#second challenge I've ever tried.

[cauldronoflove]

yayy storygraph wrapped 🎉

[primofate]

Drop the towel wrapped around you and appear naked in front of your Genshin husband

In a nutshell: That old tiktok challenge/prank. In your private, shared home of course.

Warnings: My perpetual warning as a writing mother is that I am sleep deprived. Very VERY sleep deprived. SUGGESTIVE: BORDERING ON NOT SAFE FOR WORK, written on a 10 minute timer please be gentle

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Cyno, Diluc, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli, implied fem!reader

Personal Favourites: Tighnari

Aether

chokes on nothing

"Y-Y-Y/N?! What're you doing?"

Comes up to you and tries to cover you up with the towel again, as if it was a sin to look at you naked in broad daylight.

Full on blush on his face and respectfully tries to look away.

"Don't surprise me like that!"

Seems not to like it but actually likes it too much to the point of getting embarrassed for himself.

Yes he's your husband but is still a precious respectful man

Albedo

Blinks a couple of times but appreciates your beauty and gives your body a slow once over. Chuckles in amusement afterwards.

"Is there a reason for this?"

Just to get his reaction, you admit.

"Well..." starts walking towards you. "I do have higher self-control than most others... but let it be known that I'm far from immune to my..."

Stops in front of you and yet again seems to eat you up with his eyes. "...needs," ends with a suspiciously sweet smile.

Alhaitham

Can't help but be a bit surprised and you can see it by the way his eyebrows go up as soon as the towel hits the floor.

Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again, as if hesitating, which is really strange for someone like him.

"...Is this the part where I sweep you off your feet and carry you to our room?" there's a bit of amusement in his tone. Stands to walk over to you.

Places a hand on your waist.

"Cause I can guarantee you that we DON'T need to be in our bedroom for things to happen...but you knew that already, right?"

Ayato

Quirks his eyebrows up, amused smile appearing on his face.

"I must say, this is a lovely surprise,"

Traces your figure with his eyes. Then approaches you to hold your waist and dip in to kiss your neck softly.

"How could I ever resist, my love, when you're standing in front of me in all your magnificence?"

Takes the longest time just admiring and basking in your beauty, tracing every little part of your skin.

Baizhu

Lets pretend the snake ain't here okay?

Does a double take.

"Y/N, first off, you'll get a cold,"

Pushes his spectacles up and gives you a once over.

"Second, you'll give me a heart attack,"

Beckons you over gently with his hand. "Come over, I suppose it's been a while since...I've done a full body check,"

Hides a grin.

Cyno

Blankly looks at you and is still processing what is happening

"Y/N? Is this... Did I do something?"

Is so suspicious that this was some kind of trap.

You tell him its simply to get a reaction out of him.

Immediately shoots out of his seat and catches your wrist.

"Then...Is it my turn to get one out of you? There's several ways to do that...and I know your favourite ones,"

Diluc

Eyes follow the towel down to the floor and head snaps back up to blink at the sight in front of him. Recovers quickly.

Chuckles as he stands and walks over. Picks up the towel and drapes it around your shoulders. "Only because it's quite chilly tonight,"

but still ends up inching the towel off your shoulder, tracing your collarbone. "Although, as your husband, I suppose it IS my job to keep you warm... So how would you like it today, love?"

Itto

"WHOA!" by instinct covers his eyes with his hands but his fingers are actually splayed apart so he can totally see through the gaps

Feels himself getting aroused

I mean the guy gets turned on even just at the sight of your neck

Suddenly stands and walks over to you, easily hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and makes a beeline to your shared room.

"You're asking for it Y/N!"

Kaeya

"Oho?"

Sits back and relaxes, he doesn't really know what he was expecting. Some type of show maybe. "What's this? Finally giving me that lap dance you owe me, snowflake?"

Laughs but you're incredibly flustered at the suggestion.

Beckons you over and grabs you by the waist to sit on his lap.

"Feel that?" he whispers in your ear.

Oh you feel it alright, pressing at your upper thigh.

"Now whose fault is that? You'll have to do something about it now, love,"

Kaveh

"Archons!"

Looks away with a blush on his cheeks.

"Put something on!"

Yes he's seen you naked before, you're married, but the guy's always flustered in unexpected events.

You provoke him further by coming over, sitting sideways on his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Y/N!" He looks down at you and can't help but look at your nakedness in full and close view.

Gulps but starts to feel his body heat up, his hands suddenly, assertively planting themselves on your waist as he meets your eyes. "I don't care what you say about yourself, but know that you're the only one who takes me from 0 to a 100 in a second,"

Kazuha

"Y/N?" Chuckles nervously and takes in the sight of your body.

Smiles at you and takes your hand to kiss the back of it.

"I've seen you countless of times... Each time, I'm reminded by how fortunate I am that you chose me to take care of you,"

Caresses your cheek all the way down to your jawline. "You're beautiful, Y/N,"

He has the most tender and gentle look on his face, but its mixed with a passion that you've never seen on anyone before. "Let me show you how much I love you, dear,"

Neuvillette

Eyebrows twitches upwards in surprise. Has no clue what to do in this new situation.

He doesn't say anything but is most definitely enjoying the view of your body. You see his jaw tense up, as if he's clenching his teeth.

"Ahem," he starts. Then seems to have the most trouble prying his eyes away to meet your gaze. "Is this...perhaps another way to tell me... that you would like some attention?"

You say not really and just wanted to see how he would react.

"Ah," he lets out, as if understanding and as if the conversation has ended.

A moment of silence passes and you're starting to wonder if that was all he was going to do. But he then stands and places a gentle hand on your bare waist. "...So you're simply doing it, as people would say, 'for fun'?"

He asks, and you say yes innocently. He smiles a bit and has another hand cupping your face and thumbing your lips. "I see," breathes out slowly.

"Unfortunately, for your actions, the Iudex feels that a punishment is in order,"

Scaramouche

Raises one eyebrow as if he's bored. Then smirks.

"If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask," pulls you by the waist and makes you straddle him "But this is good too,"

Hands actually start to grope you up and down. Will fondle and squeeze in private places immediately.

"What? Startin' to feel good? S'what you get when you play games with me,"

will smack your butt the first chance he gets

Tartaglia

Immediately jumps up and in an automatic daze, eyes glued to his favourite parts, trudges towards you and attempts to bury himself in softness.

You quickly stop him and in turn HE quickly stops you. Hands easily bunching your wrists up together and angling them upwards above your head.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he grins down at you. "Someone's being naughty,"

You complain that he reacts too fast.

Laughs, but his hand starts to unbuckle his pants and there's a dark look in his eyes. "Oh, I'm just being naughty back. When you want something, Y/N, believe it when I say I'll GIVE it to you,"

Tighnari

ear twitches. Tail swishes back and forth. Does not show any expression except slight curiosity.

"What's the occasion?"

You tell him that you just wanted to see his reaction.

He hums and nods slowly, like processing some type of complicated information.

"Wait here, I'll be back in a minute,"

You ask him where he's going and you're a bit upset at the lack of response from him.

He chuckles and returns to you, tail angling upwards in an attempt to wrap and brush against your waist. Takes your hand, presses your wrist against his lips and seems to take a slow breath in.

"I'm merely clearing off my schedule for today. Now, be patient, I'll be back,"

Wriothesley

Almost spits out his drink but gulps it all down instead.

Eyes widen a fraction at the sudden act but his hand is already loosening his tie.

"Wait right there precious," chuckles while he says this, tie already falling to the ground, now unbuttoning his vest. At the same time walks over to you urgently as if you're going to disappear but laughs nervously while he's at it.

"I swear you'll be the death of me,"

Looks like he's going to pounce on you but when he reaches you he only gives you a chaste kiss, as if asking for permission first.

You suddenly remind him that he has a LOT of things to do today, appointments and all.

Actually barks out a quick laugh. "You're not really expecting me to walk out now? As far as I'm concerned," pulls you flush against him and kisses your jaw "The only thing I need to do today is you,"

Xiao

"Wh-Wh-What do you think you're doing?!"

caught unprepared. Crosses his arms and looks away. Pretends he's uninterested but his eyes still dart back to look at you.

You ask him if he likes what he sees.

He now completely looks away from you. A few seconds pass and when he turns his head back to look at you there's now a carnal look in his eyes.

He walks towards you slowly and captures your chin to tilt it up. Looks down at you as if he hasn't eaten a meal in days.

"...When I'm done with you tonight you'll get your answer,"

Zhongli

Chuckles. Amused.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, dear?"

You shrug and even do a turn for him. He watches you carefully and takes in the image in front of him.

Smiles and strides over towards you. "Truly a magnificent sight," brushes his fingers against your neck

His eyes trail downwards and isn't shy about looking at your body. "Might I remind you my dear, my stamina surpasses that of a normal human," he smiles at you sincerely.

You tell him that you're well aware. He just chuckles again.

"Then you know well what'll come next,"

End

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Here's the masterlist:

Masterlist

[avatar-anna]

Moments caught between Harry and Y/n on camera at the Brits

just something fun because harry at the brits was a mess but we love him for it!

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

The red carpet is loud and raucous, bright lights flashing as people shout for the attention of celebrities. One couple in particular is the center of attention the second they step on the carpet.

Harry Styles and a woman walk arm-in-arm, a broad grin on his face and a shy smile on hers. Harry seems to be whispering something in the woman's ear, his nose pressed against the crown of her head. It makes her visibly relax, her grin widening and becoming more authentic as they take a couple more steps.

The woman is the recently revealed Y/n Styles, Harry Styles' long-time partner that he'd somehow kept from the rest of the world for over a decade. But she was here tonight, just as she had been at the Grammys a couple weeks ago, and the cameras now track their every move, intrigued by this new-ish couple.

"Harry! Harry! Harry, over here!"

"Y/n!"

"Harry, did you really marry Y/n when you were in One Direction?"

"Y/n, how does it feel to be with the most famous man in music?"

Y/n, who's hard to miss in a red dress that fits like a glove, shrinks almost imperceptibly against Harry's side. Harry looks down at her, and the husband and wife share a look as if they're having an unspoken conversation.

Then he mutters something to her, and Y/n laughs as Harry kisses her cheek, but not before nudging his nose against it. The shouts double, so used to Harry's stoic approach to being out in the public eye, but both of them move steadily down the carpet, not paying the paparazzi and reporters any mind.

*.*

During their walk down the red carpet, Harry and Y/n come across a barricaded section for fans of the artists in attendance. They all cheer as each celebrity walks by, shouting compliments and proclamations of love for their favorite.

Y/n once again hesitates on Harry's arm, wary eyes darting toward the boisterous fans. At the same time, Harry is called to by a reporter asking for an interview. Checking in with his wife, he departs with a kiss to her forehead, murmuring words the cameras can't quite pick up.

Y/n stands on her own, one arm crossed over her stomach as she tries to stay standing tall. Fans call out to her from the barricade in a way that's difficult to ignore. She waves at them with a small smile, but it's clear they want her to come closer.

With one glance at her husband, who's still speaking with the reporter, and another to a security guard close by, she nods to the latter and they step closer to the barricade, just close enough in proximity that she can actually make out distinct voices and words.

"Y/n we love you!"

"Where did you meet Harry?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Ugh, you are so mother in that dress!"

"What's your skincare routine?"

"What's Harry's?"

The tense set of her shoulders eases a bit, no longer apprehensive of the fans and their potential to be cruel.

"I feel like I met him a lifetime ago," she says. "And I just cleanse, moisturize, and use SPF."

"How come we've never seen you at shows?"

"What's your favorite Harry song?"

"Are you friends with One Direction?"

"Where were you last year when Harry got wasted?"

Y/n chuckles at the last question, her eyes lighting up as her hand covers her mouth. "I've always had a soft spot for 'Ever Since New York.'"

"Taste!" a fan yells, decibels louder above the rest, which garners laughter from everyone.

"Can you make Harry release 'Medicine?'" another asks.

Before Y/n answers, Harry appears by her side, an arm snaking around her waist. "There you are. Got sidetracked by your own interview, did you?"

"They were just asking if I'd help them in their quest for a studio version of 'Medicine.' I'm not sure if I can, though. They don't know how stubborn you are."

A chorus of boos went up at Y/n's answer, but not at her. Harry raised his eyebrows at his wife as if in challenge, but her responding gaze is quite mischievous.

Taking everyone, including Y/n, by surprise, he leans in to kiss her cheek, saying, "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, darling?"

A chorus of aww's ring through the small crowd of fans as Harry places his hand on Y/n's lower back, ushering her away from the barricade. Y/n raises an eyebrow at her husband, who is conveniently not meeting her eye. "Nice save."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never call me darling."

Harry lets out a snort. "Lies. Lies on the red carpet tonight."

Y/n rolls her eyes but leans in close to her husband, carefully avoiding the fabric flower around his neck. "Mhmm. Let's go, darling."

*.*

An artist is being interviewed inside the O2, and Harry and Y/n are videotaped in the background.

In the very corner, the couple are leaning in close and talking, a drink in each one of their hands. Harry talks animatedly, gesturing with his drink to the point where it nearly spills on Y/n's dress. Y/n doesn't seem to mind and just throws back her head as she laughs. His eyes light up as he watches her, a word that could only be described as love encompassing his face.

*.*

During one of the performances, a camera pans to Harry's table. The house lights are dim, but he's still visible amongst the flashes of color from the stage. Harry sits in his chair, body slumped a little low so he can rest his head on Y/n's shoulder.

Both of their attention is on the performer onstage, not noticing as a few cameras are pointed in their direction as Y/n scratches the back of Harry's neck absentmindedly. He leans into her touch, looking up occasionally to say something to his wife.

*.*

"And the winner is...Harry Styles!"

Cheers erupted throughout the room, the table Harry is at standing up. Harry himself stays seated and curls in on himself, pumping his arms victoriously as he beams. His eyes are a little glassy, his hair unkempt, a sign that the night has progressed with lots of alcohol consumption.

He turns to his sister Gemma first as he stands up, high-fiving her before giving her a hug and fist-bumping someone else. Then he turns to Y/n, who hasn't stopped clapping since his name had been read for the third time from the envelope.

She opens her arms as if to accept a hug, but Harry has other plans. He leans forward and kisses her in a way that's merely pressing his smile against hers until they mold their mouths into a kiss. Then he kisses her cheek repeatedly, making her shoulders bunch as she smiles brightly.

When Harry finally pulls away, Y/n's cheeks are flushed as she tries to wipe at her husband's face with her thumb. With one last kiss, he heads up to the stage to accept his award.

*.*

Another performance, only this time, everyone is on their feet, including Harry and Y/n.

Harry's arms are wrapped around Y/n's shoulders from behind, his chin on her shoulder. Both of them sway from side to side to the rhythm of the song as Harry mouthed the words in Y/n's ear.

Her grin is wide as her eyes stay trained on the performance. Then, she looks back at Harry, who met her gaze as she says something.

Nodding, he kisses her once on the cheek before nodding back to the stage.

*.*

As Kid speaks into the microphone onstage saying his thank yous, Harry is having the time of his life behind his friend as he speaks to Stanley Tucci.

By now it's a little obvious he's had more than a couple drinks. His hair is nothing short of a mess, his dress shirt is a little more unbuttoned than it had been to begin with, and he throws his head back and laughs in a way that is fueled by drunken delight.

Briefly, the camera turns to Harry's wife, who stands beside Gemma. Y/n's hands hold her face as she watches her husband be ushered offstage by the people around him. She giggles a little before leaning over to Gemma and shaking her head. Gemma laughs along with her, covering her mouth as she says something to the woman beside her.

The camera flashes back to Harry, who turns around one last time so he can blow a kiss to the crowd, more specifically, Y/n, who the camera catches covering her face in her hands, cheeks as red as her dress.

*.*

Paparazzi shout at their latest persons of interest as they make the brief walk from the car to the entrance of a club where the after party for the Brits is being held.

Harry's arms are tightly wrapped around Y/n's waist, face set as he ignores the crowd of people shouting for his attention. Y/n, turned slightly inward towards Harry's chest, keeps pace beside him. Most of her body is covered by what can only be her husband's suit jacket, but with the open front, a hint of a sparkly pink dress can be seen, a drastic change from her award show attire.

The only time they separate is when Harry allows Y/n entrance into the club first before following close behind, his hand once again protectively hovering over the small of her back.

*.*

Photos are strictly forbidden inside of the club, so it isn't until the couple emerges from the doors once again that they're spotted.

Neither of them stumble, though paparazzi wouldn't have cared if they were. All eyes are on Harry's disheveled hair, the heels dangling from his fingers, the suit jacket draped over the arm not around his wife. They're on Y/n, whose dress is completely on display, the beading that covers its entirety flashing with every snap of the camera's shutter.

Then the collar of Harry's silk dress shirt shifted, revealing a harsh purple bruise that hadn't been there before. Neither Harry nor Y/n seem to notice, or understand why the cacophony of shouts became louder, they just continue on, Y/n's hand on the nape of her husband's neck idly scratching until he helps her into the car.

