#so for him to just turn around & betray you sends you spiraling

[taughtdefense]

something something miyagi!ethan full-well knowing that he's genuinely happy, & so in love with, other versions of robby in alternate lives (verses), & robby loves him in those alternate existences, while s4!him is Absolutely Fucking Suffering

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: professor!anakin x f!reader

Reminding everyone that today's the last day where you can send a request for BUNNYCEMBER

You sat across from him, your pink gel pen tapping nervously against the desk. The private study in his home--technically meant for grading and research--had become your little meeting spot for "extra help sessions". And you really did receive help, leaving all satisfied and smiling..

“Just be honest,” you pleaded, sliding the printed essay across the desk. You made sure the paper would smell faintly of your perfume, and keep the soft, bubbly handwriting in the margins to make Anakin’s lips twitch in amusement.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning back in his chair, the crisp button-up he wore stretching deliciously across his chest “do you really want my honest opinion?”

You nodded eagerly, gold hoops glinting under the warm lamp light.

He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he picked up the paper. His glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, made him look even more like the professor fantasy that had you spiraling in the first place. Mother Nature made a walking temptation, so, how could you just ignore it?

“Well?” you leaned forward just enough for your crop top to ride up, exposing the tiniest hint of skin.

Anakin’s gaze flickered to you briefly, jaw tightening before he returned to the essay.

“It’s...unique,” he finally said, setting it down after what felt like an eternity.

“Unique?” you repeated, expression turning to a disappointed pout “That’s not a good thing, is it?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” he said carefully, though the smirk tugging at those swollen lips betrayed him.

You crossed your arms, huffing. “You’re lying. It’s awful, isn’t it? You think I’m dumb.”

“Dumb?” His tone shifted, sharp and disbelieving. In an instant, he was out of his chair, rounding the desk until he was standing right in front of you. “Don’t ever say that again.”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lower lip caught between your teeth. His hands gripped the arms of your chair, caging you in before he leaned down - face just inches away from yours.

“I don’t think you’re dumb,” voice low yet so soothing, having you already squeeze your thighs “I think you’re brilliant in your own way, and I think you know how to get what you want.”

“Besides,” he continued, eyes filling with something you knew all too well as they roamed your face, “you already have me wrapped around your little finger. If you wanted an A on this essay, all you had to do was ask.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

He grinned, thumb brushing against your cheek before trailing down to your jaw, tilting your head back.

“Really,” he murmured, lips ghosting over yours. “But I’d still make you work for it. You wouldn’t want it to be too easy, would you?”

You shook your head softly “No, Professor Skywalker.”

“Good girl,” tone dripping with approval. “Now, let me show you how you can...improve your thesis.”

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[latin5mamii]

Later - Carlos Alcaraz

Summary: He just doesn’t care, if he wants you, he’s having you.

Genre: Carlos Alcaraz x you, Juancarlos!Daughter x Carlos Alcaraz

Warnings: slightly smut, suggestive talk

Author’s note: Had this in mind and i had to write it down😌

“Estás tan hermosa esta noche”

••••

He was so fucking hot, and he knew it. He knew the power he had over you, the way a single look from them dark, big eyes could make your heart race and your mind spiral out of control. No matter how much you wanted to resist his charm, to not feel the way you did whenever he spoke to you, you always failed.

He had become your biggest weakness, an addiction you couldn’t shake no matter how dangerous it was. ‘Dangerous’ because you were his coach’s daughter, and if your father ever found out what had been happening between you two over the past few weeks, there would be hell to pay. But that didn’t matter. The thrill of sneaking around, lies over lies, kept pulling you back to him, time and time again.

Tonight was no different.

His voice snapped you out of your flashbacks of last night, a night spent in his arms, his touch still fresh on your skin. You turned to him with a disapproving look, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

Not that you minded, if anything, you craved it,but not here. Not at this dinner where both your families and his team were present.

“Don’t do it,” you warned him, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep your composure.

“What shouldn’t I do?” he replied innocently, his hand already sliding onto your thigh, fingers trailing lightly across your skin. The contact made your breath hitch, and you shot a quick glance at your father, who was thankfully engrossed in conversation with Carlos’s father.

Carlos’s hand continued its exploration, moving up and down your thigh with agonizing slowness.“Carlos, stop,” you said, your voice lacking the conviction you so desperately needed it to have. But your body betrayed you, your legs instinctively parted slightly, granting him more access. Why did he have this effect on you? Why, when you knew better, did your body respond to him like this?

The truth was, the risk of being caught, the danger of what you were doing, only made it more thrilling. And that was the problem.

