowing. “You aren’t asking?” You manage then, holding your chest as it heaves from your insane sobs/laughs, unsure of how to describe the huge, buff man telling you that you’re his wife.

It’s so Sukuna.

“I already know the answer, so.” He’s scared shitless, watching as you break down in front of him, trying to keep his act up, glaring even deeper at you now as he takes out the ring. “Hand, now.”

“Oh my god is this actually…” He snatches up your shaking hand, slipping the ring on now, acting like he’s not shaking just as badly as you, clearing his throat.

“I’ll hear no arguing brat, you’re marrying me. The kid can take my name too, I’ll adopt him and-” You knock Sukuna over, pouncing on him now, and careening the two of you to the wooden floor, covered in a soft plush rug the same color as the pretty sand all around you, lips all over his.

Sukuna moans then, exhaling in relief, feeling your salty tears falling against his own cheeks, his big hands coming to your waist, when you finally pull up for air, lip trembling so hard you have to bite it, eyes glimmering with tears. He sighs now, slipping his hands back as he looks up at the girl he loves, feeling every movement as she lays on top of him.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Sukuna. In what world wouldn’t I choose you?” Sukuna exhales, shutting his eyes and feeling his own stupid tears threaten, when you rest your forehead on his, and your breaths mingle in the night.

“Good, knew it.” He manages, with a shaky breath, and you’re giggling again, while tears keep falling. “Are you crying or laughing, hmm?”

“Both.”

“Am I funny to you?”

“No, Sukuna…” You lean up, straddling him then, as he moans, hands slipping up your waist. “You’re perfect.”

Sukuna sits up now, dragging your heat against him as he kisses you, tongue sweeping inside your mouth, devouring you so desperately, you cling to him, rolling your hips and whining out.

“Fuck, I need you baby,” his husky declaration is met with him holding you up, yanking your shorts to the side and almost ripping the material, while his mouth drags across your breasts. “Now.”

“Yes, sir.” You end him always, he is almost cumming in his pants as you yank them down with an eager tug. Sukuna grips your ass while you stroke his huge, thick length, the veins bulging, that precum oozing all along his piercing, he whimpers when you roll your finger on it. “My fiance.”

“Your fucking fiance.” He laughs softly with you then, dragging your cunt along his length and letting you grind on it, while he’s tugging at that silk kimono, mouth only leaving yours to kiss your throat, bite your collarbone, drag his tongue across your neck hungrily, cunt soaking him more and more. “Take it baby.”

You can’t when he does this, when he gives you the reins, cunt so wet you can hardly stand it, so slick when you pull back and grab his cock, he eases right in, though the stretch burns, it’s so fucking good. You scream out, head falling back when Sukuna finds your clit between your bodies, watching you bounce up and down his length, groaning as he sees the bulge in your tummy, holding your shorts aside.

“That’s it, take it all, sexy little fucking slut. My pretty slut, aren’t you?” You shake your head, slamming down hard then and bottoming out as much of his cock as you can, making him inhale sharply.

“Fiance.” You whisper, only making him moan again, lifting you and dragging you back down his cock, eating up every scream echoing in the little hidden paradise, while your slick, gummy walls grip him, and he’s pressing that spot over and over, watching you fall apart for him.

“Keep going, slutty little fiance. Ride me like you know you can, huh? So fucking good, feel that pretty pussy.” He’s rolling his thumb again, pushing you over the edge and pinning you down with an arm around you, rocking you on him. “That’s it, cum all over me, fuck… look at you…”

“Kuna!” You scream out his name, eyes rolling back, a line of drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth, clit spasming as your cunt pulses, gripping him so good he can’t stop his own soft cries, just urging you on. “In me, cum in me please…”

“Gonna put another baby right in you, you want it?” You nod eagerly, sniffling as he rides out your orgasm, finally releasing his rough thumb from your clit, as you collapse on him, clinging as he clings to you, flipping you over finally, pressing you down against the rug. “How many should I give you?”

“So m-many babies, ngh!” Sukuna shoves your thighs up, pressing heavy weight on you, shoving his cock so deep as he pauses then, seeing your hair flowing underneath you, eyes so dilated they’re black, your lips swollen from his kisses, neck decorated with glistening teeth marks.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” His soft words in the midst of getting your cunt railed further prove just how much of his duality fills you then, as he exhales and kisses your forehead softly, inhaling and exhaling.

“I love you, Kuna. I c-can’t - ah! Wait to… marry y-you,” your words are broken up with cries and kisses, your hands slipping up under the hot skin of his muscled back, feeling him as he moves, one hand on the back of your thigh as the other braces himself over you, and you’re so full you can hardly stand it, feeling his cock throb. “Please, please…”

“Fuck, I’ll give you anything, brat, any fucking thing.” Sukuna slams in one more time, filling your needy cunt, and god she sucks him up, those walls gripping his cock like a vise and milking him, when you both stare at each others’ eyes in the nights, unfocused and blurry, while he fills your hole so much it pours out.

“Oh god, Kuna!” You’re crying again, while he picks you up, holding you against his chest, still intimately connected, kissing every inch of your body he can reach, as he strokes his hands up and down your body. “We’re getting married!?”

“Fuck yes, no choice in it.” You roll your eyes, giggling.

“The most aggressive proposal ever- ah!” Sukuna slams back up into your cunt, making your eyes lock up to his, while he smirks, raising a brow.

“Running that mouth like that, think I’m fucking done yet?”

******

Two months later

You and Sukuna run this city, walking side by side, heels clicking along the floors of the club, one of Sukuna’s arms around you as you take in the club, currently renovated. Sukuna allowed you all creative vision, and an endless budget, and you have transformed it into a cabaret style club, of course it offered all the scantily clad dancers and opportunities as before, but a little different.

The feel of it was straight out of the nineteen twenties, a speakeasy run - funny enough - by mobsters themselves. To celebrate such an occasion, Sukuna has donned an old style pinstripe suit and a bowler hat, and you’re in a pretty little flapper dress, tassels silver and glimmering, glowing like the day he met you, saw you, as a million soft red lights dance across your skin.

The strippers are wearing draped pearl necklaces between their breasts, men are given the finest cigars, you see then all of your friends. They are your friends, truly, Satoru, Suguru, Choso and Toji, along with women all over, including your friend who is draped over Satoru currently, giggling in his ear.

Their eyes go to you both as you waltz in, they’re gathered around the large round table with stacks of cards and poker chips, all dressed up to the nines, you couldn’t describe it better than you’d stepped back a century. To see it all come together, you’re emotional, and Sukuna senses it, hand big and comforting on your back.

“How do you like all the work the brat did, hmm?” He gets a nudge and a glare, saying your name instead with a chuckle, before sitting down at the table and yanking you down on his thigh, right where you belong.

“It’s insanely hot.” Satoru says then, grinning over at you, he looks quite dashing as one would say back then… well, you think.

“It’s amazing, really, gonna have even more business.” Toji says, patting your shoulder as you flush under the praise.

“I was thinking it’s something unique, a cut above the rest. We’re not just any ordinary club you know.” Sukuna yanks you even closer against him now, wrapping his big arm around your waist, hand gripping the side of your thigh as you cross your legs and look back at him. “We’re special.”

“We are.” He gruffly agrees, kissing you softly, while the waitresses serve, and the bartenders spin bottles, the dancers undulating, the shot girls serving with a smile, all dressed up and moving to the old jazz of a time long past.

“It’s perfect.” You say, he sighs now, nodding, red eyes lit up.

“It needed your touch.” You giggle, breathless, cupping his face as he turns you back to face the table, leaning over it now. “Deal us in.”

“Shit, you’re playing?” Suguru asks, raising a dark brow. “You’re shit at poker Sukuna.”

“She’s great at it, also fuck you I am not shit, you are.” Everyone laughs, as Satoru pouts, staring at his cards now, as his girl leans over and he glares.

“No peeking!”

“Your cards are shit I bet.” Satoru flips Toji off for that, as he grins, girl on his lap, puffing on a cigar. “Now my cards are good.”

“If they were that good you wouldn’t reveal your hand.” Choso waves smoke out of his face, opting to light a blunt instead, as you take a sip of a drink one of the shot girls hand you, smiling and thanking her.

“He’s right, never reveal your cards.” You say softly, taking your own now, and not showing a damn reaction, because you have a fucking full house. You just blink and remain normal, and Sukuna eyes them, then you.

“Poker face, who knew?”

“Shh!” You smack at him, just making him chuckle. The phone dings, and you peek to see Touma is asleep, you show Sukuna the picture and he sighs, pressing a kiss on your cheek now. “He’s so cute isn’t he?”

“He told me, he wanted a little sister you know.” His words send sparks through your body, heat against his strong thigh then, the words making you disoriented.

“Oh, he did?” You try to act casual, but he hears the softness in your voice, the longing, while the men around the circle start playing their hands.

“You like that idea, don’t you? Should we work on making one?” His whisper is too much, you lay your cards out then as everyone looks at you in shock.

“Full house!” You exclaim, standing, Sukuna’s sitting there chuckling as you gather all the chips, and he gets the perfect view of your ass in this flapper dress, hugging your curves. His hands slip up and you damn near squeak.

“We just started!?” Satoru angrily pouts again, throwing down his cards. “No fair! Re deal them out.”

“Gonna have to count us out.” Sukuna says, standing and feeling your trembling body in front of him, as everyone rolls their eyes.

“Oh go on then.” That was just about everyone, while Sukuna drags you into his office, and slams you against the door, kissing you over and over as he slips up your dress, and you’re already soaking between your thighs, whining out.

“Got you that excited, hmm, brat?” He whispers, picking you up then, pressing you against the door as he locks it, your hands clinging to his jacket, nodding desperately, grinding your hips and making him moan. “Then throw out your birth control.”

“Shit, really?” He chuckles, kissing down your throat, your breasts, picturing them full, gripping one and making you cry out.

“Yes, really, gonna make you a mommy, fuck…” You’re getting carried over to his desk now, hovering over you, hat falling and making you giggle, sitting it on your head, making him moan. “Gotta be so sexy… god I can’t wait to fill you up.” He’s kneeling then, spreading your thighs, shock of pink hair entangled in your hands as he kisses up your inner thigh now.

“You’re gonna be a daddy Kuna - ah!” Your giggle is cut off with a bite right over your clit, ruby eyes glinting up at you, while your bare thighs are thrown over his strong shoulders.

“Say that again, I swear to god brat.” You’re covering your giggle, even though the music is still blaring in the club, cunt getting soaking wet under your panties, his hot tongue making the thin lace into nothing, as his dark nails sink into the plush of your thighs, and your head falls back.

“Gonna punish me daddy Kuna?”

“That’s it.” Sukuna has flipped you now, ass up, smacking you so hard it echoes, stinging and making you yelp.

“Get back down there!” You pout, gasping when you hear his belt unbuckle, feeling two fingers sink right inside your slick cunt, eliciting a filthy moan.

“Gonna have to teach you a lesson, brat.” He kisses up your neck, gripping your dress and shoving it higher, as your whines just make him ache more to fill you. “Fill you so much you won’t be able to walk.”

You’ve gotten him going, and you can’t stop your grin when he tilts your head to him, piercing on his tip slipping between your folds, and his glare falters at just how pretty his fiance is like this.

“You do this on purpose, don’t you?” He whispers, your giggle is cut off when he stretches you, filling you so perfectly, as his hand lifts your thigh, pulling back and sinking deeper, while a tattooed hand grips your throat.

“Maybe I do.” He kisses you then, shoving all the way inside you, the perfect, perfect fit for him. “Kuna…”

“I love you, brat.” He huffs, biting your bare shoulder and thrusting, so deep inside, you’re gasping at how much he’s stuffing you, filling you, not sure you can ever get used to it. “Can’t wait to fill this perfect pussy so full.”

“L-love you, w-want it Kuna, fill me - mnh!” Your words are cut off by cries and a brutal kiss, as the man you love ruins you again and again, owns you and claims you, and makes you his with every bite and mark.

But with each sharp thrust are softer ones, kisses, whispers of love, and that is just one of the many reasons you adore your Kuna, the conundrum he is, a mobster, a lover, a violent but gentle man, a step dad and perhaps one day he’d have babies with you.

“Gonna get you pregnant tonight.”

“Oh y-yeah?” He laughs softly, kissing you again.

“You’re so cute, fuck… yeah, brat.” He’s lifting you again, turning you to face him, kissing you as his hands take you over, and your thighs shake on either side of his hips, moaning as he pulls back to look down at your pretty face. “No way you’re not getting pregnant once I’m done with you.”

“Please, Kuna, mnh!” You fall into each other, and Sukuna makes sure to pump as many loads into you, while the cabaret goes on, and your outfits are wrinkled and strewn around his office, ignoring any knocks and laughing softly. Somewhere there are cheers, shouts and laughter as the new version of the club kicks off…

But the two of you are in your own little world.

I hope you enjoyed their end, I rly loved writing Modern Kuna in a fic for the first time (aside from oneshots!) I'd love to write him againnn. See you in the next one <3

Taglist #1- @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua @mai-505 @suguru-nugget

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [I.N]

Everyone decides to take a guess what Jeongin's girlfriend's favorite thing to do in the bedroom is - and almost everyone gets it wrong.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Jeongin x Fem!Reader Warnings: SPIT, lots of spit, PinV (wrap it before you tap it), tummy bulge/size kink, manhandling, bondage/hands being bound together, pussy spanking, spanking in general

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. <- This is the last installment of this series !! It's finally coming to an end.~

Word Count: 2.2K

Bangchan | Lino | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | I.N

"Why does Hyunjin get to go first?" "Because he's already between her legs, I guess."

"Would you two shut up? This is all for educational purposes. You need to watch and learn; Because I'm about to prove to you that I know what her biggest kink is." Hyunjin's head whips to face the two that bicker about him, Jisung stepping back and Felix letting his arms cross over his chest. "Ayen-ah's let on before that she really likes this one." His thumb finds your clit, flicking over the bundle of nerves and you finally give him a soft reaction to work with, your eyes slipping shut and hands curling against your chest in awe.

Felix lets out a heavy breath that ends in a soft whine, his head tipping to the side to get a better look at where his Hyung's cock begins to prod at your folds - and Felix can't help but stare as he slowly sinks into your warmth, wishing it were himself instead. "That's not fair.."

"So what exactly is the kink here...? Or is this just one big excuse to fuck your friend's girlfriend?" Chris quips off to Hyunjin's right, peering almost just over his shoulder to watch as the younger's cock sinks further into you. ".. Going in raw?" He questions shortly after, realizing Hyunjin hadn't slipped a condom on before pushing into you.

And Hyunjin sighs, tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth as he listens to the others continue to bicker about him just wanting to have sex with you.

But then Jisung sees it.

The way your skin tightens; The way your stomach bulges each time Hyunjin slowly rolls his hips forward. The way your head tips back as he leans down over you and whispers for you to feel it, guiding one of your hands away from your chest to instead press down on the very place his cock prods and rocks against. "..Bulging..." He whispers, lips parted in surprise at the sight in front of them.

"That's.. a pretty close second." Jeongin hums. He sits back against the headboard as he watches his Hyung rock into you slowly; He was lucky he got to fuck you at all - with Jeongin's permission of course - so he was going to do it with the utmost care. "But that's definitely not top spot."

Jisung practically barks from where he stands behind Hyunjin, reaching to tug on his shoulder. "I knew that wasn't going to be it-! Move, it's my turn." And to many of their surprise, the artist lets himself be pulled away from your sweetness.

Just as expected, Jisung moves forward instead to test his theory. If he could get this right with his one guess he would win the bet. And the prize... God, he's never imagined something so wonderful in his entire life. One hand drops to lay on your thigh while the other reaches to undo his belt - and he watches your eyes widen in surprise at his bold move, thinking he'd won already. Your lips pop apart and you're sure you're about to drool at the way his fingers curl around the buckle and rip it wide open, his belt dragging through the loops of his jeans in such a quick and slick manner that you're sure this is a practiced move. With your reaction he was sure he just ended the bet.

Jeongin almost moves to ask Jisung what he's going to do with that belt, hoping there's no impact about to be made with the accessory - but he simply sits up and stays quiet as he watches Jisung wrap the thick, heavy leather around your wrists to keep them snug together. Your soft gasp of anticipation feeds into Jisung's delusion that he was winning the bet, letting him pin your arms down above your head before he leans in to smile right in your face. "You like bondage, don't you, angel?"

And your smile grows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you nod. "I do; I really, really do. But..." Jisung's heart sinks as you giggle. "It's not my favorite."

"Hah!" Changbin's laugh basically spews from his lips in a visual syllable, his arms previously crossed over his chest now gesturing to Jisung to skidaddle. "Go. She said you lost the bet so get off 'er and let someone else have a turn." His lips pull into a soft smirk, parted and exposing the way his tongue pokes between his teeth like he has ideas of his own to try out.

But someone else is just a tad quicker with wanting to win the bet. As soon as Jisung moves off of the bed in front of you to go sit beside Jeongin in defeat, Minho is right there to take his place; Only he doesn't crawl onto the bed to get to you and instead stands at the edge of it, feeling as though he looms over your still-bound body displayed for them so openly atop the sheets.

Your wrists stay above your head as you crane your neck to look at the man standing so close yet so far, only to have your head bounce back against the mattress from the force of Minho's hand locking around your right ankle tight enough you're sure it might bruise. He wastes no time in dragging you to where he stands so he's properly positioned between your legs, his eyes dark as they drag over every curve that comes to him so swiftly. And no one in the room can ignore the way you yelp at the feeling of being manhandled.

Calloused palms and rough fingertips run up the outer expanse of your thighs, coming nowhere near close to your warmth as they wander higher. He grips at your hips and gives them a teasing squeeze, feeling the way your skin presses between his fingers; So soft, so tempting. With careful but fairly stiff and rough movements, the muscle in his biceps tightens and flexes as he flips you from your back to your front - your face down and ass up for him. A position most would expect when it came to the resident ass-lover of the group. "There we go."

And with the way you moan the moment your face hits the sheets everyone in the room can almost guarantee Minho had won the bet fair and square. That was until your head slowly lifted from where it pressed against the mattress, breathing heavy with eyes dragging up towards your boyfriend where he sat now in front of you - smirking and letting his arms slowly cross over his chest. "You gonna tell them, baby, or do I have to?"

"There's no way that wasn't it." But Seungmin steps forward to test his luck anyway. Even if Minho won the bet just now, he wanted to get his own needs met, his palm smacking down hard on the bare skin of your asscheeks twice before he brought his hand lower and let it meet the wetness of your folds. That gets you to jolt, a sharp gasp escaping swollen lips.

The way you whimpered against the satin of your sheets almost made Seungmin think he was right about his guess, but the glance and small shake of Jeongin's head seemed to secure the realization that he was wrong, too. Seungmin sighs out and brings his hand down harder than before, making you flinch and moan loud - just for him, considering he'd been spanking you for his own satisfaction at that point. May as well let him know you appreciated it while it happened - and that you were open to it in the future, too, of course.

"I'm starting to think we're never going to guess it," Chris murmurs from where he stands near Changbin, leaning against the wall just to watch as everyone took guess after guess. "Maybe we should start going for softer kinks? Stuff that's less harsh...?"

Changbin shakes his head almost immediately. "She seems like the type who would like impact play or something, though. Do we need to go for something more extreme..?"

"What if it's got something to do with toys?" Jisung quips quietly, seated on the edge of the bed and fighting hard not to beg for another chance at winning the bet.

While the producers babbled on to each other about where to go from their current point, Felix stepped forward from where he'd been observing the entire time the others tried to figure out what it was you liked. You'd reacted well to everything they'd done so far; Hyunjin's size, Jisung's restraining, Minho's manhandling, and then Seungmin's spanking. There was no way in Hell you didn't enjoy the more hard-hitting kinks and the like - so he was going to take his chance while the others whined to each other about losing the bet. Besides, they were working against each other - not with.

"Move." Felix hums, gently nudging Minho aside. The older of the two surprisingly complies with ease and steps aside to watch Felix with close eyes, his hands settling on your ass before rubbing down to your hips. There's no hold, no grabbing - no slapping, spanking, bruising or restraining. No, Felix's hands are gentle as they rub over your skin, smoothing down the swell of your ass before giving a teasing squeeze and trailing lower. He settles his hands along your thighs before using his thumbs to spread your pussy open just for him to see - and for Minho to get a glance at.

Chris tips his head as he watches, eyes drawn away from Jisung and Changbin when Felix had stepped forward to take a shot at the prize. "Felix, wait. We should figure out what --"

But then he stops, lips popping apart in pure surprise at the utter filthiness of the younger man placed behind you.

Just as you lift your head to peek up in slight confusion at their constant rambling - and the feeling of someone's hands on you from behind who definitely was not Minho - Felix spits on your pussy.

It splatters on the pink of your skin, mixing with the slick that seems to gush from your aching, empty hole - and Felix watches as you clench around nothing in desperation. Yeah, he'd just won the bet.

"Shit," falls from Hyunjin's lips before he can help it, staring down the brunet who he wasn't aware until now was quite so.. dirty. His eyes dart from Felix over to where you lay, your reaction giving everything away; The way you bury your face down in the sheets as a strangled and shy moan rips from your throat; The way your cheeks burn a crimson hue none of them had seen all night. Even your ears tint pink in embarrassment that your dirty little secret had been revealed.

Jeongin, finally sitting forward and reaching to cup your cheeks in one of his hands, tips your head to face him so you can't quite hide away from them no matter how much you want to. "Look at me," he demands, voice soft but firm with instruction. "Open." And the others watch as you obey so sweetly for your boyfriend, lips falling apart and jaw completely slack so he can spit right onto your tongue - your mouth closing so you can swallow it before whimpering out in need of more.

And Felix - well, he's in Heaven. He'd took his shot and won the bet, belt everyone else out of the water no matter how hard they tried to figure you out - and he'd done it just by standing back and watching. His chest swells with pride and excitement at the knowledge that now, he got to receive his prize; That being you for at long as he wanted - or as long as he could last, he supposed. There was no way he was giving you back up to Jeongin before he was milked dry. And what kind of a friend would he be if he didn't pump you full before he returned you to your rightful owner?

"Get out." His voice is low in his chest, demanding everyone else leave so he could have his time with you. He needed it more than anything at the moment - you two shared the exact same kink and he was sure now he'd put that knowledge to good use, maybe even treat you so well with it that you wouldn't want to go crawling back to your boyfriend. But more importantly, you needed it, too, what with the way you were still clenching around nothing and just begging for him to spit on your pretty pussy again.

As the others file out the bedroom door, Jeongin chuckles low in his throat and leans forward to give you a quick kiss before he departs. His thumb slides over your cheek, gentle and soft - soothing before the heated, lust-filled ache that was bound to come in the following hours. His lips were like Heaven - like home - as they pressed against yours in a promise that once Felix was done with you - done with his reward for winning the bet and getting to use you like a toy for as long as he wanted - he would return and greet you with a warm embrace to give you as much care as you needed. Not that he doubted Felix would treat you well. Jeongin took a moment to peek down at where your wrists were still bound together with Jisung's belt, moving a hand down to hook a finger around the leather to give a gentle tug. He smiled against your lips, thumb tugging at the lower as he slowly pulled away to whisper,

"I'm going to leave this here. Good luck, baby."

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[wysteria-bloom]

⚝ "oh shit you're crying okay"

Hazbin Hotel boys react to you crying at a party

Warnings : mentions of val. hate that motherfucker.

Genre : angst, comfort, fluff

A/n : bro I jump between fandom obsessions too much I need help. Why am I simping for THE DEVIL from THE BIBLE and A TV-HEAD MAN 😭😭 actually devastated with myself. Anyways Vox and Alastor's may be a bit longer because... yeah. Angel-Dust's is a friend relationship but you can interpret it differently if you are a dude lol

Characters : angel-dust, husk, alastor, vox, lucifer

▢ angel dust 𔘓

When he walked into the bathroom, he was shocked at first at the sight of you, feeling fear grip his heart.

Had Val got his hands on you when he was distracted? He would never forgive himself if he had-

"Toots, ya can't jus' go an' disappear on me like that," He began softly as he closed the bathroom door, locking it for privacy," had me tearin' out my hair."

You sniffed as you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks swollen from tears," s-sorry..." you whimpered out, curling in on yourself a little more.

He grimaced at the dirty floor you were sitting on before maneuvering around you sit next to you, one of his arms pulling you into his side-embrace comfortingly.

"This party's fuckin' shitty, ain't it? Sorry for bringin' ya here, doll." He sighed out, hand caressing your side softly.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from sobbing as you shook your head vehemently," i-it's not that, Angel... you were only trying to cheer me up..." you furiously wiped at your eyes to stop more tears from falling," I just-... Fucking hate everything down here..."

He hummed, head leaning on top of yours," cheers to that." He droned out with a frown.

You looked up at him, his heart squeezing at the innocent look on your face. You weren't supposed to be down in a place like this, there was no way.

"Can we just... go get ice cream or something?" You then gulped, waving a hand," b-but if you're having fun-"

"Nah. I'd rather do one of Charlie's trust exercises than be in this shit-hole." He stood up smoothly and pulled you with him, keeping you close to him as he grinned toothily," I would kill for an ice cream right now."

▢ alastor ⍋

He didn't willingly want to be here, in fact he stayed for a total of 15 minutes to please Charlie before escaping outside to leave.