Following suit, Harry climbs inside. For a brief moment, Harry sticks his head out the open window of the car and winks and sticks his tongue out at all the photographers. Y/n appears from her side of the car, leaning across her husband to bring the window up. Not an ounce of care in the world, he leans forward to kiss his wife's exposed jaw. With an exasperated expression on her face and a delicate wave of her fingers, the window goes up, and though the windows are tinted, a hand is visible against the glass as the car peeled away from the curb.

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie runs the second he gets a chance, face still wet with tears. The branches whip him and the brambles scratch him, but he doesn't stop. He runs from the trailer, from the strange man there who says he's Eddie's uncle.

Eddie doesn't like how he can feel the breeze on his shorn hair, misses the way it used to tickle his ears and cheeks; it should be flowing behind him as he runs. It's not his fault he shifted into an Alpha wolf; he'd screamed and screamed when they'd shaved his head, but his father could not have him nearby. He's a threat to the pack now. To the leadership. He calls everything into question; Eddie had to go. He had to go far away.

He finally slows, scenting the air. Something good here. Something nice. Something that calls to Eddie's wolf. Something that smells of awesome and amazing and forever. The scent trails through the trees, and Eddie follows it to where the scent grows thick, and falls through the trees onto a perfect lawn.

Steve hates the stubble on his head. Rubs it again. Can feel his exposed scalp burning in the sunshine. He doesn't understand; it's not his fault he hasn't shifted. It's not his fault he was born without the wolf. He's been shaved to shame him, and he swears from that moment on that when his hair grows back he's going to take such good care of it. He will show them, wolf or no wolf.

It's just not fair, Steve wipes his tears and snotty nose, and tries not to think about the look on his father's face, "Steven you have disgraced the bloodline of our pack."

The way he'd turned his back on Steve, left him alone. He had no wolf to comfort him. Steve sniffles again, then startles when a boy comes out of the tree line.

His head is shaved, just like Steve's. He's got tear tracks on his face; just like Steve.

"Hello," the boy tells him, approaching like he hasn't just walked onto private property, "we're going to be best friends."

Steve nods, he could use a friend right now, and takes the boys hand.

Eddie comes back. He promises he will and he does. He comes back every day for weeks over the summer. They watch films and build forts and climb trees and play in the pool and explore the woods and lie on the lawn in the sunshine and Eddie never, ever asks why Steve's been left alone in this big house, even though Steve's only seven years old.

It's the end of the summer when they get caught, and Richard Harrington gets Eddie by the scruff and snarls something about "the Munson runt."

Steve screams, tries to follow them, doesn't understand what's happening or why Eddie's being taken away.

Eddie snarls back at Richard Harrington, even as he hangs from his fist, and Steve's never seen anyone do that, not ever, not anyone in their pack would dare challenge the alpha.

Steve, suddenly realises that Eddie must have a wolf.

It's too late.

Steve has the best hair in all Hawkins. They don't call him Steve 'the hair' Harrington for nothing. He taps the table, bored. Patsy is twizzling her hair and making eyes at him and he wants to fast forward and get through to boring date and to the mediocre fuck so that he can kick this girl out and get a decent night's sleep.

He cuts her off - goes to the bar. He's going to need a stiff drink to get through this.

The shock of being pushed over makes him cry out, the pain in his neck makes him yell.

Steve blinks awake in a strange bedroom, the side of his neck is throbbing. His shirt is gone, but he's still wearing his pants. His shoes are on the floor next to the bed. He touches his neck cautiously - it's been bandaged.

He can't remember much. Just falling, and pain.

Someone screaming.

He leaves the room carefully, slowly, creeps along the hall, follows the sound of voices. Doesn't make it to the open doorway before someone's coming out to meet him, she has choppy ginger hair and a big smile, "hey, I'm Robin, you doing okay?"

"Steve...and I've been better," he says, following her into a room for of people. A rag tag bunch of teenagers, some younger then Steve, some his age, and a handful of adults, all his parents age or older.

"You must have questions," and older lady says kindly, "I'm Joyce."

"Yeah...where am I and what happened and then probably another fifty after that."

Next to him, Robin snorts.

"You might want to sit down honey," Steve does, "so, first things first. The big thing is that...werewolves exist. They're real. We all turn into wolves."

Steve blinks.

"You're taking this...well."

Clearly these people have no idea who he is, and now is not the time to reveal that, "I'm...in shock?" He tries, weakly.

There's a ripple of reaction through the room, a lot of muttering and elbows, no one's buying it.

"Hmmmm." Joyce looks speculative, never the less, they carry on, "Robin?"

"We were out. For drinks, you know," she gestures vaguely at the group, "and Eddie he just, he just fucking lost it, he-"

"Wait wait wait," Steve might not have a wolf, but he can't ignore his instincts, "Eddie? Munson?"

You could probably hear a pin drop.

All the memories of that summer hit Steve at once. He focuses on the last one, Eddie being dragged away. Eddie fighting to get back to him. "I need to see him."

"Kid, he bit you. He tried to mate you, you don't understand what that means. He attacked a human, there's rules-"

And Steve might be a runt, he might have been excluded from the pack for over a decade, but he still knows the punishment for attacking a human. Eddie's going to die, and Steve will not let that happen, "absolutely fucking not. I'm a Harrington, and Eddie is my mate."

[fraugwinska]

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Can't Hide The Way I'm Feelin' - Pt. 2

You have a propensity for tardiness, and your new interim professor will have none of it.

A/N: Whomp. Pure p*rn, if I'm being honest. Requested by to @gswha. You can read Pt. 1 HERE

TW: 18+ only, Intersex reader, mild choking, multiple orgasms, Nat just being a savage sex fiend.

As you walked into class on Monday, you noticed that she was dressed differently. Her usual sharp business attire was replaced by a more casual ensemble, a tight black sweater and a pair of skinny jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin. You felt a heat rising from your chest to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze. The class was eerily quiet as you took your seat, the only sound was the rustle of pages and the occasional cough.

"Ms. Y/N," she called out, her voice as sharp as ever. You looked up, and she was holding your assignments in her hand. "I've reviewed your work. It's... adequate." The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to continue. "But we both know you can do better." She paused, her eyes scanning the room before returning to you. "If you wish to improve your grade, I suggest you visit me during office hours."

You felt your heart sink. You had done your best to impress her, to show her that you weren't the slacker she thought you were. But apparently, it wasn't enough. The rest of class passed in a blur, her words echoing in your mind. What more could she possibly want from you?

As the bell finally rang, you packed up your things and made your way out of the classroom, your mind racing. You hadn't even made it to the hallway before you felt a hand on your arm. It was her, Dr. Romanoff. "My office, now," she said, her grip firm. You followed her, unsure of what to expect.

You followed the authoritative click of her heels, her grip firm on your bicep as she pushed you in the direction she wanted. When you reached her office, she didn't bother with pleasantries. She closed the door behind you, the sound echoing through the hallway.

"Take a seat, Ms. Y/N," she said, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. You did as you were told, the anticipation building in your stomach like a coiled spring. "I've noticed an...improvement in your behavior, and to be honest, your work was some of the best I've seen for a while." She placed the assignments down with a smack, her eyes meeting yours, challenging you to argue.

The confusion that must have crept onto your features was clear as day, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her chest. The fabric of her sweater stretched tightly across her breasts, and you couldn't help but steal a glance before redirecting your gaze.

The look on her face told you that she had caught you staring, a smirk gracing her features. "Do you remember our conversation on Saturday, Y/N?" she asked, her voice a low purr that made you want to squirm in your seat.

"Yeah, I do," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Good," she said, her eyes raking over you. "I've had a small portion of that conversation playing in my head all weekend, Y/N," She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. "And I've come to a decision. You need a more... personal form of motivation to truly reach your potential. However, I have to know- who is it that holds your attention so dearly?"

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. Did she know? "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stuttered, trying to play it cool. But she wasn't buying it.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N," she said, her voice firm. "I know you've been thinking about me. And frankly, I've been thinking about you too."

The room felt like it was closing in on you, her words a punch to the gut. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it was no use. "What do you mean?" you managed to croak out.

"I mean," she began, her voice dropping to a whisper, "that I've noticed the way you look at me in class, the way you react to my words. And I must admit, it's intriguing." She leaned closer, her eyes searching yours. "I think you need more than just a firm hand to keep you in line. I think you need...something else."

The air in the room was charged with something unspoken, something that made your palms sweat and your heart race. "What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Romanoff's smile grew wider, predatory. "I'm saying that perhaps we can come to an...understanding," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "One that will benefit us both."

You sat there, your mind racing, trying to piece together what she was insinuating. Was she...was she flirting with you? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. You had never been in a situation like this before, with a teacher, no less. You let a wry smile creep across your face, trying to play it cool. "What kind of understanding are we talking about here, Dr. Romanoff?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned even closer, her breath hot on your face. "The kind where I give you the attention you so clearly crave, and in return, you give me the one thing I've wanted since the moment I laid eyes on you."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "And what could you have possibly wanted since you met me?" you asked, trying to keep the tremble from your voice. Your heart felt like is was about to pound out of your chest, as she stood from behind her desk, walking to the front of it, closing some of the distance between you. She leaned back against the oak surface, crossing her arms and pushing her chest out more.

"Your full attention, Y/N," she replied, her eyes never leaving yours. "And perhaps a bit more."

You swallowed hard, trying to process what she was saying. This was a line you never thought you'd cross, but the temptation was too strong. "Well, Dr. Romanoff," you began, trying to sound as confident as possible, "I have to know what it is you've been wanting me to do for me to do a damn thing about it."

Her smile grew, and she leaned even closer, so close you could feel her breath on your neck. "Is that a yes?" she murmured her voice a siren's call that made your body respond in ways you couldn't ignore.

In a surge of confidence, you stood, completely closing the gap between the both of you. You leaned in, placing your hands on either side of her body, trapping her in front of you. "What's it going to be, Natasha?"

Her eyes widened slightly at your boldness, but the spark of desire grew in her gaze. "If we do this," she whispered, "you're mine, Y/N. In and out of the classroom. No more games, no more slacking off." You groaned at her command, the thought of being hers sent a pulse through your awakening sex.

"Only if," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "If I'm going to be yours, I want all of you. No holding back." You leaned in, your face a mere inch from hers, challenging her to deny you.

Her eyes searched yours, the storm clouds within them swirling with a mix of desire and something darker. "You have no idea what you're asking for," she murmured, but the heat in her voice betrayed her interest.

"Neither do you, Romanoff," you whispered, your voice a seductive challenge. You could feel the thick and palpable tension between you as it hung in the air, charged with a current of something neither of you could ignore. She stared at you, her expression unreadable, but the heat in her gaze was unmistakable.

"Well, Y/N," she began, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "If you want all of me, you'll have to earn it. You'll prove to me that you're worthy of my attention."

You felt a thrill at her words, the challenge in her eyes setting something alight within you. "How do I do that?" you asked, your voice a barely contained growl. She stood up, pressing herself closer to you, your chests now touching and your faces mere inches apart. You try to ignore the spark that erupts everywhere she is in contact with your body, but it is slowly overtaking your senses, and all rationality.

"I think," she stuck her finger in the center of your chest, tracing an absentminded pattern all over, making you internally groan. "That you need to show me what I've heard so much about, Y/N." Her eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt. "Your reputation precedes you." She bites her lip, her eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and lips. "I want to see if you can live up to it."

You smirked, feeling the heat from her body and the way she leaned into you, making you want to devour her whole. "Is that all?" You whispered back, leaning in closer to her ear, making her shiver. "Because I've got more than just a reputation, Natasha." She moaned in your ear at the admission, her body visibly trembling against yours.

Without another word, she grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss that was as fiery as the passion in your eyes. Her tongue danced with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth, leaving no room for doubt. You felt your knees go weak and had to hold onto the desk to keep from falling. Her fingers wound thier way through your hair, pulling slightly to cause you to moan into the kiss.

Her hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You couldn't help but respond, pushing closer, your hands sliding up her sides to rest on her hips. You felt her tighten her grip on you, her nails digging into your skin just enough to let you know she was serious.

The kiss grew more intense, and you could feel your control slipping away. You had never felt this way about a teacher before, but Dr. Romanoff was unlike anyone you had ever met. Her confidence and power were intoxicating, and the way she looked at you made you feel like the most important person in the world.

As you broke away for air, she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "That's a start," she murmured, her voice a mix of challenge and desire. "But I need to see more." She turned and walked to the door of her office, swinging the lock shut and sliding a chair under the handle. Her hips swaying with an allure that was impossible to ignore as she sauntered around the room.

She made her way back in front of you, her eyes wandering all over your frame, and pausing on the straining bulge in your jeans. She smirked and took a step closer, her hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw. "Oh, how I have thought and dreamed about this, Y/N."

Her touch was like a spark to dry kindling, setting your body alight with a need that was unbearable. You reached up and grabbed her hand, pressing it harder against your skin, feeling the beat of your pulse beneath her fingertips. "Show me," you breathed. "Show me how much."

With a smirk that could melt the Arctic, she stepped closer, pressing her body against yours. Your hands roamed over her curves, feeling the soft fabric of her sweater and the firmness beneath. She gasped as you found the hem and slid your hands up, feeling the smooth skin of her stomach and the swell of her breasts. Her hand found its way to your waistband, deftly unbuckling your belt and popping the button of your jeans. The sound of the zipper was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

You stepped back slightly, allowing her to push your jeans and boxers down, your erection springing free. She took you in her hand, stroking you gently, her eyes never leaving yours. The look of power in her gaze was something you had never seen before, and it was driving you wild. You reached for her sweater, tugging it over her head and revealing the lacy black bra beneath. Her breasts were full and heavy, begging to be freed.

With trembling hands, you unclipped the clasp and watched as the material fell away, revealing her to you. She was perfection, her skin pale and unblemished, her nipples pink and hard from your touch. You bent down, taking one in your mouth, her gasp making your cock throb in her hand. You teased and suckled, feeling her hand tighten around you as she moaned your name.

Her other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as she ground her hips against yours. The friction was maddening, and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. You reached behind her, sliding her jeans down her legs, taking in the sight of her in just her lacy thong. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband and slid it down, revealing the wetness that had gathered between her thighs. She was ready for you, and the sight made you growl with need.

You knelt before her, spreading her legs apart. Your tongue darted out to taste her, and she moaned your name again. You lapped at her folds, feeling her shiver and buck against your mouth. Her taste was like nothing you had ever experienced before, sweet and salty and all hers. You pushed a finger inside her, feeling her tighten around you, her walls clenching as she grew closer to climax.

Her hand tightened in your hair, guiding you as you worked her body, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. You felt the tension in her legs and knew she was close. You added another finger, pumping them in and out as you flicked your tongue over her clit. She was so wet, so hot, and it was all for you.

You pulled away just as she was reaching her peak, leaving her panting and gasping for breath. "Not yet," you whispered against her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her thighs. "I want to feel you come around me."

Her eyes blazed with need as she reached down, taking your hand and guiding it to her wetness. "Take me, Y/N," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "I need you inside me."

Without wasting another moment, you stood and positioned yourself at her entrance. You could feel the heat of her desire, and you knew she was ready. You pushed into her slowly, feeling her walls tighten around you as she took you in. She was so wet, so tight, and the feeling was more than you could handle. You groaned as you filled her, feeling her body quiver in anticipation.

You began to move, setting a rhythm that had her moaning with every thrust. Her nails dug into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the only sound other than the muffled cries of pleasure that spilled from her lips.

Her breathing grew more ragged, her hips moving in time with yours. You could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around you like a vice. You reached between your bodies, finding her clit and rubbing it with your thumb as you thrust deeper. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screamed out your name as she came, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

The feeling of her contracting around you was too much, and you followed her over the edge, filling her with your release. You held onto her tightly, your breath coming in gasps as you rode out the waves of pleasure. When it was over, you leaned against her, both of you panting and sweaty.

You pulled out slowly, watching as she shivered at the loss of you inside her. You bent down and kissed her softly, tasting the salt of her skin. "You're mine now," she murmured, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

"Always have been," you replied, a smug smile playing on your lips. You pulled her into a standing position and kissed her again, her legs wobbly beneath her. She broke away, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Good," she said, her voice a low purr. "Now, let's see if you can handle the rest of what I have planned for you." You groaned as she lowered herself between your legs, taking all of you into her mouth, moaning around your length as she tasted her cum all over your shaft, mixed with yours. The sensation was overwhelming, and you had to hold onto the desk for support.

Her tongue swirled around the head of your cock, pausing as she felt the ball of your piercing on the surface of her tongue. She looked up at you with a knowing smile, her eyes full of mischief. You couldn't believe that you had finally given in to the temptation that had been brewing between the two of you for months. The way she took you in her mouth was like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

You felt your knees wobble as she deep-throated you, her cheeks hollowing out with every bob of her head. Her hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as she worked you with a skill that was both surprising and incredibly erotic. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you let out a low moan, your hands threading through her hair. "Fuck, Natasha."

Her grip tightened as she felt you swell, her movements becoming more urgent. She knew you were close, and she wasn't about to let up. She hummed around you, the vibration sending you into overdrive, your grip tightening on her fiery hair as you began to thrust into her throat. You came hard, filling her mouth with your release, and she swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving yours.