"Tu cuerpo no parece querer que me detenga",

(Your body doesn’t seem to want me to stop,) he murmured, that infuriating smirk you both loved and hated tugging at his lips. His hand moved higher, brushing against the delicate fabric of your panties, the touch sending a shockwave through your body.

"Si tan solo tu padre supiera las cosas que haces... probablemente ni siquiera te reconocería a ti, su chica inocente y obediente. Es una pena que no sea así" he whispered, his hand still teasing your skin.

(If only your father knew the things you do… he probably wouldn’t even recognize you,his innocent and obedient little girl.It’s a pity that it isn’t so)

You grabbed his wrist to stop him, your grip firm, but inside, you were unraveling. You were fighting a losing battle, and you both knew it. All you could think about was how, if you were alone with him right now, you’d be begging him for more, abandoning all pretense of resistance.

“Carlos, please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Not here. Someone will notice.”

His eyes darkened with desire, but there was a teasing glint there as well. “I love when you say please,” he murmured, leaning in closer so his lips were almost brushing against your ear. “But you know as well as I do that you don’t really want me to stop.”

You hated how right he was. How, despite the fear of getting caught, despite knowing this was wrong, you couldn’t help but want him. Crave him.

Carlos’s fingers traced along the edge of your panties, and your grip on his wrist tightened, trying to push him away, but it was no use. The fire he ignited in you was too strong, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, but it was impossible with him so close, his cologne filling your senses, his touch driving you mad.

“Imagine,” he continued, his voice, "Si deslizara mis dedos un poco más... ¿qué harías? ¿Podrías callarte? ¿Podrías seguir fingiendo que no pasa nada debajo de esta mesa?"

(if I slipped my fingers just a little further… what would you do? Could you keep quiet? Could you keep pretending like nothing’s happening under this table?)

The thought se your body on fire, and you swallowed hard, struggling to maintain your composure. But you were losing this battle, and Carlos knew it. He thrived on it.

Just when you thought he was going to surpass your limit, a familiar voice from the other side of the table made you feel literal fear.

“What are you two talking about so intensely?” Your father. You opened your eyes, your heart pounding, and forced yourself to push Carlos’s hand away.

Carlos turned toward your father with his usual easy smile, completely unfazed. “Oh, just discussing a few plans for after Wimbledon,” he said smoothly. How could he be so calm when you were fighting yourself only for smiling?

Your father’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slight frown creasing his brow. There was an edge of concern in his eyes, but no immediate suspicion. “Plans for the future, huh?” he said, his tone more curious than accusatory.

It’s not that your father was jealous or thought anything bad about Carlos, but Carlos’ a handsome, rich and young man, he wouldn’t even want to imagine his daughter suffering for him.

“Nothing more,Juanki. I swear,” He says laughing like he just doesn’t care, which is true.He doesn’t care at all.

He wanted you to be his, and nothing and no one could ever change that.

Juan Carlos nods and smiles back to Carlos.He quickly looks at you, and turns back to talk.

As soon as your father was distracted again, you shot Carlos a look that was half exasperation, half something else entirely.

“You’re impossible,” you hissed under your breath, trying to regain some semblance of control over your racing heart. “And so a pathologic liar .”

Carlos only grinned, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “And we didn’t got caught” he murmured, his voice filled with that familiar, dangerous amusement. “And that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it?”

You wanted to argue, to tell him off for taking such a risk, but the truth was, he was right. The thrill of almost being caught, the danger of it all, was as intoxicating as his touch. And it scared you how much you craved it.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that was both intimate and possessive. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Más tarde” he whispered, his voice a low promise.

"Encuéntrame más tarde. Ya sabes dónde".

[velarisdusk]

The Weight of Expectation

Day 23: 24/7 Scene | Cassian x Reader word count: 1.4k author’s note: GOD this one was so hard to figure out. i scrapped and rewrote this 4 different times bc i hated every single one. do i like this one? …… well………  i have made peace with it. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

You could feel Cassian watching you as you moved around the kitchen, preparing his breakfast. The air was thick with the usual weight of expectation, a tension that never really left the space between you. Even now, as you stirred the eggs in the pan, his presence wrapped around you like a physical force.

When the eggs were done, you served them neatly onto his plate, along with the hashbrowns and bacon you’d made. You took care with every moment to be sure everything looked perfect for him. 

"Did I tell you to stand like that?" His voice cut through the silence, casual but firm.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew the rules. Without hesitation, you shifted, spreading your legs just slightly as you continued your task, keeping your posture perfect, your body on display in the way he liked—even while cooking.

"No, sir," you whispered softly, your voice careful not to betray the flicker of nerves that always came with his quiet commands.