But the sight of you sitting on the steps outside sniffling to yourself made him pause in his long strides.

You had your head hung low, a red plastic cup sitting at your side alone.

You were prime for manipulation.

But... Alastor found himself being sympathetic. He breathed out a sigh before walking over to you," my, what do we have here? My dear, being out in the open in such a vulnerable state is a bold choice!" He exclaimed, grinning down at you, but it wasn't as sharp as it usually was.

You jumped at his sudden presence," Jesus-!" You looked up.

"Not quite!"

You seemed to relax at the sight of the red-haired demon and sighed in relief," Alastor..." you gave him a weak smile, wiping away at your tears," Wh-what brings you out here, huh? Needed fresh air?"

He sat down on the steps with you," As a matter of fact, I was planning my great escape from this wretched event!" He tilted his head at you, hair falling along with him as he regarded you with a knowing glint in his eyes," I believe you're well acquainted with the feeling, hmm?"

Your smile fell as you huffed, deciding it was useless to keep up a happy persona around Alastor when he was so good at reading right through you," You could say that."

"What bothers you so, my dear?" He gave you a closed-eyed smile, tugging at your cheek like an annoying auntie would do," perhaps your favourite radio demon can be of service to you."

He earned a giggle from you as you waved his hand away amusedly, making his expression soften at the sound.

"You're the only radio demon I know." You raised a brow at him in amusement.

He nodded with an exageratted shrug," I wouldn't have it any other way, dear."

You smiled genuinely at him, feeling your worries already disappearing," parties suck." You answered his previous question.

"Aha!" His smile looked like a grimace and his fluffy ears flattened as if an unpleasant memory was reminded to him," agreed."

"They're gross."

"Tell me about it!"

"And the people in it make me want to kill myself. Again."

He snapped his fingers at you," I knew we had something in common! Well-said, cher, very well-said~!" He pressed a hand to his heart - as if he had one.

As you laughed, your tears dried up and you leaned back a little," as for you being of service?..." You trailed off, referring back to his earlier inquiry. A soft smile made its way to your lips," I think you've helped enough already, Al."

The red demon's posture seemed to stiffen but relax, his grin curving gently which was his way of softening it," Wonderful to hear, my dear."

He gave you a gentle pat to the shoulder and you had never felt so comforted in that moment.

▢ husk ꩜

Before even attending the party, he knew something was up with you. You weren't smiling as much on the way there, and you were jumpy at his comforting touches.

Even so, you insited that you wanted to spend time with everyone at the party despite his assurances that you could stay home.

When he found you crying in the bathroom, he froze in his spot before grumbling to himself and closing the door behind him, not before giving a growl and a deadly glare at the demon that was whining about needing a piss.

He led you gently from the ground to a standing position before settling you on the toilet seat.

The silence between you both was soft and comforting, hanging in the air like a gentle caress of wind.

He got down on his knees in front of you and began to wipe away at your tears, a deep frown settled on his face.

You only stared into his eyes with your glassy ones, bottom lip trembling," my makeup probably looks so fucking gross..." you sobbed.

Husk snorted," should be the least of your worries, doll." When you finally stopped crying he huffed and flicked your forehead," you have some serious FOMO." He grumbled out, an amused smirk on his fluffy face.

You sniffled and nodded, choking back more tears," I know."

"And you need to know when to stop if you're uncomfortable."

You nodded again," I know.."

His brows furrowed," and you still look pretty with your makeup running down your face." His reassurance was sweet and charming despite the disgruntled expression on his face.

A watery smile broke onto your lips,"... Thank you." You breathed out softly.

"Wanna get the fuck outta here? There's a nice bar I know a few blocks away we could drink at. Just the two of us."

You hummed," Sounds awesome."

▢ vox ᯤ

When he agreed to go to this stupid party for Val, he wasn't expecting to run into something like this.

His greatest enemy, you, was sat outside with your head in your hands as you sobbed and cursed to yourself.

To be honest he was torn between making fun of you or just taking advantage of the situation and killing you.

But there was that little voice in the back of his coding that screamed to comfort you.

He groaned and ran his hands down his face," fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life..." He muttered to himself as he walked over to you.

He stood behind you and watched as you paused to look up at him, face puffy and pathetic.

He grinned wryly at the sight," Holy shit you're an ugly crier." He stated without thinking.

Your wide eyes turned half-lidded as you turned your attention away from him," Go fuck yourself, Vox. I'm not in the mood for your whiny baby shit." You grumbled out.

"Hey, hey. Whiny baby is too far, sweetheart. Take the insults down a few notches, yeah?" He then sat down next to you," treating me like this when about to comfort you. The fuckin' nerve of you."

You gave him a deadly glare, growling," Vox, leave. I told you I'm not in the fucking m-" you were interrupted by being pulled into a sudden embrace, making you shut up immediately.

There was a long awkward silence as you were pulled into Vox's side in a side-hug.

Then you spoke with a small voice,"... what is this." Was more of a demand than a question.

"Comfort." Vox replied casually when he was fucking sweating buckets.

"........ huh...." you bit your lip as you felt tears sting at your eyes,"... alright."

You leaned into him unknowingly, making him gush a little to himself. Why the fuck was he being soft right now? He didn't know.

"You looked hot tonight. All dolled up." He gritted out.

"Yeah? Looked? Past-tense?"

He nodded," you look like a wet-rag now."

You snorted," fuck you, man." You grumbled, and leaned your head onto his shoulder," fuck, I'm pathetic..."

"Yeah. But it's okay." He replied as comfortingly as he could but it just came out awkwardly," y'know parties are supposed to be fun? Why are you crying?"

"I hate my life? Or lack thereof?"

He hummed with a nod," Fair enough." Then he smiled widely," guess we have one thing in common, huh?"

You looked up at him before you sent him a slightly amused smirk," do we?"

He cleared his throat at your expression and looked away quickly, blush on his screen,"I-I mean.. yeah. Fucking sucks down here. Literal shit hole." Then he shrugged, trying to brush off the stutter of his heart," but... but at least you're not like... alone or whatever the fuck."

You stared for a moment, eyes softening as you nodded in agreement,"... Yeah. At least there's that, huh?"

You leaned back into his embrace with less tension in your body as Vox began to relax alongside you.

▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝

He came to this party just to make a brief appearance for his daughter's celebration of the hotel being rebuilt to be honest.

But he took quick note of how you had left very suddenly, mumbling to him about needing to take a breather outside. He was worried, of course, but he just left you in your lonesome until he got worried when you didn't return for 20 minutes.

When he walked outside onto the balcony of the hotel his eyes widened in horror at the sigh of you sobbing to yourself.

"Oh shit you're crying okay ummm," He walked over to you quickly, playing with his fingers awkwardly," Honey is everything okay? Do...do you need a hug?"

"Shit... sorry..." you mumbled looking up at him ashamedly from the floor, smiling pathetically as tears trailed down your cheeks," I.. I'm sorry you have to see me like this..."

He frowned deeply, his nervousness subsiding as he crouched down in front of you," Don't apologise for something so silly." He mumbled, grabbing on your hand and gently squeezing," what's wrong? Is it something I can help with?"

His concern was incredibly sweet and touching, not something you would expect from the King of Hell.

But here he was comforting you like you were the most precious treasure to him. And you were... aside from Charlie, for obvious reasons.

You sniffled and felt your tears gathering again at his concern, you bottom lip trembling. At the sight, he frowned," Oh, love... oh honey..." He brought you into a hug, arms wrapping securely around you as he let his wings embrace you as well," I'm here now... always will be..."

You nodded against him as you just cried your heart out.

[cryoculus]

— cleanup on aisle three ⟢

phainon’s late-night grocery runs are a masterclass in chaos: strange ingredients, fish-shaped lighters, and recipes that could either save the world or end it. and you, a cynical store clerk who just wants to end your shifts quietly, find yourself caught in the storm of his culinary madness.

★ featuring; phainon x gender-neutral!reader

★ word count; 8.3k words

★ tags; friends to lovers, the grand chrysos au (from the april fool's chef pv lol), fluff, idiots in love, several food mentions

★ notes; kaientai tumblr reinstation starts NYEOW! if you follow me on ao3, you've probably already seen this, but i thought it would be a nice idea to crosspost on tumblr since i have a fairly decent following here as well :")

It’s 12:17 a.m., and the store feels like it’s running on fumes.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like they're trying to quit. The floor's been mopped twice already, but there’s still a suspicious sticky spot near the freezer aisle. You’ve stopped caring. An hour left on your shift, and you’ve taken refuge behind the express lane counter with a pen and a long receipt roll.

You're halfway through sketching a moth in combat boots when the automatic doors sigh open.

You don’t look up. Probably just another grad student scraping together a meal from energy drinks and despair.

You finish the boots. Add spurs, just for fun.

Minutes pass. A distant freezer door thunks shut. Then: the squeak of a wobbly cart wheel approaches, slow and uneven.

You glance up as a guy pulls into your lane—not with a full cart, but a modest one that looks like it’s been curated by someone either very sleep-deprived or very emotionally unstable.

He’s tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a chef’s coat that’s half-unbuttoned and clinging on for dear life. There’s flour on one sleeve, something like tomato sauce on the other. A burn mark peeks out just above his wrist like a badge of honor. He looks like he’s been personally insulted by dinner service. 

You scan his face—sharp, tired features and eyes that look like they haven't closed in 36 hours. And still, for some reason, he’s kind of hot in the way that makes you instantly distrust him.

He starts unloading his haul without a word.

A 2 liter bottle of cola.

Repackaged chicken feet.

A pint of heavy cream.

A family-size bag of marshmallows.

Three lemons.

Two ramen seasoning packets (no noodles, just the seasoning, and you don't even ask).

A tray of century eggs.

A novelty fish-shaped lighter.

You look at the items. Then up at him. Then back at the items.

“Either this is the world’s saddest dinner or an extremely niche food challenge.”

He exhales—half laugh, half resignation.

“I had to abandon my souffle. My caramel turned into lava. And my artichoke casserole exploded.”

“And this is... what? Your consolation prize?”

“This is survival.” He nods solemnly at the marshmallows. “These might be dinner. Or something to keep me from spiraling into insanity.”

You arch a brow as you scan the fish lighter. “Planning to set the marshmallows on fire in the parking lot?”

“I like to leave my options open.”

He rests his elbows on the counter like the weight of the grocery cart has followed him here. The store lights catch on the flour streaking his cheekbone. You're not sure if it's endearing or if you should offer him a wet wipe.

“You know we sell lemon wedges, right?” you add, bagging his chaos with minimal judgment.

“I needed to suffer through slicing them myself. Builds character.”

You tap the touchscreen, and the receipt prints in no time. As it rolls out, you add the final detail to your sketch—the moth, now holding a sword and standing triumphantly on top of a lemon. You doodle on a fish lighter beside it like a familiar before handing it over wordlessly.

The guy takes one look and laughs.

“Do you charge extra for emotionally resonant moths?” 

“Only for customers with weird grocery lists.”

He smiles—slow, amused, like he’s filing that away.

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you a lot.”

You don’t respond. You just slide his bag across the counter.

He picks it up, nods once, and turns toward the doors. Stops halfway. Glances back over his shoulder like he might say something else, then changes his mind.

“Thanks for not asking about the seasoning packets. Or the chicken feet.”

You manage a lopsided smile. “Was gonna assume childhood trauma.”

He grins. “Close. Culinary school.”

And with that, he’s gone—out into the night, carrying his bag of questionable dinner plans and a receipt covered in doodles.

You didn’t really expect to see him again.

Weird chef guy with the marshmallows and the seasoning packets. The one who looked like he’d been personally wronged by a stand mixer. He’d left with a fish lighter and chicken feet, and you’d filed him away in your brain under “Midnight Oddities.”

But then, a few nights later, he’s back.

Same graveyard shift. Same busted cart wheel. This time, he’s traded the tomato-stained coat for a plain sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His hair’s still a mess of white—like someone threw powdered sugar into a fan—and there’s a fresh bandaid across one knuckle.

He looks just as tired as before. Maybe more.

The poor guy drops a basket on your express lane counter with a quiet thunk. Inside: two onions, a bottle of balsamic vinegar, two cylinders of butane gas, and an aggressively large chocolate bar.

“Long night?” you ask without looking up from your pen.

“The lamb reduction caught fire,” he says, with the grave seriousness of someone reporting a tragic death.

You raise a brow. “You mean, like, metaphorically?”

“I mean the fire alarm went off. Twice. It’s fine. The sauce died doing what it loved.”

You nod solemnly. “We should all be so lucky.”

He half-grins, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I considered setting the rest of the kitchen on fire just for closure.”

“You’ll need more butane for that.”

You ring up the items, fingers on autopilot. He leans on the counter, watching you, like he’s got nowhere better to be.

You don’t know why it slips out. Maybe it’s the late hour. Maybe it’s the way your feet ache in that particular flavor of minimum wage exhaustion.

“...Thinking of picking up a second job,” you mutter.

He blinks. “Because this one’s not enough of a spiritual journey?”

You snort. “Because rent exists. And degrees don’t pay for themselves.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding, like that makes perfect sense. “You could always be my emotional support line cook.”

“Tempting,” you say flatly. “Do I get benefits?”

“Free pastries and occasional exposure to open flames.”

“You really know how to sweeten a deal.”

As the receipt prints, you flip it over and start sketching without thinking—muscle memory. A tiny version of yourself appears on the paper, slumped inside a soup pot labeled “Capitalism,” one hand holding a spatula like a white flag. Little cartoon flames lick the edges.

You push it across the counter with his bag.

Mister Chef picks it up. Stares. And for a moment, the usual dead-eyed kitchen glaze in his expression breaks.

“You know, these are actually... really good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I mean it. You’re talented.”

You shrug, already pretending to clean the scanner. “Talent doesn’t cover health insurance.”

He’s quiet for a second. You feel him looking again, too long.

“Why don’t you do something with it?” he says softly. “Take commissions maybe? Or start some freelance work?”

You pause, then smile like it’s a joke.

“Not everyone gets to follow their dream on a full stomach.”

He doesn’t have a comeback for that.

You hand over his change, and he takes the bag, still holding the receipt in his other hand like it might burn him if he grips it too hard.

On his way out, he glances back once.

“The soup pot’s got good linework.”

You don’t answer. Just wait for the doors to sigh shut behind him, and a few beats later, you realize that you don't even know that guy's name. But then again, it's not like it matters. You probably won't see him again anyway.

Except you do.

It happens a week after, when you’re not supposed to be on break.

Technically, you're just passing through the cereal aisle on your way to the walk-in, but somehow your legs stop moving somewhere between the frosted flakes and the granola that costs more than your hourly wage.

You sink down to the linoleum, back to the shelves, legs folded, a rejection email glowing on the screen of your phone in one hand.

Your art didn’t make the cut. Again.

Apparently, “strong technique but lacks conceptual cohesion” is the new “we regret to inform you.”

You don’t cry. You just kind of... sit. Long enough for your name badge to start digging into your shoulder.

You hear footsteps approaching. Heavy ones. Paired with the soft clink of glass jars in a basket.

You don’t even look up until the familiar blur of white hair comes into view.

“Oh,” Weird Chef Guy says, blinking. “Did the Lucky Charms defeat you, or are we both having a bad night?”

You don’t answer.

He sets the basket down. Squats in front of you, arms resting on his knees. “You okay?”

You gesture vaguely at your phone. “Just failed at being talented. Again.”

He frowns, tilts his head like he’s trying to squint meaning out of your soul.

“Gallery submission,” you explain. “Rejected. They said my work didn’t have enough... something. Whatever.”

You expect a platitude. Maybe a bad joke. Instead, you get:

“That sucks.”

It’s simple. But it lands harder than it should.

You glance up—he’s in a dark denim overalls this time, smudged with olive tapenade or maybe despair. He smells like rosemary and late-night stress. Still weirdly hot. Still looks like he hasn’t slept since the lunar calendar was invented.

“I applied last minute. Used some older pieces I did before I dropped out of Okhema U.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Art school?”

You nod. “College of Arts. Illustration track. I had to take a leave when tuition got ridiculous, and I thought, you know, maybe if I made some money and kept making stuff, I’d figure it out.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Turns out, sketching on receipt paper in a fluorescent-lit retail hellscape isn’t exactly inspiring.”

Weird Chef Guy sits down beside you now, shoulder just barely grazing yours. His basket sits abandoned next to his knee—a couple of mason jars, chili oil, toothpaste.

“Lack of cohesion, huh?” he says, voice softer now. “They ever tried making risotto?”

You blink. “What?”

“Risotto,” he repeats. “It’s fussy. Needs constant stirring. Tastes like glue if you screw it up even a little. It's a total diva of a dish. You can do everything right and it’ll still come out wrong. But then one day—bam—it hits perfect. Creamy, savory, actual magic. Like it forgave you for your sins.”

You stare. “Are you seriously comparing my failed gallery submission to rice?”

He shrugs. “All I’m saying is, maybe your art’s just... in risotto mode. Not a failure. Just a work in progress with attitude.”

It’s stupid.

It’s really stupid.

But for some reason, your chest eases just enough to breathe again.

You would laugh, genuinely laugh at this stranger's attempt to cheer you up but then you hear the unmistakable crinkle of a snack bag somewhere down the aisle.

“Damionis?” you call, not even turning your head.

A very casual voice responds from behind the cereal shelf: “I’m on break. This aisle just happens to have the best acoustics.”

You groan. “Go bother someone in frozen foods.”

Damionis pops his head around the corner, grinning like the absolute gremlin he is. “Nah, I like this sitcom. You want me to bring popcorn next time?”

“Only if it’s expired.”

He throws you a mock salute and retreats. Probably. You don’t check.

When your nosy co-worker is out of earshot, you glance at your present company. Weird Chef Guy—because you still don’t know his real name despite this being your third meeting in total—leans his head back against the shelf and exhales.

“I’m Phainon, by the way.”

You blink. “What?”

“My name,” he says, glancing sideways, and you look at him like he might just be a mindreader. “Figured it was time you knew it, since I’ve been reading yours off your nametag like a creep.”

You glance down instinctively at the little badge on your apron. Right. 

You snort. “And here I thought you were just stalking me.”

“Only in grocery stores. And only after midnight.”

“Points for subtlety.”

“Points for not crying in the middle of Aisle Five,” he counters.

You bump his shoulder with yours. Not hard. Just enough.

He bumps back.

And in the cereal aisle, between a shelf of off-brand granola and a man with fireproof hands, something very small and very soft unspools in your chest.

You're not sure if you want to give it a name just yet.

You’re halfway through a bag of chips and a sip of flat soda when you see Phainon walking into the break room like he’s just stormed out of an interdimensional kitchen hell.

His chef’s coat’s still half-buttoned, a tiny smear of what could be mustard or burnt caramel streaking down his arm, and he’s holding a tupperware container like it contains either the cure for all your problems—or the worst food poisoning of your life.

He spots you, and the chaos continues in his wake, like some sort of culinary tornado.

“Hey,” he greets you, looking way too pleased with himself. “You free to eat something…experimental?”

You raise an eyebrow, slowly lowering the chips. “I don’t know, chef. Last time I checked, I wasn’t signing up for a cooking class. And who the hell let you in here?”

“You’re not signing up for anything,” he says, ignoring your inquiry as he drops the container on the table with a grin. “I’m just trying something out. The ‘No Food Left Behind’ policy. You’re gonna be a test subject.”

You stare at the tupperware, unsure if you should be excited or worried. The lid pops off, and you brace yourself for the smell of burnt desperation and raw ambition.

But instead, it’s surprisingly…pleasant?

“What is that?” you ask, leaning forward.

“Whatever it is,” Phainon shrugs, “it’s better than the version I made for myself this morning. I was going for ‘vibrant acidity,’ ended up with ‘distilled regret.’” He gestures to the container like it's a grand masterpiece. “So, eat up.”

You give him a skeptical look, but you’ve seen enough of his food disasters by now to know that he probably isn’t trying to kill you with poorly executed gastronomy. At least, based on what he checks out in his carts and baskets after his midnight grocery runs. Slowly, you take a forkful. And damn.

It’s good. Really good. The kind of good that leaves you almost suspicious.

The flavors somehow work together in this mess of ingredients—something salty, something tangy, something rich and comforting. It’s like he didn’t just throw things together, but created something from a place of necessity.

You blink, lowering your fork. “Wait. This...actually isn’t bad.”

He grins. “You sure you’re not just hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” you mutter, finishing the bite. “But no, this is weirdly healing.”

Phainon sits across from you, watching you with an almost unreadable expression. For a second, you almost think he’s serious. “Not what I was going for, but glad to know it worked. Should’ve added more cheese, though.”

“More cheese?”

“Yeah. You’d be amazed at how much cheese fixes everything.” He bobs his head with a self-satisfied smile. “Next time.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something else there—a tiny spark of warmth you weren’t expecting. The food wasn’t just filling a void; it felt like it was filling something deeper. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed it.

You set the tupperware down and glance up at him, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few days. “Thanks,” you murmur, voice a little quieter than you intended. “I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

His smile softens, but only a little. “Then I guess this was the right kitchen experiment.”

You really should have known better than to run your mouth around someone like Phainon.

The first time it happens, it’s on Monday night. You’ve just clocked in, half-dazed from an over-caffeinated day, and the last thing you expect is a neatly wrapped bundle sitting in the break room fridge with your name on it.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. You slide it out of the fridge, already bracing yourself for some bizarre culinary experiment. The tupperware looks oddly familiar—like the same one Phainon showed up with last time, only this time there’s a little post-it note slapped on top.

Eat me.

You sigh, but you’re also starving, so you open it.

Inside is some kind of…stew? It’s thick and bubbling in the tupperware, with chunks of something that almost look like meat but might actually be vegetables, and a drizzle of something that looks suspiciously like a spicy aioli.

You’re not sure whether it’s the blend of spices or the odd richness, but it smells warm and inviting. He even prepared a small serving of rice to pair it with. 

You sit at the table, spoon poised, and take a tentative bite. Holy hell, it’s delicious.

You should be angry that he’s invading your break with weirdly good food, but instead, you’re just grateful you don’t have to rely on stale sandwiches anymore.

The next day, it happens again.

And the next.

It’s like a strange, unspoken agreement now. You never see him drop off the food, but there’s always something waiting in the fridge when you clock in.

By the third day, you’ve gotten used to it—the warm, spicy-sweet curry with just the right level of heat, the unexpectedly perfect homemade bao buns, and today, what looks like a bizarrely decadent bowl of ramen with ingredients that should never go together, but somehow do.

You’re standing in the break room, staring at the latest offering like it’s a strange gift you didn’t ask for, when your coworker, Damionis, leans in from behind you, peering into the fridge.

“What is this, another one of Weird Chef Guy’s meals?”

“His name’s Phainon,” you mutter, but even as you say it, you realize you haven’t actually mentioned that part to anyone.

“Right. Phainon,” Damionis mocks, grinning. “Well, whatever his name is, I don’t know whether to be jealous or concerned. You’ve been eating like royalty all week.”

You just shrug, not sure what to say. It’s not like you asked for this. It’s just happening.

Then the weirdest part comes. The food is so consistently good that you can’t even be mad about it anymore. You don’t even ask questions. You just eat.

But then it lasts for over two weeks.

Two whole weeks of unexpected, ridiculously good meals waiting for you in the break room fridge every single shift. You didn’t even need to check the fridge anymore—you just knew there’d be something there. And as much as you’d like to complain about it, the truth is… you couldn’t.

It was all too good. He knew how to cook. Too well.

But this? This had to stop. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the meals. It’s just that you couldn’t shake the nagging guilt that you were being spoiled by someone who barely even knew you. 

And the more you thought about it, the more you felt like you were becoming a passive recipient of his kindness. You weren’t some charity case, and you didn’t want to feel like one.

So, you decide to do something about it.

You arrive at the grocery store at 10 in the morning. The day shift clerk, Arielle, told you this is the time when Phainon usually dropped off his gifts. To your relief, she was more than willing to help you catch the guy red-handed while you lied in wait in the break room. 

And you did. For about twenty minutes. 

Then, almost on cue, you hear a knock on the break room door, and when you open it, there he is. Phainon. Standing in the there with his usual “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine” face.

“You—” You cut yourself off, arms crossed. “You’ve got to stop doing this.”

“Stop what?” He stares at you, genuinely confused. “The food? Is it bad? Because I can totally—”

“No!” You immediately interject, feeling the pressure of not wanting to sound ungrateful. “No, the food’s amazing. It’s just—” You run a hand through your hair, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding dramatic.

“I don’t want to be a burden. You keep leaving these meals for me, and I feel like I’m just taking and taking and not… giving anything in return. I can’t keep just accepting these like it’s nothing.”

Phainon blinks at you, a slow realization creeping across his face. Then he shrugs. “You’re not a burden. I’ve been doing this because I want to. You’ve been working your ass off, so you deserve to eat something decent. Besides, I like knowing that I’ve made something you’ll actually enjoy.”

You stare at him, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. He sounds so genuine, so nonchalant about it all. But still…

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” you admit, suddenly embarrassed. “You don’t owe me anything. We don’t even—”

“—know each other, I know.” Phainon cuts you off with a soft smile, not an ounce of irritation in his voice. “But that’s the thing. We don’t have to know each other for me to want to do this. I’ve been training at a restaurant for the past few weeks, and it’s been crazy. Honestly, I barely have time to sleep, much less cook for myself. So, I just... grab what I can, throw it together, and leave it for you.”