When you had finished, she stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I've wanted to do that since the first day of class," she said, her voice husky with desire. You couldn't help but chuckle, the situation so intense and yet so unexpectedly intimate.

"Well, I'm sure there's more where that came from," you said, your voice still shaky from the orgasm. She leaned in and kissed you, her tongue sliding against yours, sharing the taste of you with you. It was a claiming kiss, one that left no doubt in your mind that she was now in charge.

Her hands slid down your body, taking in the sight of you, naked and hard for her again. "Impressive," she murmured, her eyes lingering on your cock. "But now it's my turn," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. You watched as she wiped her desk clean, climbing onto it, her legs spread wide, revealing the wetness that glistened between her thighs, her arousal dripping onto the surface below. She leaned back on her elbows, inviting you closer.

You groaned at the sight, slowly pumping your length as you rested the other hand on her ass, slapping it. "You're so fucking wet for me," you said, your voice thick with lust. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving yours as she spread herself wider.

"I want you to fuck me like you mean it, Y/N," she instructed her voice a mix of need and command. You didn't need any more encouragement than that. You stepped closer, aligning yourself with her slick entrance, and pushed in. She was so tight, so hot, it was like sliding into heaven. She gasped as you filled her, her nails digging into the desk. You set a punishing pace, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. She moaned your name, her back arching as she met you stroke for stroke.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, you pulled her back to you by her hair, her back meeting your heaving chest. You reached up with your other hand, easily sliding over her glistening torso, tweaking her hardened nipple between your fingers. You could feel her tightening around you, her walls clenching as she neared her climax. You slid your hand down, playing with her clit, feeling her shiver and whimper.

"Come for me, detka," you whispered, your voice a dark command. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at you, her pupils blown wide with desire.

"Y/N," she breathed, her voice a plea. And with one final, powerful thrust, she shattered around you, her body convulsing as she screamed out your name. You watched in awe as she came, her pussy milking your cock, her orgasm so intense it brought you to the brink. With a roar, you followed her over the edge, filling her with your release. She took it all, her body pulsing around you as you emptied into her. When it was over, you both collapsed onto the desk, panting and sweaty.

It took a minute for her to recover before she turned her head to look at you. "When," she panted, still catching her breath. "When did you learn Russian?"

You chuckled, still trying to recover from the intensity of the moment. "I've always had a knack for languages," you replied, leaning down to kiss her neck. She shivered at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Plus, I have a professor who had me do lots of research work, so I picked up on a few things."

Without another word, she turned around, spreading her legs to straddle you, pulling you closer to her as you stood in between her toned thighs. You stepped up to her, your cock twitching with anticipation. You reached down and slid into her, feeling her tighten around you again. She moaned, her head dropping to your chest. "Fuck, Y/N!"

You began to move, your hips slapping against hers as you took her on the edge of her desk. She was so wet, so hot, and the way she felt around you was driving you wild. You reached down, playing with her clit as you pounded into her, feeling her get closer and closer to another orgasm. Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of our passion. You could feel her muscles tightening around you, her body begging for release.

Her nails dug into your shoulders as she arched her back, her breasts pressing against your chest. You leaned down and took one of her nipples in your mouth, sucking and biting gently, making her whimper. Her movements grew erratic, her hips bucking against yours as she chased her climax. You felt it building, her walls milking you as her orgasm neared. You began to pepper bites and kisses up and down her throat, as she let her head fall backward, her hair forming a red curtain behind her.

"Don't stop," she panted, her voice thick with desire. "Please, don't stop." You could feel her pussy tightening around you, her muscles clenching as she reached the peak. You didn't stop, you couldn't. You drove into her harder, feeling the desk wobble beneath you. Wrapping your arms around her back, your hands resting on her shoulders, you were able to muscle her up, pistoning into her at an obscene rate. Her legs tightened around your waist, her nails digging into your skin as she threw her head towards your shoulder, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, making her entire body convulse around you. You felt yourself grow even harder if that was possible. "Fuck," you grunted, the expletive forced from your chest. You didn't know if you could hold out much longer. The way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she sounded, it was all too much. You felt your own orgasm building, the pressure at the base of your spine growing with every thrust.

Her eyes flew open and she looked at you, a wild look in her eyes. "I'm going to come," she warned her voice a mix of pleasure and urgency. You didn't stop, couldn't stop. You pounded into her, her moans spurring you on as you chased your own release. And then it hit you, a white-hot burst of pleasure that shot through your body like lightning. You came inside her, filling her up with your seed, your body shaking with the intensity of it all.

Her legs tightened around your waist, and she threw her head back, her throat exposed to you as she let out a scream of pure ecstasy. You leaned down and kissed her neck, feeling her pulse racing beneath your lips. You could feel her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her climax as you slowly pulled out, your cock still semi-hard and slick with her juices.

You slowly pulled out of her, resting her on the desk behind. She was a mess of sticky sweat and lust, her chest heaving with every ragged breath she took. You took a moment to admire her, sprawled out like a painting of a conquered goddess, her skin flushed and her eyes glazed over with satisfaction. You couldn't resist leaning in for one more kiss, tasting the salt of your combined sweat, the sweetness of her lip gloss, and the lingering taste of your cum on her tongue.

"Again," she breathed against your lips, her voice a needy whine. You smirked, feeling the beginnings of your arousal stirring once more. How could you resist such an offer?

"Only if I get to taste you, darling." You smirked, bending down to kiss her neck, your teeth grazing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Dr. Romanoff nodded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut as you turned her onto her back, her legs still hanging over the edge of the desk. You stepped between them, pushing her thighs apart. The sight of her, glistening and open for you, was almost too much to handle.

You leaned in, your tongue tracing the line of her folds, tasting the remnants of your earlier passion. She gasped, her hips jerking as you found her clit with the tip of your tongue. You took it into your mouth, sucking gently, feeling her body tense beneath you. Her hands tangled in your hair, guiding you, urging you on. The sound of her moans was like music to your ears, driving you almost near madness.

Her legs wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer as you worked your magic. Her hips began to rock against your face, her movements growing more erratic as you pushed her closer to the edge. You grabbed a firm hold on her hips. pinning her to the desk as your tongue began to probe her leaking entrance. She was so wet, and the scent of her arousal was driving you wild. You felt yourself growing hard again, your cock aching to be inside her once more. Trying to quell the desire to sheath yourself inside of her, you inserted two fingers into her, continuing your assault on her clit as you probed her soft, spongy interior.

Her walls tightened around your digits, her moans growing louder as she neared climax. You felt her whole body tense and knew she was close. With one final flick of your tongue, you felt her release. She bucked against your face, her pussy pulsing around your fingers as she came hard. You swallowed her juices greedily, feeling your cock throb with every pulse of her orgasm.

You pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. She looked up at you, her eyes glazed with pleasure, and whispered, "More." You chuckled darkly, moving back between her legs, your cock now fully erect and ready to claim her once again. This time, you didn't hold back, slamming into her without mercy. She took it all, her legs wrapped around you, her nails digging into your back. A guttural moan left her, her lack of shame about being in the middle of a university only spurring you further.

Her breasts bounced with every thrust, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. The scent of arousal mingled with the faint aroma of books and dust, creating an intoxicating cocktail that only served to fuel the fire burning between you. Your hips moved with a primal instinct, the desk beneath you groaning in protest with every pound. You willed your hips to stop, only for a moment, causing the redhead to mewl and writhe beneath you. You shifted her, her legs locking behind you as she tried to pull you in deeper. You swiftly picked her up, and walked over to one of the armchairs in the office, sitting yourself down, with her on top.

"I wanna see you ride me, baby," you growled in her ear, sucking her earlobe in between your teeth. Dr. Romanoff's eyes lit up with excitement, and she straddled you, her slick pussy sliding down your shaft with ease. She began to bounce up and down, her movements growing more confident and wild with every moan that left her lips. You could feel her pussy clench around you, her walls tightening as she approached her peak. Your hands found her hips, guiding her, urging her to go faster, to take all of you. You slipped one hand up, palming one of her breasts, bringing your mouth to the other.

Her moans grew louder, her breathing more ragged as she bounced on your cock. You could feel her orgasm building, her movements growing more erratic as she chased the feeling. You squeezed her breast, rolling the nipple between your thumb and forefinger, eliciting a gasp from her. She leaned back, her hands on your shoulders for balance, her eyes never leaving yours. The sight of her riding you was almost too much to handle, her pussy gripping you like a vice, her ass bouncing with every downward thrust.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, Dr. Romanoff," you taunted, only spurring her on further.

Her hips rolled and gyrated, taking you in deeper with every downward thrust. The wet sounds of your skin slapping together echoed through the office, and you could feel the chair's cushion growing damp with your combined juices. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against your chest.

"Fuck me, Y/N," she moaned, her voice a sweet symphony of need and desire. "Make me scream your name again." You groaned, wrapping one hand around her throat,  the other around her waist, as you set a relentless pace that had both of you on the edge of oblivion. Her movements grew more frantic, her breathing shallow and erratic. The pressure in her core built, her muscles tightening around your cock with every stroke. You met every gyration of her hips with a powerful thrust of your own, your grunts and her moans filling the silence between your skin slapping together.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her nails dug into your shoulders as she climaxed. Her pussy clamped down on you like a vice, her juices flooding over your shaft and her walls quivering around you. "Fuck! Y/N!" she screamed into the office around her. The intensity of her orgasm washed over you, and you could feel yourself on the brink. You didn't stop, didn't dare. Instead, you quickened your pace, pushing her further, watching her face contort with pleasure and pain as she came again and again. Her legs tightened around your waist, her heels digging into your back, urging you to go deeper, harder.

You pulled out of her briefly, flipping her over on the floor in front of the chair so that she had her leg flung over your shoulder, and you could hit that sweet spot with every thrust. You didn't give her a chance to recover before you slammed back into her, filling her completely. She was soaking wet, and the sound of your skin slapping against hers was the sweetest symphony of pleasure and desire. You grabbed her hips, pulling her back to meet every thrust, her moans turning into screams of ecstasy. The slap of flesh echoed through the room, mixing with the sound of your heavy breathing. You could feel her tightening around you, her pussy gripping you as she neared another climax.

Your hand snaked around her throat, not too tightly but enough to add an edge to the already intense moment. You squeezed gently, feeling her pulse against your fingertips, her eyes snapping to yours, wide with a mix of fear and excitement. You could tell she liked it a little rough, and the way she responded only turned you on more. "Come for me," you ordered, your voice low and demanding. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screamed your name as she shuddered around your cock, her orgasm sending waves of pleasure through her body. The feeling of her essence spraying around your throbbing member, milking you towards your oblivion sent you over the edge, your hips stuttering as you collapsed on top of her.

Her legs quivered as she came down from the high, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, feeling her pulse slow down. You pulled out of her gently, watching as your cum dripped out of her still-spasming pussy. The sight was obscene, but incredibly erotic, making you want to take her again and again. You looked up at her, a smug smile playing on your lips. "Good girl," you murmured, stroking her hair.

Dr. Romanoff pushed herself up onto her elbows, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "You know, Y/N," she said, her voice a mix of breathlessness and amusement, "you really are a quick learner.” You had never felt so alive, so desired. It was a power exchange that you never knew existed, and you reveled in it. You were hers, and she was yours, and the thought was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

As the shadows grew long outside her office window, she finally pulled away, her chest heaving with exertion. "I think," she murmured, her voice thick with desire, "that we've made a good start.” You nodded, unable to form coherent words. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice a promise of more to come.

[acotarxreader]

High Lord of Game

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Cassian and Azriel use a simple competition to decide who deserves the title of High Lord of Game, but at what cost to you?

Warnings: Light smut, males being males

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, my first fic away from my beloved Shadow and Flame. I described this once as "silly goofy" but I was sleep-deprived and I'm no longer sure if that fits it best. Let me know what you think!

If you would like to be added to a general tag list please let me know as I didn't want to tag those who asked to be tagged on Shadow and Flame because I was unsure if that was just for that series

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“Az, give it over, I am the High Lord of Game” 

“Don’t flatter yourself Cass” Azriel shoved his best friend across the path as they walked through the streets of Velaris, Winter coming to a head . 

“Rhysand would agree with me” “Fine, you're the biggest whore” Azriel laughed, Cassian feigning offence, striding toward the city centre. 

“I think I should wear the crown of High Lord”

“Do I sense a coup amongst my friends?” Rhysand winnowed in between the two, both laughing at the idea.

“Azriel believes he is High Lord of the Game when we all know it's me” Rhysand rolled his eyes nearly from his head at the prospect. 

“Surely I am High Lord, I have a mate, therefore I've won the game” silence followed before both Illyrains locked eyes behind Rhysand, both then shoving him forward laughing. 

“Don’t depress us while we have our competition Rhys”

“That's it, a competition! Az, I will choose a female for you to pursue and you for me, that will decide it once and for all” Rhysand shook his head side to side gently, happy to have Feyre but ever so slightly missing his single days, the thought dissolving almost instantly as he saw Feyre come out of her gallery laughing with another Fae. 

“It's a deal” “A deal” the two shook hands, Rhysand rolling his eyes again. 

“Right, that female there Cass, off you go” Azriel pointed to a fae he recognised, Cass not taking a second glance overly confident as always. He sauntered over to the fae sipping lemonade at a table outside a cafe. 

“Wait isn't that-” Rhysand was cut off by Azriel laughing at Cassian and the Fae. In one swift movement, the female sloshed her full drink up and into Cassian's face before standing and storming off. Both Azriel and Rhysand were doubled over howling as Cassian stomped over soaking wet.

“Unfair, I already slept with her” Cassian scolded his two friends as they tried to gather themselves together again. 

“Oh, you think you’re so funny! Fine, fine, Az your challenge is ... .YN” Azriel and Rhysand immediately stopped laughing, looking towards the Fae Feyre had left, smiling to herself, cracking open a book as Feyre winnowed away. 

“Cass, give Azriel at least a small bit of a chance” 

“Nah, he set me up for failure, his turn” the three stared at you again, flicking through your book.

“Fine, what are the terms?”

“Great, you have until Starfall, that gives you a chance-” Cassian beamed nudging Rhysand “-to bed her and I will crown you High Lord of Game” Azriel took a moment to ponder these words before shaking his wings slightly and striding over in your direction. A little over four months, easy he thought. Azriel hadn’t really ever taken much notice of you before, only hearing of you from Feyre talking about you volunteering with the outreach programmes. He knew she was fond of you but never introduced you to the group, he was unsure why.

“Hello” he gave his best coy smile towards you, no response from you. 

“Hello there” he tried again. No response. Azriel looked over his shoulder to where his brothers stood laughing some distance away. He rolled his shoulders back undeterred and cleared his throat, raising his hand slowly to lower your book from your face.

“Hello YN” you threw him a look through your eyelashes, already over the conversation before it began. Azriel nearly forgot why he stood in front of you, captivated by your eyes.

“Yes?” you raised an eyebrow, Azriels throat completely dried out and he began to cough causing you to scoff lightly before passing him the canteen of water you had in your bag, he politely declined.

“I’m Azriel” he managed with no reply from you. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. 

“What are you reading YN?” “Why does it matter Shadowsinger?” you almost purred sarcastically, tucking the book into your bag. 

“Just making conversation” Azriel couldn't help but come off as over it, perhaps this wasn't worth the title he’d win but then you smiled at him and he felt all the tiny hairs on his neck stand with excitement. You stood, throwing your bag across your body.

“Well thanks for the sparkling conversation Shadowsinger” you patted his shoulder pushing past him and back into the street. Azriel turned on his heels to face his smug friends. 

*******

For the next two weeks, Azriel made it his mission to show up wherever you did, trying to play it off as the Gods intervention and not his careful planning and reading of Feyre's planner. 

“Are you stalking me, be honest” you whipped around to him one day as you left Rita’s having met Feyre and apparently Azriel, for a drink. 

“One date and I'll leave you alone” “Why?”

“Why not?” you clicked your tongue at him, thinking of the millions of reasons why not and yet you couldn't help but be pulled in his direction, to his magnetic energy.

You agreed and that's when things began to change so rapidly in both of your lives and by the one-month mark you were accompanying him to family dinners and welcomed with such open arms. Azriel had coaxed you out of your self-inflicted solitary confinement but couldn't get you quite to fully engage with his family, still that air of caution lay within you. 

At Feyres birthday dinner Azriel felt it was time to be bold. Something about you, the way you smiled, the way you looked at him, he was becoming putty in your hands, hearing you laugh made him never want to hear anything ever again. Azriel sat next to you at that dinner as he did at every other meal with you, the table’s conversation ebbing and flowing around you both as always, happy to just sit in one another's presence. He couldn't help it, time to be brazen he thought. 

Azriels hand found its way slowly to the top of your thigh, almost afraid as though his touch would hurt you and you'd shatter in his hands. He quickly removed his hand at the feeling of you tensing next to him, internally reprimanding himself. Azriel felt a smile grow on his face as your hand gently unfurled the fist he had made with his hand and interlocked your fingers with his, all without breaking eye contact with whoever was speaking. You were glowing, Azriel thought. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt the party but I must make tracks for home” You gave a smile to the room sometime later, slipping your hand from Azriel again where he instantly missed it.