"Better." He hummed approvingly, leaning back in his chair, the sound of his contentment sending a ripple of warmth through you. Every inch of your body was tuned to him, every movement deliberate, knowing he was watching for perfection, for obedience.

This wasn’t just a fleeting scene; it was always like this—the quiet rules, the constant, unspoken control. You could feel it in the way you addressed him, in the way you moved around him, even when he wasn’t explicitly giving orders. You didn’t have to be naked or restrained to feel his dominance; it was in the way he lingered behind you, in the way you were always hyper-aware of his gaze.

“You’re distracted.” His tone was soft, but there was that familiar edge of control, and your hand froze mid-stir. He was right. Your mind had wandered.

You took a steadying breath, forcing your attention back to the stove. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Cassian’s chair scraped back. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was coming closer, and sure enough, his hand gently moved you aside, away from the stove, backing you against the counter. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him. He said nothing for a moment, just stood there, his body warm and solid against yours, his hand heavy on your hip. He didn’t need to speak for you to feel the authority that always lingered in the air between you.

“You forget yourself sometimes, don’t you?” His voice was a low murmur in your ear, a dark, teasing note that sent heat spiraling through your core.

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

Cassian chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through you. “Good thing I’m here to remind you, then.” His hand slid lower, over the curve of your stomach, fingers teasing along the waistband of your leggings. “Let’s see if you remember the other rules, hm?”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t asking. You stepped out of your leggings quickly, folding them and setting them aside, standing in just your oversized t-shirt—nothing beneath. He always liked that. It was one of the rules.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers grazing your bare skin as he pressed his body against you. “Makes everything so much easier when you behave.”

His hand slid between your legs, fingers brushing over you, finding you already wet—because of course you were. He always had this effect on you. It didn’t matter if you were supposed to be making breakfast, cleaning, or readying for bed; it never mattered. His control reached every part of you.

"You've been good this morning," he murmured, his fingers working in slow, agonizing circles. "But I think I can push you a little, can't I?"

Your breath caught, and you pressed your hips against his hand instinctively, your body already moving to obey even before he’d really asked anything of you.

“Yes, sir. Please,” you whispered.

He chuckled again, dark and pleased, tilting your chin up to face him, holding your gaze. “Watch me.” His free hand moved to turn you around and press your chest against the counter, keeping you in place as his fingers continued their slow, relentless torment between your legs. "I’ll give you your reward after breakfast. But until then,” he said, his voice taking on that dark, commanding tone that made your toes curl, “you’re going to stay like this, and you’re going to watch me enjoy what you’ve made. Understood?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the subtle tension between following his orders and fighting the need he always ignited within you. Cassian moved away briefly, his wings shifting as he did, the broad expanse of them dark and powerful. The way they flared slightly behind him made him look even more imposing, radiating control. You swallowed hard, eyes glued to the way his wings framed his body as he sat back down.

He took a slow bite, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction. “Remember,” he added, his voice a low growl that made your knees weak, “you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I say so.”

All you could do was watch as you stood there, bent over the countertop, your body humming with need. Every bite Cassian took was slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. The control he exuded was almost suffocating, filling the room and wrapping around you like a thick, inescapable force.

“You look like you’re struggling, sweetheart,” he remarked casually, setting his fork down with a soft clink. The smirk that followed raised goosebumps along your arms. “Do you want to tell me what’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

Your throat felt tight, the words caught there as you stood frozen, feeling the wetness between your legs growing, the ache intensifying. “I… I want to pleasure you, sir,” you finally whispered.

Cassian chuckled, that low, dangerous sound that both thrilled and terrified you. “Oh, I know you do.” His wings shifted slightly behind him. “And you do, every day. But right now, I want you to stay exactly where you are and wait for me.”

Your legs trembled as he finished his meal and rose from his seat, moving toward you with that deadly grace that always made you weak. He didn’t rush. No, Cassian liked to take his time, to stretch out the anticipation until it was unbearable. He stopped just in front of you on the opposite side of the counter, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“You know what I love about you?” he murmured, his voice a velvety rasp that made your stomach flip. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, teasing. “It’s how you respond to me. The way your body listens without a second thought.”

His hand slid down your throat, his fingers barely grazing your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I can feel it in you right now,” he continued, voice low, dangerous. “The need. The ache. You want to break, don’t you? To say damn it all and touch yourself?”

You shook your head, eyes wide, body trembling. "No, sir," you breathed. “I only ever want…what you want for me.”

Cassian smiled, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your neck, just enough to remind you of his control. “Look at how tightly I’ve got you wrapped around my finger,” he growled softly, more to himself, leaning in so his breath brushed your ear. "You’ll come when I say. And only when I say. Not a moment sooner."