You stare at him, processing his words. “Wait. You’ve been doing this after working at the restaurant?”

“Yeah. I’ve been coming home late, still on my feet, barely able to keep my eyes open, and I thought: ‘Hey, might as well bring something for them. They're working hard too.’” He gives a small, sheepish shrug. “I mean, it’s the least I can do.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, your mind a little overwhelmed by the layers of his thoughtfulness and how much more he’s been giving than you realized. It’s one thing to show up with a random meal once. It’s another thing entirely to be doing it on the regular, after pulling long shifts himself.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you repeat, quieter this time.

“Then don’t,” he says with a chuckle. “Don’t make me stop. You’re eating something decent for once in your life. What’s wrong with that?”

You open your mouth to protest again, but something in the way he looks at you—like he actually believes you deserve the meals, and not just because he’s some guy who’s trying to be nice—makes you pause.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he adds. “And I’m not asking for anything in return. Just… don’t overthink it. It’s food. It’s my way of saying, ‘Hey, you’ve got a weird job, but you’re doing alright.’”

And, damn it, that hits a little harder than you were ready for. The simple sincerity of it. You want to argue, but the honesty in his eyes stops you.

“You’re impossible,” you say finally, shaking your head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Fine. But only because I’m pretty sure I’ll starve without it.”

Phainon grins, clearly relieved. “Exactly. Now, I’ve got a soup in there that I think might be your new favorite.”

You can’t help but laugh at how easy he makes this all seem. You know this won’t be the last time he’ll show up unannounced, but this time, somehow, it feels a little less like a gift and a little more like the beginning of something worthwhile.

The commission work has been steady. That’s the word you keep using—steady—even though what you really mean is exhausting.

Since you started accepting paid requests, your days have been a blur of grocery store shifts and digital sketchpads. Pet portraits, custom nameplates, grocery signage with smiling cartoon vegetables—nothing too big, nothing too personal. You keep telling yourself it’s fine. It’s money. It’s more than you had before.

But it’s also not what you love. Not really. It feels like turning your art into product. Into labor. Into something with a price tag instead of purpose.

Still, beggars can’t be choosers.

You think about telling Phainon. You’ve wanted to. After all, this whole thing started because he encouraged you to “do something” with your art. But he doesn’t come around anymore—not during your shifts, anyway. He still leaves meals in the break room fridge, but it's been a while since his last grocery run. You figure he’s probably drowning in work at a restaurant he never told you the name of.

You don’t even have his number. Isn’t that ridiculous?

So you keep your head down. Draw. Clock in. Clock out. Repeat.

And then—

One Thursday night, you’re sweeping up near the produce section, trying to shake off a migraine and mentally calculating how many commissions you’ll need to finish by the weekend, when the automatic doors chime.

You don’t look up right away. It’s late, and most customers at this hour want to be left alone.

But something—some presence—makes you glance up.

And there he is.

Still in his usual chef coat, unbuttoned and a little askew, the sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows like always. He looks as if he came straight from the kitchen. But that’s not what catches your attention.

It’s the bruise.

Dark and ugly, blooming along his cheekbone like ink under thin paper.

“Phainon?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He gives a small, crooked smile. “Hey. Long time.”

You’re already striding toward him. “What the hell happened to your face?”

“Occupational hazard,” he says, waving a hand like it’s nothing. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I got in the way of a flying sheet pan.”

“Bullshit.”

His smile wobbles a little, but he doesn’t argue.

You grab his wrist—not roughly, but firmly—and drag him toward the back. He doesn’t resist.

“You’re coming with me,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “Scandalous.”

“Shut up.”

You haul him into the break room, ignoring the lingering gazes from co-workers, and make a beeline for the first-aid kit above the microwave.

He watches you in silence as you wet a paper towel with cool water and start dabbing gently at the edge of the bruise. He winces but stays still.

“You’re really bad at taking care of yourself,” you mutter.

“I could say the same about you,” he says, almost reflexively.

You glance at him, and he tilts his head. “I heard from Damionis. You’ve been doing commissions.”

Your hand stills. “...Yeah.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You haven’t exactly been around.”

“Touché.”

You look away, focusing on cleaning the worst of the bruising. “It’s fine. It pays. I don’t love it, but it’s something.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says quietly, “I know that feeling.”

You meet his gaze again, and he looks... tired. Really tired. Not just physically, but somewhere deeper. Like the chaos is starting to catch up to him, too.

You’re not sure who leans in first. Maybe neither of you do. But the distance feels smaller now. Quieter.

Then Phainon says, “Next time you want to vent about it, just... wait for me. I might not always show up on time, but I will. Eventually.”

You smirk, just a little. “Big words for someone with a black eye.”

“Battle scars,” he says solemnly. “The kitchen is a warzone.”

You laugh despite yourself, and the tension lifts, just a bit.

There’s still curry powder under his nails and ink smudged on your wrists. Neither of you are sleeping enough or eating right unless the other intervenes.

But in this tiny, overly lit break room, with a half-empty vending machine humming behind you and a pack of frozen peas pressed to his face, it almost feels like something is working.

Almost.

The next weird thing he does for you starts with a folded envelope tucked beneath your lunch in the break room fridge.

This time, there’s no doodle, no cheeky post-it. Just your name, written in slanted pen across thick cardstock. You open it between bites of lukewarm stir-fry, expecting another pun or maybe a strange coupon Phainon made up himself—One Free Existential Breakdown Redeemed at Aisle Four.

But it’s not that.

It’s an invitation.

A literal, printed, serif-fonted invitation on heavy cream paper that reads:

You’re cordially invited to a private tasting at The Grand Chrysos. Come hungry. Come after your shift. P.S. Don’t argue. It’s on the house. —P.

Your first reaction is laughter. Then confusion. Then panic.

The Grand Chrysos is fancy. It’s the kind of place you pass on your way to the train station and try not to breathe near, in case you accidentally lower its property value. One with five-course menus and wine pairings and waiters in black gloves. You thought Phainon was training at some well-off restaurant, but not in a place like that. 

You stare at the invitation like it’s going to burst into flames.

When your shift ends, it’s nearly 1:15 a.m., and you’ve changed into a slightly less wrinkled shirt in the back room just in case. You told yourself a hundred reasons not to go. You’re not dressed for it. You can’t afford to even look at the menu. You’ll stick out like a ketchup stain on linen.

But you go anyway.

You’re greeted at the door by someone who seems unfazed by the fact that you’re arriving well past closing. They just smile, gesture you in, and say, “Chef Phainon’s expecting you.”

The restaurant is quiet, emptied of patrons, lit only by a soft glow from the open kitchen.

Phainon lies in wait, blue eyes glittering with anticipation. Still in his chef’s coat, sleeves rolled, hair pulled back, looking exactly like the maniac who leaves elaborate noodle dishes in your fridge and somehow always knows when you’ve had a bad day. There’s a tiredness in his posture, sure—but also a kind of light. The kitchen is his domain. He belongs here.

“You’re still open at this hour?” you ask, hesitating at the edge of the dining space.

He glances up, offers that familiar half-smile. “Nope.”

You frown. “Then what—?”

“I just like to experiment until dawn,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “New menu trials. Flavor pairings. Wasting perfectly good sleep in the name of soup stock.”

You stare at him, suddenly seeing the dark circles under his eyes in a new light. “Is that why you always look like a dying student during finals week?”

He snorts. “Not inaccurate.”

He gestures toward a single candlelit table near the kitchen window, already set. You sit slowly, unsure of what to expect. But he’s already sliding the first course in front of you—delicate, strange, beautiful. Some kind of cold-brewed consommé with herbs you don’t recognize and edible flowers that look like they were plucked from a dream.

“This is real,” you murmur. “You’re—you’re the one making all this?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but you can see it—how much it matters to him. How proud he is, even if he’ll never say it outright.

Course after course follows. A risotto with saffron foam. A deconstructed katsu curry that tastes like every comfort food memory you’ve ever had. A dessert involving toasted meringue, freeze-dried berries, and some strange, tangy syrup he says he discovered by accident.

You’re halfway through the meal when you finally say it.

“I thought this was your job. But you don’t stop when your shift ends.”

He glances up, caught mid-plate wipe. “You don’t either.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he raises an eyebrow. “How many commissions did you say you had lined up last week?”

You go quiet.

“You’re always tired,” you murmur.

“So are you,” he says gently. “But we keep showing up anyway.”

It’s not romantic, exactly. But it is intimate. And in some ways, that’s worse. You’re sitting in a temple of haute cuisine, eating the best meal of your life, and the only thing you can think about is how tired you both are—and how neither of you will admit you want someone to say, It’s okay to stop.

But for tonight, neither of you do. For tonight, you eat.

And when dessert’s cleared away and he brings out a thermos of something he calls “chaos tea” (probably caffeinated), you smile.

Because tired as he looks, Phainon seems a little more alive with you sitting across from him.

You still glance at the break room fridge out of habit.

It’s been weeks since anything showed up with your name on it in crooked handwriting. No precariously packed curries or leftover fish terrines that somehow didn’t stink up the room. No chaotic bao buns, no weird jellied things in little jars, no “guess the ingredients” soups that left your tongue buzzing and your heart weirdly warm.

Just your stuff now. Yogurt. A banana you probably won’t eat. A sandwich that’s seen better days. Someone else's soda you’re pretty sure is off-limits.

It’s fine.

You’ve learned how to eat properly since then. You even meal-prep sometimes, if you’ve got enough brain cells left at the end of the night. Your commissions have picked up—just enough to get by, just enough to let you breathe without doing math at the register to figure out if you can afford a single bar of chocolate. And it’s not like you miss Phainon leaving food for you like some culinary cryptid Santa Claus. 

But every now and then, you’ll crack open your tupperware and realize that you still wait for the scent of saffron, or the punch of vinegar, or whatever strange spice he was experimenting with that week.

You’ll look down at your rice and scrambled eggs and sigh, not because it’s bad, but because it’s yours—and maybe, for once, you liked when it wasn’t just on you.

The last time you saw him, he’d looked like death warmed over. Like someone had dug him out from under a pile of cookbooks and deadlines. There was flour in his hair and a pen behind one ear, a band-aid around his thumb and a blister forming on the side of his neck from god-knows-what. His phone had buzzed three times while you were trying to ask him about the new cold brew in stock.

“Dissertation life,” he’d said with a lopsided smile. “You wouldn’t understand. I’m elbows-deep in food chemistry and the historical evolution of fermentation methods. Pray for me.”

You’d rolled your eyes and told him to go touch grass. He’d promised to consider it… after graduation.

That was three weeks ago.

You don’t text him often. You think about it more than you act on it. The last thing you want to be is another notification in a sea of deadlines. But sometimes you’ll send a blurry photo of a weird carrot shaped like a foot, or a doodle on receipt paper of a garlic bulb with tiny arms. Sometimes it’s just a message: Still alive. Hope you’re eating.

He always replies. Short stuff. A thumbs-up. A picture of a burnt omelette with the caption "how the mighty fall." A single “LOL” that somehow makes your day.

You know better than to take it personally—he’s drowning in work. His internship at The Grand Chrysos ended with a bang (and at least one small kitchen fire, according to a very dramatic text), and now all that’s left is the thesis he won’t shut up about.

You sit at the break table with your sandwich, scrolling back through old messages. Your shift’s half over. You’re trying not to look like you’re waiting on a ghost.

The last text from him was three days ago:

Working on my related literature. Might collapse. If I don’t survive, tell the duck confit I loved her.

You smile, even though it catches in your throat a little.

You put your phone down and stare at your sandwich. Take a bite. Chew slowly.

It’s fine. It’s good, even.

But it’s not the same.

You’re almost done with your shift when Arielle insists—insists—that you go take your break. 

“I already had mine,” you argue, arms crossed, the fluorescent lights humming far too loudly above you. You don’t even know why she’s here at this hour. She works the damn day shift. 

“Take. Your. Break,” Arielle says, giving you a look that says don’t make me drag you.

You eye her suspiciously. Damionis is nearby, not even pretending to be subtle. He’s suddenly very invested in facing the peanut butter jars, whistling off-key. Something is up.

Still, you're tired, and your feet hurt, and your brain is half mush from answering customer questions like where’s the cheese that tastes like sadness but costs twelve dollars more?

So, fine. Whatever. You head toward the break room.

When you open the door, you're hit by the scent of vanilla and something warm, like toasted sugar and citrus zest. The lights are dimmed—when did they even install a dimmer switch?—and standing awkwardly by the fridge is Phainon.

He’s holding a cake.

Scratch that—he’s holding a gorgeous cake. It’s layered and glazed, decorated with candied slices of orange, flecks of gold leaf, and delicate piping that reads Happy Birthday! in slightly wobbly cursive.

And on top: several tiny candles. Lit. Flickering.

He’s using the stupid fish lighter you remember from his very first visit.

“Surprise,” he says, voice soft. “I mean… as much as this counts as a surprise. I had help.”

“He sure did,” Arielle pipes up from behind you, suddenly crowding the entrance with Damionis, both grinning like idiots.

“We coordinated,” Damionis says smugly. “Told him your schedule. Arielle did the decorations.”

You look up. There’s a single streamer hanging half-heartedly from the cabinet above the sink. One balloon taped to the fridge. It’s so dumb. So unbelievably sweet.

You stare at the cake again. At Phainon, who’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly unsure if he’s supposed to say more or not.

And then your vision blurs.

“Oh no,” you murmur, swiping at your face, furious with yourself. “Nope. We are not doing this. I am not crying over a cake.”

Phainon smiles, a little crooked, a little tired. The same smile from all those nights he showed up with tupperware and herbs you couldn’t pronounce.

“Well, it is a pretty great cake,” he says gently. “And you deserve nice things. Even if it's just once in a while.”

You sniff. Your voice comes out smaller than you’d like. “How did you even know? I don't remember telling you my birthday...”

“Mmm, Arielle might have let it slip a couple weeks ago when I bought some salami.” He points the fish lighter at the culprit herself.

Arielle just rolls her eyes and says, “Oh, please. You love it anyway, right?” 

Yes.

It’s ridiculous. It’s heartfelt. It’s everything.

You blow out the candles, blinking rapidly, and someone claps—probably Damionis, who’s always a little too eager about celebrating. Phainon cuts the cake and hands you the first slice. It’s lemon poppyseed with honey cream filling. You don’t even like lemon poppyseed.

But still, it’s perfect.

You stand in the crowd, awkward in your semi-wrinkled button-down and scuffed sneakers, feeling a little out of place among the polished shoes and proud parents. You shift from foot to foot, scanning the rows of graduates seated in the middle of Okhema University’s sprawling courtyard.

And then you spot him.

Phainon’s cap is slightly crooked—of course it is—and he’s fidgeting with his gown like it’s some kind of prison uniform. But when his name is called, he straightens up. Walks like he belongs up there. And when he takes the diploma, there’s a flicker of pride that crosses his face before he spots you in the crowd and grins like he just won the lottery.

You wave, cheeks warm, and try not to look too proud yourself. He’s beaming, radiant with accomplishment and relief and maybe just a bit of exhaustion.

Afterward, in the soft afternoon light, he finds you on the steps outside the university.

“You made it,” he says, a little breathless.

“You invited me,” you remind him, but you’re smiling. “I thought those seats were reserved for, you know. Family.”

“They’re too far away to make the trip,” he says simply. “But you were here.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, feeling something a little too big for your chest. Pride. Gratitude. Something else you don’t want to name yet.

Before you can figure it out, a shadow falls over you both.

A tall, broad-shouldered guy—blonde, scowling by default—clears his throat.

“Mydei,” Phainon says, surprised. “Hey.”

Mydei nods, stiff. “Just wanted to say… sorry. For, uh. Punching you in the face. You know, months ago.”

Your eyes flick between them. Oh.

The bruise. The one Phainon had that night he stumbled into the break room, looking like he’d lost a bar fight with a pan. You remember treating it with frozen peas and whispered concern.

“You really clocked me,” Phainon says, rubbing the side of his jaw with a wince that’s more nostalgic than bitter.

“Yeah,” Mydei says. “You were being annoying. Still. Sorry.”

They clasp hands, awkward but genuine. You don’t ask for details. You don’t need them. Phainon gives Mydei a nod as he walks off, and then it’s just the two of you again.

“So,” he says. “Big graduation moment. I’m finally free. No more dissertation deadlines. No more chefs breathing down my neck.”

“You gonna rest now?” you ask.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “I’m thinking dinner. Celebration. Something borderline dangerous with a blowtorch involved.”

You roll your eyes, falling into step beside him as you start walking toward the city. The sun’s starting to dip, casting Okhema University’s sandstone buildings in soft gold.

“Actually,” you say, heart thudding. “I have a confession.”

Phainon slows a step, giving you a look. “What, your undying love for me?”

You freeze. “Absolutely not!”

He laughs, smug and bright and utterly unrepentant.

You huff. “I meant—I’ve saved up enough. I’m going back. To school. Art school.”

He stops walking entirely.

“You’re serious?”

You nod. “I sent in my documents last week. Just waiting for confirmation. But yeah. I’m… I’m doing it.”

His whole face lights up like a streetlamp. He lets out a whoop so loud a couple of passing students stare. Even is he's the one who just graduated, Phainon is celebrating you so much louder.

“That’s—that’s incredible.”

You shrug, trying to seem cool, like you haven’t been carrying the weight of this decision in your chest for weeks. “Figured it’s now or never.”

“Come over,” Phainon says instantly.

You blink. “What?”

“To my place. Tonight. Let me cook. You’re not getting some lazy congratulations takeout, okay? We’re talking a full meal. Dinner for two. My kitchen, my rules.”

You smile, a little stunned, a little giddy. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be awful if you say no. I’ll be dramatic about it. Maybe cry.”

“Fine,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “But only if you make that weird stew with the spicy aioli again.”

His eyes twinkle. “Deal.”

You keep walking, and for once, the future doesn’t feel so scary. Not when there’s something like this—like him—waiting just ahead.

Phainon’s apartment used to look like nobody actually lived there.

The walls were bare—blank, indifferent, the kind of blankness that says I won’t be here long. His place was functional, stripped down to the basics. Bed, shower, fridge, stovetop. A stack of cookbooks in one corner, post-it notes stuck in like confetti. His kitchen, when he used it, smelled like burnt sugar and ambition. But most nights, he was too tired to even boil water. He came home to sleep, maybe shower, then passed out with his apron still slung over a chair.

That was before you started coming over.

At first, it was convenience. Your new university building was closer to his apartment than your own place, and it saved you forty-five minutes of commuting if you crashed on his couch. Then it became habit. Movie nights. Shared leftovers. Sleeping in until noon on your free days. You never really asked if you could keep staying over—but he never asked you to leave.

Somewhere in between all that, his walls started to change.

He framed one of your failed lino prints first. You didn’t even like it—too messy, too smudged. But he said it “had texture,” and before you could protest, it was up near his bookshelf, angled slightly crooked like he didn’t know how to use a level. Then came a half-finished charcoal sketch of a pigeon. A gouache color study. An ink portrait of a cat you never met. One by one, the misfits from your sketchbooks began populating his walls.

You grumbled. Called it embarrassing. He didn’t care. “You spend half your time here,” he said once, standing in front of the fridge with a container of soup in hand. “Might as well look like you live here.”

It annoyed you—until it didn’t.

Now his apartment feels like something alive. Something shared. His pans still clatter too loud, and his towels are always mismatched, but the walls look warmer. Lived in. Like a space with a history unfolding inside it.

And then, one quiet Tuesday night, he swings by the grocery store again.

It’s nearly midnight, the store is half-asleep, and you’re manning the register with the radio turned low. He buys something ridiculous—a single lemon, a tin of anchovies, and a bottle of hot sauce. You roll your eyes as you ring him up.

On the back of the receipt, you doodle a sleepy cartoon fish holding a sparkler. He grins when you hand it over, folds the paper neatly, and slides it into his wallet.

You catch a glimpse of what’s already tucked inside—half a dozen of your other doodles, dog-eared and soft at the corners. A rabbit with an apron. A stick figure with flaming oven mitts. Even that old moth wearing combat boots with the spurs. All preserved like little relics.

“You keep those?” you ask, surprised.

Phainon shrugs, casual, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “They make my wallet look cool.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s not in it. Your chest feels weirdly full.

Because it’s not just the wallet. It’s the walls of his apartment. It’s the fact that he keeps showing up. The way he lights up when you talk about your latest project, even when you’re rambling. The meals he made for you when he barely had time to sleep. How he’s been quietly holding onto all these tiny pieces of you—and never once made you feel silly for handing them over.

You’re not stupid. You know what this might mean.

And maybe—just maybe—you might just feel the same.

It’s barely past seven when you’re stuffing your sketchbook into your bag with one hand and trying to smooth your hair with the other. You’ve got fifteen minutes to make it to your first class of the day, and somehow, despite waking up with enough time, you’re still scrambling.

In the kitchen, Phainon is moving with that easy, practiced grace he only ever has when food’s involved. There’s toast browning, eggs cooling, something wrapped in foil that smells suspiciously amazing, and a thermos of warm broth in your favorite flavor. His hair’s still damp from the shower, and his chef’s coat is half-buttoned, but he’s focused, like preparing your lunch is his actual job.

“You don’t have to do that every morning,” you mumble as you slip your shoes on.

“I know,” he says, without looking up. “But I like to.”

And maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s a given—like of course he’d want to take care of you—that makes your fingers itch. You pull out the little folded doodle you made the night before. It’s stupid. It’s cute. It’s terrifying. Just a rough sketch of the two of you holding hands, hearts doodled above your heads, and the words i like you, idiot scrawled at the bottom.

You wait until he turns around to rinse something at the sink before you slip it into the recipe journal he keeps open on the counter, tucked between a page of messy notes about pickled egg foam and a weird diagram involving chili oil.

Your heart hammers the entire time, but you say nothing. You just sling your bag over your shoulder and shout a “See you!” before you bolt out the door.

Class is a blur. You think your Realism professor says something profound about emotional verisimilitude but you’re too busy trying not to spiral.

It’s only during your break, when you finally unwrap your lunch on a bench just outside the art building, that you find the post-it.

It’s stuck to the inside of the foil, slightly greasy but still legible, written in Phainon’s usual hurried, slanted scrawl.

I’m terrible at feelings but I think I might be in love with you lol. If you’re not horrified, meet me after class?

Your mouth drops open. For a second, you just stare at it, hands frozen around your sandwich, your brain a whir of static.

And then you laugh.

Because of course he responded like this. Of course he had to one-up your confession in the dumbest, most Phainon way possible.

You tuck the note into your coat pocket and pull out your phone, fingers hovering over your messages.

See you at 3 :>

And when 3 o’clock rolls around, Phainon’s already waiting outside your building, hair windswept, journal tucked under one arm. He looks nervous until he sees you walking toward him, and then—then he smiles like the sun finally decided to rise for real.

You grab his hand without saying anything.

He holds on like he’s never letting go.

⟢ end notes: wahoo, you made it to the end! thank you so much for reading qwq it's been a hot minute since i posted on this acc and tumblr in general (i was mostly active on the kpop side of things in 2023), so i'm kinda just posting this to feel out the vibes. if i should crosspost my other stuff here etc etc. i also just started writing for hsr about,, a month ago?? so i've no idea how the fandom is on here JSDHFJSDGFH either way!! i'm just happy to share my stuff anywhere i can :^)

[ateezscupid]

─── QUEEN'S HELP ♡

SUMMARY / As a Queen with no King, sometimes you feel lonely. Being in a gigantic castle with no one by your hip. Well, besides for one servant.

warnings ✩ Queen!fem reader, Servant!seonghwa, medieval au, reader is a widow, forbidden love trope, angsty, reader is lonely and seonghwa is an eater /srs, soft!dom reader, switch (sub-leaning)!seonghwa, kinda service top seonghwa, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, oral (f)

word count ✩ 5.19k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! highly reccomend you read this in a British accent bc that's how I was reading it LOL

"It's forbidden…this love between us. My mother won't allow me to come know knowing I let a vampire bed me-"

"I will be there for you, my Queen. I would walk through fire than allow anyone to tear you from my cold dead hands."

"Oh, my love…"

"…This is such shit." you curse as you flip through the pages of your book. The fireplace crackles and spits as it dances in the stone hearth, casting shadows around the vast chamber that you call your own. "I mean, really, who writes this stuff?"

"Probably those poverty ridden authors," your friend, Giselle, chuckles as she sat across from you. "Always dreaming of castles and kings." She winks, knowing your secret love for such tales.

"Yeah, well, it's not all it's worked up to be." You sigh, setting your book down. "Especially when the only company I've got is you and the castle ghosts."

"And the servants? The maids and butlers? They're too busy pretending not to listen to every word we say," you add with a roll of your eyes, leaning back into the velvet chair. Giselle laughs, a sound that echoes gently in the high-ceilinged room.

"And what about that one?" Giselle asks, nodding to the young man standing by the sideboard, refilling your goblets with deep red wine. "Seonghwa, isn't it?"

You glance over, not really caring much. "What about him?"