“I'll walk with you, I could do with the stretch after the meal” You gave a small smile to Azriels words, fetching your jacket. Cassian gave Azriel a coy smirk causing Azriel to send a shadow to knock Cassian's wine into his shirt. You both left River House as Cassian gave out loudly.

You both idly walked down the winding streets of Velaris, entirely comfortable in the silence that surrounded you until you both reached the bottom gate of your small townhouse.

“Well I had a really nice time YN, maybe see you tomorrow” Azriel moved from you, happy to leave it there, not wanting you to feel pushed.

“Wait Az” you reached, catching him by his suit jacket collar, pulling him down to meet your lips. Electricity coursed through Azriel’s veins, electric, he was being electrified by you.

“Well goodbye, see you tomorrow” you pulled suddenly from him, hurried words spoken as you released his collar and moved to run and hide. His turn to catch you by surprise, he almost swept you back to meet his lips again, every nerve buzzing to life, every cell wanting more. 

That set off the whirlwind relationship you both deserved. By February you had both learned to trust one another entirely. He confided in you about his difficult childhood and you about your violent tumultuous previous relationship. In three and a half months you both became inseparable, teaching and taunting one another and so entirely happy whilst taking things slow as you worked through your leftover relationship issues. 

Azriel sat in the booth with his friends, you working late with Feyre one weekend evening.

“So should we be getting you fitted for a crown yet Az?” “What are you talking about?” Azriel laughed, Cassian raising an eyebrow, going to explain before you came into the bar with Feyre, instantly joining the friend group, and pulling Azriel to the bar top with you.

************************

Azriel stood with his brothers in their coordinating gem-tone suits basking in the moonlight of Starfall. You arrived with the rest of the females but Azriel didn’t see any of the others the moment his eyes landed on you. A simple slip dress the silver colour of the very stars that shone above. He found his throat dry out again as it had that very first time he looked into your eyes. You kissed his cheek and smiled, he couldn't quite believe his luck to share this night with you. Azriel took your hand, twirling you while you laughed before escorting you to the dance floor where you stayed for what felt like hours. 

Azriel showed you around The House of Wind, arriving at the balcony of his room as the spirits began to transverse the sky above. You both radiated such pure peace as the sky filled with lights, Azriel caught your hand in his, pulling you into his chest. You leaned up kissing him, the sky illuminated. His hands went to your hips as yours went around his shoulders, deepening the kiss further. 

“I think I’m in love with you Azriel” you said so quietly separating briefly.

“I know I’m in love with you YN” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before you backed away leading him by the hand back towards his bed. You both kissed there for a moment, growing hungrier and hungrier for one another. Usually, you would have stopped by now, feelings of unresolved trauma in you taking the reins. But not this time.

“Are you okay YN?” you just nodded at him before pulling your slip dress over your head, turning and crawling deeper into the bed, beckoning Azriel with you. He hovered over you, taking you all in, his very own Goddess. He kissed down your neck, checking in with you before removing his own shirt. You traced up the grooves of his abdomen, sending a shiver through his wings as you smiled.

“I wish I could look at you smiling forever” “Maybe you can” he lowered back down to kiss you at your words. 

A screech of rusty hinges being twisted separated you both as the door of Azriels room swung open, a very very drunk Cassian stumbling in. Azriel threw his shirt to cover you, launching himself towards the door. 

“Get out Cass!” “Oh A-zzz I did-n’t know you wer-e in here” he slurred, Azriel catching the door trying to close it in Cassian's face.

“YN- heeeeeey. Oh shit! A-m I interrupting the cr-owning of the High L-ord of Game” a shiver shot down Azriel at these words, he had forgotten. He had totally and utterly forgotten. You pulled your dress back over your head, slipping from the bed almost laughing in confusion.

“What Cassian?”

“It's gonn-a be your weddin-g story! How roman-tic a bet turning in-to lov-e, who’d have though-t it '' The giant Illyrian took another deep sip from his cup, one he definitely didn't need, your laughter coming to a complete halt. 

“Get the fuck out of here Cassian!” Azriel gained the upper hand finally slamming the door in his drunk brother's face. He turned to look at you, sheet white like you’d seen a ghost. You took deep measured breaths, trying to prevent full scale hyperventilation.

“YNN”

“Don’t call me that”

“Please listen to me” you were hurriedly searching for your bag, Azriel had his arms out as though he was trying to stop a wild horse.

“Az-Azriel, was there or was there not a competition or bet or what-the-fuck-ever based around our relationship” you stood before him, wild-eyed, begging and wishing and hoping that what came out of his mouth next would make this all go away.

“Yes…it's why I talked to you that first day- but wait please!” You had pushed past him at these words, straight for the bedroom door, needing out. 

“-But YN then I fell for you! I forgot about the stupid competition! I swear! I promise, please, I need you” your back was to him as he spoke these words, fist around the door handle.

“What you need Azriel is for someone to build your fragile masculinity and I’m sorry but I am not the Fae for you” you whipped the door open, stepping over a passed out Cassian and running down the hallway from the mess. 

************************

A week had passed, Feyre practically forbidding Azriel from seeing you after hearing of the whole ordeal. Azriel still was yet to speak to Cassian but really his anger was mostly at himself. He completely messed up. 

You opened your front door a week after what happened to find Azriel sat at your garden gate. You went to close the door again but he shot towards you.

“Azriel” you glared.

“Please speak to me YN” you sighed, closing the door on him, not ready for it all.

“I'll wait here for you! I’ll wait forever for you” he sat back down on the step and there he stayed for almost 48 hours. 

You looked out through your bedroom window at him sitting below in the rain on your doorstep. You sighed before heading down the stairs, opening the door and staring down at the soaked Illyrian. 

“Can I please talk to you now?” you sighed at his words, just stepping back from the door beckoning him in. He didn't need to be told twice, darting into your living room. You crossed your arms as you watched him shake the water from his wings. 

“I know you probably have questi-” “Why Azriel? Tell me why! I've been racking my brain for over a week and I can’t figure out why you would do this to me” you raised your voice to him, something you’d never done before to him and it rattled him slightly.

“To build my fragile masculinity” he attempted a joke, gaining a pillow thrown at him by you for him to dodge. 

“Okay, because I am a big Illyrian idiot who had no idea how hard I’d fall for you! I had no idea someone like you would fall for me! I completely just lost all sense of judgement! He practically slumped to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Are you…are you crying?” you moved slowly towards the slumped Shadowsinger.

“Yes! I completely fucked up so bad YN and I am so beyond sorry for even causing you any ounce of pain!”

“Get up off the floor Az, you're destroying your fragile masculinity” you gave a small smile, reaching out your hand and pulling him to his feet. You sat down on your sofa, still holding his hand, nudging your head to the side indicating for him to sit. He then explained the details of the competition at your request. 

“I know I am the scum of the earth but I promise I totally forgot about it when I started to get to know you and it was beyond the furthest thing from my mind when we…when last week happened” his voice shook at the end of his tale of betrayal.

“I must be crazy” you shook your head side to side.

“No you’re not YN”

“Yes, I am because I believe you” he met your eyes frantically as you rubbed the back of his hand. 

“So you still want to be with me?!” “Yes, stupidly” you half laughed and he matched you.

“But you or Cassian pull anything even close to this shit again and I'll castrate you both and throw you into the river” “I'll lend you the blade to do so” Azriel smiled.

“I love you YNN” “I- I can't say that back right now Az” his heart sank for a moment before he spoke again.

“That’s alright YNN, I love us enough for the both of us anyway” Azriel moved to kiss you in the way he dreamed of since that night.

“Ah ah ah-” you pulled back and shook your finger at him smiling. 

“-Back to hand holding Az” “Okay, great, I can do that” You both sat there for a moment in that familiar comfortable silence you both thought you'd never feel again. 

“Okay that’s enough hand-holding,” you said hurriedly, pushing yourself on top of him to straddle his lap as he sat, kissing him deeply. 

“Thank the Gods” he laughed into the kiss.

“You wouldn't have lasted with just hand-holding anyways” you nudged him.

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, gaining a hand into the chest again before sharing a searing kiss once again.

-----------------------------------------------

[meracyn]

ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ, ᴋᴡᴏɴ ᴊᴀᴇ-ꜱᴜɴɢ

summary. stuck between miyagi-do and kwon's magnetic-like pull towards you, you feel torn. sam confronts you for being distracted, while kwon continues to challenge your loyalty.

a/n. the (possible idk lol) finale of this mini series!! thank you to each and every one of you for all the support, you guys are the highlight of my days 💕 read the previous parts here; one, two.

warnings. female pronouns mentioned, use of y/n

"...and..Hey, Y/N! Are you even listening?"

Sam's voice cut through your train of thoughts, snapping you back to reality as you turned to face the captain, who held a disappointed expression. "I..uh..I was—" you trailed off, mind blank as you tried to come up with an excuse. "no.." You mumbled in embarrassment.

The girl sighed, sitting down next to you on the bench. "What's going on with you? Don't tell me– is it him?" She asked, sending a look over her shoulder in the direction where the Cobra Kai members were standing, Kwon being with them.

You hesitated for a second before nodding.

"You can't let him keep distracting you. You already know how that keeps ending." Her tone became stern, blunt. It was like a punch as she referred to your losses ever since Kwon talked to you at the bar.

"Don't start with this again. You know I was doing well but–" You tried to defend yourself before she cut you off.

"But what? Y/N, you changed. All you focus is on Kwon and not on your team– this tournament. Does it even matter to you?" Sam asked, standing up. "It might not be important for you, but to me, Miguel and the others–it is." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, "So..it's your decision if you make the most out of this opportunity, or leave it." Without giving you a chance to reply, she left.

── ⋆ ──

Hours passed. As you were walking around, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned– and as expected, it was Kwon. "Did you make it a mission to follow me around everyday?" You asked, stepping back as you glared at him.

Kwon chuckled, his expression turning serious. "We need to talk."

"Again? No."

He took a step closer to you. "Just for a minute."

"Time's running."

"You're distracted, Y/N,—" He began, when you interrupted him. "I wonder why." Kwon ignored your remark, "—I see it. You don't belong with them anymore, you belong with me, with Cobra Kai."

You shook your head. "No."

Getting closer, his tone dropped to a softer one. "Don't you see I need you by my side?"

"You made your decision, Kwon. I can't betray my team just because you want to get back together." Your chest tightened as you spoke. It was all coming back again, the memories filled with pain.

Kwon fell silent for a few seconds, debating what to say. "I get it," He finally said. "Loyalty. But think about it– what have they given you? I've seen LaRusso and the rest doubt you. They're holding you back."

You didn't reply, the words lingering in the air.

"I'll give you time to think," he continued, keeping his gaze on you. "When you've made your choice, you know where to find me."

── ⋆ ──

You were going back to your room, the weight of Kwon's words still there, the decision tugging in your chest. The closer you got, you felt the cold tension between you and your team– the distance. Just as you were about to pass the boy's room, you heard Miguel's voice cut through the silence.

"..She's been so distracted lately. I just don't get it." he said with concern, but also frustration.

There was some muffled movement when Demetri spoke up. "All I'm saying is– if we keep going like this, we'll lose. It's better if we keep her back, Sam and Devon are enough anyway."

Your heart sank at their comments, the guilt crushing you. It was finally clear what you had to do. That night, as you opened the door to find Kwon, you got surprised at seeing that he was already there, leaning against the wall outside of your room, as if he knew you would come. Pushing away your pride, you went up to him.

"I've thought about it," you said quietly. "I'll join Cobra Kai."

Looking at the smile that appeared on his face as he took your hands in his, you knew there was no turning back.

[judasgot-it]

hello, hello :) i like drama so... could i request a mean girl trying to flirt with hunting dogs and insulting their s/o?

I won't lie I've rewritten this like multiple times?? I don't know why this was so hard for me other than I hate conflict, so I struggled hard bro.

Scenario: Mean girl insulting their s/o while trying to flirt (Tecchou, Jouno)

Tecchou

“You can do better, you know?”

Tecchou blinked at the girl in front of him, the one who was staring at him dead in the face with eyes that looked like a predator.

It was an unsettling gaze. He felt challenged, as if the two were in a cage, ready to throw down.

She didn't look like an assassin, but Tecchou met abilities that were far more dangerous than physical capabilities alone.

“Excuse me?”

”You heard me. Ditch the cabbage patch bitch, come here and get a barbie. I think you're worth that.“

The woman leaned in closer, her long hair almost brushing against his arms.

Tecchou took a step back, regaining his personal space. He breathed as he felt his sword tied to his body, certainly within reach.

She was a civilian, but she could very well be a threat.

”I don't know what cabbage patches have to do with my girlfriend.”

The woman squinted at him, almost in offense. She was the one offering him a doll in the first place, like some sort of man in a white van offering kids candy.

It was a strange situation.

“I'm saying she's ugly. What? You don't think you deserve someone hot like me?”

Oh.

She was almost aggresive with her words, her long acrylic nail nearly jabbing at his chest - this was aggression, but it was pointed towards someone else.

It was targeted towards you. That's very crass, isn't it?

”I don't think you're attractive.“

Tecchou had a hard line to toe. He didn't want to deal with a hysterical woman, but he also knew that you most certainly heard this conversation, listening from somewhere off in the park while he had gone to order you both lunch.

He hated to imagine the look on your face from hearing those words. You were rather sensitive compared to him when it came to these things, and he hated to imagine you crying.

It was one of the worst things that he had ever seen, that and wasting food. Maybe his bones poking out from underneath his skin were a close second, but he could handle physical pain pretty well. He didn't really know how to handle you crying, and it was damn near as painful.

”Excuse me?“

Tecchou had to take another step back, the woman not understanding the concept of personal space and respecting boundaries. It was agitating, watching as she tried to encroach onto his personal boundaries again, her hand reaching towards his chest area.

Slapping her hand away, he glared at her, looking between her and the offending hand between them.

“Don't touch me.”

There was an anger building up inside of him, watching the woman as she stared at him in confusion. What the hell did she have to be confused about? She was the one who had insulted his girlfriend.

"Who the hell do you think you are-"

"Don't insult people you don't know."

He didn't bother to look back at the woman, instead rushing to get his food.

He and his girlfriend's food.

Because that's who really mattered. Not some woman who didn't even know how personal boundaries worked. Or notice the fact that he was carrying a lethal weapon.

Tecchou wasn't the kind of man to harm a civilian. But once and a while he was reminded of why he was different from them.

Jouno

"You know, for a blind guy you're really cute."

Jouno hated having his downtime disturbed, and of course, when he tried to be a good boyfriend and get a package for you, he was interrupted by a woman who he did not care to hear from.

Certainly not his girlfriend, nor Teruko, nor anyone he respected.

The only distress he smelled was in her pants, and frankly, he wanted no part. He just wanted to go home and bring you back whatever stupid shirt you ordered.

"My girlfriend says that to me all the time."

He emphasized the words, hoping she would feel embarrassed and leave him alone. There were others in the mailroom, surely she would take the hint and know not to hit on a man wearing fire-red Hello Kitty pajamas.

At least, that's what you had told him. He was against wearing tacky outfits, but you liked to match and he wasn't going to say no when you were thoughtful enough to buy something so considerate to his senses.

Maybe they looked stupid. He didn't care to see them, anyway, since he only wore them at home. And in the mailroom.

Where he was currently being hit on.

"Well, do you think she appreciates it?"

"What?"

Already starting to walk away from the woman, he found himself being followed by her into the stairwell. He would rather take an elevator, but being stuck in a locked room with her seemed rather unpleasant at the moment.

"You know..."

Not caring for her life, the woman grabbed his arm, hugging it close to her chest. He cringed as he tried to push her off, feeling as she pressed her entire body weight against him.

It felt like someone had thrown a piano at him.

"I think I can show you a way better time than she can. Just stand here-"

Cringing, Jouno pushed her off, listening as she stumbled against the railings.

"You're not deaf, are you? I'm in a relationship, psycho."

He dusted himself off, trying to clean away the dirty particles that was her mere existence on his clothes. At this rate, he was going to have to bleach them.

"With an ugly bitch! I know you can't see it, but-"

"I haven't seen your face but I already know a pig was your mother."

Smirking, he felt for the fire alarm on the wall, pulling it.

Jouno knew he was just out of line for the sprinklers, and it was satisfying to listen as the woman shouted as the cold water shocked her system. It was worth the screaming in his ears - he knew that she most likely looked like shit now.

With the woman off of him, he took the dryest path up the stairs, smiling as he listened to her screams of indignation.

Possibly humiliation. He sure hoped so, for being unable to listen to a simple rejection.

"I hope you have your phone on you. I'm not leaving the door open for you, ugly bitch."

He waved goodbye to her with your package, smirking as she banged on the now closed doors of the stairwell.

The fire department can deal with her. That wasn't his problem.

There was a package he had to deliver to his lovely girlfriend, who he knew would be sitting in a shared apartment wondering why the fire alarm went off.