Seonghwa freezes mid-pour, his hand trembling slightly. He's heard you speak of your loneliness before, but this time it's different. There's a sadness in your voice that wasn't there before, a crack in the armor you so fiercely wear. He's only a servant, but he's seen the way you look at the sunsets, the way you touch the cold stone of your ring finger where a ring should be. He's heard the soft sighs that escape your lips in the dead of night when you think no one can hear.

"He seems to be the only cute one." Giselle whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Giselle, you're terrible."

Seonghwa finishes pouring the wine and approaches, placing the goblet before you. His eyes are cast down, avoiding yours, as he bows slightly. "Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?"

You look him up and down, taking in his form. He's not bad on the eyes, sure, but he's a servant, and you're the queen. It's not like you can just… "Giselle, that's absurd," you say with a light chuckle, pushing the thought away.

"Nothing more," Giselle waves her hand at Seonghwa, "Thank you, darling."

"As you wish," Seonghwa says, retreating back to his post by the sideboard. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, a hint of sadness lingering. You've always had a soft spot for the young man, his quiet efficiency and the way he never complains about the endless tasks. But that's all it is, right? A soft spot. Not love. Not like in the books.

But as the evening wears on and your friend heads back to her own chambers, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts and the flickering firelight, you find yourself drawn back to Seonghwa. He's always so attentive, so… present. You stand, the fabric of your royal gown whispering against the cold stone floor as you move towards him. "Seonghwa," you call out, your voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

He jumps slightly, then turns to face you, his eyes wary. "Your Highness?"

"…Come to my bedroom. I need help removing my dress." You say casually, as if asking for a cup of tea. It's not the first time you've called for his assistance in such matters, but there's something different in your tone tonight. A warmth that wasn't there before.

"Of course, Your Highness." He says, his voice steady, but you can see his pulse quicken at the base of his neck. He follows you through the shadowy corridors, the torchlight casting flickering patterns on the ancient tapestries that line the walls.

Once inside your chamber, you sit before the vanity, watching him in the reflection of the mirror as he unbuttons your dress with deft fingers. You've noticed his gaze lingering before, but tonight, it feels more… intense. You clear your throat, trying to break the tension. "How was your day, Seonghwa?"

"It was… it was fine, Your Highness." He murmurs, his eyes on the fabric rather than your reflection. "Just the usual chores."

"Hm." you murmur, watching him in the mirror. "Well, I've had better days myself." You lean back, allowing him to carefully slip the gown off your shoulders. The fabric pools at your waist, revealing the soft curves of your back. "But I've had worse."

"Your day is never truly bad when you're the Queen," he says, his voice a little hoarser than usual.

"You only think that because you're not in my position." you reach back to the tie keeping your corset together, but your fingers fumble with the knot. "Could you help me with this, Seonghwa?"

"Of course, Your Highness." He steps closer, his warm breath ghosting against your neck as he works the knot. You can feel his heart thumping in his chest, so close to yours, and it sends a thrill through you that you try to ignore. You've never been this… aware of him before.

"So, Seonghwa," you start casually, "Do you ever get tired of serving me?"

"…W-What?" Seonghwa stammers, his hands pausing for a moment before continuing to untie your corset. "I mean, it's an honor to serve you, my Queen."

"Wouldn't you want to serve a Queen who doesn't treat you like some sort of… object?" You ask, turning to look at him in the mirror, your eyes meeting his.

Seonghwa swallows hard, his throat dry as dust. "You never treat me poorly, Your Highness."

You couldn't think of anything else to say. The silence between you was thick, like the velvet drapes that shrouded the windows. "Good," you murmur, breaking the tension. "I wouldn't want to think I've been unkind to my most loyal servant."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving the corset as he loosens the laces. His cheeks are flushed, but you can't tell if it's from the fireplace or something else. You stand, the dress falling to the floor with a heavy sigh. "You can go now."

"But Your Highness, the dress…"

"It's fine, I'll manage the rest," you wave your hand dismissively. "Just… leave me."

"…Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before dropping back to the floor.

"…Do you find Giselle attractive?" You blurt out before he can leave, watching his reaction in the mirror.

Seonghwa's hands stilled on the fabric. "Your Highness, I-I don't think it's proper for me to have such thoughts about a lady of the court."

"So you do?" you turn to face him. "But what about someone like me?"

"Your Highness," Seonghwa says, his eyes searching yours. "You're different."

"In what way Seonghwa," you stroll over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it. Your heart thuds like a blacksmith's hammer in your chest. The castle walls felt like they were closing in on you, and for once, you craved the simplicity of a conversation with someone who knew your true thoughts.

"You're…my Queen," he stammers, his eyes wide. "You're not like anyone else here."

"I'm…your queen? Not the Kingdom's?" You tease gently, a smirk playing on your lips as you watch his discomfort grow. "You're not supposed to say that, Seonghwa. It's scandalous."

He shakes his head, his cheeks now a deep shade of red. "Your Highness, I-I didn't mean…"

"Come here, Seonghwa." You pantomime a 'shh' with your finger to your lips as you pat the spot next to you on the bed. "Let's just talk for a bit."

Seonghwa hesitates, his eyes flicking to the closed door and back to you. "Your Highness, is this…proper?"

"Stand if you must," you say with a shrug, "but I'm quite comfortable." You lean back into the pillows, watching as Seonghwa reluctantly sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body is surprisingly comforting.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" you ask suddenly, the question hanging in the air like the faint scent of jasmine from the candles flickering on the nightstand.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, and he looks down at his hands, twisting the fabric of the bedspread. "Your Highness, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon."

You nod slightly, glancing toward your closet. "Get my nightgown for me."

Seonghwa jumps to his feet, eager to follow your command. He returns with the garment, holding it out to you with trembling hands. You stand and let him slip it over your head, the silk brushing against your skin like a lover's caress. You feel his eyes on you, but you don't look at him. Instead, you stare straight ahead, contemplating the flickering shadows on the far wall.

"Do you remember the day of my husband's funeral," you begin, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to get lost in the vastness of the room. "When the whole court was weeping, and I had to stand there, stoic, because queens aren't allowed to show weakness?"

Seonghwa nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, Your Highness. It was a sad day for us all."

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "Do you know what I felt that day?"

Seonghwa swallows hard, his eyes searching yours. "Pain. Loss," he murmurs.

"No." you correct him, your voice dropping to a whisper. "I felt nothing. Not pain, not loss, nothing. Just… cold." You step closer, your hand trailing down his cheek. "But when I look at you, Seonghwa…I feel something."

"Your Highness," he says, his voice strained, "I'm just a servant. I shouldn't be the one to…"

"You look at me as if you…as if you see me," you whisper, your thumb lingering on his cheek. "Do you, Seonghwa?"

He swallows again, his eyes flicking down to your hand. "Your Highness," he starts, but you lean in, your lips pressing against his, cutting off his protests. He freezes for a moment, shocked, but then his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His kiss is warm, hungry, and it feels like the first time you've been truly alive in years. You melt into him, your body responding to the touch you've been starved of for so long.

"Seonghwa," you murmur against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair. "Call me…call me by my name."

"Y/N," he murmurs back, his voice thick with emotion as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you firmly against him as if he's afraid you might vanish like the mist at dawn. You can feel his heart racing, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. The formality of titles and station seem to crumble away in the face of this raw connection.

You pull away slightly, panting, and look up at him with desire-filled eyes. "Take me, Seonghwa," you whisper, your voice filled with a need that you never knew existed until this very moment. "Make me feel alive again."

"Your highness, I don't-"

"I'll tell you what to do. Just be with me," you whisper, your hand sliding to the back of his neck. "Please, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes dark with need. This isn't something you should be asking, not from a servant, but here in the candlelit privacy of your chamber, the rules seem to bend. He kisses you again, his hands finding the laces of your nightgown, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who's so obviously out of his depth. You help him, eager to feel his skin against yours. The garment pools at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

"I want you to use your mouth on me." You say it without blinking, the words coming out with surprising ease.

"Your…Your Highness?" Seonghwa stammers, his eyes wide with shock.

You smile gently, placing a finger to his lips. "Just Y/N," you whisper, "and I'm not asking for anything unpleasant. I trust you."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, but you're steady. He drops to his knees, his breath warm against your bare skin as he kisses down your chest, his touch feather-light. You can feel the heat building between your thighs, a warmth that has nothing to do with the fireplace across the room.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You gasp, your hands threading through his hair, guiding him. It's strange, giving orders to a man who's always taken them from you, but there's something incredibly intimate about it.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need. "But slower, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he kisses you again, his touch now softer, more deliberate. The room seems to spin around you, the heavy fabric of your curtains swirling in your peripheral vision. This isn't how you thought a night in the castle would go, but you're not about to complain.

"Your Highness," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and sweet. "I-"

"Shh, love," you run your fingers through his hair. "What is it? You don't know how?"

"N-no, Your High…I mean, Y/N," he stammers, his cheeks a fiery red. "It's just… I've never done this before."

You lean back on the bed, your heart racing. "Well, Seonghwa," you say with a small smile, "Listen to me carefully,"

You guide him gently, your hand on the back of his neck, urging him closer. "Kiss me here," you whisper, your finger tracing your inner thigh. "And here," you continue, moving slightly higher. His eyes widen, but he follows your instructions, his kisses leaving a trail of heat that makes your toes curl. "That's it," you encourage him, your voice breathless.

As his kisses reach the apex of your thighs, you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. "Now, lick me," you instruct, your voice a soft command. He hesitates for a moment, but the trust in your gaze is unmistakable. His tongue darts out, tentative at first, but as you moan softly in pleasure, he grows bolder.

You guide his movements, your hands tangled in his hair. "Circles," you whisper, your breath hitching as he obeys, his tongue swirling around your clit. "Flick your tongue, just like this," you demonstrate with your own, his eyes watching yours in the mirror above the bed. He mimics the motion, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. "Yes, like that," you encourage, your voice a little more urgent now.

"Oh christ," you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as Seonghwa's tongue tentatively flicks against your clit. His movements are clumsy, but earnest, and it's oddly endearing. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. "Like this," you instruct, demonstrating with your own hand. "But don't be afraid to use more pressure."

He nods, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror once again before he leans back in. You feel his tongue swipe firmly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and it sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you. You're surprised by how good he is, despite his inexperience. "There," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Just like that, Seonghwa."

Your hips rock slightly against his face as he follows your instructions, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the anticipation building in your core. "Good boy," you praise, your hands tightening in his hair. The words come naturally, a mix of dominance and care that feels surprisingly right.

"D-Don't stop," you breathe, your body arching slightly off the bed. Seonghwa's eyes are fixed on yours, his pupils wide with a mix of desire and uncertainty. He's a quick learner, you realize with a thrill, as his tongue starts to mimic the rhythm of your own hand, his movements growing more confident.

"Good," you murmur, your voice a soft purr of approval. "Just like that." His eyes flick up to yours in the mirror, searching for any sign of dissatisfaction, but all he finds is the raw need reflected in your gaze. You can't remember the last time you felt this alive, this… wanted.

"Seonghwa-" you gasp sharply, your thighs tightening around his face. His tongue is still tentative, but the earnestness in his eyes as he looks up at you in the mirror is unmistakable. You're not used to being the one in control, but there's something incredibly freeing about guiding him, about watching him learn your body like it's a sacred text. "Faster," you command, your voice a soft moan.

He speeds up, his tongue swirling and flicking against you, and you feel your orgasm start to build. "That's it," you encourage, your hips beginning to move in time with his movements. The bed creaks softly beneath you, the only sound in the otherwise still room. "Now, suck," you whisper, your hand pressing down lightly on the back of his head. He complies, his mouth closing around your clit, the gentle pressure sending a shockwave through you.

"Y-Yes," you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the pressure building. "Oh my god,"

Seonghwa's eyes are glued to yours in the mirror, watching for every reaction, every twitch of pleasure. His mouth works you with an intensity that's surprising for someone so inexperienced. You're so close, your body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. "I'm close," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the reflection. You can see the determination in them, the desperate need to please you. His mouth moves faster, his tongue flicking and sucking, his cheeks hollowing as he breathes through his nose. Your hips are moving now, riding his face as you chase the orgasm that's just out of reach. "Yes," you murmur, "just like that."

Seonghwa seems to understand, his movements growing more confident, his tongue delving deeper. You can feel your muscles clenching around nothing, desperate for the fullness he could give you. You've never been with a man who was so eager to learn, so eager to please. It's intoxicating.

You reach down, your hand guiding his head as you show him the rhythm you crave. His mouth is hot, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. You let out a low moan, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls of your chamber. "There," you murmur, "Right there."

"F-Fuck-" you moaned, your voice unsteady. The feeling was almost too much, his tongue hitting all the right spots with surprising precision for a novice. "Harder," you instructed, your legs trembling.

Seonghwa obeyed, his tongue pressing more firmly against your clit. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to the warmth of his mouth. You watched his eyes in the mirror, the hunger in them making you feel powerful, like you were the one in control. It was a heady feeling, one you hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"I-I'm-" you gasp. "I-I'm coming!" The words barely leave your mouth before the orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure. Seonghwa's eyes widen slightly in the mirror, but he doesn't stop, his tongue still working its magic until you're boneless, your legs falling open with a soft sigh.

He pulls away, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving. You can see the pride in his eyes, the knowledge that he's brought you pleasure. "Was that…good, Your Highness?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile lazily, your eyes half-closed with satisfaction. "Very good, Seonghwa," you murmur, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "But I'm not done with you yet."

You sit up and back away, flipping yourself over and laying on your stomach. "Now," you murmur, pushing your ass up in the air. Seonghwa stares for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, but you give him a gentle push. "Take me. Just like I asked."

He swallows hard, his eyes dark with desire as he moves behind you. You feel his hands on your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in. "Like this?" he asks, his voice thick with anticipation.

"Mm," you murmur, pushing back slightly to feel his hardness against you. "But be gentle, I'm not used to this."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. He kisses your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin. You feel his tongue dart out, touching you gently, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your throat. "Just like that," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Softly."

He kisses you again, his movements growing more confident as he starts to understand what you like. You spread your legs wider, giving him better access, and he takes the hint. His tongue traces patterns around your clit, and you moan, your body responding to his touch. "Good," you murmur, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "Seems you must like this, hm?"

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You can see the hunger in them, the desperate need to make you feel good. "Seonghwa…"

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. "Your Highness?"

"Your pants are still on." You say with a smirk, glancing back at him. "How do you expect to serve me properly like that?"

Seonghwa nods, his eyes flicking to the floor. "Of course, Your Highness." He stands, his movements a little unsteady as he unbuckles his pants and lets them fall. His cock springs free, hard and eager. You can't help but stare for a moment, surprised by his size.

"You've been hiding that from me all this time?" You say, a playful smirk on your lips. "A treasure indeed." You spread your legs wider, giving him a better view of your slick folds. "Come, Seonghwa. Give it to me."

He approaches you with a mix of eagerness and trepidation, his cock bobbing with each step. You can feel the warmth of his body against your thighs as he settles back into his position between them. "Just like before," you remind him, your voice low and sultry. "But this time, don't stop until I tell you to."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes dark with desire as he presses his tip against your entrance. You feel a thrill of anticipation as he starts to push inside you, the sensation of his thickness stretching you. "Your Highness," he whispers, his voice a little shaky.

You nod, your breath hitching as he fills you up. "Just like that," you murmur, your eyes never leaving the mirror. You watch as his hips start to rock, his movements tentative at first. "Mm," you encourage, pushing back to meet him.

"Faster," you command, your voice a little more urgent now. He picks up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet sound that fills the room. It feels incredible, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. "Harder," you say, your voice a little louder now.

"Y-Your highness," he moans, his eyes locked shut as he tries to follow your guidance. His movements become more confident, his strokes deeper and faster. You feel yourself building again, the pressure starting to coil in your belly.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice a sweet promise. "Jesus christ," your fingers grip the pillow in front of you, your eyes never leaving his. The expression of concentration and hunger etched on his features is almost as mesmerizing as the feeling of him moving inside you. "Fuck me like you mean it, Seonghwa."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes flying open, and you can see the determination in them. His hips start to move faster, his cock hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You've never been with someone who takes your words so seriously, so eagerly. It's as if every order you give him is a gift, one that he unwraps with trembling hands and a desperate need to please.

"Oh my god," you moan, your hand reaching back to grab at his hip, pulling him deeper into you. He follows your guidance, his movements becoming more forceful, his breaths harsh and uneven. "Y-Yes, yes, yes,"

You arch your back, pushing your ass into him as he thrusts harder and faster. Your body is a live wire, sparking with pleasure at every touch. You're so lost in sensation that for a moment, you forget that you're in charge. "Oh, S-Seonghwa," you moan, your voice breathless. "You're so… so good at this."

His eyes fly open at your words, meeting yours in the mirror. You can see the surprise and elation in his gaze as he realizes you're praising him. It's clear he's never received such praise, not in this way, not from someone like you. The knowledge that he's bringing you pleasure, that he's the one making you feel this way, fuels his movements.

"I-It feels good?" Seonghwa's voice is a mix of hope and disbelief, his hips stuttering slightly as he continues his rhythm.

You nod, your eyes glazing over as you slip deeper into the abyss of pleasure. Your body feels boneless, your mind hazy, and the only thing that seems to anchor you is the feel of him inside you. "Yes," you murmur, your voice distant. "S-So good."

Seonghwa's grip tightens on your hips as he fucks you harder, his own need building. You can feel it in every thrust, in the way his breath hitches and his body tenses. But you're floating now, lost in the sensation of his cock filling you up. It's too much, and yet not enough.

"I-I need-" you stutter, a moan tearing itself out of your throat as Seonghwa hits that perfect spot again. Your eyes glaze over, your body trembling with pleasure. You can feel yourself falling, slipping into that delicious void where thought ceases to exist and only sensation remains. "I-I think I'm going to-"

Seonghwa wraps his hand around you, his fingers connecting with your clit, the pressure just right as he continues to thrust into you from behind. The combination of sensations sends you spiraling, your focus slipping away until all you can feel is the pleasure coursing through you.

"D-Don't stop, fuck, please!" you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as Seonghwa's touch sends you hurtling towards the edge of oblivion. The room around you fades into a haze of candlelight and shadow, the only anchor being the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and the sweet pressure of his fingers on your clit.

And then it happens. Your orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your entire body convulse. You scream his name, your voice echoing off the walls of your chamber. It's the strongest orgasm you've ever had, and it's all for him, all because of him.

Seonghwa's eyes widen in the mirror, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He stammers your name as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking with the force of his release. He's never felt anything like this before, never experienced this kind of intimacy or pleasure. His body feels like it's on fire, a delicious burn that makes him want to collapse on top of you and never move again.

But he holds back, his arms shaking as he supports his weight, his eyes still locked on yours in the reflection. You're still trembling, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. The sight of your pleasure is almost too much for him to handle, and he can't help but feel a little lost in the intensity of it all.

Seonghwa's movements slow, his cock still twitching inside you. He's never felt anything like this before, never been the one to give someone so powerful, so revered, such an intense moment of release. It's intoxicating, and he's not sure if he's ready for the world to come crashing back down around him.

"Seonghwa…" you pant, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. He slowly pulls out, his cock glistening with your arousal, and you feel a strange sense of loss. You roll over, reaching for him, needing to feel his warmth against you.

He's still kneeling on the bed, his chest heaving with his own ragged breaths. His eyes are wide, filled with a mix of shock and awe. He's never seen you like this before, never knew he could make you feel this way. You look at him, struggling to sit yourself up, your body still humming with pleasure. "Come here," you say, your voice a gentle command.

Seonghwa crawls over to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles onto the bed. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, the heat of his skin searing into yours. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

You try to nuzzle yourself into him. His arms hesitantly wrap around you, unsure of the right way to hold you, but you guide him, showing him how you like it. His embrace feels safe, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. It's a stark contrast to the passion that just consumed you, but it's just as satisfying in its own way. "You don't have to be scared," you murmur into his neck. "I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want to let you go." Seonghwa whispers, his arms tightening around you as his head rests on your shoulder. His heart beats a staccato rhythm against your chest, echoing the thud of your own heart. The candles flicker, casting shadows that dance across the stone walls, painting the scene in a warm, intimate glow.

"You don't have to, love." you run your fingers through his head, gently scratching his scalp, the gesture one of comfort. "You're mine. I won't let anyone hurt you," you whisper, the words sending a thrill through his body. The idea of belonging to someone so powerful, so beautiful, was almost too much for him to comprehend.

"Y-Yours?" Seonghwa repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his head against your shoulder feels heavier than it did just moments ago, like the gravity of your words is sinking in.

"Mine," you affirm, your voice firm despite the tenderness in your touch. You pull back to look at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. "You're my secret, my solace." Your hand traces a line down his cheek, feeling the stubble that's started to grow.

[dazzlingjaeyun]

ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ – ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊᴏɴɢꜱᴇᴏɴɢ

brother's best friend!jay x fem!reader

୨୧ genre: smut, MDNI | words: 4.3k | cw: mean!jay, brat!reader, a looot of bickering lol, slight degradation, jay is a little manipulative, nipple play?, oral (f & m receiving, head pusher!jay), unprotected sex (hell no), creampie (+ lmk if i missed anything!!) ୨୧

hanna says: biggest thank you to my favorite jay girly, my other half and the one who motivated me to start writing on here in the first place. thank you for proofreading a lot and for letting me yap 24/7, this one's for you mwah @brklynbabyjay

mature content under cut, minors do not interact!

2:47am, your phone read when you grabbed it with a sigh after tossing and turning in your bed for what felt like an eternity. the heat in your room felt oppressing – the flimsy sheets might as well have been a double blanket and your pajamas felt like a winter coat despite barely covering any skin.

with a sigh, you got up from bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. with each step down the stairs you felt the air getting just a little cooler and your tense muscles relaxing just a little more.

you flicked on the light above the sink, before grabbing a glass from the top shelf. it slipped right through your sweaty palms and landed directly in the sink before you could catch it. it didn't break, but the noise cut through the silence of the night so loudly and suddenly that you were sure it could have woken up at least half of the neighborhood.

"fuck," you whispered to yourself, wiping off your sweaty palms on your silky shorts and carefully grabbing the glass from the sink.

just as you thought no one had heard your little accident, a sudden, sleep-laced voice broke the silence again and startled you to a point you almost dropped the glass another time.

"are you kidding me?"

you didn't have to turn around to know it was jay's oh so humble self standing in the kitchen door.

"enlighten me, what's your problem this time?" you asked, although you knew the answer. you kept your back to him as you filled the glass with ice cubes and cold water, waiting for him to reply.

jay's jaw clenched at your words. you had woken him up, just as he'd fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning on the sofa, trying to somehow ignore the heat that pressed down on him like a weight too heavy to carry. and now you had the audacity to ask stupid questions?

"it took me forever to fall asleep and you wake me up cause you can't even hold onto a glass?" he snapped. his voice sounded less sleepy now – still raspy but regaining the usual edge he had to it whenever he was talking to you.

he was your brother's best friend and you'd known him since forever. you were sure the two of you had gotten along back then, when jake brought him over for the first time – sometime in his first year of high school when you were still in middle school. but just a little later, he'd started to pick fights with you every chance he got, which eventually led to him mostly ignoring you, and if he did talk to you, his voice always had that annoyed undertone.

for a moment, you didn't say anything, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a sip, letting the cold run down your throat and hoping it would somehow also cool off the anger that started to bubble up in your chest.

as you stayed silent, jay's gaze remained on you, only now noticing the light blue silk pajamas you were wearing. they were unnervingly short – more skin than fabric, really – and it annoyed him even more how the shorts outlined your ass perfectly, your plush cheeks just slightly exposed from how little coverage the piece of clothing provided.

when you finally turned around, his eyes shot up to your face immediately. you took in the sight in front of you: jay's messy hair and the way his shirt clung to his torso a little more than it usually would – you were pleased to see that he was suffering from the summer heat as much as you were.

"well," you broke the staring contest between the two of you, involuntarily trying to look meaner than the other, "if you didn't sleep in my living room, maybe you wouldn't have to bother me."

jay's eyebrows shot up at your remark. "or if you were a decent person for once and weren't so inconsiderate–"

"i'm inconsiderate?" you interrupted him. "that's rich coming from someone who moved in here two weeks ago and thinks he can make the rules," you huffed.

jay's jaw clenched another time as he took a step toward you, but you didn't back down. you looked up at him, returning the same fiercey look he gave you.

"you think it's fun living with you of all people?" he asked through gritted teeth, his taller figure hovering over you.

"no, but it's not my fault your girlfriend kicked you out," you replied, keeping your voice steady although your heart started to pound in your chest at the way his eyes narrowed slightly. yet, a tiny pang of amusement at how your words seemed to affect him joined the nervousness of wondering how far you could push him before he snapped.

oh, now you were curious.

"honestly, i'm not surprised," you added, your voice not faltering even when he stepped so close your bodies practically touched. "if you were only half as much of an asshole–"

"shut. up." he snapped, accenting each word.

the corners of your lips shot up into a smug grin. "can't stand me talking back to you?"

"i can't stand you in total."

"i never would have guessed," you replied sarcastically, taking a step back to casually lean your back against the kitchen counter. you brought the glass of water up to your neck letting the cold condensed water on its outside cool your skin. "wonder why you hate me so much, though. i don't remember pissing in your cereal when we were kids."

jay's jaw tightened even more. he was so annoyed. there you were, standing in the stupid kitchen with your stupidly short pajamas showing way too much of your skin that looked so. stupidly. soft. and you were bashing him, although he should be the one to talk you down right now. god, he couldn't stand you and how fucking hot you looked when you were snappy.

"you just make it hard not to," he replied, his voice laced with more annoyance than you'd ever heard from him before.

you chuckled at his words, the sound making his blood boil even more. what was so funny about him being annoyed, borderline angry?

"listen, jay bae," you said sarcastically as you put the glass down on the counter behind you, "if you want to stay with me and jake, you'll stop acting like i'm some kind of tragedy. you either ignore me, or you at least pretend to get along with me. deal?"

for a few moments, he just looked at you, his eyes still full of frustration. then, he suddenly stepped forward, his hand reaching for the back of your neck and his lips crashing onto yours harshly.

you were too shocked by his sudden action and the rush of warmth flooding through you to react. he pulled back just as quickly as he'd leaned in, leaving your lips cold with the shadow of his, and looked at you as if searching your eyes for a reaction.

"what the fuck?" you asked, still taken aback.

you wanted to take a step back, but the kitchen counter was already pressing against your back. jay smirked at the shocked expression on your face.

"i said shut up," he repeated his words from earlier that night, as if that would suddenly validate that he'd kissed you. he placed his hands on the counter directly next to your body, trapping you between him and the cold marble surface.

"you don't get to–"

he leaned in again, his lips brushing along the curve of your neck. you felt his breath against your skin, and despite the heat he radiated, you shivered – your words caught in your throat.

you could have pushed him away – should have pushed him away, really – but instead, you stood there, too stunned to move, with your heart violently pounding in your chest.

his hands found their way from the kitchen counter to your hips, fingertips pressing into your clothed skin in a way that made you almost feel his frustration.

the warmth of his breath brushed against your neck, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes. you could feel your breath coming faster and your mind growing foggy as his lips traced a line to your collarbone, leaving a heat that shot right down to your core.

“w-what are you doing?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause.

"pretending that we get along," his lips brushed against your neck as he replied.

your breath hitched as he slid one of his hands under the thin fabric of your silk top, his fingers digging into the skin on your waist as he held you.

you wanted to push him away, really. everything told you to do so. but instead your hand found its way to the back of his head, pushing him towards your neck again. you couldn't make sense of it, but the way his lips brushed harshly against your skin, and the way you fisted his hair slightly whenever his teeth grazed against your skin, felt like you could finally let out the frustration that had been building up over the past two weeks of living with him.

"you're so goddamn annoying," he mumbled, pulling away from your neck only to push your top up your torso, over your head, and mindlessly discarded it on the floor.

just as you were about to cover your bare skin, he attached his lips to it again, moving from your neck to your collarbones and down to your chest. his hands found their way to your shoulders, holding you in place as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and causing you to shiver, despite the hot summer air. you bit your lip to hold back a moan, yet you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his tongue against you.

"speechless suddenly?" he asked as he pulled off and brought his lips to the other side of your chest.

"fuck you," you mumbled back before quickly pressing your lips together. your fingers were still tangled in his hair, keeping him close to you, but you would not give him the satisfaction of a moan.

"a little more patience," he grinned, before swirling his tongue around your sensitive skin another time.

his words suddenly made you hyperaware of the situation. you shouldn't have let him kiss you in the first place, much less help him to take off your top by voluntarily lifting up your arms. as the realization hit, you quickly pulled him off of you.

"you're disgusting," you said, trying your best to not sound as breathless as you felt.

"oh please," he grabbed your wrist to hold you in place as you attempted to pick up your shirt, "the way you're acting, you're practically asking for it."

"asking?" you echoed in disbelief. he was insufferable. "you have too much of an ego, don't you think?"

jay narrowed his eyes. "no, i think it's the truth," he said, letting go of your wrist and leaning down to your neck another time.

you swallowed hard. "stop playing games, jay," you said in a warning tone, yet you didn't push him away as his teeth grazed your skin again.

"you started the 'game', and you're losing it, darling," he replied, the nickname dripping with sarcasm.

you hated to admit he was right. maybe it was just your sleep-deprived mind, or maybe it was cause the air was so unnervingly thin, but his touch sent shiver after shiver down your spine, covering you in goosebumps and sending waves of heat through your body all at once. even his annoying words started settling between your legs and no matter how much you pressed your things together, it just wouldn't stop.

"look at you," jay said in an amused tone as his eyes flicked down to your legs, your thighs subconsciously rubbing against each other, "bet you soaked your pretty panties for me and i didn't even touch you."

a wave of heat shot up to your face. you didn't know if it was from embarassment or anger, but you didn't bother trying to hide it. "oh please, jay, you couldn't even make me cum if your life depended on it," you said, the words slipping past your lips before you could stop them.

he looked up, his eyes flashing with something you didn't understand as they met yours. "bet," was all he said before sliding your flimsy shorts down your legs, making sure to cup and squeeze your ass just once after he'd taken them off.

before you could react, he knelt down in front of you, harshly grabbed your thighs to spread your legs, and pressed his tongue flat against your clothed core.

your knees buckled slightly at the sudden contact, and you swore you could feel jay's stupid grin. "like i said. soaked." he murmured as he pulled the wet piece of fabric to the side.

"shut up," you whispered, not quite trusting your voice when the way you felt his breath against your wet core already caused you to clench around nothing.

"someone's sensitive," he whispered back, the airflow hitting your skin yet again.

"i said shut up," you repeated, and without wasting another thought, you grabbed his hair and harshly pulled him to where you needed him the most.

jay immediately licked a stripe along your folds, humming in satisfaction. "mouth so dirty but your pussy's so sweet," he mumbled against your skin before focusing his tongue on your clit.

your eyes fluttered shut, only to open again shortly after, as you failed to suppress a quiet moan. the sound went straight to jay's cock, causing him to hum against you another time as he sped up his movements, eager to pull another moan out of you.

he succeeded when he pushed his tongue into your leaking hole and his nose brushed against your clit. you sounded so sweet, he could cum only listening to you – but he'd never admit that.

you pulled on his hair harsher, subconsciously bucking your hips forward for him to reach deeper, as your legs started to shake more. jay grabbed one of them and rested it on his shoulder, never stopping to lap up everything your cunt gave him.

just as you felt your orgasm approaching, your legs closing around jay's head with a force that almost made him dizzy, he pulled back.

your eyes shot open and you looked down to him with an almsot bewildered expression on your face. he looked so hot with your slick covering his lips, his chin and parts of his nose, but right now you really just wanted to punch that stupid grin off his lips.

"seriously?" you asked as he stood up and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "i was so close to–"

"so i could make you cum," he cut you off with the same annoying grin.

you didn't reply. instead, you tried to bend down to grab your clothes from the kitchen floor, but jay held your wrist again.

as he didn't let go even after you'd shot him a glare, you rolled your eyes. "congratulations, jay. do you want a trophy for your efforts? i didn't think you were so committed to win the gold medal in orgasm delivery–"

"shut up, will you?" jay interrupted, the smirk quickly replaced by his usual annoyed demeanor. "you're playing so hard to get when–"

"maybe you're just hard to want," you cut him off again, but he only raised his eyebrows.

"right," he replied, sliding one finger through your folds and collecting your wetness, the sudden contact drawing a surprised whimper from you. you quickly bit your lip, mentally cursing yourself for letting the sound slip.

"doesn't seem like 'hard to want'."

you glared at him for a moment, before averting your gaze. without another word, jay grabbed your arms and turned both of you around so he was standing with his back against the counter and you were in front of him.

before you could open your mouth to speak, jay placed his hands on your shoulders and firmly pressed down, causing you to sink to your knees in front of him.

"so much talking when you could just put that damn mouth of yours to use," he murmured.

the words made you gulp, but for some reason, they also sent a new wave of excitement through you.

one of his hands moved to cup your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. "let's see if you can only talk big or if you're actually useful for something, hm?" he asked, the tone of his voice almost soft.

the question annoyed you as much as it challenged you. eager to prove him wrong, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his shorts, pulling them and his boxers down in one go, and only hesitating slightly when his hard cock sprang free.

"backing down?" jay cooed, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

you didn't reply, just wrapped one hand around his length, gliding your thumb over his leaking slit to use the precum as lubricant, before slowly pumping your hand up and down.

jay hissed at the contact, his hand tightening around your chin and the other gripping the counter behind him to steady himself.

his reaction made your lips curl up in a victorious smile, but you knew you could do better. you stopped your movements, waited for him to look down at you with a puzzled face, and licked from his base up to his very tip. you swirled your tongue around it just for a second before releasing it again while looking up at him through your lashes.

jay groaned quietly, his hand leaving your chin and finding its way to the back of your head instead, where he gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail before pushing your head closer to him again. his other hand reached to tap on your lips, which you wordlessly parted just enough to close them around his tip again.

jay pushed your head closer, letting you take his length into your mouth – inch by inch until you gagged around him and he grinned smugly.

"can't take more?" he teased, but you were determined to wipe that damn grin off his face.

you breathed in through your nose and moved your head forward in one go until your nose hit his pelvis and you could feel his tip against the back of your throat, swallowing around it to suppress another gag.

the feeling drew a surprised moan from jay that caused you to look up at him with teary eyes. you swallowed again, humming in satisfaction as you received the same reaction.

"c-can't believe you're actually good at something," jay stammered. "do that again."

you obeyed, the feeling causing his eyes to flutter shut and his head to shoot back with another quiet moan.

he slowly pulled your head off his cock only to harshly push it back forward again after you'd swirled your tongue around his tip. he continued, his movements growing faster and rougher as his hips started to thrust forward every time he brought your head close – hitting the back of your throat each time, while you tried your best to not gag and he tried his best to not moan too loudly, not wanting jake to hear.

your hands reached to grab his thighs, attempting to somehow ground yourself when he slammed his hips forward another time. your jaw was tense, your eyes were burning from the tears that dared to roll down your cheeks, your head hurt from the force with which jay pulled your hair together, and yet all you could think about was finally making him cum and proving him wrong.

as his hips stuttered and his breaths started coming ragged, he held you in place, your nose pressed against his abdomen and the tip of his cock against the back of your throat. you eagerly hollowed your cheeks and swallowed again, pushing him over the edge.

"stay there," he ordered in between quiet moans. you felt his cock twitching as ropes of his cum ran down your throat. you quickly swallowed, yet couldn't stop a little from running down your chin as he finally pulled off.

you quickly wiped your chin with the back of your hand and stood up on shaky legs, shivering at how your arousal made your thighs stick together.

jay looked at you, his chest still rising and falling quickly. "hard to want, hm?"

"my god, fine. just fuck me already," you replied, your voice laced with frustration, which caused his lips to curl up into a little smile.

he turned you around and firmly pressed his hand on your back to guide your chest down onto the cool marble countertop.

"beg for it," he said in the most casual way possible.

you turned your head back and looked at him in disbelief. "seriously now?" you tried to stand up straight, not willing to feed his enormous ego more by begging, but his hand stayed firm on your back as his other slowly pumped his cock a few times before he guided his tip up and down your sensitive folds.

you clenched your fists, trying to move your hips back against his, but jay stepped back.

"i said beg for it," he repeated sternly.

when you hesitated, he lifted his hand from your back, attempting to step away fully. you squinted your eyes and mumbled out a quiet "please." you felt the embarrassment wash over you, but you just really wanted to finally feel him.

"what was that?" jay asked, stepping closer again.

you sighed. "please, jay," you repeated, still quiet but a little clearer than before. a hint of relief rushed through you as you felt jay's hand on your back and the tip of his cock against your needy hole again.

"please what?"

screw that. you were desperate but not desperate enough to ruin your pride entirely.

"you know what, fuck off, i–"

the words caught in your throat as jay suddenly pushed his entire length into your aching hole, knocking the air out of you. the stretch was so intense that you desperately searched for something to hold onto, but jay didn't give you any time to adjust as he pulled out almost entirely only to snap his hips forward harshly again, drawing a chocked moan from you when his tip hit your cervix.

"gonna finally put you in your fucking place," he said, hissing at the way your walls sucked him in so perfectly with each thrust.

"j-jay..." you whimpered once the pain gave way to pleasure, hating yourself for giving in to him, but also not caring enough to make him stop.

he groaned lowly at the way his name rolled off your tongue, mixing perfectly with the sounds of your wetness and his skin slapping against yours.

"takin' me so well," he mumbled in between his thrusts. you felt so warm and tight around him, the moans you tried to muffle clouding his mind until there was nothing left but you and the way you felt.

the sudden praise caused you to clench around him involuntarily. his hands moved to grab your hips, holding you in place as he continued to pound into you. he looked down to where your bodies connected, watching as his cock disappeared in your pretty cunt with each thrust.

"you're so stupid," he muttered, slipping back into the way he alway spoke to you, "for ever letting other idiots have their way with you when i was right there all the time," he blabbered out, slamming his hips into yours even harder.

you wanted to speak back, but each thrust knocked the air out of your lungs all over again as you placed your hands on top of his to somehow ground yourself.

"so tight for me," he mumbled at the way your walls clenched around him the closer you came to your high. "mhh, so wet"

"o-only for you," you managed to slur, way too far gone to realize what you'd just said, only focusing on the tight knot in your stomach that was dangerously close to snapping.

"jay, i-", you cut off as your orgasm washed over you in waves, each feeling heavier than the one before. jay brought one of his hands to your mouth to cover it, muffling your moans as his own high hit him at how strongly you clenched down on him.

you felt his cock twitching inside you before the warm ropes of his cum painted your walls white. he thrusted into you a few more times, sloppy and less energetic, riding out his high, before coming to a halt.

he took a few seconds to catch his breath. then, he quickly pulled out of you, the sudden feeling making you hiss. as you slowly lifted your chest from the counter, turning around on wobbly knees, jay had already pulled up his shorts again.

he bent down, picked up your pajamas and threw them in your direction. you caught them, wordlessly putting them back on as the reality of what had just happened started to crash down on you.

jay walked past you, opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, before giving you one last glance and heading toward the door.

"wait," you held him back. he turned around to look at you, raising his eyebrow in question.

"what," you hesitated, "what... are we doing now?" you asked, averting your eyes and looking at the floor in front of you instead.

jay shrugged. "pretending that it never happened," he said casually before walking out the door.

© dazzlingjaeyun, 2024. please do not copy.

join my taglist here | masterlist

❥ perm. taglist: @sudi109 @woniesun

[digitaldaydreamm]

https://www.tumblr.com/umathurwin/777141804870074368/rafe-who-keeps-a-buzz-cut-because-he-has-sensitive?source=share

This is so bsf rafe, just imagine him going to readers house (unannounced ofc) and he looks awful, like burnout and frowning like a puppy (probably because of ward or some shit) and reader tries comforting him by running her hands through his hair and she lays his head down on her chest (this whole situation was just an excuse to be face to face with her tits LMAO)

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

warnings: cursing, rafe laying on reader's chest lol

a/n: this is sooo soft rafe :') i'm also finally getting into your reqs, remember they're always open for those of you who have anything special you'd like to ask for/comment on (for any of my existing pairings or new ones you wanna suggest)!!

masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sound of your front door unlocking has your stomach flipping before you even register it.

Only one person uses a key like that—slow, angry, like the metal itself pissed him off. Then it swings open, heavy footsteps stomping across the floor like your living room did something wrong.

You peek out from the kitchen.

He looks rough.

Hoodie thrown on haphazardly, eyes red and jaw clenched so hard you think he might grind his teeth down. There’s a tension in his shoulders that screams don’t talk to me—but he came here, so you know he wants you to ignore that.

“Rafe?”

“Don’t ask,” he mutters, already collapsing onto the couch like it’s the only thing holding him together.

You shut the fridge quietly and walk over to him. “You look like shit.”

“Feel worse.”

You stop next to the couch, crossing your arms. “What do you need?”

He looks up at you, dead serious. “You.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s bone-deep exhaustion, and he’s just saying what he means—like always.

You sigh and climb up next to him, folding your legs under you as you start running your fingers over his buzzcut. He exhales immediately, head tipping forward like his entire nervous system just got unplugged.

“God. That—” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” you say, brushing slow strokes along the top of his head. “You’re like a dog that needs head rubs to stay sane.”

“Woof,” he mutters sarcastically, and you laugh.

Then, without warning, he drops his head forward and lays it right on your chest.

You blink, tensing a little. “Rafe—”

“Relax,” he grumbles, voice muffled in your shirt. “M’not trying to cop a feel. You’re just soft.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t stop moving through his hair. His body melts into yours, and the tension he came in with starts to dissolve bit by bit—still there, but dulled by your touch.

“What happened?” you ask after a beat.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late.”

He shifts a little, his arm hooking lazily around your waist like muscle memory, like this is where he’s meant to be when shit gets bad.

"I'll tell you about it later, 'kay?" His fingers bunch a tiny part of your shirt, gripping—not hard, just enough to keep you there.

“You’re the only one who lets me fall apart,” he says quietly.

Your heart squeezes.

“You don’t have to fall apart,” you whisper. “Not when you’re here.”

He hums, eyes still closed, and presses a little closer. “…You’re also the only person I don’t wanna hit when I’m like this.”

“Wow,” you snort. “Total green flag.”

He snickers tiredly, nose brushing your collarbone. “You love me.”

“Do not."

“You do,” he says, voice already lower, already slipping toward sleep. “You let me lay on your tits. That’s, like… ultimate love.”

You shake your head, smiling down at him as your fingers keep moving through his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky I have a key,” he mutters.

And with that, he’s out—completely relaxed for the first time in God knows how long, buried against your chest like your heartbeat’s the only thing keeping him steady.

You just keep stroking his hair, already knowing: maybe he won’t talk about what happened tonight. But he’ll show up tomorrow with coffee like nothing happened, like he didn’t practically collapse in your arms.

And that’s okay.

Because Rafe only lets himself break when he knows you’ll be there to put him back together.

[rinsoap]

➣ includes : brother's best friend! suna rintaro. oh and also small age gap between him and the reader, only two ish years though. LOWKEY SUGGESTIVE? one mention of the reader not wearing a bra if that is something u deem suggestive.

note : i'm so in love with romantic and sexual tension between u n suna it's so fun to write! also lmk if u want a pt2 or something not sure what i'd do for a pt2 but y'all can send in some ideas lol

suna rintaro who is your brother’s best friend… he likes seeing you around the house, ready for bed looking so cute in your comfy shorts and a little top n no bra. he likes that he gets to see what you look like everyday instead of only seeing you dolled up. he likes when you’re glammed, of course, you always look stunning. he just likes stealing glances of you do everyday tasks.

like tonight, in the kitchen far too late in the night, he’ll lean against the doorframe as he watches you make a snack. he notices the curves of your shoulders, and how the small of your back peeks out from your top riding up a little. you’re still humming the song you’ve had stuck in your head all day. you turn around and surprised to see him, you gasp, causing him to widen his lazy half smile. you roll your eyes, party because he scared you, but also because he looks way too good. hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants loose around his hips, hair messy, and a white tank top on that fits him perfectly. he looks like a slut.

“what could you possibly want,” you sigh, and he shrugs in response. “just wanna see what you’re up to”

“where’s my brother? shouldn’t you be hanging with him?” you question, pointing a strawberry pop tart at him accusingly.

“he’s asleep” he closes the distance between you to take the pop tart out of your hand, taking a rather generous bite.

“rin stop, oh my god you just ate like half of it,” you exclaim, snatching it back, “you’ve already cleaned out half the fridge, when will your greedy ass be satisfied?”

“rin?” he cocks his head, his sleepy smile settling into a smug one, “you haven’t called me that since, like, elementary school” the eye contact he so casually maintains is difficult for you to keep, and your face gets furiously hot, looking away. “yeah well, i kind of thought you were embarrassed by it, so i got embarrassed and i stopped” you try to exit the conversation and walk past him to the doorway he was just standing in, trying to signal that you were going to leave to your bedroom. he follows you, much to your dismay. he leans against the doorway, his back to it, and you mimick his action. you're both looking directly at each other, and it feels weirdly intimate. seeing each other face on meant he could see every expression on your face.

“why would you think that? i wasn’t embarrassed.” he says, his eyes scan you from your painted toenails to the top of your head, but inevitably looking into your eyes. after a beat of hesitation, he continues talking. “...you know, i had a crush on you then. i was really sad when you stopped calling me it.”

the heat in your face returns as he laughs. how can he sit there and laugh after dropping this insane piece of information??

“you’re kidding. i totally liked you back, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you look at him incredulously, mouth agape and growing annoyed as you realize he was not as shocked finding out your feelings as you were in learning his.

“yeah, i figured. but your brother, you know? and just in case i wasn’t right, i didn’t want you to reject me and then show up at your house the next day to watch movies with your brother” he had a point. you remember those movie nights. you always wanted to watch with them, but your brother would always say no and kick you out of the room. suna always let you watch anyways, offering a seat on the couch beside him despite his best friend’s wishes.

the movie nights were not the only thing your mind was pondering on. if he knew about your crush then, did he know now? your feelings were much too complicated for you to call it a crush, and you'd like to think you've learned how to be at least a little subtle, so maybe he didn't know.

"that’s crazy. we just barely missed each other i guess” you finally say with a chuckle that turns into a thoughtful hum, glancing anywhere but his eyes.

"what? so, you don't have a crush on me anymore?" oh, so he did know. he easily closes the gap between you two, and for once, it doesn't seem like he's teasing you. "rin..." you say, mouth slightly open like you're going to add something else, but you don't. "i don't think we missed anything... am i wrong?" he leans towards, and you swear he's going to kiss you but he stops before your lips touch, "you can tell me if i'm wrong."

you grab his shirt and pull him in to press your lips against his, bringing him into a surprising, but long kiss. his hands thread through your hair, lingering in the moment. when you break away, they slide from your hair to the sides of your neck, and he has the dumbest smile on his face. "definitely not wrong."

[miley1442111]

hi!!! Can you do a Spencer Reid x fem reader where she doesn't work for the bau and meets the team for the first time and her and Spencer are just so in love and practically attached at the hip, sharing drinks, holding hands, and just being so cute and the team is shocked and teases Spencer about her and how he acts with her but they are so happy for him

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you make me happy- s.reid

-------------------

-------------------

a/n: i love this idea!!! thank you so much for requesting :)

summary: spencer acts different around you and it shocks the team

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

warnings: none

-------------------

Everyone on the team was shocked. They’d just decided to go out for drinks after a case, and there you were, Spencer’s girlfriend. 

What?

-------------------

It had been an awful week at your job, your asshole boss was being an asshole, your creepy co-worker followed you to your car, someone else took credit for your work in the project you just wrapped, and on top of it Spencer was away all week. 

But there he was, in the same bar as this stupid wrap party.

He sent you over a drink, labelling it from ‘your secret admirer’, and when you caught his eye you both smiled and waved at each other, happy to know he was back and you could be together again. Even if ‘being together’ meant staring at each other from across the bar and texting under the table. 

You: Thank you for the drink :)

Spencer: It's no problem, sorry I was gone all week. How was work? (I’m not sure how to do the smiley-face thing, sorry!)

You: It was awful :( I’ll tell you about it later, have a fun night love you! Gtg

Spencer: what does ‘gtg’ mean?

You: Lol, ‘got to go’.

Spencer: what’s ‘lol’

You: ‘laugh out loud’

“Y/n!” your friend shook you away from your phone.

“Yes?” you answered, hastily putting it back in your bag. 

“There’s a guy on that table that is totally checking you out,” she smirked. “Finally ready to end this dry-spell?”

“I already told you I’m not looking for anything right now,” you sighed. “I’m happy how I am.”

None of your work friends knew about you and Spencer, mostly because you weren't really close with them and in part because they’re the nosiest people known to man. 

“Fine, suit yourself,” she rolled her eyes and continued the conversation with the rest of the table. You looked in the direction of Spencer’s table and only saw him in front of you. 

“Hi,” he smiled, waving awkwardly.

“Hi,” you smiled back, heat creeping up your face as you felt all eyes on the table turn to you and Spencer. 

“I want you to meet some people, is that ok?” he asked and you nodded. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you smiled at the rest of your table. Spencer held your hand in his as you walked back to the table to be met with six pairs of eyes trained on the two of you. 

“Well, this is my girlfriend,” Spencer admitted sheepishly as jaws dropped. 

A chorus of  “Since when?”, “why didn’t you tell us?”, “how long?”, and “how did you pull her?” started and you just chuckled as Spencer’s face became increasingly red. 

“Guys! Stop!” he laughed. “I’ll answer your questions just maybe… introduce yourselves first?” 

“I’m Derek Morgan,” he sent you a wink and you chuckled.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he held out his hand to be shook, and you took it. He’s definitely the father-figure of the group.

“Penelope Garcia, I cannot wait to invite you on our girls trips, you will just adore-”

“Pen,” Spencer sighed, a certain desperation in his voice that made you squeeze his hand, assuring him that it’s alright. 

“Emily Prentiss,” she shook your hand. 

“Jennifer Jareau but everyone calls me Jj.” 

“David Rossi.”

“And of course, you know Spencer,” Derek smiled.

You sat beside Spencer and introduced yourself and the questions started pouring in. As you sat beside him, Spencer’s hand circled your waist and he held you close to him, his hands all over you. 