Honestly I struggled mad hard with this one. So much so it took me nearly a year to write (haha...haaaaaaa). But also hope you enjoyed it cause damn...I've never been in a mean girls scenario so i had to make it up

[anna-the-undertaker]

Pick-a-fic prompt:

Newly arrived MC being unable to deal with the Brothers to the point of debating leaving the exchange program and thus running to the relative peace of the castle to step back and reflect (focus on the Royals)

OR

Newly arrived MC being unable to deal with the Brothers to the point of debating leaving the exchange program and thus running to the relative peace of the castle, but the brothers find MC’s diary where their doubts are written as plain as day (focus on the Brothers)

Sorry this took so long to get to, I've just been so busy working, prepping stuff for moving, and I got absorbed in the fic I am working on. I chose the second one and ended up giving it more angst. I hope this is what you were asking for. Enjoy :)

Failure

MC had never felt so small.

From the moment they arrived in the Devildom, they were an outsider—human, fragile, and completely out of place. The brothers tolerated their presence, but only just. Every day was a new challenge, a struggle to keep their head above water in a world so different from their own.

Mammon, their first pact and appointed guardian, never missed an opportunity to remind them of how much of a burden they were. "Oi, don’t just stand there lookin’ useless. If you’re gonna stick around, at least do somethin’ useful, huh?" He’d toss those words at them with a grin, almost like it was a joke, but the sting was real. His careless remarks hit hard, especially when MC was already trying to find their place in this strange world. Mammon didn’t see the damage; to him, they were just another chore to deal with, something that got in the way of his schemes.

Leviathan wasn’t much better. Whenever MC tried to interact with him, they were met with his judgmental stare, as though they were trespassing. "What’s a normie like you doing here? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?" His voice was laced with annoyance, making them feel like some bizarre creature that had wandered into his private world. He kept his distance, never giving MC a chance to show they could connect with him, too. His obsession with his fictional worlds only made them feel even more like an outsider, as though they’d never understand or be worthy of stepping into his life.

Satan? Satan barely acknowledged their existence. If he ever looked up from his books, it was with frustration, as if MC’s very presence disrupted his thoughts. "Can’t you see I’m busy?" he’d say, his voice cold and dismissive. He wasn’t cruel, but his indifference hurt just as much. It was like MC was invisible unless they somehow got in his way.

And Asmodeus—Asmo treated MC like an accessory, something to admire for a moment and then discard when something more interesting caught his eye. "Darling, if you're going to wear something that dull, I really can’t be seen with you." His words were often accompanied by a smile, but the superficiality behind them was clear. He made them feel like an object, like their only worth was tied to their appearance. Even worse, Asmo never seemed to consider how his constant fixation on perfection weighed on MC, making them question their own worth more and more each day.

Beelzebub? He rarely acknowledged MC at all. His focus was always on food, and even when he did notice them, it wasn’t in a way that made them feel seen. "You smell different. Wonder if you’d taste good," he’d say offhandedly, as if it was just a passing thought. He didn’t mean any harm, but hearing those words was unsettling. It made them feel even less like a person and more like some temporary guest who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

But Lucifer… Lucifer was the hardest to bear. His demands for perfection pressed down on MC like an unbearable weight. He expected them to adapt instantly, to know things they couldn’t possibly know, and when they inevitably made mistakes, the look of disdain in his eyes was enough to crush them. "I need you to be better," he’d say, his voice calm but sharp. MC could never shake the feeling that they were constantly being judged, constantly falling short of his expectations. His false sense of care grated on them the most—he acted like he was guiding them, but to MC, it felt more like control.

Everything was so new, so overwhelming, and no one seemed to care that they were struggling. They couldn’t keep up, and instead of offering help, the brothers’ habits and personalities only deepened their isolation. The teasing, the judgment, the indifference—it was all too much.

So, they ran.

It wasn’t a dramatic escape. They didn’t even pack their bags. They simply left one night, slipping out of the House of Lamentation and making their way to Diavolo’s castle. If anywhere in the Devildom could offer peace, it was there. Leaving behind their diary, a collection of their thoughts, hopes, and fears. They didn’t expect anyone to find it. Writing had been their only outlet, the only way to cope with the growing weight of their struggles.

At first, the brothers didn’t notice their absence. Days passed, and the empty seat at the table went unremarked upon. Only when the small disruptions became too obvious did Mammon speak up.

"Oi, where’s the human? It ain’t like ‘em to just disappear without a word," he grumbled. But even then, his tone was more annoyed than concerned.

Lucifers sharp gaze swept the hallways, his mind turning over the details of MC’s sudden absence. He’d been busy—too busy, really. Between managing his brothers and fulfilling his duties, MC had slipped from his radar, and now… now he realized he hadn’t checked in on them in days.

It wasn’t until Satan, searching for a book, came across MC’s diary tucked away in a corner of their room that the truth was revealed.

Satan made his way to the eldests office, frowning as he thumbed through the pages. "Lucifer, you should see this."

Lucifer took the diary, reading in silence as his eyes traced the words MC had written. The others were called, and soon they all knew what MC had been feeling.

The entries were raw, filled with MC’s doubts and pain. Each brother’s name was scrawled across the pages, followed by confessions of how their words and actions had hurt.

“Mammon makes me feel like I’m nothing but a burden. Every time he calls me useless, it’s like he’s confirming something I’ve already been afraid of. I’m just in the way here.”

“Levi never sees me as more than a ‘normie.’ It’s like I’m some strange animal in his eyes, something he doesn’t want to understand. He shuts me out every time I try to get closer.”

“Satan barely notices I exist. And when he does, it’s always with that look… like I’m a problem he doesn’t want to deal with. I guess I am a problem.”

“Asmo’s always commenting on how I look. I know it’s not personal, but it feels like all I am to him is an object. A pretty thing to dress up, but never good enough to really matter.”

“Beel doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s so focused on his hunger that I don’t think he even notices when I’m around. When he does, it’s just another reminder that I don’t really belong here.”

“Lucifer… I don’t know how to describe it. He expects so much from me. Too much. He looks at me like I’m failing him, like I’m not worth the time it takes to help. His care feels false. I can’t keep up with his demands, and I don’t think he even realizes how much I’m struggling just to stay afloat.”

And then came the final entry.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Everything is too much. The brothers… they don’t care about me. I’m just another responsibility to them, one they didn’t ask for. I’m seriously thinking about leaving the exchange program. Maybe I should. Maybe I’m not strong enough for this.”

The brothers were silent and exchanged glances, the weight of the words sinking in. They just hadn’t realized how much their habits, their personalities, had affected MC. Mammon’s constant jabs, Levi’s distant hostility, Asmo’s superficial comments, Satan’s cold indifference, Beel’s lack of attention… all of it had chipped away at MC’s sense of self, until they felt like they didn’t matter.

Lucifer closed the diary, his jaw tight. "I didn’t know they felt this way," he said, his voice low.

Mammon shifted uncomfortably. "I didn’t mean it like that. I thought we were just messin’ around."

Levi rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn’t think they cared what I thought. I mean, I barely even know them."

Satan’s frown deepened. "We’ve all been too focused on ourselves."

Asmo’s eyes were wide with guilt. "I didn’t realize… I just thought they were shy. Or adjusting." He looked down, his usual confidence gone.

Beel said nothing, his expression a mix of regret and confusion. He hadn’t even noticed how much MC had been struggling, too wrapped up in his own needs to see theirs.

"We need to bring them back," Lucifer said finally, his voice firm.

At the castle, the brothers had expected to find MC sulking, perhaps still angry or hurt. They had come, armed with apologies and, for once, a united front. Lucifer led them, the weight of the diary heavy in his hands. It felt strange, unsettling even, to think they had been so blind to MC's struggles. They had planned to convince MC to stay, to promise things would be different this time.

But when they arrived, the castle was eerily quiet. Barbatos greeted them at the entrance, his face impassive, but his eyes held a hint of something… regretful.

"Where is MC?" Lucifer asked, his voice tight.

Barbatos looked at the group for a moment before lowering his gaze. "You’re too late."

"What'dya mean, 'too late?'" Mammon blurted, stepping forward, his usual confidence replaced with a flicker of panic.

Barbatos sighed softly, his tone unusually firm. "MC has already returned to the human world. They made the request to Lord Diavolo, and it has been granted."

The weight of his words sank in, and the brothers stood in stunned silence. Lucifer, for once, had no immediate response. Mammon’s shoulders slumped, and Levi's hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. Asmo’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out, while Beel’s expression darkened in quiet contemplation. Satan clenched his fists, the anger rising, though not directed at anyone but themselves.

"Why?" Levi muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Because," Diavolo’s voice echoed through the hall as he approached them, his expression serious, "they didn’t believe things would change. MC had been struggling for some time, and none of you noticed. They felt abandoned. They were overwhelmed, and by the time you realized, it was already too late."

The silence was suffocating as the future King of the Devildom regarded them with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

"You failed," Diavolo’s voice echoed through the room, each word a sharp blade. "You were given one task—one simple requirement as part of this exchange program. To make MC feel welcome. To make them feel as if they belonged. To get to know them and have them know you in return. To foster understanding."

The brothers stood in a line, shoulders hunched, guilt pressing down on them like a heavy weight. None of them dared to speak.

Diavolo’s gaze shifted to Lucifer, his disappointment palpable. "And you," he said, his voice soft but laced with reprimand, "I expected better of you."

Lucifer flinched at the words. His usual mask of calm confidence shattered under the weight of Diavolo’s gaze. For a moment, he felt utterly powerless, a sensation he had long fought to suppress.

"You let this happen under your watch. You let MC suffer to the point where they felt they had no choice but to leave the Devildom behind entirely." Diavolo’s words were like a hammer, each one driving the guilt deeper. "You let them slip through your fingers."

Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Beel, and Satan could do nothing but hang their heads in shame, their usual bickering and antics gone, replaced by the crushing realization of how badly they had failed. This wasn’t just about MC’s disappearance—it was about everything they had overlooked, every word they hadn’t said, every opportunity to make things right that they had ignored.

Diavolo took a breath, his tone softening slightly but still firm. "You were supposed to protect them. Instead, you pushed them away."

The silence was heavy, unbearable. None of them could meet Diavolo’s gaze.

"You will return to the House of Lamentation and reflect on what has happened here today," Diavolo said, his voice a final command. "I hope, for all our sakes, that this failure teaches you something."

With those parting words, Diavolo turned his back to them, and the brothers were left with nothing but the weight of their failure pressing down on their shoulders.

They sulked back to the House of Lamentation, each one lost in their own thoughts, their usual banter replaced with a somber silence. They had been too late. MC was gone.

Lucifer

Lucifer sat in his study, the heavy silence of the House of Lamentation pressing down on him. The others had retreated to their rooms, each of them nursing their own guilt, but Lucifer remained still, staring at the open diary on his desk. MC’s words were a stark reminder of his failure—his failure to see, his failure to act, his failure to protect. The very thing he prided himself on—his ability to maintain control, to ensure perfection in everything under his watch—had crumbled in the worst possible way.

Failure.

The word echoed in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless force. Lucifer's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as his anger rose, burning in his chest. How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he, of all people, have been so blind? He had always maintained order, ensured everything ran smoothly. He had taken on every responsibility, every burden, to prevent things from falling apart. But this...this was a disaster.

It was intolerable.

The weight of Diavolo’s words still hung heavy in the air: I expected better of you. The sting of those words cut deeper than any reprimand he had ever received. Diavolo had placed his trust in him, and he had let him down. Worse, he had let MC down—an innocent, fragile human who had come to the Devildom trusting they would be safe, that they would find a place here.

Lucifer stood abruptly, shoving his chair back with a force that sent it crashing against the wall. His usually composed demeanor shattered as the rage he had been holding back erupted. He slammed his fists down onto the desk, the sound echoing through the room. Papers scattered, and the sharp crack of wood under pressure reverberated through the air.

How had he missed it? How had he, with all his precision and attention to detail, been so oblivious to MC’s suffering? His grip on control, his obsession with perfection, had blinded him to what was truly important. He had been so focused on maintaining order, on keeping his brothers in line, that he hadn’t even noticed the cracks forming right in front of him.

And now, it was too late.

MC was gone—back to the human world. They hadn’t even waited to see if things would change, if the brothers would make things right. They had made their decision, and it was a resounding statement of just how much Lucifer had failed them.

His chest tightened with frustration. He had been so focused on pushing MC to adapt, to fit the mold he thought they needed to fill, that he had ignored the reality of their struggles. He had looked at them through a lens of expectation rather than understanding, and now they were lost to him. To them all.

Lucifer closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to reign in the storm of anger and guilt coursing through him. This failure—the bitter taste of it—was unacceptable. He couldn’t undo what had been done. He couldn’t change the fact that he had let Diavolo down, that he had let MC down.

But he could make sure it never happened again.

Slowly, Lucifer opened his eyes, the flames of anger still burning but now tempered by a cold resolve. He would not allow this to break him. He would not allow this failure to define him. He had to remain strong—not just for himself, but for Diavolo, for the Devildom, and for his brothers.

But deep down, the rage simmered, a constant reminder of his imperfection, his weakness. He had been shown the one thing he hated most: his own limits.

Failure.

It was something Lucifer would never forget. And never forgive. Not himself, and not the others.

Mammon

Mammon sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his hands tangled in his hair. The silence in the House of Lamentation was deafening, pressing down on him in a way that made his chest feel tight. MC was gone—back to the human world. They hadn’t even said goodbye.

His first instinct had been to brush it off, like he always did. Make some flippant comment about how MC would be back soon enough, that they just needed a little time to cool off. But as the hours passed and reality settled in, the truth was undeniable.

MC wasn’t coming back.

"Dammit..." Mammon muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around his hair as if that could stop the thoughts running wild in his head.

He replayed the last few weeks in his mind—the constant teasing, the jabs, the way he’d brush off their efforts with a casual, "Oi, don’t be so useless." He never meant it. Not really. It was just how he talked, right? But now… Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve sounded to them.

How it must’ve felt.

He always thought MC knew he didn’t mean anything by it. They were just words, stupid little insults thrown out without thinking. It wasn’t like he actually thought they were useless. Hell, he was actually starting to like them—though he’d never admit it out loud.

Mammon groaned, flopping back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. Why did he always do this? Why did he push away the people he cared about, acting like they were some kind of nuisance when they weren’t? It was just… easier that way. It was easier to hide behind the tough guy act, to pretend like nothing bothered him. But it wasn’t true. It had never been true.

And now it was too late.

"I didn’t mean it," he whispered, his voice breaking in the quiet room. "I didn’t mean any of it..."

But what good did that do now? They were gone. MC was gone, and it was his fault.

Mammon’s heart clenched as he thought about all the times he’d made fun of them, all the times he’d called them a burden, a hassle. He’d acted like MC was just some human getting in the way of his plans, but the truth was that they had become more important to him than he’d realized.

He didn’t show it—he didn’t know how—but they mattered to him. They made him feel different, like he wasn’t just the "Great Mammon," the greedy demon who was always causing trouble. When MC looked at him, it felt like they saw something more, something better. And now? They were gone because of him.

Mammon kicked his legs out in frustration, his shoes thudding against the floor. How could he have been so stupid? Why did he always have to mess things up? He had the chance to make MC feel welcome, to make them feel like they belonged here, and he blew it.

And Diavolo’s words kept ringing in his ears. You failed them.

"Yeah, I know!" Mammon snapped at the empty room, his voice harsh with guilt. "I know I screwed up! I get it!"

He sat up suddenly, running his hands down his face in frustration. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be their protector, their guardian. They were his pact holder, he was their first. He was supposed to look out for them, not drive them away. He hated that feeling—the helplessness that came with realizing he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t just throw money at it or charm his way out like he usually did.

MC was gone, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Mammon stood up, pacing his room. His mind raced, thinking of what he could’ve said or done differently. Maybe if he’d just told them how he really felt, if he’d stopped pushing them away and acting like they were a bother… Maybe they wouldn’t have left.

"I should’ve been better," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I should’ve told ‘em… I should’ve made ‘em feel like they mattered."

But he hadn’t. And now he was stuck with the gnawing regret that he might never see MC again. They were back in the human world, and they’d never want to come back to the Devildom, especially not after how he and the others had treated them.

He was the Great Mammon, sure. But what good was that title if he couldn’t even keep the one person who actually made him feel like he was more than just his sin?

With a choked sob, Mammon collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as the tears began to fall.

He’d failed them. There was no getting around that. And the worst part? He’d never get the chance to make it right.

Leviathan

Leviathan sat in front of his monitors, eyes staring blankly at the paused screen of his latest game. His headphones sat around his neck, the usual buzz of online matches long forgotten. The quiet of his room wasn’t the kind he liked. It wasn’t peaceful or calming. It was suffocating.

MC was gone. Back to the human world. They had left without saying anything, without a word, without… him knowing. He hadn’t even noticed they were gone until the others started talking about it. And now that they weren’t here, the reality of the situation was starting to sink in.

Levi chewed on his thumbnail, anxiety swirling in his gut like an endless whirlpool. How could he have missed it? How could he not have seen what was happening right under his nose? His stomach churned with guilt as he thought about the way he’d treated MC since the moment they arrived.

Normie.

That was what he called them. Over and over again. He’d pushed them away, called them a nuisance, acted like they didn’t belong. He had no idea if they liked anime or games, but instead of giving them a chance to show they could understand his world, he had shut them out before they could even try. Why? Because they weren’t like him. Because they weren’t part of his world. Because it was easier to call them a "normie" and keep them at arm’s length than it was to let someone else get close.

Levi groaned, burying his face in his hands. He hated himself. Why did he always do this? Why did he always ruin things before they had a chance to be good? He had been scared—scared that MC would judge him like everyone else did, scared that they would see how awkward, how pathetic he really was. So he kept them away, treated them like some kind of animal when really… he had wanted them to be a part of his life.

They had tried. He could see it now, in hindsight. MC had tried to talk to him, had tried to get to know him, had actually listened to him when he'd rant. And what had he done? He’d dismissed them. Pushed them away. Called them human or normie—never their name—as if that was the only thing they could be.

He swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at his insides. If only he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own insecurities, maybe things would have been different. Maybe MC wouldn’t have left.

But they did.

Levi curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest as the realization settled in. They were gone, and it was his fault. His fault for being too afraid to let them in, too scared to admit that maybe he wanted them around more than he’d ever let on. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed them until now, until the space they used to occupy in the house, in his life, felt empty.

And Diavolo’s words kept ringing in his ears. You failed them.

"Of course I did," Levi muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. "I always fail."

He had failed to be a good brother, failed to be a friend, and now, he had failed MC.

"They must think I hate them," Levi whispered, his chest tightening painfully. "They probably think I never wanted them around." His voice cracked, and he quickly wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but it didn’t stop the tears that threatened to fall.

Because that wasn’t true. It had never been true.

Levi wanted them around—he had liked having them around. But how could they have known that when all he ever did was push them away, call them a normie, and act like they didn’t matter? He had been too caught up in his own head, too worried about them seeing the worst parts of him, to let them see the good.

Now they were back in the human world, far away from him, and he had no idea if they would ever come back. And if they did, why would they want to come back to him? The shut-in otaku who made them feel like they didn’t belong?

"Stupid," he muttered angrily, wiping his eyes again. "I’m so stupid…"

He stood up suddenly, pacing the room, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. What if MC never came back? What if they decided to stay in the human world forever, away from all the pain and rejection the Devildom had offered them?

Levi’s heart pounded in his chest, panic rising as the what-ifs piled up in his mind. They were gone. And he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to tell them the truth, that he wanted them here, that he—needed them here.

But now it was too late.

With a deep, shaky breath, Levi sank into his tub, curling up again as his anxiety wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket.

It was always too late for him.

Satan

Satan sat in the library, the silence around him sharp and oppressive. The book in his hands remained unopened, his mind too preoccupied to focus on anything but the gnawing feeling of guilt twisting in his chest. MC had left. Gone back to the human world without so much as a word, without waiting for anything to change.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched tightly as Diavolo’s admonishment replayed in his head. You failed them. The words stung more than he expected, not because they were untrue, but because they were painfully accurate. He had failed them. They all had. And now the damage was done.

Satan wasn’t like Lucifer. He didn’t thrive on control or perfection, but failure still left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially when it was something that could have been prevented. He prided himself on understanding things—on reading people, situations, emotions. And yet, somehow, he had missed what was right in front of him.

I barely even acknowledged them, he thought bitterly, eyes narrowing as the realization sank deeper. When MC first arrived, they were just another part of the exchange program—an obligation. Someone he was forced to tolerate. He had never thought of them as more than that.

They had tried to speak to him on several occasions, asking questions, trying to understand the world around them. He had dismissed them each time. Not out of cruelty, but out of indifference. There were always more important things to focus on, more pressing matters in his mind. Books to read, knowledge to gather. What did it matter if a fragile human was feeling out of place? He’d barely given them a second thought, and now that they were gone, that indifference was coming back to haunt him.

Satan drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. He wasn’t angry at MC—not at all. He was angry at himself. He should have seen it. He should have recognized the signs. But instead, he’d brushed them off, barely looking up from his books when they entered the room. It was no wonder they had felt invisible. To him, they had been.

"How could I have been so blind?" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the edges of his book.

His dismissive attitude had hurt them, but it wasn’t just the indifference—it was the frustration. The few times he had acknowledged MC, it had been with impatience. He’d grown annoyed when they asked questions, irritated when they didn’t immediately grasp the complex information he threw at them. He had expected too much from them. Expected them to just understand a world they’d only just entered.

I was unfair.

The admission grated on him, but it was the truth. He hadn’t given them the time or attention they needed. He had treated them like a distraction, like an inconvenience. And for what? Because they weren’t like him? Because they didn’t understand things as quickly as he wanted them to?

It was absurd. It was… disappointing. In himself.

Satan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his temples, trying to keep the anger in check. His temper was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of anger he could lash out at. It wasn’t something he could destroy or control. This was guilt—a slow, burning guilt that twisted in his gut and left him feeling powerless.

I failed them, he thought again, the words echoing in his mind like a relentless chant.

They had left because of him. Because of the way he treated them, the way he ignored their presence. The diary had made it clear—MC felt like they didn’t belong, like they were a burden. And he had done nothing to change that.

He had let them slip away. And now they were back in the human world, far beyond his reach.

Satan stood up abruptly, pacing the library with sharp, determined steps. He hated this feeling—this powerlessness. He wasn’t like Lucifer, obsessed with perfection, but he wasn’t one to accept failure either. Yet here he was, unable to fix the mess he had helped create.

He stopped in front of a bookshelf, his hand hovering over the spines of the books. Usually, the smell of old pages and the promise of knowledge would calm him, would ground him. But now? It just felt hollow.

Books couldn’t solve this.

Knowledge couldn’t solve this.

For once, all the intellect in the world meant nothing. He had failed MC not because he lacked understanding, but because he hadn’t cared enough to try.

He closed his eyes, frustration boiling in his chest. "I should’ve done better," he whispered, his voice low and filled with regret. "I should’ve listened."

But it was too late. They were gone. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

For someone who prided himself on knowing so much, Satan realized now that he had understood so little. And that knowledge—more than anything else—cut deeper than any reprimand Diavolo could have given him.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus sat in front of his vanity, staring at his reflection. Normally, he would be admiring the flawless way his skin glowed, the way his hair framed his face perfectly, or how his latest outfit highlighted every one of his best features. But today, the usual spark wasn’t there.

MC was gone. They had left the Devildom and returned to the human world, and they hadn’t even said goodbye.

Asmo frowned, twisting a lock of hair around his finger as he glanced down at the collection of beauty products scattered across his vanity. How could they have left like that? Without saying anything to him? No farewell? No goodbye hug? They had just… disappeared.

And they didn’t even tell me?

That part stung. He was Asmodeus, after all. Everyone loved him. Why wouldn’t they want to talk to him, to tell him what was going on in their head before leaving? It wasn’t like he had been mean to them—he’d been nothing but fabulous! He’d complimented them, given them fashion tips, even helped them choose outfits when they were looking drab.

He huffed and crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back to the mirror. "I don’t understand," he murmured to himself, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails. "They could’ve at least told me if something was wrong."

But as he thought about it, something uncomfortable started to settle in his chest. He hadn’t exactly treated MC like someone who mattered, had he? They were just the new human, someone for him to toy with, to dress up like a doll, to show off. He had treated them more like an accessory than a person. Every compliment he gave was followed by a backhanded comment about how they could do better, how they could look more fabulous. He had made everything about their appearance—about how they looked, what they wore—without ever thinking about what they wanted, how they felt.

And that diary entry… the one about him.

“Asmo’s always commenting on how I look. I know it’s not personal, but it feels like all I am to him is an object. A pretty thing to dress up, but never good enough to really matter.”

Asmo’s heart clenched uncomfortably as those words echoed in his mind. They hadn’t been meant for him to read, but now that he had, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. MC thought they didn’t matter. That they weren’t enough for him.

That wasn’t true! He had thought they were cute from the start. Sure, they had a long way to go in terms of style and confidence, but he had liked being around them. In his own way, he had enjoyed their presence. He just… never said it. Never showed it beyond superficial praise.

Had he really made them feel like that? Like they were just some toy to be discarded when something more interesting came along?

He bit his lip, eyes dropping from the mirror. "I didn’t mean to make them feel that way," he whispered, a strange knot of guilt tightening in his chest. "I just wanted them to look their best, to be their best."

But that wasn’t really the point, was it? MC hadn’t needed someone to tell them how to dress or how to look. They had needed someone to tell them they belonged, someone to make them feel like they were important beyond appearances.

Asmo sighed, sitting back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. He hated this feeling—this heavy, nagging sense of regret. It wasn’t like him. He was Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust, the most beautiful being in the Devildom. People flocked to him for advice, for attention. Everyone loved him. So why did it matter so much that one human didn’t?

Because it wasn’t just any human. It was MC.

They had trusted him. They had spent time with him, laughed at his jokes, let him play with their hair and help them pick outfits. And what had he done? He’d brushed them off like they were just another pretty face, like they weren’t worth getting to know beyond the surface.

And now they were gone. And it was his fault.

Asmo twirled a ring on his finger absentmindedly, the usual sparkle of his jewelry doing nothing to lift his mood. "They probably think I never cared about them," he muttered, his voice soft. "And maybe I didn’t… at least, not the way they needed me to."

He hated admitting it, but it was true. He had cared more about how they looked than how they felt. He had been so focused on making them into something he could be proud of that he hadn’t stopped to think about what they needed.

And now they were back in the human world, thinking they were never good enough for him. Thinking they didn’t matter.

For the first time in a long time, Asmo wasn’t thinking about himself. He wasn’t thinking about how he looked or what outfit he’d wear tomorrow. He was thinking about MC—about how he had hurt them without even realizing it. And that guilt, that realization, clung to him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the vanity and burying his face in his hands.

But it was too late now. MC was gone. And all the beauty in the world couldn’t change that.

Beelzebub

Beel sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. His usual appetite was gone, a strange hollowness taking its place. The silence felt heavier than usual, and for the first time in a long while, food couldn’t fill the emptiness inside him.

MC was gone. They had returned to the human world. And he hadn't even cared that they had disappeared.

He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing as the thought settled in. He hadn’t paid much attention to them, hadn’t really thought about them as anything more than a human—something fragile, something that he wasn’t supposed to eat. They were just there, part of the exchange program, someone to tolerate but not worth focusing on.

Beel sighed, glancing at the uneaten food on his plate. It didn’t make sense to him. Why did it feel like something was missing now that they were gone? He hadn’t been particularly close to them. He’d never really taken much interest in what they did or said. They were just… human. And humans were something he didn’t think about much, aside from the occasional urge to eat one. But even that wasn’t really a problem. He knew better.

But still, the fact that they were gone—it didn’t sit right with him.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he thought back to the few interactions they’d had. Whenever he saw them, he’d mostly been focused on food. Sometimes he’d make offhand comments about how they smelled different, or how they might taste good, but that was just the hunger talking. He didn’t mean it personally. He had never meant to make them feel uncomfortable.

But maybe he had.

“Beel doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s so focused on his hunger that I don’t think he even notices when I’m around. When he does, it’s just another reminder that I don’t really belong here.”

He frowned, the knot in his stomach tightening. They were right. He hadn’t cared one way or the other. To him, they were just another face in the Devildom, another human who wasn’t supposed to be eaten. He’d never gone out of his way to talk to them or get to know them.

He hadn’t thought they mattered.

But maybe they did.

Beel sighed again, his large hands resting on the table as he stared at his empty plate. He hadn’t done anything to make them feel welcome, hadn’t shown any interest in them beyond his usual blunt, hunger-driven remarks. To him, MC had just been part of the background, something he didn’t need to think about.

But now they were gone. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that maybe he had missed something important.

He had seen how the others treated MC—the teasing from Mammon, the indifference from Satan, the distance from Levi. He had heard the way Lucifer demanded more from them, how Asmo insulted them under the guise of advice. Beel hadn’t said much, hadn’t gotten involved, but he hadn’t done anything to stop it either. And now that he thought about it, that made him just as guilty as the rest of them.

"They must’ve felt so alone," Beel muttered to himself, his brow furrowing. "And I didn’t do anything to help."

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much now. Maybe it was because MC had been part of their lives for a while, and now that they were gone, there was a strange emptiness where they used to be. He hadn’t realized how much he had gotten used to seeing them around, hearing their voice, watching them navigate the chaos of the House of Lamentation.

But now that they were gone, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

Beel stood up, pacing the room slowly. He wasn’t like Lucifer or Satan, always thinking things through, always analyzing the situation. He didn’t think too deeply about the people around him most of the time. But now? Now he wished he had paid more attention. Maybe if he had, MC wouldn’t have felt so isolated, so invisible.

"They were more than just a human," he muttered, a pang of guilt hitting him. "But I never treated them like they were."

He hadn’t thought they mattered, and that was his biggest mistake. MC had been a part of their world, even if they were human. They had been right there, trying to find their place, and Beel had done nothing. He hadn’t meant to hurt them, hadn’t meant to make them feel like they didn’t belong—but his indifference had done that anyway.

And now, it was too late.

Beel stopped pacing, leaning against the wall and staring down at the floor. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling. It wasn’t like hunger—he couldn’t just eat something and make it go away. This was different. It was guilt, and it was heavy.

"I should’ve cared more," he whispered, his voice quiet in the empty room. "I should’ve made sure they knew they were welcome."

But they hadn’t known. And now they were back in the human world, far away from all of them.

Beel clenched his fists, frustration welling up inside him. He hated that they had left feeling like they didn’t matter. He hated that he hadn’t done anything to make them stay.

But what could he do now?

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WOLF BOY

when ao3 goes down, we write tumblr fic... now on ao3 HERE lol

i used the 15/11/24 @sterekdrabbles challenge for this. the prompt words were GREEN, REACH and SCATTER. i'm also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as it's around 1K words and therefore definitely a drabble gone long lol.

it's a spark!stiles slash derek whump sort of affair, just so you know what you're reading xp

.

The dagger is almost within his reach—so very nearly grabbable.

Other than being eight years old in a hospital room with the smell of rotting flowers clinging to the back of his throat, Stiles doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than this.

Again, Derek hacks out, “Just run, Stiles!”

Again, Stiles answers no—only this time, it's not with his voice but a yellow-green vine of pure light that extends from his fingertips as he pleads with each beat of his heart for the universe to help him, the tendrils stretching, stretching, then victoriously winding themselves around the handle of the blade. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, now with his actual voice, and then the vine of his will is pulling the knife flush into his grip. 

He looks up at the hunter, their face a billboard of surprise, before a shriek rips itself from her belly at the very same time Derek roars from where he's tethered and bound, the wolfsbane-laced chains melting further into his flesh as he tries in vain to once again break free.

Then the evil bastard is flinging herself at Stiles—and straight into the dagger aimed at her solar plexus that his light sends sailing across the cave, plunging it deep into her breast.

It might not be bullseye, but it does the trick.

As she drops to the dusty ground like a discarded ragdoll, the other two hunters' heads snap like whiplash to where Stiles is sprawled, a look of pure terror marring their faces.

The cowardly fuckers drop their weapons and scatter, leaving Stiles and Derek alone—other than the dead woman at their feet—in the large cave they'd dragged Derek into a few hours ago.

Derek's wrung out, and beaten down, but alive. 

At once, Stiles scrambles to his feet to get over to where the ʼwolf is chained up, almost falling back down again when his probably sprained ankle gives way beneath him. 

“Stop fucking hurting yourself,” Derek hisses, and for once in Stiles's insane life he wishes he could gnash his teeth and roar in response, and it have an effect that would be anything other than ridiculous. 

“Oh my god,” he protests instead. “I've just saved your offensively pretty ass with my new spark's apparently awesome Gio-Ju-ju, a-hole, so how ʼbout we be a little less sourwolf and a lot more gratefulwolf to ol’Stilesy boy here, hmm?” he sasses, finding the key to the padlock that's bolted to Derek's chains on the flat rock where his flashlight got dropped when confiscated by one of the hunters. 

Stiles feels petulant, and justified in that petulance as he discards the now unlocked padlock. Then he feels a little wrong-footed when Derek quietly mumbles, “Thank you,” because the guy sounds both in a considerable amount of pain and genuinely grateful to Stiles.

Stiles sighs and kneels down to start prizing the chains away from Derek's red-raw, still-smoking skin, the ʼwolf's forever-stoic face giving away nothing of the hurt he's obviously suffering at the cruel hands of the aconite still desperately trying to seep its way into his body.

“You don't have to do that for me, you know,” Stiles says carefully, hinting at Derek's display of endurance.

Derek's eyes flicker from mid-space to Stiles's face, and Stiles suddenly notices that their heads are actually dizzyingly close.

He swallows, and the sound of it echoes around the cave as if mocking him. 

The second he peels away the last link in the chain attached to Derek's skin, and before Derek can push him away, Stiles brings a hand to Derek's throat to feel for his pulse. 