“Where did you meet?” Derek asked. 

“At the library,” Spencer answered. “We were… arguing over a translation in a book. She was right but-”

“What language?” Emily asked. 

“German,” you smiled. “I’m fluent.”

“Are you from Germany?” She asked. 

“No, I just learnt it when I was a kid. My parents were professors of language when I was a kid so they just made me learn as many as possible.”

Spencer’s hands moved from your waist slowly down to your hips and he pressed a mindless kiss to your shoulder as the conversation went from your relationship to other things. He was all over you all night and you didn’t even mind. He drank from your drink, his eyes were more often than not focused on you, his hands were all over you, to say it was jarring for the team would've been an understatement. He'd never been one for physical touch, but here he was, practically draped over you.

-------------------

At one point, he went to the bathroom and all eyes were on you again.

“Is he… Is he usually like that?” Derek smirked. 

“Like what?” You asked.

“All over you?” Derek chuckled. “I mean the kid barely lets us touch the things on his desk, let alone touch him.”

You shrugged. “He just… doesn’t mind when it’s me, I guess.”

The team shared a smile with each other and you felt even more self-conscious. “What?”

“He really likes you,” Aaron smiled. “It’s just nice to know that he’s… happy. Especially after all he’s been through.”

You felt a sense of pride in your chest and you smiled back at them. 

“What did I miss?” Spencer asked, sitting beside you again. 

“Nothing much, just questioning your girl on your habits. I had no idea you still slept with the light on-” Derek teased but Spencer shut his mouth by shoving him over.

-------------------

The rest of the night was full of laughter until Spencer and you drove home. You stepped inside the house and toed off your shoes, then turned to Spencer, kissing him heavily. His hands landed on your ass, softly kneading the flesh there. 

When you pulled away, you two were already at the couch and he was under you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled. “So… what did you think?” he asked nervously.

“I thought they were wonderful,” you smiled and kissed him again, softer this time. 

Spencer smiled. “Good. I really wanted you to like them.”

“Well I do,” you smiled.

“What did you talk about when I went to the bathroom?” He asked, his hands wandering up your body to brush some hair out of your face.

“Oh just the usual, our sex life-” you teased but he cut you off with a groan and let his head fall back against the couch.

“Please tell me you’re joking?”

“I am,” you chuckled. “They said they were happy that you’re happy. They’re happy that I make you happy.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up. “That’s not too bad then,” he smiled and there was a charged silence for a few moments. You two just looked at each other, drinking each other in.

“They’re right,” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

“What?” you asked. 

“You make me happy. Very happy,” he smiled and you swear you could’ve cried. 

“You make me happy too,” you smiled through misty eyes. 

You two didn’t need to talk anymore. You both knew what it meant. You were in love.

His lips pressed against your for the third time that night.

-------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

[potatoplace]

Can't Help Falling In Love

The Afterthought: Chapter 6 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

chapter 5 | chapter 7 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Your gained independence has brought you more friendships, a companion, and, surprisingly, a new romance.

Warnings: shitty Feyre, very mild drinking, iiii honestly think that's it? I cannot think of anything else, let me know if I missed something pls

Words: ~11.8k

Author's Note: omg so I'm tired so there might be mistakes BUT everyone let me know what they think!!!!!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK CAUSE OMG IVE BEEN SO EXCITED FOR THIS MOMENT. Also. Peep the fun lil cameo I made (I am sure you all will guess it easily lol it's p obvious imo. Also. I will share pictures if people ask 🤭) I hope you all like this chapter!! ps the title is from an Elvis song but I know it from Fools Rush In but that's what they dance to at the end

18+ only pls

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Mor returned just a few minutes after you finished getting dressed, in a soft, thick navy cotton nightgown, your feet clad in soft, fuzzy white slippers.

You had already set the table- another purchase from the secondhand furniture store that you had made yesterday, coming with four matching chairs. The scuffed walnut wood matched your bed frame, which had been a good enough reason for you to choose it.

And, that you'd been able to carry it home. Slowly, but you had, and you'd returned for the chairs promptly, each time apologizing to the seemingly annoyed shop owner who had said nothing each time, only stared at you over the top of his book.

You let Mor in after the first knock, giggling when you saw everything she was carrying. She had a small duffel bag, a bag filled with food, and another bag filled with... well, you weren't sure yet, but it was stuffed to the brim.

"Did you bring enough stuff, Mor?"

"Oh, hush you," Mor said, breezing past you to deposit the food on the stable, her other bags deposited next to your bed. "I brought pasta! There's a creamy one that has a seafood blend, and some good old spaghetti with meatballs. Plus-" Mor pulled another, smaller bag out. "Breadsticks!"

"Did you get anything healthy?" You asked, taking the breadstick that she handed to you and taking a bite.

"Nope," Mor said through her own bite. "I mean, unless you count tomatoes being a fruit. Which I totally do. So actually, yes."

You shook your head and laughed as you sat at the table, Mor following right after. "As long as there's tomatoes, then. What's all the other stuff?" You asked, pointing your breadstick at her other bags.

"Well, one is my clothes for tonight and in the morning, and the other is full of housewarming presents!"

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. "More housewarming presents? I don't know how much of this I can take."

"Oh, you will take them happily," Mor said sternly. "They're just some small things that I thought you might need, nothing big. Though I would love to help you find a couch tomorrow, if you're up for it?"

You looked at the bag, and back to Mor. "That depends on how much you got me, Mor."

Mor smiled brightly. "Ahh, so you can be convinced. Do you want to know what they are now, or food first?" You glanced down at your breadstick, and quirked a brow at Mor. "I mean the pasta, silly. So?"

"Uhh... Presents first, I suppose, as long as the food won't get cold."

"That should be no problem, if we keep it in the bag. I'll go change into my pajamas really quick, and then you can see what I got you!"

A few minutes later you were sat on your bed, Mor beside you, pulling your first present out as you held your eyes shut.

"Go ahead and open!" Mor said after placing something that felt like a book in your outstretched hands.

It was a book- and upon opening, you saw that it was filled with handwriting exercises, and beginners words. Meant for a child, yes, but...

"Mor, thank you," you said tearily, pulling your friend into your arms. "This is- oh, this is so amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Mor giggled beside you. "You're welcome, Y/N! I know that glass Nuala and Cerridwen gave you is helpful for understanding letters, but I also know you'd prefer to do it yourself. Now, close your eyes again!"

The two of you repeated the process over and over again, until you'd received every present Mor had picked out for you.

She had gifted you a beautiful quill set, with a selection of colored inks along with a larger inkwell filled with the standard black. A diary, in a delicate shade of pink, along with matching letter paper and envelopes, a small kit to do wax seals for when you decide to send letters. Mor had also picked out a few lovely bars of hand soap, along with two cute crystal dishes to hold them. And Mor had brought you two new blankets, one a dark blue, and the other in a dark purple.

"You can never have enough blankets, Y/N. Never," Mor said seriously as the two of you moved back to the dining table, each of you having a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

"I agree with you completely, Mor. And really, thank you for everything," you said sincerely, squeezing her hand.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N. I'm always happy to go shopping! Now- do you want some of both dishes? Cause... I do," Mor admitted with a grin as she pulled the to-go boxes out of the bag.

"I'd be happy to have both," you giggled, grabbing another breadstick from the bag, this one slightly cooler than before. "So- tell me what's been going on with the Hewn City? Unless you want to avoid work completely."

Mor sighed as she dished out some of both pastas for both of you, onto the pretty clay plates you had bought two days ago, with painted flowers decorating its surface. "Well, Keir has been a pain in my ass, using every available connection he has to try and stop the upcoming election. He's been holding these stupid little rallies at the nightly revels, trying to convince the citizens to stage a coup. Though why he thinks that would work when Rhys or Feyre alone would be able to shut it down, I don't know. Just... He's being a pain in my ass!"

"I'm sorry, Mor. Isn't there anything that Feyre or Rhys would be able to do? Or maybe... Maybe remove him from power, imprison him for attempting to overthrow their rule?" You suggested, then took a bite of the seafood pasta- absolutely delicious, the creamy sauce complimenting the scallops, shrimp, and shellfish well, the pasta tender.

"I've tried telling them that it may be the only way forward, but they don't seem to understand how bad it's gotten as of late. Azriel's been busy in Autumn or Illyria for the past few months, and Cassian's been monitoring Windhaven specifically as of late. And Feyre is pregnant, meaning Rhys is unlikely to send her to the Hewn City without him, which would leave only Amren in Velaris. So..." Mor took a dejected bite of a breadstick.

"So you're stuck there?"

"Pretty much," she sighed. "Though I made Rhys promise to give me at least one day off every week, so I'll be able to come back home, and I'll be able to see you!"

You smiled. "Good, I'm glad. I missed you a lot over this last month, Mor."

Mor's expression matched your own. "I missed you too, sweets. Now... Tell me how everything's been going with you?"

It was your turn to sigh after you swallowed your bite of spaghetti- also delicious, with the slightly spicy sauce and meatballs.

"Things have been... They're looking up now. Now that I've moved out, at least. And working has been really nice. Things around the River House... Besides Azriel, they've been really tough for me. Nesta and Elain... They make me so uncomfortable, and they hate me for no reason. At least, that's what it feels like. And Feyre doesn't seem to care, either..." You shoved another bite of food into your mouth, letting the flavor soothe your pain.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I really thought that Feyre would have tried to make them stop, especially after how rude they were dress shopping for Starfall," Mor said. "But I'm glad to here that things are looking up for you- And that Azriel has been sweet. And working at Sevenda's! You've done amazingly for yourself, love, all on your own. If..." Mor paused, considering her words. "If you decided to not have them in your life anymore, I wouldn't blame you. Feyre I would give another chance, but Nesta and Elain... They're taking their anger about their own situation out on you, I think. And that's unforgivable, seeing as they know how much it's hurt you."

Tears had welled in your eyes at her words, at how well she understood your feelings. "Thank you, Mor," you managed to choke out before the tears fell.

"Oh, sweets... Come here," Mor said, standing from her chair and pulling you up and into her arms, squeezing you tightly, a hand stroking your hair soothingly. "How about we do a face mask and eat chocolate? Does that sound good?" Mor asked after a while, pulling away from you a bit. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice quite yet.

"Let's do it, then."

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning was lazy, with you and Mor sleeping in and laying in bed for an hour, talking about everything and nothing. You felt like you were sharing hushed secrets together, like you had so long ago with Feyre when the both of you laid awake at night, your other sisters sleeping the night away as the two of you dreamed of a life you wanted to live, not just an existence of scraping by.

Eventually, you were dragged from the cocoon of your bed by your bladder, and after you had washed your hands you jumped on the bed, right on Mor.

"It's time to get up," you sang as you laid on top of your friend, giggling when she half-heartedly tried to push you off of her. "You said you wanted to go couch shopping, right?"

"Yes, but not this early," Mor groaned beneath you.

"If you want any chance of paying for it, you've got to get up now!"

"Okay, okay! You've convinced me, you're impossible to give things to unless I've already bought them," Mor laughed, and this time you let her push you off of her- not that you doubted her ability to do it if she truly wanted to. The two of you made your way into the bathroom, going through the steps of washing and moisturizing your faces. "We're stopping for breakfast in a café, though, I'm dying to have a muffin and some coffee."

"That's fine by me Mor," you laughed. "You can change in here, I'll change in the main room."

"Okay, just let me know when you're dressed so I don't accidentally peek on you," Mor said after she had grabbed her bag and returned to the bathroom. That left you to quickly strip out of your nightgown, down to your underwear. You slipped on a simple peach brassiere and into a clean, black woolen dress, in a similarly modest fashion to the one you had worn yesterday.

"You can come out, Mor," you called out, and a moment later the bathroom door swung open.

"Let's get going, I'm starving," Mor complained as the two of you slipped on your boots and outerwear, you of course wearing all of the items Azriel had bought for you. "Oo, I like these," Mor said, stroking the cape with an ungloved hand. "Did you buy it recently?"

A blush spread over your cheeks against your will. "Oh, uhm. Azriel gave the set to me, for Solstice."

A smile spread across Mor's face. "Oh? Azriel bought it for you?" Mor asked.

Your cheeks heated further at her actual question. "It's not like that, he's just being nice..." You mumbled.

"And what if he wasn't?"

You blinked at Mor for a moment, dumbstruck by her suggestion before you laughed. "No, no. I don't... That's not a possibility, Mor."

Mor shook her head. "But you want it to be- and it is. Any male or female would be lucky to have you, Y/N," Mor said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Now. Let's go get breakfast."

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

Three hours later, you and Mor were carrying a couch through the snow covered streets of Velaris, the legs dragging through the white powder. Its pink velvet fabric was a near match to the chair you had already bought, and had a low enough back to allow winged individuals to sit comfortably.

Not that you'd taken that too much into account, it was just a nice benefit for when Azriel came to visit.

Which he would be, tonight. The two of you had agreed to have dinner tonight, as your way of repaying him for your bed. It was the one night he would be in town this week, and since you had the day off it had seemed to work perfectly.

Mor was going out with some friends tonight at Rita's, an activity that you were fine not being involved in, and she had to return to the Hewn City early in the morning.

The two of you said goodbye in the late afternoon, a long hug and promises to coordinate time together and write to each other- you would even attempt to tell her about your week, if you were able.

You spent the time before Azriel turned up cleaning your apartment some, washing the dishes that you and Mor had used last night and putting away the gifts she had given you.

Then? You collapsed on the couch, a blanket spread over you as you enjoyed how soft the cushions were.

A shadow tangled in your hair moments before a knock landed on your door, and you shook your head at the silly little thing.

"Hello, Azriel," you said as you opened the door, face to face with the Shadowsinger, a round, covered dish in his hands. His shadows seemed antsier than usual, a few of them breaking away to swirl around your feet, a tiny smile creeping onto your lips.

His eyes tracked them, tightening for a moment before they met yours, hazel softening as he looked at you. "Good evening, Y/N."

Your smile grew. "Come in, you need to choose a recipe so that we can go shopping," you said brightly as you opened the door further, letting him into your apartment. "You didn't need to bring anything, you know."

"Thank you. I just brought dessert, and it was my pleasure. And I'd be happy to have anything you make, Y/N," Azriel said as he followed you into the kitchen, where you had two of your cookbooks set out on the counter. The ones that Nesta and Feyre had gifted you. He set the dish to the left of them, and you were tempted to peel back the foil covering it.

"None of that, you're going to choose a recipe that you want," you demanded, fully aware that you are being more assertive than you'd been with him... Well, ever.

But he seemed similar to you, in the way that you never liked to accept much of anything from others.

Azriel stared you down for a moment before sighing, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Okay. But you have to let me know if it's a recipe you wouldn't like," Azriel said firmly, waiting to open a cookbook until you had nodded your agreement. "Good."

He flicked through the pages until he settled on a dish you both thought sounded good- chicken and dumplings. "It was my favorite when I was younger," Azriel confessed as the two of you walked to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, his shadows clearing your path as they had taken to doing over the past month.

"I can't imagine you younger, somehow," you giggled as you looked up at him, trying to imagine him as a gangly teenager. But the image never came, leaving you staring at the very masculine male next to you.

Azriel let out an amused snort. "That's fine by me, I was... I was awkward, back then. But, so were my brothers."

"You? Awkward?" You shook your head. "I don't buy it. You're too calm, all the time."

"That's now. Back then I was a nervous wreck," Azriel admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, if you're ever nervous now, you do an amazing job of hiding it," you said as you picked out the vegetables you would need, handing over your bank card to the stall owner for a moment, thanking them as you left. The vegetables were placed into the cloth bag you had brought with you, which Azriel plucked from your arms despite your protest.

"If you're paying for everything and cooking, the least you can let me do is carry the ingredients," he insisted. "Now, what else do we need?"

You looked down at your list, squinting at the poorly printed ingredients that you had written down before leaving. "Uh... Chicken, obviously."

"Right. There's a butcher shop just a few stalls down," Azriel said, leading you gently with a hand on the small of your back.

The intimacy of his touch made your breath stutter for a moment, before you reminded yourself that Azriel is your friend, nothing more.

Shopping flew by, easy, light conversation flowing between the two of you while you were in the outdoors.

Azriel carried everything for you, prying every item out of your hands after you had paid for it. But you didn't feel patronized by it, rather... You felt touched, that he wanted to carry the groceries back to your apartment, that he wanted to help out in some way. It was nice.

His helping hands attempted to extended into the kitchen, at which point you fixed him with your toughest stare, demanding that he stayed still.

"Just sit there and let me cook! Enjoy your wine!" You said to him as you dropped the dumplings into the pot. "This is me repaying you for my bed in the one way you would let me- so let me!"

Azriel sighed, but you could almost hear the smile he was wearing. "I cannot believe my shadows are siding with you."

"What?" You asked, turning away from the pot to stare at him, laughing at the sight you were met with. "Oh my- that's hilarious!" You giggled at seeing Azriel, covered in his own shadows as they held him to the chair, even lifting his glass of wine up for him.

"So you say, I find mutiny much less amusing," Azriel said, shaking his head with a smile on his face. "It smells amazing, Y/N."

Your smile grew, nose scrunching at his words. "Thank you, it should only be a few more minutes."

"I'm fine right here, no matter how long it takes."

🤍💞💙💞🤍

Azriel had left your apartment near eight in the evening last night, after he had insisted upon doing the dishes, of course. Dinner had been such a pleasant affair, with Azriel telling you about his work in Autumn and Illyria, and you talking about the small dramas of your fellow kitchen staff.

You could confidently say that you were friends now. Even better, you had gotten Azriel to agree to have dinner with you when he had a rare evening in town that wasn't taken up by court matters or inner circle dinners, though it hadn't been tough to convince the male. The next time you would see him would likely be on Saturday, though he had promised to send a note with one of his shadows if something came up.

Currently though, you were at work, nestled between Josi and Torma.

You'd woken up with an ominous feeling pooling deep in your stomach, one that you still hadn't shaken. But, you'd gotten yourself out of bed and to work; for that, you were proud.

Josi and Torma were going back and forth about where they should go for drinks that night.

"I think we should go to Rita's. Then we can dance!" Josi said excitedly, even doing a little jig, bumping her hip lightly into yours which drew a giggle from you. "See! Y/N thinks it's fun!"

"Dancing would be fun, that's true Josi. But I'm feeling more like sitting and talking a bit tonight, which is why Blue Bar would be a much better choice," Torma explained, giving Josi her best puppy dog eyes as she looked over your head.

Josi sighed. "What if Y/N comes dancing with us? Would you go to Rita's then?"

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "I don't think-"

"Oh, please Y/N?" Torma begged, setting down her knife and putting her palms together. "Please please please? You haven't gone out with us yet!"

You scrunched your face at the idea. Drinking, dancing, and being near so many people... Was not your idea of a relaxing evening. "I'm not sure... I don't really drink," you said quietly.

"But you don't have to drink! You can just watch us be silly and bad at dancing," Josi enthused, setting down her own knife. "Come ooon, you know you want to see us make fools of ourselves!"

The thought of them stumbling around together on a dance floor did bring a smile to your face. "As long as you guys don't abandon me," you decided, your words resulting in enthusiastic high fives from your coworkers, only making you smile wider.

"Yes! Okay, we can either pick you up from your apartment at seven, or you can meet us at Rita's at the same time," Josi said.

"Uhh... Pick me up from my apartment, I think. Otherwise I might just stay home," you admitted sheepishly.

"Then we'll pick you up at seven o'clock sharp," Torma declared.

The rest of your shift passed quickly, with you leaving around five. You bid goodbye to your coworkers, promising them that you would be ready and enthusiastically awaiting their arrival in two hours.

You walked home, enjoying the slightly warmer weather that Velaris was having today. The sun was shining brightly, even as it began its descent below the horizon.

Still, even the lovely weather couldn't shake the feeling in your bones that something unexpected would happen today, good or bad.

And you were proven right when you arrived to your building, Feyre standing outside of the locked door, looking...

Angry.

Furious.

Your heart picked up in your chest, beating rapidly as you tried to assess why she would be angry... The only reason you could come up with was, well... Why you were standing outside of an apartment building.

"Hello, Feyre," you said, as neutrally as you could with your heart hammering in your chest.

"Y/N," Feyre said coldly, her hands pointing to the doorknob. "Let me in?"

Your brows scrunched together, but you unlocked the door, letting Feyre pass through before you. You led her upstairs, pausing before your door. Should you let her in...? You sighed and unlocked the door, allowing Feyre to enter your apartment. Your safe space.

You only hoped it continue to feel that way, after this visit.

"So... You moved out without telling me? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How worried I've been?!" Feyre growled at you once the door was shut behind you.

"Worried?" You asked with a mirthless chuckle. "You've been worried? I was gone for a week, Feyre! A week, and you couldn't be bothered to notice until Mor did!" You yelled at her, your own anger at your situation bubbling up. "Besides, it's not like I could leave the fucking city without your approval anyways, so what do you have to be worried about?! That I'm making my own life, with people who actually care about me?!" Feyre opened her mouth to respond, but you didn't give her the chance. "I felt like nothing but a burden, an annoyance in that house," you hissed. "And if you had actually cared about me, you would've noticed I moved out last Wednesday. And you would've noticed when I got a job. And you would have remembered that I cannot. Read." Tears filled your eyes as you brought up that little tidbit, the sting of it fresh whenever you thought of it. Water had begun pooling in Feyre's eyes, and you knew that if she spoke you would forgive her, even if you didn't want to. "Now get out, Feyre, unless you've decided that my apartment is now your property as well. Come back when you actually realize why I moved out," you said coldly as you opened the door, staring expectantly at her.

She did as you asked, passing through the doorway mere minutes after she entered. Feyre turned to you, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I do care for you, Y/N. But you've got to stop acting like living at the River House was torture."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, slamming the door in her face and locking it tightly.

Not that it would stop her, if she really wanted in...

You spent the rest of your time before your coworkers showed up curled in your bed, pillows piled around you and blanket pulled over your head. It was only when you peeked at the clock and saw it was ten to seven that you pulled yourself from your cocoon.

Hair brushed out and a small amount of eyeliner and pale pink rouge and lipstick applied, you quickly changed into a different dress. Your cozy black cotton dress was changed to a flowing, sapphire blue silk gown. The sleeves were loose, wider once they met your forearms, and the modest cut and floor length skirts left you feeling secure and covered. You felt pretty in it, one of the few nicer gowns you had taken from your closet in the River House.

You had just pulled on your boots and cloak when a knock fell on your door, Josi and Torma waiting outside.

"How did you get in the building?" You asked with a laugh as you locked up.

"Well, one of the other tenants had just walked in when we arrived, so we slipped inside!" Josi explained, locking arms with you as the three of you left the building.

"Ahh, that explains it."

"Yes. Now, let's get to Rita's! It's cold as balls out here," Torma groaned, taking your other arm and dragging the two of you along faster.

The air in Rita's was hot, a welcome reprieve from the winter chill outside. Josi went to order drinks for the three of you, while Torma led you over to a booth in the back of the bar.

The two of you had just settled in when Josi came back, four drinks in her hands. She set two in front of you, one was water, the other was pink and sparkling, smelling of strawberries and a hint of alcohol.

"I know you said you don't drink, but I thought I would get you something just in case! I had the bartender make it less strong for you. And if you don't have it, I'll drink it anyways," Josi giggled as she slid into the booth next to you, already sipping her own drink.

Normally you wouldn't have dared to touch alcohol, but your conversation with Feyre earlier... You could use a distraction. And, you were with your trusted coworkers.

You took a small sip of the drink, delighted at the way the liquid was fizzing in your mouth. It tasted as it smelled, primarily of strawberries with the slightest hint of alcohol- champagne, you thought.

"Thank you, Josi, it's delicious."

"I'm glad you like it! Oh- Torma, we have to dance to this one!" Josi squealed, setting her drink down and sliding out of the booth, pulling Torma along with her.

You watched them dance, sillier with each song as Josi had said they would, sipping your drink. You started feeling light, tipsy like you had at the one party you'd drank at, when you still lived in the human lands.

Maybe that was why you hadn't noticed him, until he was standing directly in front of you, wings tucked in behind him.

"Oh- hi, Azriel," you said quietly, a flush on your cheeks as you smiled at him.

"Hello, Y/N. I didn't expect to see you here," Azriel replied, sliding into the booth across from you. "You look like you're having a nice time."

You bobbed your head to the beat of the music. "I am. Josi and Torma convinced me to come out tonight. And I am glad they did, otherwise Feyre would have ruined my day," you giggled, the sting from your interaction with her not present with the alcohol running through your veins.

"You spoke with Feyre?" Azriel asked, a curious look on his face.

You sighed heavily and took another small sip of your drink. "Yeah, she was at my place when I got off work, and was mad that I moved out without saying anything. But really, it took her a week to notice!" You vented. "Not to mention she didn't even remember that I couldn't read... Nesta and Elain I understand since they hate me but..." you trailed off, a frown on your face.

One of Azriel's hands slid over your own, grasping it gently. "I'm sorry that you've been let down so thoroughly by your sisters, Y/N. I am happy to know that you're still living how you want, and making friends too."

You smiled dreamily at him. How was he so nice to you? "Thank you, Azriel. I'm glad that you're my friend, you're really nice."

Azriel smiled softly at you, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges.