When determined fingers find it, Derek's face does a thing that Stiles hasn't seen it do before; it's this combination of incredulous and vulnerable, and is so unprecedented, and so beautiful, that Stiles sort of wants to cry about it. 

“You can hear mine,” he superfluously reminds Derek, before saying what he really wants to. “It's not fair I don't get to know—that you're alive, I mean. Like, I know I can see it but… The tactile reassurance? That's, uh, you know, kind of nice, too.” 

Man, he spends way too much time with werewolves. 

Then, when he licks at his dry lips and Derek's pulse quickens under his fingertips, Stiles is so much more than simply placated.

Taking a steadying breath, he feels a million trillion miles away from anything even remotely resembling steady.

He studies Derek's face some more for confirmation of his suspicion, and finds something akin to bashful swimming amid the swirls of those gorgeous seafoam eyes.

Derek likes him back?

Stiles sinks his teeth into his bottom lip; Derek's pulse starts to race. 

Amazingly, it seems Stiles isn't alone in the want he feels deep in his gut, and as it grows and spreads to his extremities, his fingers and toes now tingling with it, he reckons he's maybe beaten-up and bleeding out and half-braindead enough to have the balls to actually do something about it. 

It must be biological, he thinks as he licks at his lips again, that his body somehow knows exactly what to do to hopefully get Derek to do exactly what Stiles wants him to—lick Stiles' lips for him, that is—without him making an actual fully-formed decision on the matter.

Although as soon as he's thinking that, the decision to kiss Derek is unequivocally made—even if it's going to get him shoved into the dirt for trying. 

He's about to lean in when one of Derek's already beginning-to-heal hands stops him by bracing his shoulder. 

“I can smell your pain, Stiles,” he says. “Let me help.”

Stiles tries not to smile as he lies through his teeth. “Hurts here, the most,” he murmurs, touching two fingers from the hand not at Derek's pulse to his bruised, bloody lips. He then curls the other hand further around the werewolf's neck, to hold on.

Derek starts to pant, and Stiles has to hold in a whine.

The werewolf sounds absolutely wrecked when he asks, “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me by wrapping your hand around my throat?”

Stiles's smile then brakes free and is wry as his wit as he answers, “I've been working hard to find out how to woo you for months now, big guy. What do you think?”

And when Derek lunges to crush Stiles's mouth with his own, teasing Stiles' lips apart with his hot, hot tongue and nipping at them with blunted canines, Stiles reckons he knows what it must feel like to howl. 

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about how Charles failed to help Wade and literally went brain dead because of how much chaos is going on in there, one of if not the strongest brains, completely destroyed by how much shit is in there but... There's no charles in Finding Home Au because this universes Charles went out with Logan.

But what if Jean gave him a crack? Jean likes a good challenge and Wade cant keep a therapist to save his life. And Jean owes Logan one sooo....

Why not?

"A-are you sure? Jean you can't-" he glances over to wade across the room. "You can't go in there."

"Ive been in yours."

Logan scoffs. "You think MY head is messy? You don't understand, I've seen his phyc evaluations. One of the testers is in a phycward right now." He whispers through grit teeth, not wanting to bad mouth his husband but...it was the truth. It was a shit show in there. But it was Wade's show none the less.

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. I won't."

With a quick twitch of his nose, Logan glares. "You're lying."

"Yeah. Well what are you going to do about it? Hey Wade? Can you come with me for a second?"

Logan swallows as he watches him jog over, eager to help in what ever way he can. He bit his tounge with his canines. Where's Kurt? He needs a prayer done. For the both of them. In all honesty he wasn't sure which one needed it more.

Within 15 minutes, As logans pacing the hall infront of her door, She happily opens it up.

"Sooooo one.. You are so right. It's a mess in there."

"I told you not to look, red!!"

"It was just a peak! Anyway- I rearranged a few things anndd Tada!"

Rushing into the room, he's worried of what she's done to him. He expected smoothbob from that one episode when SpongeBob lost his personality and became boring, but instead, Sitting on the edge of her bed, there he was.

Tears were running down his face as he played with a rubrix cube, the cube wet from tears as he stared off into space, thick black headphones over his ears. His eyes flickered back and forth, his hands busy.

"..Wade?? Jean!" He scolds her, worried.

Giggling a bit, She pats his shoulder. "Oohh calm down tiger. He's fine. He's just.... Silent."

He glares. "What are you ta-"

"Bilateral 8th dimention audio stimulation." She smiles. "Aka- Science!"

"Why is he crying? Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all. I told you, It's silent."

"You..."

"Mhm."

"I-.. How did you get rid of them? We've tried so much medication! Nothing works because of his healing factor. You're telling me this whole time he just needed music therapy?"

"Welllll and for me to plug a few serotonin receptors, but yeah. Practically the same thing.. besides.. I didn't get rid of them. They're just quiet... for now."

Logans' smile fades. "Oh.."

"But hey, At least we found something, right? So if it gets too bad, you can always shut him-"

Logans brow raised.

"Them- Up. Just for a song or two." She mutters, glancing to her phone. "He's in the middle of Pentatonix right now. If you bring him by every week or so, I can maybe dig through that trash heap and patch up some more chemical imbalances." She mutters, putting a hand to her chin. "Not sure if it would stay though, so if his head gets chopped off or something, I'll have to do it all over agai-"

Before she could finish, Logan interrupted. "So he's... relieved?"

"Yes." She smiles.

"Without pain??"

"The most I could spare."

He hugs her tight. "Thanks, Jeanie! You're amazing!!" She blushes, having not been hugged by Logan since.. well.. since before he died. It was awkward, but.. warmer. Then she remembered.

When he pulls away, she watches he rushes over, sitting next to him, but Wade doesn't respond. He glances back. "What did you tell him by the way?"

"Oh, yeah hold on." Right as this song ended, She turned off the headphones, making him blink and look up, confused. Wiping his tears he glanced at the unfinished cube and then to Logan as if he wasn't even aware he was there.

"I-... Why am I crying? Uhm.. I didn't finish it.. It's still... messed up." He says as slowly the noise in his head starts again.

"Oh, that's alright. You can finish it next time. You did very well for your first time." She tells him, giving him that motherly smile, the large belly just adding to the feeling of praise.

"Oh.. uhm.." he swallows, smiling awkwardly. "Okay. Do.. do you need help with anything else?"

She thinks for a second. "I mean.. it would be really nice if you tied my shoes. I uhm... I can't reach. For obvious reasons."

"Because you're a planet?"

"Pregnant!" She snaps. "T-there's a difference.. but yes."

It's Logan who ties her shoes, Wade handing back her unsolved cube, unaware of what had just happened. He had an idea, but he wasn't 100% sure. For all he knew and how she praised him, they could have totally just done an epic sex thing, and he didn't remember what so ever.

Taking Logan's arm he felt... relaxed. Still baffled but they weren't as loud anymore. Talking in his head instead of screaming bloody murder (which some were demanding). "That was... weird. Did I just get mind fucked? GASSPP Loagie you let her mind fuck me!?"

"Eehh kind of. Come on bub. We going headphone shopping."

"Oooh I must have done really well then if Im getting treats!"

Standing at the door, She smiles as they leave. Seeing such a big toothy grin on the both of them was so different. And yet? It felt good. Nice to see him so happy. So deeply devote to someone... and.. if she wasn't mistaken.. she had seen a thought or two of discount engagement rings in that messy little head of his, though just looking for a split second, a glimpse, gave her a massive headache...

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Hope, somewhere

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, August 2024 edition

Prompt: plug, 437 words

Rated: G

Tags: Future fic; Post Vecna; Everybody lives; Single dad Steve; Rock star Eddie; Exes Steddie; Reunions; Second chances; Hopeful ending

Steve shouldn't have come.

He tried to refuse. The concert would run way too late, on a weekday, and couldn't they just see the Backstreet Boys?

Leah rolled her eyes, the image of himself at fifteen, brandishing the tickets she won. “Live and unplugged, Dad. With a meet and greet after. He's one of the greatest musicians of our time, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dad, please, we have to!”

*

It'll be fine, Steve thinks, standing in the front row with his quivering daughter. The meet and greet will take five minutes at most, and he looks nothing like he used to. He is closer to forty than to thirty. His hair isn't anywhere near as full. He has grown softer around the middle, and his glasses have become a permanent feature. There's years between the boys they once were. Years and miles and dozens of lovers, for one of them at least. It'll be fine.

And then the lights dim and the crowd explodes. Eddie walks onto the stage, looking just as beautiful as eighteen years ago. Their gazes lock. Those dark eyes go wide. And suddenly the years and miles drop away and it's just the two of them in the room.

“Hey, Indie,” Eddie says into the microphone, unslinging his acoustic from his back. His voice carries all across the hall. His eyes never leave Steve’s. “Good to see you. This is one I've been saving for a special occasion.”

His fingers find the strings and he sings. And Steve is nineteen once more and nothing will ever be fine again.

*

“Where's the other five?”

Steve blinks. The hall is empty. They're standing by the side of the stage, watching an ecstatic Leah strum away on Eddie’s guitar.

“Huh?”

Eddie grins, lopsided and dimpled. Devastatingly familiar.

“Nuggets. You wanted six.”

Steve sighs, watching his daughter fumble a chord and scowl.

“Only her. We tried for a sibling, briefly, but- ... Just as well, probably.”

Eddie fiddles with his hair. “So her mom … You're not-?”

Steve shakes his head. “Broke up when Leah was three. It's hard with people who aren't- ... who weren't there.”

Eddie hums and they lapse into silence.

“I liked the song,” Steve says at length. “The new one? It was so raw, so full of regret, but the way you sang it? I dunno, there was hope there, somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “Been waiting for the right opportunity to sing it for a long time.”

They part with a million unspoken words between them, but tucked into Steve’s pocket is a number. A number, and hope.

[callsign-rogueone]

keep her safe - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader  This one is for my fellow tired, chronic pain girls who just want their suffering to serve some purpose, and those who trust everyone they meet, even if they shouldn’t. wc: 4.7k -- the longest work I've ever put on this blog! second chapter is here! 🏷: spoilers for both Fourth Wing books (I’m currently 500 pages into Iron Flame, and y’all... 😭) people refer to you with she/her pronouns, canon-typical violence and torture, mentions of canon character death / death of a family member, bad coping mechanisms, Dain and his memory reading (I tried to make him more tolerable), one (1) reference to sex, I gave you a last name (Avan) and Garrick calls you angel as a pet name, because I refuse to use y/n. Your dragon's name is Tab.

Your stomach drops as your name is called for a challenge. “No weapons today.” Emeterrio adds. “I want you to work on your hand-to-hand.”

The pair of you unsheath nearly a dozen knives apiece, you handing yours to Bodhi. Disarmed, you extend a hand to the boy, as is the Tyrrish tradition before a friendly spar, but he doesn’t take it. No unmarked ones ever have.

He charges first, tangles a hand in your hair and pulls, jerking your head back, and the crowd of freshmen gasp, but you plant your feet and move with him, twisting your spine with practiced ease.

That gives you enough distance to kick a leg out at his right knee, hitting him squarely in the back of it. He releases you. Another swift kick to his legs has them sweeping out from under him. You dig a thumb into his collarbone, finding just the right spot, and he crumples, giving you a split second to wrap your arm around his throat.

He claws at your elbow with blunt nails, wasting breath as he attempts to rise to his feet, but you keep him pinned with your body weight, bearing down as hard as you can. He bucks, and your left boot skids against the mat. 

You bend your knee to brace yourself in a lunge. Your arm is starting to falter, he can feel the muscle straining around his jaw, but he’s tiring too — running out of air. If neither of you moves, he’s going to die.

“Enough,” Emeterrio commands.

You release him, extending a hand to pull him up, but he smacks it away and dives straight at you, clearly not done. “I’m not letting you off that easily, traitor.” 

You squeak in surprise, your back hitting the mat with a thud, and he lands another blow to your jaw. You struggle to take control back, gasping for breath from how hard you’d hit the floor.

He gathers your wrists into one hand easily, the other closing around your throat.

“You are going to die on this mat if you don’t do something, now. Use the failsafe.” 

There’s one dagger you hadn’t removed, that you’d won from Garrick in combat your first year, that he’d let you win, really, and promptly ordered that you never remove it from your reach, for situations like this.

He doesn’t have your legs pinned, so you kick out, catching him in the thigh, and his grip falters. You manage to wiggle one arm free to pull the blade from the inside of your jacket, rolling onto your side and holding the point millimeters away from his chest. “Yield,” you order, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You won’t kill me,” He snarls. “Everyone knows you’re all bark and no bite. That’s why you keep him around.”

You drag it down, just enough to tear his shirt. “Yield, or you’ll meet Malek today and you can explain to him what a cheating coward you are.” The words surprise you, but you fight to maintain the hardened look on your face, trying to convince him you’re serious. 

“Fine,” he spits, “I yield.”

Heart still pounding, you move to lean against the wall with the other marked ones, Bodhi handing you back your arsenal blade by blade. 

“She cheated!” Jason protests as soon as he’s standing again.

“She did what was necessary after you defied a direct order from a superior officer,” Emeterrio says narrowly.

Jason glowers, but returns to his friends without further argument. The rest of the pack takes note of their faces; they’re likely as conniving as him, and as liable to try to kill you, too.

“I’m gonna end that motherfucker,” Garrick mutters, checking you over for injuries as subtly as he can. He hands you a scrap of cloth and you wipe the blood from your nose, wincing, but grateful it isn’t broken.

“He’s been at this for months. One of these days, he’s going to kill you.” Bodhi says quietly, his gaze not moving from the next sparring pair.

“Why not kill him first?” Imogen asks. “You had a knife to his gut, you should have used it.”

“No.” You say firmly. “To kill anyone unmarked, especially an officer’s son, would confirm what everyone else in this army believes about Tyrs; that we are bloodthirsty animals.”

“Let them believe that,” she scoffs. “They’ll never change their mind.”

You sigh. Maybe she’s right.

You don’t see your friends for the next ten hours, when you’re finally excused for dinner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bodhi asks. 

“Medical wing,” you rasp, sliding into a seat at the end of the bench. “Mending infantry with Carr.” 

“You should eat,” Liam says softly, pushing a plate toward you, but you shake your head no, every muscle in your body screaming. 

You look like your head is going to hit the table, your neck no longer able to hold it up. Bodhi pulls you into his side and you slump against him, boneless. “Her signet isn’t fully developed yet,” you hear him explain to Violet and Liam. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to rest.”

When you wake, it’s dark out, the room nearly pitch black, but you can tell it’s not yours — the furniture is arranged differently.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, gentle one,” Tab greets as soon as you’re cognizant. He can only be this dry about it because he knew you’d pull through. “If he makes you do that again, I’ll eat him.”

You laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. Your entire body aches. There’s no way you got up the three flights of stairs here yourself — you didn’t even have it in you to chew food at dinner.

There’s a comforting scent to the room — all the soap and detergent everyone uses is standard issue, but something about the sheets smells like Garrick. Your theory is confirmed when he walks through the door, the hallway light illuminating the hilts of the two swords strapped to his back. “If you want me in your bed, Gare, you just need to ask,” you say in greeting.

He laughs dryly, waving a hand to activate a small mage light. “The damage can’t be too bad if you’re already cracking jokes.”

“I missed physics, didn’t I? Did you carry me up here?”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about. You can copy Violet’s notes, they’re way better than mine.” He strips some of the weapons off, shedding his flight jacket along with them. It’s something you’ve seen many times before, but it never fails to make your heart flutter.

He sits on the edge of the bed, a gentle hand moving up to lay against your cheek. “And I did carry you. I’d do anything for you, angel. It scares me sometimes.”

He brushes a piece of hair from your face. You’d been freezing cold when you fell asleep, so he’d draped you with every blanket he owned before leaving, and it seems to have worked — your skin is pleasantly warm against his hand.

“Anything, hm?” You ask, a lazy smile on your face. 

His eyes sparkle at the mischief in your tone, but he’s responsible enough to think before he acts. “Not until you’ve recovered,” he says sternly. 

You yawn. “D’you have section leader stuff to do tonight?”

“That’s what executive officers are for.”

You crack an eye to look at him in disapproval. “Gare, you can’t skip duty. Melgren will have your head.”

He sighs. “Fine. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t. Your bed is more comfortable than mine anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging the jacket back on and strapping in the swords.

/////////

Someone is standing in front of your yoga mat. Dain. “No bodyguard today?” He asks.

You’re silent, your gaze flickering between him and the longsword by your side, the one Garrick had insisted you take with you everywhere when he wasn’t there to protect you.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t want to kill you.” He says with a sigh. “I just need to-”

“Quit talking and join me, or leave.” You interrupt, settling into a deeper stretch, eyes closing as you gesture to the floor next to you with an open hand. By the grace of Amari, Carr had given you enough time off to recover, but he’ll likely be making you work another shift in the infirmary today. This will be your only pocket of calm for the next twelve hours. You aren’t going to skip it for Dain, of all people.

He chooses the first option, surprising you as he drags a mat over beside yours, attempting to copy your movements. “Do you really do this every day?” He asks, uncomfortable.