One of his shadows tangled itself in your hair, rubbing against your neck and drawing your eyes away from Azriel's. "Your shadows are so silly," you giggled, tickling the shadow with a finger.

"They seem to like you a lot," Azriel remarked, watching as more of his shadows nuzzled themselves against you. "By the way, I wanted to ask you if you're up for a surprise on Saturday, before we have dinner."

You blinked at him for a moment, your thoughts coming more slowly with what you'd drank. "Uhm... Is it a fun surprise? Or like... dragging me to a family dinner surprise?"

Azriel's lips pressed together, the corners of his mouth still tilting upwards. "A fun surprise, I promise. And if you don't like it, we can leave right away."

"Mm... Sure, I don't see why not," you said, trying to come up with what kind of surprise he would plan.

"Good," Azriel smiled. Josi and Torma had wandered back over to the table, fresh drinks for themselves in hand. "I'll let you spend time with your friends," he said, sliding out of the booth.

"Thank you for saying hi, Az," you said sweetly, smiling happily at him. "I'll see you on Saturday!"

Azriel nodded, a slight flush on his cheeks as he turned away, going back to whichever table he had been at.

"Oooh," Josi said from beside you, elbowing you gently in the side. "Someone has a crush on the Shadowsinger!"

You scrunched your face at her, but couldn't get the smile to slide off of your face. "No I don't," you whined.

"Oh yes you do," Torma joined in, poking your leg with a foot. "And I dare say he has one on you as well."

You blushed further at that idea, shaking your head. "No, no, we're just friends!" You insisted, but both of them gave you a knowing look.

"Uh-huh," Josi giggled from beside you. "Just let us know when you start dating, hmm?"

"It's not like that!" You giggled, gently slapping her on the arm. "It's not!"

Torma rolled her eyes playfully at you from across the booth. "Sure, Y/N. Now, do you want to dance with us?"

You looked out at the dance floor. You'd never been one for dancing, since you'd missed out on the years of lessons that Nesta and Elain had gotten. But...

You drained the rest of you drink, about a third of it, and scooted into Josi. "Let's go dance!"

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

The next morning, you'd woken up with a slight hangover, which had been easily cured with a large glass of water, some dry toast, and a long bath.

Josi and Torma had grinned at you the whole day, talking about how they needed to take you out more often now.

You wouldn't say yes every time but... It had been nice spending time with them, and dancing had been more fun than you'd thought, with a bit of bubbly running through you.

The five days before you would see Azriel again- when you would know what surprise he had planned- passed by quickly at work, but dreadfully slow while you were alone at home.

You had taken to filling out the handwriting book that Mor had given you, your letters improving with every time you wrote them. And you felt you were nearing the point that you could attempt to read children's books, perhaps the book of fables that Rhysand had given to you for your birthday.

Feyre had yet to visit again, something you were grateful for. If she couldn't understand that being trapped and kept here like a forgotten pet, or worse, a chew toy for your sisters, was your problem? Then you didn't want to see her.

You were lonely while you weren't at work, but you could handle that. After all, you had time with Azriel after work today, and you and Mor were having another sleepover tomorrow night.

You had just started washing up to leave work when a shadow snuck into your hair, alerting you to Azriel's presence, likely in the dining room. You giggled at it, gently poking it with a wet finger before you dried off your hands. Sure enough, Azriel was stood in the dining room, talking with Sevenda in a hushed tone, both of them quieting when you walked through the curtain separating the kitchen from the front of house.

"Ah, Y/N! Someone came to pick you up," Sevenda said with a smile, winking at you when Azriel had his head turned.

You rolled your eyes at her, turning your attention to Azriel. "Come to take me to the surprise?"

"I am, in fact," Azriel nodded, extending a hand to you.

You took it without thinking, letting him lead you out of Sevenda's restaurant and into the snowscape of Velaris. His hands were soft, even with the scars that you knew covered them, and the calluses that you knew he should have, being a warrior and all.

His shadows were buzzing around the two of you excitedly, mirroring that of their master. Something about where you were going had Azriel as close to giddy as you could ever see him getting, a slight smile stuck to his face, his wings twitching every now and then.

Soon enough you came to a stop in front of a large building, various magical creatures painted onto the sign above the door.

Velaris... Animal... Shelter?

You blinked at the sign, confused. Surely you hadn't read that right.

"Come inside, I think you'll like it," Azriel said, gently tugging you into the building. Once inside, your ears were met with so many different sounds: meows, barks, bird trills, growls, hisses. There were a few rooms, all separated with glass walls and doors, filled to the brim with animals.

You were instantly drawn to the room housing felines- there were so. Many. Kittens!

"Oh my gods, can we go in?!" You asked Azriel, your face flushed from excitement and the cold as you met his hazel gaze.

"Of course we can, we just need to keep all of them inside the room." Azriel opened the door for you, letting you pass through first.

"Oh, they're so cute!" You squealed, approaching a pile of kittens, all conked out. You sat on the floor next to them, petting all of their fuzzy little heads and milk filled tummies, delighting in the squeaks they let out.

"This is an amazing surprise, Azriel," you told him once he sat down next to you, his wings drawing the attention of some of the active kittens.

"Being here isn't the only surprise," Azriel said. "If you'd like, you can take one home. I've already picked out some possible furniture you might like for the little one, if you decide to have one."

You gaped at him, completely shocked. "I can... I can take one home?" You asked, looking back at the kittens with new eyes. You could have a companion... Someone just for you.

"You can," Azriel said warmly, a smile on his lips when you looked back at him.

A grin spread across your face and your launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

His arms wrapped around you for a moment before you pulled away. "You're welcome, Y/N. I thought you might like to have a companion at home."

"Well you were right," you said giddily, turning back to the kittens. All of them were so adorable, so sweet while they were sleeping. But you would want one that was calmer while awake, matching your energy levels.

You and Azriel stayed in that room for two hours, playing with kittens and talking about what you'd both been up to over the past five days.

"The elections are heating up, and thankfully Rhys and Feyre sent me to the Hewn City to help protect the candidates going against the current leaders," Azriel told you as he let four kittens climb over him, even onto his shoulders and head. "Mor sends her love, by the way."

You smiled, both at the sight and the mention of your shared friend. "That's sweet of her, we get to have a night together tomorrow, which will be even more fun with my new little one," you said. "I still don't know which one I want, though."

"Take your time, you want to get one that you'll bond with well," Azriel suggested.

You looked around to room, trying to find any kittens that you hadn't interacted with yet. There, on one of the shelves... Mostly hidden behind a fluffy bed stuffed onto the shelf was a tiny kitten with glowing green eyes, her beautiful silvery coat shimmering even in the slight darkness of the shelf. You crawled over to her, extending a hand back to let her sniff. She hissed softly at you once, but let you run your fingers across her head, purring at the first touch.

Oh yes. This one.

She seemed slightly afraid of everything, hissing gently when you plucked her from her spot and cradled her in your arms. She was so tiny, and her fur was so soft and puffy, you wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a total fluff ball. Her tummy fur was the palest pink color, absolutely adorable. And her silvery fur had streaks of light tan running through it, along with slightly darker streaks of grey.

She was perfect. And the way her eyes closed as you pet her was so comforting to watch, you knew that you had found your fur child that you wanted to take home.

"I want her," you said to Azriel, tilting her in your arms so he could see her better. "She's so cute, and she seems nervous, like me."

Azriel laughed softly. "She's very cute, Y/N. Do you know what you'd want to name her?"

You looked down at her, trying to think of something that would suit her. At the same time, she let out the tiniest little squeak, that sounded like a soft 'eek.'

"M'aiq. Cause she's mine, and she made a little eek noise," you said, nodding your head at the name.

"M'aiq... That's a cute name for a cute little Starfall kitten."

"Starfall kitten?" You asked, wondering if that's why her eyes glowed green.

"Yes, every year, in the two months after Starfall, about one in every litter is born with a Starfall spirit inside of them. Or, at least, that's the explanation I've heard for why their eyes glow," Azriel explained, beginning to place the kittens that had climbed onto him back on the ground.

"Awe... You're even more special, my little M'aiq," you said cheerily, nuzzling your nose against hers.

Azriel led you out of the glass room and to the counter, where a fae took M'aiq and put her into a small carrier. He then led you into the shelter's store, where they had plenty of furniture, toys, and anything else you would need in stock.

You picked out a tall, carpeted structure that had a few platforms that M'aiq could rest on, as well as four different beds meant for small felines. A magically cleaning litter box and several food and water dishes also came home with you, as well as many, many toys.

His shadows sent everything to your apartment besides M'aiq in her little crate, which Azriel picked up for you. You tried to pry it out of his hands, but instead he slipped his free hand into yours and began leading you back to your apartment. Along the way you stopped in the Palace of Bone and Salt, picking up the things you would need for a simple pot roast dinner, seeing as you would be distracted for the rest of the evening.

Once you were inside the apartment, you immediately snagged M'aiq's crate from Azriel and pulled her out of it and into your arms.

"You're so cute," you cooed to her, petting her tiny head slowly.

You felt Azriel's eyes on you before you saw them, glancing up and smiling warmly at him. He looked away, the slightest blush on his face.

He is, too.

You placed M'aiq into one of the many cat beds now decorating your apartment, this one placed at the foot of your bed. "Stay there, sweetie, while I make dinner," you told her, her nervous green eyes on you. "I'll make you something, too, don't you worry."

Azriel was smiling softly at you when you turned to the kitchen, the expression making his face even more beautiful than normal.

You'd never understood how a male could be pretty, until now. But now you knew why Feyre called Rhysand the most beautiful male she had ever seen, because you thought that might be true of the winged male in currently in your kitchen.

"Did you need help with dinner?" He asked as you approached the bag of food he had placed on the counter.

"Hmm... I suppose since this isn't me paying you back for anything, you can help this time," you decided, setting out two cutting boards and handing him a knife. "Cut the potatoes into halves then quarter the halves, slice the carrots half an inch thick, and the onions into eighths please."

Azriel nodded and began rinsing the potatoes and carrots, while you grabbed some chicken from your cold box, dicing it after you started a flame under a pan with a bit of oil in it.

You balanced cooking the chicken for M'aiq and braising the roast while Azriel cut all of the vegetables, finishing at the perfect time, right when you needed them all to be added to the pot.

Azriel took over seasoning the roast while you fed M'aiq for the first time, grinning from ear to ear as you watched her devour half of the chicken that you had cooked for her. You'd get the portions down in no time.

With the roast in the oven, you and Azriel relaxed on the couch for a while, M'aiq in your lap.

After a little bit, Azriel had his shadows bring him a few reports after he made sure you would be okay with it, quietly filling them out with the scratch of his quill on the paper.

You decided, since you had tipsily told him that you were illiterate at Rita's anyways, that you would work on your handwriting in the book Mor had given you again, fighting the blush that had overtaken your cheeks.

But he said nothing about what you were doing, only giving you one curious glance before returning to his own work.

He was thoughtful like that. He thought about what would make you uncomfortable.

Your heart thumped in your chest at the feelings you were developing, ones that you had been fighting so hard to keep at bay.

But you were failing.

You were failing because this sweet, caring, thoughtful male did nothing but make your life brighter, Shadowsinger or not.

Doing your best to keep your attention on your workbook, you passed the rest of the time until the roast was done in a comfortable silence, the scratching of quills, crackling of logs, and M'aiq's soft purrs the only sounds in your ears.

Azriel checked the roast for you, after you had complained about having to move M'aiq when she was so comfortable and sleeping... And then he brought a bowl over to you along with a napkin, eating his own on the couch as well.

You felt so comfortable near him, even sitting so close, unaccompanied by anyone else. Two and half years ago you would have balked at the idea, the impropriety of it. But Azriel had been nothing but gentlemanly toward you, even when he had flown you up to the House of Wind.

And really... You would never be the whore that Nesta claimed you to be, after all you had never even been kissed in your twenty years of life, let alone had relations with someone. Just the thought of that sent anxiety through you. No, you would not have sex with someone until you were married, as you had been raised to do. You even... You even found it romantic, to save yourself for your future spouse.

So, being alone in your apartment with Azriel? That was an impropriety you were willing to overlook.

Azriel left your apartment near eleven at night, having spent extra time with you while you helped M'aiq settle in to her new home.

When you shut the door behind him, your heart fluttering from his presence, and now absence.

You turned your attention down to the fluffy ball in your arms. "What do you say, M'aiq? Are you ready for bed?"

Her soft squeak was enough of an answer for you. You settled her on the bed, next to your pillow while you washed your face and dressed for bed.

You laid down next to her, covers pulled up to your shoulders, with a hand poking out so you could pet her as you went to bed.

You didn't feel quite so lonely, laying in the dark now.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

As soon as you exited work, you were assaulted by way of an aggressive hug from a bouncy blonde. Mor swung you around, giggling.

"I'm so excited to see you!" Mor yelled, squeezing you tightly.

"I'm excited to see you too, Mor!" You giggled after she set you on your feet again. "So, what's the schedule like for tomorrow?"

"Well," Mor started as the two of you began walking to your apartment. "I have to be back in the Hewn City by noon, and... I have a family dinner to go to tonight," Mor said with a sigh. "So I won't be with you for dinner, but I'm planning to book it out of there and have dessert with you!"

You nodded in understanding. "That's fine, Mor, but you should come to my apartment first! I have something to show you."

"Oh?" Mor asked, quirking a brow at you. "What is it?"

"If I told you now, it wouldn't have the same effect!" You insisted as you let her into your building, following her up the stairs. Your door swung open, and you heard the skitter of claws on wood. "Oops, I think the door spooked her."

"Her?" Mor asked, looking around before her eyes locked the far wall. "She's under the bed."

"Oh, M'aiq!" You called as you pulled off your boots before crawling next to the bed. "Come on out, sweetie, Mor is your friend," you said softly, rubbing your fingers together to draw her out. No luck, though, especially when Mor kneeled down to peer under the bed. M'aiq actually hissed at her, spitting and everything. You hated that she was distressed but... She was so cute.

"Awe, she's adorable!" Mor whispered. "And she's a Starfall kitten, oh that's so sweet. You know, they tend to bond strongly to their owners, some are even able to communicate with them. Not talking," Mor giggled when you gave her a wide eyed look. "More like... Their emotions can be shared with you, similar to daemati, but it's just a connection between them and their person. Maybe your little M'aiq will do the same."

You looked back to her, where she was now sitting, pressed tightly against the wall but no longer hissing. "That would be so cool," you whispered.

Four hours later and Mor was back in your apartment, lounging on your bed with you, M'aiq laying inbetween.

"So, besides the kitten, what else is new?" Mor asked you, popping a chocolate into her mouth a moment later.

"Well..." You blushed. "I... I like Azriel..."

Mor grinned at you. "I knew you would! And honestly, I don't see why he wouldn't like you. The two of you are so well suited for each other."

You shook your head. "I don't think so Mor, I'm... I'm human," you whispered, your eyes stinging.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Mor asked seriously, tilting your chin back up so you would look at her. "So, you're human. Why does that matter?"

"Well, because... Because I won't be around for long, and it's cruel to shackle someone to me when I'll be old and grey in such a short time," you admitted, finally giving voice to your doubts.

"Who says you'll get old and grey?" Mor asked. "Maybe there's a way for you to not age, we just haven't found it yet. And besides, it's Azriel's choice if he decides to pursue you, he would know the possible outcomes. You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Mor said softly, her own eyes shining with tears. "I know that you're stuck here, and you would prefer to be in the human lands, but you still deserve to have happiness here, and if that means having a partner? Then that's what you should do, sweets."

You sniffled at her words, willing your tears to not fall as you stroked M'aiq. "Maybe... Maybe you're right... But I still don't think he likes me in that way," you said quietly.

"Well, I think what you think is wrong. I've never seen Azriel smile as much as he does when he's with you," Mor giggled, causing you to do the same. "And the two of you look so cute together!"

"Mor, stop," you laughed. "I don't want to get my hopes up..."

"Okay, okay. I'm just saying..."

You scrunched your nose at her. "Different topic. Tell me how things have been going with the election?"

"Well..."

🤍💙💘💙🤍

Friday night you and Azriel had planned to spend the evening together, but you were surprised to see him on Wednesday evening, after knocking on your apartment door.

"Hello, Azriel," you greeted. "What are you doing here?" Your eyes darted down, seeing his shadows swirling around his legs, a few darting out to brush against your legs. But more interesting was the box in his hand, pink with a matching ribbon tied in a cute little bow wrapped around it.

"I, uhm-" Azriel stammered for a moment before taking a breath. "I came here today because I want to ask you on a date, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart stopping. "I- what?"

Azriel's mouth tilted up in the corners. "I want to take you out on a date. I want to spend time with you, have a chance to court you. I like you, Y/N. And I was thinking we could go out for dinner on Friday night, if you decide to say yes."

Your brain short circuited. He- he likes you?

"I- Is this a joke?" You asked in a small voice, your heart bracing for the answer you were dreading.

Azriel's eyes saddened for a moment, his hands twitching where they were holding the box. "No, Y/N, I would never joke about this. I like you, very, very much. And I would very much like it if you joined me for dinner Friday night at seven," Azriel said softly, his eyes locked on yours. They shone with nothing but the truth, soothing your worries and sending heat to your cheeks.

A small smile slid onto your lips. "I... I'd like that very much, as well."

Azriel's smile at your words set your heart ablaze, the fire of your feelings stoked by the knowledge that he shared them as well. "Good, good. This is for you," Azriel said, placing the box into your hands once you held them out, his fingers brushing against yours. Just that little touch sent flutters through you, your blush deepening. "It's Elain's recipe, the white chocolate raspberry cake that you love," he explained. "I thought, even if you did not share my feelings, that you might like something sweet anyways," Azriel admitted, rubbing a hand against the back of his head.

"Thank you, Azriel," you said softly, touched that he would still care for you, even if you'd rejected him. "I'll... I'll see you at seven on Friday?" You asked shyly, still in disbelief.

"I'll see you then, Y/N," Azriel said, raising one of your hands and pressing his lips to the back of it. "Sleep well, dear."

Your heart thumped in your chest, hard enough you thought it might beat out of your chest. "You too," you said quietly, watching as he smiled once more at you, before disappearing down the stairs.

You shut the door, leaning against it after you locked it.

Had that really just happened?

Your eyes drifted down to the box in your hands, proof that Azriel had visited, had brought you it, had... Had...

Oh gods, you had no idea of what to do for a first date!

You set the box on a kitchen counter, opening it to see an adorable, heart shaped cake, decorated with pretty pink swirls of icing. It made you giddy, knowing that the cake was a present from a suitor. From Azriel. You cut a slice for yourself and grabbed a fork, taking the plate over to the table.

The cake was as delicious as you remembered, and M'aiq jumped onto the chair next to you, watching as you ate.

"If only you could give dating advice, little cutie," you mused, having another bite. No, you'd have to go see Mor for help.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you knew that Mor was in town, visiting the River House to give a report on the upcoming elections to Rhys and Feyre- early, too, before you started your work day.

You bundled up early, your nerves getting the better of you. You needed her advice, and you needed it before Friday. Which meant this morning was your only option, even if it meant going to the River House...

You entered your former home, filled with anxiety. There was no way to tell how this would go, given your last encounter with Feyre, but you were determined to get what you needed, and that was a conversation with Mor.

Luckily for you, she, Feyre and Rhys were sat at the dining table, having breakfast. Mor was chugging coffee until she saw you, setting her cup down and rushing out of her chair.

"Oh, Y/N! I'm so happy to see you!"

"I am too, Mor, I was-" You looked at Rhys and Feyre. "I was hoping I could talk to you, if that's alright?" You asked nervously.

Mor glanced back at the two of them before nodding. "That's fine, sweets, what did you need?"

"Uhh... Can we go outside, to talk?" Mor nodded and followed you to the front door, slipping on her coat before leaving the warmth of the River House. You walked a little bit away before talking, you didn't want anyone besides Mor to know. "Okay, so... Remember how you said that Azriel might like me...?"

"Oh mother!" Mor exclaimed. "He asked you out, didn't he?!"

You blushed and nodded your head. "Yes, last night, and for tomorrow night. But I- I've never been on a date before," you confessed, wringing your mittened hands together. "I don't know what to do, I don't know what's expected. I've never- I've never even been kissed!"

Mor placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Oh, hon! Nothing will be expected except for you to give it an honest try, and to be yourself! And as for never being kissed, I could change that," Mor offered, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You swatted her arm, shaking your head at her. "You're very pretty, Mor, but I don't like you that way," you giggled. "But... But what if he... What if he doesn't understand that I'm... saving myself," you whispered, "For marriage?"

"Y/N, if Azriel is in any way demanding sex from you, then he doesn't deserve you. I also don't think Azriel is that kind of male, he seems like a true gentlemale, in my opinion."

Her words soothed the anxieties in your chest, calming you down. "I don't think he would either," you said shyly. "But I... I also don't know what to wear."

Mor's eyes lit up even more, and she clapped her hands together. "Oh, oh! We can go shopping when you get off work today! I'll make sure I can stay in town until eight tonight, okay? And I'll see if I can come over tomorrow evening before you leave and help you get ready, if you'd like?" Mor asked.

"Really, Mor? That would be lovely," you said, hugging your friend. She squeezed you back. "Thank you, I'll see you at five, yes?"

"Yes you will, sweets. Now, you get to work, and I'll get back to that meeting. See you later!" Mor said with a wave, turning around the way you came.

Your shift passed incredibly slowly, your mind drifting to every way that the date could go right- and also wrong. You had nearly driven yourself crazy by the time you had washed up and left the building, Mor waiting by the door with two steaming cups of tea in each hand.

"Let's get shopping, sweets!" Mor said brightly, handing a tea to you and leading you to a dress store in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. It was a different one than you had gone to for your Starfall dress, for which you were thankful.

Mor lead you through the store, showing you dress after dress in styles and colors that you loved. All the while, she gave you little tips of advice, most of them along the lines of "be yourself and know that he is just as if not more nervous than you are."

After trying on ten different dresses, you settled on a rose pink silk dress with a modest neckline and floor length skirts. The sleeves billowed out before coming in at your wrists, the silk laying across your body in a flattering fashion. You could safely say that your body had filled out over the past month, what with you eating a small lunch at work and having dinner most nights. Your curves were more pronounced, a bit closer to how you had been before being taken to Velaris.

Mor had also insisted on buying you heeled boots in a matching shade of pink, a gold heart buckle keeping the strap in place. They were cute enough that you didn't fight her on accepting them.

She walked you home, parting with a strong hug and a promise to come by a bit after you got off work tomorrow.

But for tonight? You had another slice of cake, then snuggled up with M'aiq under the covers, using her purrs to chase away your racing thoughts.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

"You look gorgeous, Y/N!" Mor squealed as she stood back, having put the finishing touches on your makeup. "What do you think?"

You looked in the mirror, taking in the very light blush on your cheeks, the softly glittering pale pink eyeshadow on your lids, brown eyeliner complimenting your eyes, making them look even softer than normal.

"I agree! You do an amazing job every time, Mor," you praised, standing to hug your friend tightly. "Thank you so much for helping me get ready, today and yesterday."

"Oh, sweets, it's no trouble at all! In fact, it's been so long since my own first date that it's bringing back this memories, how fluttery your stomach gets when you see them..." Mor sighed happily. "Well, I should get going, otherwise Keir will riot."

"When are the elections over, again?" You asked as you walked her to the door.

"In two weeks, thank the mother," Mor groaned. "Then I get a nice, long vacation for three weeks."

"Just two more weeks, you can do it!" You encouraged, wishing there was something you could do to make it shorter.

"Yes, I know... And you had better tell me everything that happens tonight!"

You giggled at her words. "I will, Mor!"

"Everything!" Mor yelled as she went down the stairs.

You shut the door looking at the clock. Half past six. That was plenty of time for you to feed M'aiq her dinner and get dressed. And luckily for you, cooking something would keep your mind occupied enough to not panic about Azriel's impending arrival.

Your little child was fed and your dress pulled onto your body, pink boots slid onto your feet. All you had left to put on was your cloak, mittens and scarf, but that could wait until right before you left. Five minutes passed dreadfully slowly, and at 6:57 you pulled on your winter gear and descended the stairs after saying goodbye to M'aiq.

Waiting for you just outside the building door was Azriel, a bouquet of roses- red, lavender and white- in his hands.

"Hi, Azriel," you said, a blush instantly coming to your cheeks at the sight of him in a fine black shirt and pants, a change from his normal Illyrian leathers. The shirt clearly showcased his physique, something that you could appreciate. He had no knife belt on him tonight, his waist looked a bit barren without it.

"Good evening, Y/N." He pressed a kiss to the back of your mittened hand before pressing the bouquet into your hands. "I thought you might like some flowers," he said with a small smile, one that you easily returned.

"I love flowers, and these are absolutely beautiful," you said, raising them to your face to smell them. "And they smell lovely as well."

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you like to take them upstairs, or my shadows can, if you'd like?"

You bit your lip. If you went back upstairs... You might chicken out. "If your shadows could take them, that would be nice." In the next moment, the bouquet was out of your hands, whisked away by his shadows to the vase in your apartment. "So, where are we going for dinner?" You asked, locking your arm with his after he held it out, your hand holding onto his muscled forearm.