“Even a soldier must take time to be at peace. Clear your mind. Whatever you’re thinking about is so loud it’s distracting.”

He startles, his foot slipping on the mat.

“No, my signet is not mind-reading.” You say, eyes still closed, though there’s an amused look on your face. “Relax. You’re killing the air in here with that nervous energy.”

For the next five minutes, you both stretch in total silence. “Now,” you decide, bringing your arms back to your body, focusing on your breathing, “what was so important that you needed to find me here?”

He cuts straight to it. “Varrish wants me to… practice on you. He thinks you’re hiding something, that all of you are.” He doesn’t need to specify who he means by you. 

You don’t seem to react to the information, instead looking at him with curiosity. “How do you feel about your signet?” 

He blinks. Nobody’s ever asked him that before. “I don’t know.” He says quietly. You shift again, but he doesn’t follow you, folding his legs underneath him instead. Your silence presses him to speak, needing to fill the air. “I used to think it was cool, but now… now I’m wondering if it’s really a gift at all.”

“What do you see when you view a memory like that? Are you living it through their eyes, or from above, watching it unfold? How far back can you see?”

“Through their eyes.” He answers, throat dry. Why is he telling you this? “A day, maybe two. It depends. Varrish wants me to learn to push it farther.”

You weigh the consequences. If he’s being honest, he won’t see anything confidential — at worst, a gathering of more than three marked ones to exercise, but is he really petty enough to tell Varrish about that, when he’s giving you a warning in the first place?

“Okay.” You say, opening your eyes. Better it be you than one of the kids who can’t shield their memories yet, or Garrick or Bodhi, who would rip him limb from limb if he tried to touch them.

“What?”

“I’m going to go about my day now as if this conversation never happened,” you say, looking him in the eye, unflinching, “and you’re going to do what you have to do to satisfy Varrish’s demands — with me and only me. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he stammers, shocked that you’re letting him do this.

“Good.” You pick up the longsword, strapping it back in along your spine. “Dain?” You call over your shoulder. “I won’t make it easy for you.” You say, and he knows that’s a promise.

“That was an incredibly stupid decision, gentle one. A noble decision, but stupid nonetheless.” Tab speaks into your mind on the way back up to your room. “You cannot always assume everyone has good intentions. It would have been your downfall by now, if not for your mate’s protection.”

“Stop calling Garrick my mate. That’s weird.” You deflect, not wanting to unpack his earlier words.

“Forgive me. Dragons do not have a word for a relationship as trivial as a boyfriend.”

You build up a mental wall like Xaden had taught you, ending the argument. 

When Varrish calls you into his office that afternoon, you already know what it’s for. “Take a seat,” he says with a smile that you know isn’t meant to be friendly.

He sees the way your eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Dain — everyone knows how the quadrant’s golden boy feels about marked ones, and how you feel about him. You’re going to be doing some very good acting today.

The door closes and locks behind you, and your stomach flips as you feel the sound shield form and press up against the office walls. There’s no escape, and no screaming for help, but you know what you’ve walked into. You signed up for it this morning.

“To what do I owe this meeting, Major?” You ask respectfully, lowering yourself into the chair beside Dain.

“Professor Carr has made me aware that both of your signets have been slow to develop. We’re going to spend your leisure time today practicing, in hopes that you will finally improve.” A very convincing lie, you’ll admit. If Dain hadn’t come to you this morning, you might have believed it. “No objections?” He asks, waiting for you to protest.

“No, sir.” You say calmly, Dain answering the same a beat behind you.

“Good. Aetos, you first.”

It takes every ounce of self control not to squirm as Dain stands, stepping toward you. You lift your chin, closing your eyes -- a gesture of consent small enough to fly under the Vice Commandant’s radar.

You may be letting him try, but you’d told him this wouldn’t be easy. You block him out completely, raising your mental shield and barring the gates.

“What do you see?” Varrish asks.

Dain doesn’t answer. He does not push, does not attempt to kick the door down or dig below the foundation. He stands outside, waiting for you to give him something. 

The crack of his nose breaking has your eyes flying open, the coppery scent of blood starting to fill the room immediately as he staggers back into his chair.

“Your turn, Avan."

You stand, laying a gentle hand on Dain’s jaw to tilt it up, stopping the blood from pouring down his shirt. 

He looks up at you, stunned, but lets you touch the broken cartilage with your fingertips, and moments later it feels like nothing ever happened. It’s mind-bending.

“Very good. Aetos, try again. What was she doing this morning?”

Dain stands, angling his body between yours and Varrish’s so that the Major can’t see the apology he mouths before his hands touch your forehead. Whether he can see his conversation with you in the gym is unclear. He lies through his teeth either way. “She was alone,” he answers, “on a run to the flight field and back.” 

“And then?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes not leaving yours. “A shower, breakfast. Eggs. An apple. Toast. She sat with Tavis and two other marked ones.” He leaves out Violet from the group, not wanting to implicate her. Interesting. 

That much is true, but it’s part of your everyday routine — he could have easily gleaned that from watching you across the mess hall. Is he still locked out?

Varrish stands, rounding the corner of his desk. “Let’s make this a little harder, shall we?”

Dain screams as a dagger pierces his arm, thrashing in his chair. Varrish twists the blade as he pulls it out, letting Dain’s blood drip to the floor. This is why he needed the sound shield.

Your eyes widen, and the adrenaline has you leaping to your feet to fix it. You press a hand into the wound, apologizing when he winces. It takes you longer than it should for the muscle to repair itself.

“You care more about him than I thought.” Varrish muses.

You turn to him, anger flickering in your chest. “It is my moral obligation to help the wounded.”

He tuts. “You would have made an excellent healer, had your parents not committed high treason. Aetos, again. Find something older.”

Dain trembles as he stands, and you take pity on him. You push an older memory forward, a happy one, remembering it as vividly as you can.

You watch together as you sprint through the forest, stopping dead in your tracks as you see two cadets fighting. The one losing is a smaller girl in your class whose name Dain can’t remember, a tall, muscled boy towering over her, sword ready to strike.

You spring forward, catching him by surprise and effectively disarming him, and he chooses to abandon the sword and run rather than fight the both of you. You extend a hand to pull the girl to her feet and her eyes widen further, staring up not at you, but behind you.

You feel a burst of heat against your back — not hot enough to be fire. Steam. You bow your head in deference, turning slowly to give the girl time to run… And the dragon bows back. What the fuck?

“You did not kill the boy.” It says directly into your mind.

“I did not.” You answer aloud, not sure if humans can do that.

“Have you ever killed before, gentle one?”

“I haven’t.” Should you be embarrassed? Dragons are violent, surely they would see this as a sign of weakness.

“Not all of us.”

“Holy shit, you can read my mind.”

The girl laughs in disbelief, and you realize you’ve just bonded a dragon.

“In time you’ll learn to control that. But your friend needs to get moving, and so do we.”

You wish her luck before scaling the leg of your dragon and taking a seat.

“Hold on.”

You shriek in happiness like a child as he jumps up, and seconds later you’re thousands of feet in the air, looking down at Basgiath and the valley below. When you return to the flight field, you find Garrick there with a giant brown Scorpiontail, bloodied but happy as he stands next to Xaden and the biggest blue daggertail you’ve ever seen. You pull them both into a hug, just grateful they’re alive.

“Careful, angel,” Garrick warns, grinning into your hair, “we just might make it out of here.”

You cut Dain off there, yanking back the memory before slamming your shields back up. He can have that moment, but only that moment.

“Threshing,” Dain says. Thank the gods. “She helped another cadet who was being attacked. That’s why Tab chose her, for her kindness.”

You both look at Varrish for further instruction. Your shields have been weakening with every injury you repair, but so have Dain’s abilities. You don’t know how many more rounds either of you can take. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” He says, sounding pleased. “I’ll see you again on Wednesday morning, to check your progress. You’re dismissed.”

The sound shield dissipates, the door unlocking. The only evidence is Dain’s blood, smeared across his face and arms, drying on the floor and under your nails. You commit the sight to memory, tucking it into the same folder that holds the death of your parents, and slam the drawer shut.

It takes you five minutes to scrub the blood out of the cracks in your palms and from under your nails. Your fingertips are wrinkled when you step into the gym.

“Why did Tab tell Chradh that you were called into Varrish’s office with Aetos?” Garrick asks, remarkably calm as he toys with one of his smaller daggers.

“Because he’s a meddling mother hen.” You answer, avoiding the question.

“Watch it.”  Tab warns. “Tell him the truth, or we will.”

You know he’s not bluffing. “He wanted us to practice our signets on each other.”

“Dain practiced his signet, his memory-reading signet, on you?” He asks, already simmering with anger.

“This morning, he came to me to warn me about Varrish’s plan, and I told him it was okay. I used my shields, and I only showed him what I wanted to. We’re supposed to do it again Wednesday.”

Your eyes communicate something else you won’t say aloud, not in front of everyone, and not when you know Dain might be able to see this conversation in two days. I did this to take the heat off of the others. You know I was the safest choice.

Garrick sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d like to state for the record that I hate this plan. Literally everything about it. Except for Aetos being stabbed, maybe.” Of course Chradh told him about that. He’d have been delighted by the news, despising both him and Cath.

You give him a look.

“Okay, fine. I take that back.”

He doesn’t. 

By Wednesday, the pain in the bridge of your nose is gone, but your arm is still tender where Dain had been stabbed. Bodhi joins you in the gym, stretching with you for a few minutes before he settles into a plank at your side, his eyes never leaving the door.

Dain does not make an appearance at breakfast, notably absent from the leadership table.

Garrick excuses himself as soon as he sees you stand with your tray, catching you by the doors. “Remember that you’re stronger than both of them in all the ways that matter,” he says quietly. “I’ll find you as soon as you’re done.” You both tap your chest twice before parting ways, as has been your tradition for years -- a reminder that even though you’re leaving, you still hold the other in your heart.

Each step up to Varrish’s office is another reminder of what’s to come when you reach the top. “Cadet Avan,” he greets with another sickening smile. “Just in time. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of Dain slumped into the same chair as last time, bloodied and exhausted.

“Nothing fatal,” Varrish reassures. “Not if you act quickly. Go ahead, get started.”

The Vice Commandant’s words have you on edge as you assess him, looking for gaping wounds or broken bones. Dain winces as your hands move over his ribs, and you whisper an apology, pressing in deeper. When your chest starts to ache, you know it’s time to move on. You mend two broken ribs, dissolve a purple bruise on his arm, and fix a split lip, but Dain still hasn’t woken up.

You turn back to Varrish. “One left,” he says. “Use your head.”

Oh, gods. He’d given Dain a concussion, because he knows the migraine it’ll give you will make it harder to shield. You cradle the second-year’s head in your hands, breathing out deeply as you transfer the pain from his body to yours, healing the bruised tissue. Dain blinks himself awake as you stumble, the room suddenly spinning.

“Well done. Aetos?”

You fumble for the arms of your chair, vision blurring at the edges, but you manage to sit back down.

“Say the word, and I get your mate,” Tab offers. He can probably feel your disorientation, concerned you won’t be able to block Dain out in this state.

“No,” you rasp back. “If he shows up, Varrish will have us practice on him instead.”

 You need to pick another memory to satisfy Varrish, something older, but your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Dain gives you a moment to gather yourself, a small gesture of mercy.

“A moment of pure happiness,” Tab suggests. “Something with the wingleader and your mate.”

You flip back in the book of your life, nearly all the way to the beginning, opening it to the right page to give to Dain and slipping it under the gate with a nod of your head — you’re ready.

Dain’s hands are warm against your freezing cheeks. A boy no older than five that he recognizes as Garrick crouches under a desk across the room, holding a finger to his lips. 

“Wherever could those children possibly be?” Someone muses aloud, and you fight laughter as the voice grows closer, thinking it amusing that this adult has no idea you’re hiding in the curtains.

Footsteps retreat, and Garrick signals for you to move. You make it down the hallway before you see someone searching — presumably whatever parent you’d convinced to play with you. Small hands tug you both behind a plush velvet couch. Xaden. 

You press yourselves up against it, trying to be as quiet as possible, watching as a shadow forms on the wall in front of you, then a head peers over the back of the couch — that must be your father. He looks just like you, has the same warm smile.

“One more, and then I need to get back to work,” He says, already moving to cover his eyes and starting to count to one hundred. You each run off in a different direction, and the scene fades there.

“A childhood memory,” Dain says. “Playing hide and seek in her father’s office with Riorson and Tavis.”

Not good enough for Varrish. “Give me something I can use,” he snarls, a Freudian slip, but nothing either of you hadn’t known already. 

You flip forward in the book, settling on a page you never look at, that you can’t bear to, but that Varrish will revel in. You rip it out, sliding it under the gate. “Bad,” you whisper, the only warning you can manage.

Dain nods in permission, ready to watch whatever memory you’ve pushed forward.

Someone presses a small stone into your hand, an intricate overlap of shapes and lines engraved on one side, the other perfectly smooth.

“Do not put it down, even for a moment,” your father says. He’s aged between now and the last memory, starting to go gray at his temples. “Keep it in your hand until the end. It will protect you when we can’t.”

He looks next to Garrick. “She is everything good about the world.” He says quietly. “Take care of her.”

Garrick promises he will, and your father pulls you into one last embrace before he leaves. Tears blur your vision, Garrick pulling you close. “It’ll be okay,” he soothes. “They’ll come back.”

Hours pass that Dain can’t see, because you don’t remember them. 

There’s an ache in your palm from clutching the stone so hard, the rounded corners digging into your skin. Garrick takes your free hand in his, interlocking your fingers. Then there’s only screaming and fire and rage, heat burning up your arm as it’s marked with inky swirls. Until the end, your father had said. This must have been what he meant.

“Her parents’ execution,” Dain says, a note of genuine hurt in his voice. “They gave each child a runestone before they left, as protection.”

Varrish’s eyes rake over to you. He leans forward, yanking on the leather cord that disappears into the neck of your shirt hard enough to pull your body with it. “A runestone like this one?”

“Yes,” you answer before Dain can, saving him the lie. You shut your eyes, wincing as the cold edge of a knife brushes against your neck and the cord breaks, a single drop of warm blood running down your collarbone. You don’t protest, you can’t, your mind still hazy and eyes wet with tears from reliving the memory with Dain.

“That will be all.” Varrish dismisses. He doesn’t make an appointment for you to come back. He has what he needs.

You stand, relying on your knowledge of the office’s layout to navigate your way forward until the door closes behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dain breathes once you’re down the hall far enough to avoid being heard. “If I had known,”

“It’s okay. The rune is long dead, and he has no idea how to recreate it. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you again.” You blink, trying to clear your head. How are you going to get down all these stairs? You can hardly see.

“Here,” he says quietly, extending a hand. You take it, letting him loop an arm over his shoulders — your right, the one that Varrish hadn’t bruised black and blue on Dain — and lead you one step at a time.

You’re halfway down when you hear heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Garrick. He’d promised he’d find you when you were done. He doesn’t spare a glance at Dain, gathering you into his arms and apologizing when he puts pressure on your not-broken ribs.

Dain watches as the older boy carries you down the rest of the stairs, murmuring reassurances to you all the while. Your father’s words echo in his mind. “Take care of her.”

Garrick Tavis is a man of his word.

[riggedbones]

OKOKOK FOR THE SPRITE REQUEST THING. you can do as little or as many of these as you want but the king candy design ones are FUCKING ADORBS like they’re all so precious but you did do well at translating him into pixel details???

couple of poses i LOVE of his that i pulled from my photos (you can do the second one as either kc or turbo).I Love Him. also i’d love to see a king candy version of the classic turbotastic pose too i thinkit would be cute

also i’d love to see if you’ve tried to do his cybug form 0_0 that would be INSANE

ALSO BTW IF YOUVE EVER DONE MORE THAN THE MOST RECENT ONE EVER PLZZZ let me know cuz i scrolled the blog a bit and idk but i would love to see any and all work/art you’ve done of him

OK i hope this isn’t too much SORRY IM SO RAMBLY 🫡

first two screenshots!! didn't do the last one because rotating the face is by far The hardest thing to do with these and there's a fair bit of foreshortening so honestly... unfortunately, may not be worth it.

here are some turbo-tastic poses though! there are three in the little cutscene we get so i did all of them, ended up being easy enough to edit. they're a fair bit different from the have some candy pose i did earlier, as i figured that for this request i might as well try to get it as classic as possible

cy-bug form is a challenge i might undertake on my own time ;) but definitely not something that falls under the scope of what i've been doing with these requests.

when it comes to sprites i've done so far, i can compile all the posts here:

1 2 3 4 5

and while in general my blog is pretty unorganized, i want to keep my wreck it ralph stuff on my main, and since it's my current hyperfix, my #lucky doodles tag is pretty reliable for finding sprites i've done before!

[tojjist]

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and  cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet  Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination. 

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant. 

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. 

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand  reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette  from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his  direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual,  that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words. 

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to  your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought. 

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17. 

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact. 

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances. 

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store. 

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,”  he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late. 

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response. 

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.