"It's an Illyrian restaurant, I helped the owner and his cousin leave the camps sixty or so years ago, and I've found that, except for your cooking, it's my favorite restaurant in all Velaris," Azriel explained as you strolled towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

"Really? That's so amazing, that you're part of the reason their dreams came true," you said, even more enamored with the male beside you. "You're going to have to recommend things to me, I wouldn't know where to start," you giggled.

Azriel smiled down at you. "How about we share a couple of dishes? That way you can try whichever ones catch your eye."

You met his eyes, a smile on your own lips. "That sounds perfect, Azriel."

His eyes sparkled as he opened a door for you, a hand on your lower back guiding you through, sending a renewed flush to your face.

You were seated a moment later, in a cozy booth near the back of the restaurant, two menus placed on the table. Azriel ordered a pot of tea for the two of you to share, which warmed your heart.

He already knew you so well.

"Now, what sounds good to you, dear?" Azriel asked, the pet name sending your heart into overdrive.

You looked down at the menu, but with your excitement and still somewhat illiterate eyes, you were lost. You bit your lip for a moment before deciding what to do. "What if you order your favorites, because I am overwhelmed by choice?" You asked, relieved when Azriel nodded his head.

"That would be their beef stew, made with Illyria native vegetables and their roasted Illyrian trout with roasted vegetables. Do those sound good?" Azriel asked. You nodded your head- both of those sounded fantastic, and you were excited to see what he enjoyed most.

When the server returned with your tea, Azriel ordered the food before returning his attention to you, the weight of it making your breath catch in your throat.

"So..." You started, entirely unsure of what to say.

"I'm glad you decided to come out with me," Azriel said, his eyes soft as they met yours.

"I am too," you said shyly. "I'm still... Shocked that you asked me to come out, though."

A soft frown slipped onto Azriel's face, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. "Really? I'd thought..." Azriel's own face heated a bit. "I thought that I was rather obvious with my affections. I might be the spymaster of this court, but I'm woefully inept at hiding my own feelings, at least... When it comes to you," He admitted, voice low and gentle.

"So... We both like each other... And thought we were bad at hiding it?" You giggled.

"I suppose so," Azriel chuckled. "But truly, I am very happy that you're here tonight, with me. Now, tell me- How is M'aiq settling in?"

Now that was a subject that you could go on and on about, with only having her for a week now.

You had covered how she was doing wonderfully at your place by the time your food arrived, with Azriel dishing your plate for you. The gesture made you smile, all the little ways he took care of you already.

The food was absolutely fantastic, flavor bursting along your tongue. Both of the dishes were spicy, but not so much that you couldn't handle it.

Conversation flowed between the two of you as you ate, just as it always did. You talked about your dreams for the future, the few that you did have at this point, your brain already working Azriel into them- not that you admitted that to Azriel, it was a bit early for those sentiments. Azriel told you a bit more about his upbringing, glossing over the parts of his life before he had befriended Rhysand and been taken in by his mother. You didn't pry, but you were a little curious to know every part of his story, everything that had shaped him into the male you cared for.

Soon enough you were stuffed full of warm, delicious food, the plates in front of you empty. More than that, you were filled with joy from Azriel's company, from how he clung to your every word.

He led you from the restaurant, his hand placed on your lower back once more, the warmth of it radiating through the fabric of your dress. You walked along the Sidra slowly, leaning your head against Azriel's arm, trusting him to keep you from falling.

You were almost halfway home when you heard the most beautiful music, coming from two musicians playing next to a bar, one with a violin and the other with a cello. You slowed your pace, Azriel's arm tightening around you as you did so. Listening for a moment, and gazing up at the brilliantly shining stars above you, you had an idea.

"Azriel, would you dance with me?" You asked him quietly, tilting your head to look at him.

His eyes met yours, a smile glowing within them as well as covering his lips. "I'd be honored, Y/N. So long as you call me Az."

You smiled brightly at him. "It's a deal, Az." You let him turn you in his arms, clasping your right hands together and placing a light hand on your waist. Your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grasping it lightly.

The two of you swayed together in a small circle to the lovely music, the light of the stars shining down on you.

It was the date of your dreams, if you were being honest. Lovely conversation and food, and such a romantic partner, willing to dance in the snow with you because you asked.

So when you finally arrived at your apartment, you were a bit sad the date was ending. But more than anything, you were excited for everything that lay in the future for the two of you.

Azriel smiled down at you softly, his eyes warm despite the cold temperatures. His wings twitched behind him, just before he leaned in a bit.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked as one of his hands came to cup your cheek gently, so, incredibly gently.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He leaned in further, allowing you to close the last, tiny gap between your lips.

And when you did, you knew that you would never be the same. His lips were so soft against yours, so gentle and sweet that it stole your breath away.

Your mouth followed for a moment when he pulled away, your eyes fluttering open- you hadn't even realized you'd closed them.

"If it's fine by you, I'd like to see you when you get off work tomorrow," Azriel suggested softly, gaze flicking between your lips and eyes.

"I'd like that," you whispered into the space between you, the tilt of his lips more than worth having to speak so soon after such a life changing kiss.

"It's a date," Azriel said with a smile. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Az," you breathed, unlocking the door of your building. He waited to leave until you were safely inside, the door locked behind you.

You just managed to get into your apartment before you collapsed against the door, overwhelmed by just how perfect the night had been. How perfect Az had been.

🤍💙💝💙🤍

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[volleychumps]

When He's your Rival (w/ Tsukishima, Oikawa, Kuroo, and Atsumu) x Fem! reader

enemies to lovers but someone mistakes rivalry with feelings LMAO

Warning(s): cursing! some unwanted touches by an asshole in Oikawa's part, crying- Y/N's a little crybaby sometimes LOL

Tsukishima Kei

"Take a look and cry, four-eyes."

"Go back to fifth grade, I'm begging."

Smirking at his snarky comment, Tsukishima finds the energy to lazily lift his head off the desk, staring blankly at the red 97 inked on the corner of your paper, complete with a messily scrawled circle and a smiley face.

You always were a teacher's pet.

"Nice." The blonde yawns, going to put his head back down. "I scored a 99 though. Guess having four eyes really helps."

He can't stop the satisfied twitch tickling his lips as he buries his head a little further into his crossed arms, the sound of your groan of annoyance music to his ears as you crumple your test paper in your fist.

"This isn't over, Tsukki. I studied all night for this!"

"Don't call me that." He lifts his head to scowl at you as you haughtily spin on your heel, determination in your steps and a gloomy cloud over your head over the loss as he calls after you. "Not my fault you're obsessed with me."

You do a 360, pouting all the while as Tsukishima eyes you evenly, amusement twinkling momentarily in his eyes as he watches you grow flustered.

"I am not! Don't get it twisted, Tsukki- the only thing I'm obsessed with beating your sorry ass!" You crumple up your test paper further, fuming as you leave it on his desk in a childish manner.

"Why is my ass sorry when you're the one who lost?"

Yamaguchi watches on with a sigh, Tsukishima watching you storm off with a little bit more than amusement in his eyes before turning to his childhood friend.

"You feed into this way too much, Tsukki. Y/N is nothing but sweet, why do you bring out the worst in her?"

The tall blonde hums, his hand supporting his right cheek. "It's because she's just so fun to talk to."

Yamaguchi shivers at the cynical tone his childhood friend had taken on, wondering why this childish rivalry between the two of you had been stretched for as long as it was.

"We've known each other since we were kids, Tsukki. Y/N's parents used to joke about you guys marrying each other because you hated each other so bad."

"I don't hate her." Tsukishima's reply is immediate, moving to shift his headphones back onto his ears. "The brat knows I'd take care of her if it came down to it, so quit you're worrying, Yamaguchi."

Yamaguchi's expression shifts to one of surprise, but Tsukishima's already distracted, eyeing your crumpled up test before dropping into his bag.

Nothing wrong with taking a trophy, right?

A couple weeks later, you're holding your breath as your eyes scan the top 100 scores in the school during late-study hours, the halls nearly barren, willing your name to be above a certain blonde hair middle blocker before visibly wilting.

"Ah, look." You groan, the utterly amused voice you're not wishing to hear at this moment sounding in your ears as Tsukishima smirks down at you, finger prodding at the box marked Tsukishima Kei before pretending like he's looking for your name.

Not one, but two names down from his.

"Looks like someone didn't study-"

Tsukishima cuts himself off at the sight of your eyes filling up with frustrated tears, not expecting the sight before him to make his chest heavy.

You were always so dramatic.

"Tsukki, you win this time." You sniffle, wiping your eyes haughtily as he looks at the eye bags under your eyes, growing annoyed all of a sudden- even more iriate when he can't figure out why.

He knows this, but why is this effecting him so much?

"Oi." His voice is quiet with an agitated edge, putting a hand on your shoulder to lean you up against the wall. "Why are you so obsessed with this? You're so stupid- crying over something as meaningless as beating me."

Your cheeks puff up at his blatant remarks, his chest tingling before you take a deep breath before knocking your forehead against his, taking the blonde boy by surprise as he glares down at you, rubbing his nose.

"What the hell-"

"I just want to be your equal, you always treat me like I'm such childish brat." You tell him, mixed feelings in your throat as Tsukishima takes on a look of bewilderment. "Ever since we were kids-"

"So you just want my attention, is that it?" Tsukishima's smirking now, the pain in his nose unnoticeable as your expression stiffens, a hint of realization in your eyes as the blonde's throat suddenly grows tight.

"What-"

"Little Y/N, do you have feelings for me?"

"You're not that much older-!"

"Don't avoid the question, brat." Tsukishima's even closer now, hand touching the wall by your waist as your eyes dart all over the hallway. "Is this what all this rivalry is about? Why you care so much about proving-"

"And what if I do?" Your voice quivers for a second, Tsukishima's lips shutting tight at your words before frustrated tears grow in your eyes again. As if realizing what you said, your eyes grow wide with embarrassment- shoving him away before taking off down the hall.

The tall blonde stands there for a second, soaking in the last few minutes before touching the back of his neck, the tips of his ears reddening before sighing deeply.

He rolls his eyes before smirking a little, your confused expression flashing in his mind once more as he wonders what will become of your one-sided rivalry.

Fuck a trophy. He wants to see you make that face again.

Oikawa Tooru

"Tooru, you wanna fight me so bad."

"Just because I want to doesn't mean I will, Y/N-chan. You'll probably lose."

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh as your glare evenly matches Oikawa Tooru's, lightning flashing between the two of you as the brunette crosses his arms with a frown. He almost thinks it's fate- the two of you ending up in the same class seated next to each other with Oikawa by the window.

"The fact that you said probably instead of definitely means we both know Y/N would win in a fight."

"Stay out of this, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa doesn't break eye contact with you, growing more irriated at the sweet smile that overtakes your lips.

"Tooru, I'll start telling people your hair isn't natural in color~" You start doodling on your notes nonchalantly, amused at the popular boy's growth in irritation.

"You wouldn't dare." Oikawa pales at the obvious lie, knowing your effect- how your words would send ripples through the school by the end of the day.

That's right, ever since you transferred schools and gained popularity as the most sought-out girl at Aoba Joshai and had made a passing comment (you didn't really think about it) about how you had no idea who Oikawa Tooru was and didn't really care- the school's popular setter has had it out for you.

Iwaizumi had a huge kick out of it though, satisfied seeing his friend being put in place by the one girl he couldn't really have. You grin cheekily, batting your eyelashes innocently as Oikawa meets it with a pouty stare.

"Why do you care so much of what I think of you?"

"I don't."

"Then piss off." You close your eyes with sugar-laced words, causing Iwaizumi to turn around with a shaking back.

"Iwa-chan, stop laughing!" Oikawa whines, turning his attention back to you with a haughty remark to discover you had stood up and skipped off towards the exit of the classroom.

"She's got me. I'm her fan- I see the hype."

"Iwa-chan, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"Y/N didn't know who you were- big whoop." Matsukawa yawns, leaning back in his seat from in front of Iwaizumi. "Not everyone cares about volleyball."

"And she was new." Hanamaki adds, shrugging his shoulders at the look of betrayal his brunette-friend had sent him. "I'm just saying- maybe your anger is misplaced?"

"Oikawa has a crush~"

"Mattsun- I almost threw up, please." Oikawa sighs, spinning around in his seat with a newfound exhaustion. He looks out the window, eyebrow twitching when he sees you bowed deep in apology to some poor student who was obviously amidst confession. His defined chin touches his palm in thought as anger swirls in his stomach.

How he despises you so.

You were so annoyingly pretty. It was ticking him off, how you spoke so nicely to his three provoking friends yet would barely muster up a smile at him unless it was sarcastic. Oikawa observed as you messily brushed your hair back with your hands to focus on your work, growing even more annoyed when he discovered how much you cared about school.

It was all because he didn't like you, that's why he paid so much attention.

..right?

He's sipping from a can of orange juice, having ducked away from his fanclub to turn a corner of the school no one really frequents when he sees you again later that week.

"Y/N- you always act like you're too good for anybody."

The tall brunette stops at the corner, peering around it while remaining out of sight.

"Maybe I just don't like guys who pressure girls into dating them." You don't miss a beat- but Oikawa hears it, the tinge at the edge of your voice.

Fear.

Some nobody who Oikawa doesn't even know the name of clicks his tongue, grabbing your wrist roughly as you stare down at his strong clasp on you.

"Let me go, you fucking loser." You're pissed off now, smiling your signature grin- the one with no real sweetness behind it. You were afraid to have followed this dangerous guy to an empty part of the school- thinking one of your fellow students would never do this sort of thing.

You were so wrong. His grip tightens as you try to fling his hand off in frustration.

"Pretty Y/N-chan. I'll ruin that face of yours and beat that attitude-"

"Someone isn't taking rejection very well."

You blink in wild surprise as your back touches Oikawa's chest abruptly, his strong grip on the student's wrist as he yanks him off. You don't see him, but you don't have to turn around to know that Oikawa was pissed.

"Get your pretty boy toy out of here, slut." You wince at the insult slightly when the guy doesn't even look at Oikawa, still glaring down at you before Oikawa tugs you gently behind him, towering over the absolute nobody who dared to put a hand on you.

"You shitty coward." You look up at Oikawa's broad back and shoulders, anxiety draining out of your system as Oikawa keeps a firm grip on your hand. He squeezes your hand once, and you get the message.

You're okay.

"Getting physical with girls now, are we? Someone doesn't want to have a future." Oikawa mocks, tilting his head to the side menancingly with a smug grin on his face. "You know what pisses me off the most? When people don't acknowledge my existence."

You've never seen this side of him before.

Suddenly, Oikawa side steps, both arms reaching out to keep you behind him as his grin widens. You cover your mouth at the sight of the student having failed to land a punch on the setter's jaw.

"You attacked me, right?" Oikawa hands you his bag, jaw clenching before easily grabbing the guy's collar, the height difference making him pathetically dangle slightly off the floor. You gasp when his eyes take on a darker edge, delivering a hook of his own to the side of his face, not seeming to hold much back as Oikawa momentarily wonders just what was fueling all this anger.

"What's going on here?! Oikawa Tooru, let him go!"

When he drops him to the floor on command, you're looking at him differently.

Maybe you should've cared a bit more about just who Oikawa Tooru was.

You're still staring when he ignores the teacher, your wrist in his hand as he inspects it, asking you something- but you don't hear him, feeling an unknown swirl in your stomach.

And why the hell he was making you feel something you've never felt before.

Kuroo Tetsurou

"Kuroo, get over it."

"Don't roll your pretty eyes at me, kitten."

You huff, not even bothering to look up at the raven-haired captain as you check another tally on your clipboard. Another successful receive for Lev.

"How do you do it?"

"Kuroo, we've been over this-"

"Blah blah blah."

The interruption ticks you off, prompting you to finally look up from your work as Kuroo Tetsurou smirks down at you easily.

"It's not my fault they like me so much."

"They can't like you more than me! I'm the captain!"

"Someone's insecure."

It's Kuroo's turn to grow irritated at your remark, and you smirk successfully as Kenma sighs at the sight of you two from across the court. Yamamoto sweat drops, bouncing a volleyball off the wall as you and Kuroo begin bickering. You were annoyed as the taller captain grinned easily down at you.

"Why does Kuroo-san hate Y/N so much?"

"No idea. She makes me cookies when I listen well during practice!" Lev adds brightly. "If anything, Kuroo's the villain."

"Nah." Kenma doesn't look up from his game, thankful you're keeping his childhood friend occupied so he can't make him practice. "Kuroo doesn't hate her."

The surrounding members still, eyeing the short boy weirdly as the volume of you two bickering rises in the background.

"He definitely bothers her because it's fun." Kenma flicks his joystick, suddenly immersed in the level as it grows more interesting. "I wouldn't be surprised if he likes her."

Kenma's just speaking his mind at this point, but his fellow teammates don't believe him as Kuroo flicks your forehead, breaking off in a run as you chase him out of the gym in irritation.

"Yeah. Sure."

--

"Okay everyone," you begin, fiddling with your papers as the volleyball team sit in a circle with their knees tucked into their chest, hanging on to your every word as you try not to smile at how well-behaved they were. "Nekomata-sensei is out today, and he left instructions-"

"We'll be practicing in 3-on-3's."

You hold back a groan as Kuroo cuts you off, standing up easily as the tension between the two of you rises. He cocks his head to the side like what? with a growing smirk on his handsome features, causing your irritation to grow further. To annoy you on the sidelines of practice was one thing, but to disrupt you in front of the team is another.

"Anyways, like I was saying-"

"Shouldn't the captain know what's best for his team?"

Oh you hated being cut off.

You meet him with an even stare, trying not to let your temper get the best out of you.

"Kuroo-"

"Call me Tetsurou, Y/N-chan."

Kenma sighs when the lead of your mechanical pencil breaks against the clipboard, knowing Kuroo was pushing limits he hadn't before.

"Alright, Tetsurou." Your voice is venomous, shoving the clipboard with their coach's instructions into Kuroo's hands with an aggression you were having trouble controlling. You were so mad you began to see your vision get blurry, suddenly exhausted from the captain's antics and why he wouldn't leave you alone.

"You lead practice then." Kuroo's easy smirk grows into a worried stare at the sight, watching you storm off before he can get another word out.

"Boo, you made our manager cry."

"This is why you'll die alone."

"Y/N for president!"

But Kuroo isn't listening to the obvious slander from his teammates, putting the clipboard down before jogging off after you, Kenma rolling his eyes to unzip his gym bag for his switch.

"He flirts like a little school boy."

The raven-haired third year catches you in the halls, frustrated with yourself as your back touches the shoe lockers behind you. You didn't mean to overreact. It was something about him that made you so-

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Don't apologize." You grumble, looking straight on ahead before glancing upwards. Kuroo awkwardly takes a seat next to you, the sound of after-school activities filling the air in your silence.

"Do you hate me or something?"

Kuroo blinks once, guilt filling his chest at the ideas in your head before hanging his head with a heavy sigh. It seems he took his antics a bit too far.

"Y/N, you're just fun to tease." He drops the nickname, and you smile a bit knowing he's serious. "I don't mean to make you upset. The team loves you, and I..."

He trails off, causing you to cock an eyebrow. Kuroo looks away quickly, clearing his throat before looking back at you-

to see you genuinely smiling at him, his chest suddenly tight.

"That's a relief. You're too much sometimes, but I can't say I don't enjoy our conversations. I didn't mean to over-react-" You cut yourself off, suddenly worried as you raise a hand to his forehead. "Wow, you're suddenly flushed. Are you sick, Tetsurou?"

He grows a shade darker when your sweet voice calls his first name, seeming to short-circuit in front of you as question marks seem to appear by your face.

Meanwhile, the team shushes each other as they peer around the corner of the hallway, Yamamoto and Lev's mouth agape as a certain gamer merely shrugs.

"Told you so."

"Nobody likes a know-it-all, Kenma."

Atsumu Miya

"'Samu, tell me I'm better than her."

"I'm not lyin' to ya', twin or not."

Almost immediately, the blonde setter glares at his own flesh and blood, Osamu offering a slight smirk in response at his brother's irritation. Atsumu sinks lower in his seat, pouting as Suna rolls his eyes to the right of him.

"Can't believe I'm spending my precious free time to watch more volleyball."

Atsumu isn't listening to his friend, silently focused at the way you controlled the court, triumphant grin on your face as you score the winning point to take the first set. In fact, you had scored over half the points, the other team's blockers barely standing a chance. He had to come see it. All the buzz around school can't have been for nothing.

Y/N L/N. Volleyball prodigy that seemed to have come out of thin air.

Osamu whistles lowly. "Y/N's kinda like you."

"Don't insult me, 'Samu." But Atsumu knows he doesn't mean it. Suna glances at his friend once, sipping his drink casually as Atsumu gets a glint in his eye, fire seeming to erupt in the back around him.

"Oho, Atsumu's got a rival." Suna isn't too interested, merely observing his surroundings as Osamu coughs back a chuckle.

"Shuddup." Atsumu mumbles, eyes meeting yours as you look up at the stands to see just who was burning holes into your head. He shakes his head with a smirk on his lips when you cockily blow a kiss in his direction.

"Y/N...that's Atsumu Miya, you do know he goes to our school, right?"

"Oh...shit." You back down, suddenly embarrassed as you look away, Atsumu's eyes spinning with amusement and eagerness to one-up you, the cheers of the stadium mocking in his ears.

So low in behold, you try not to let the surprise etch onto your features when Atsumu is pointing a finger at you, having escaped the boy's gym to crash your practice when after-school activities come around.

"You." You blink, utterly confused as your teammates squeal in excitement at his presence. "Yer' practicin' with me, got that?"

Your jaw slackens at the audacity, wondering if he wanted to practice or if he wanted to prove something. Atsumu knew he had the right idea about you when you take a step forward, tilting your head in challenge.

"Think you can keep up?"

--

"Oi, stop harassing Y/N at the girl's gym and practice with your team." Aran puts emphasis on his words as Osamu snickers from behind him, watching his twin get scolded as Kita sighs.

"She is very good at what she does." The captain nods. "But that doesn't mean our paths have to cross with the girls'- in fact, they never should."

"Then let her play here." Atsumu doesn't care if he doesn't make any sense. "Y/N runs circles around her team anyways- hell, she's pullin' the whole team on her back."

The Inarizaki team resist the urge to roll their eyes at their setter's blatant slander. Osamu is amused, tying up the net as he attempts to tame his twin.

"She runs circles 'round you, that's for sure."

Suna stifles a laugh as Atsumu feels it again. Competition. He loved the feeling of it- the feeling that things were finally getting interesting.

He's walking towards the girl's gym again to drag you out to play with his team so he can play against you, when something he hears makes him pause in his step.

"I just don't understand what Atsumu-kun sees in her!" It's a high pitched whine, one that causes his eyes to darken.

"Right? It's not like Y/N is pretty or anything like that."

"She's good at volleyball- so what? It's not like she'd be anywhere without her team."

A tap on his shoulder is what breaks him out of his eavesdropping, turning slowly to see you standing there with a sad smile, grip tightening on the bag filled with drinks- you had went to get drinks for the entire team, while they boldly slandered you behind your back.

Your voice is hushed, but tinged with a bit of hurt as you shrug.

"It's just the way of the game."

"Like hell it is." Atsumu growls, swinging open the door as you gape at the action. Before you can react, Atsumu's laugh is resounding through the gym as you peek out from behind his back.

"Oh my god, aren't you three bench warmers? Yer' the ones talkin' shit?" He can't hold back his laughter as you audibly sigh from behind him.

"A-Atsumu-"

"Oi." The blonde isn't laughing anymore, eyes on the edge of menacing as he cracks his neck, eyes darkening. "Squeal all you want, just hope and pray I'm not there to listen to it."

"Y/N-senpai, we're so sorry!" You blanch at the three girls who were now bowing profusely in front of you before assuring them it's fine, tugging on Atsumu's arm with an eyeroll.

"We need to talk."

"You know, you are pretty." Atsumu grumbles as you tug him along. "I don't know why they-"

"I can fight my own battles, 'Tsumu." You huff at the boy in front of you, considering him both your rival and your friend. "It's just misplaced jealousy- don't make it worse between my teammates and I. I would've said something- come on, do you know me?"

Atsumu stands there for a second, soaking in your words as a slow realization comes onto him. This whole time, he's been treating you like a rival, a thing, something to propel him further and sharpen his skills-

not realizing he had slowly grown to care about you a little more than a rival maybe should. He had moved without thinking, the thoughtless words not meant for his ears pissing him off way more than it would've any other person.

But this was you. You always walked along your bicycle when he insisted on walking you home, making him listen to your music as you trained before eventually making playlists for him when he told you how much he liked it. You trained with him for as long as he wanted, even going to the public gym together when you trained with your respective teams.

Atsumu is still staring at you, seeming to process something as you laugh a little at his expression as the sun begins to set behind your figure.

"I'm not mad at you. Come on, I'll bring you back."

"Quit treatin' me like a stray." Atsumu mumbles, but he's unfocused, burning holes into the back of your head as you tug him along, smiling back at him.

"You have a bad habit of staring at me, you know?"

Oh shit.

"Well, you did call me pretty and all." You tease, winking once as you wave at his team in the distance, waiting by the practice gym to continue the practice as his prolonged absence ended up affecting the entire team.

Atsumu ducks his head as his twin smirks at the sight, Atsumu's face on fire as his eyes lock on to where you're hand is touching his arm.

He's so fucked.