His hand slipped between your legs again, fingers teasing. "You're going to stand here and take whatever I give you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," you whispered, your voice shaking as you tried to keep your composure, though your legs trembled beneath you. The heat of his hand was searing as it trailed lower, his fingers teasing over your sensitive skin. You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the smell of him filling your lungs—earthy and dark, like the scent of leather and steel. 

He smiled wickedly, brushing his lips over your cheek, a ghost of a kiss that left you breathless. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. “Let’s see how long you can hold on,” he whispered darkly, his fingers pressing deeper, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Don’t break on me yet, sweetheart.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

volume 9, yandere neo x jaune

instead of ruby going off on her own after having a mental breakdown and ranting at everyone before ending up being lured away and tortured by neo, it's jaune... only neo's methods are a lot more unexpected.

neo gets to cuck ruby AND enjoy having a new pet- i mean, lover (the curious cat: "what the fuck did i just walk into?"

After the destruction of the paper pleaser village, Ruby's meltdown and subsequently is own, Jaune stormed away from his friends, needing some time alone from everyone, even Juniper. As he trudged through the afterian forests, he came across a strange mansion, one that he had never seen before. Despite his instincts screaming for him to just leave, Jaune stepped through the door, the remnants of his weapon drawn, ready for combat.

As he crept through the halls of the mansion, he noticed various paintings adorned on the walls. Each displaying a different scenario, but featuring a familiar face.

"Neopolitan...." He whispered, unaware of the multi-colored eyes staring at him with great interest.

Nor did he see the figure creeping from behind

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

Jaune stifled a moan as he felt Neo's small, delicate hands rub up and down his cock, the girl occasionally leaning forward and licking his tip seductively. He silently scolded himself for being tricked and captured by the mute. Now, he was tied to one of her many chairs, nothing more than toy for her pleasure.

"Nngh, You think this is enough to break me" He snarled with a strained smile.

He tried to sound tough and unaffected by her teasing, but his body betrayed his words. Years of isolation in the Ever after has made him repressed and easily aroused. His cock twitching and leaking steady streams of pre-cum, while his balls churned with thick, creamy cum.

Neo smirked cockily hearing his statement, an obvious lie, so she decided to test the man before her. Licking her lips, she gently pressed her lips against the tip of his cock, resisting the urge to devour him right away. Her thin dainty lips and soft exhales tickled his skin, sending shivers up his spine make Jaune bite his lip. Not waiting any further, Neo wrapped her lips around his entire head, eyes rolling back as his salty and manly flavor spread across her tongue.

Before she could taste anymore of him, Neo heard Jaune groan loudly and his cock pulsed rapidly. Without any further warning, her mouth was flooded with his seed, the white fluid thick from not being released in years. Neo's eyes widen, surprised by the volume and force as well as how quickly he came. though she didn't dwell on that subject much as his seed began to fill her oral cavity, throat, and nostrils as he expelled rope after rope of cum out of his cock. Causing her to suffocate a bit. Begrudgingly, she pulled herself away from his cock head, her face and top getting covered in ropes of thick cum.

Jaune groaned as he felt the last ropes of cum leave his cock. His eyes half lidded under the makeshift blind fold and head hung slightly. He panted gently as he stared down at his capture.

"I....Is that all?" He questioned, sounding like a taunt, and a plea.

Neo had scooped up a large glob of cum onto her fingers, licking them slightly before inserting into her mouth sucking them clean, staring at his panting and red face. Once she was done, she fully turned to him and gave a toothy smile. Faint shimmers of pink and white spirals burst from her body, a sign of her semblance activating. Neo rose from her crouched position, licking her lips as she cupped his head.

*I'm going to enjoy breaking you~* she thought as hearts formed in her eyes.

Neo quickly discarded her pants and mounted his lap. Her breath rigid as she prepared to insert his rod inside her tiny body. But before could, she heard the sound of a gun being racked behind her.

In his blinded state, Jaune could only hear the scuffle occurring around him. The sound of gunfire, blades clashing and vocal shouts of frustration filling his ears. Once the fighting was done, he heard four feminine voices that he hoped would come.

"Oh my Ou, Jaune?!"

It was Weiss. How grateful he was to hear her voice. Team Rwby was here to rescue him.

"Yeah, It's me, Weiss" He smiled, struggling against the bounds Neo tied him with. "If you could just..."

As he spoke, he heard them laughing. He was about to ask what were they laughing at, but Yang next statement caused his heart to drop.

"Well, I guess Neo did the work for us, huh Sis~"

Jaune's face contorted confused by what she said "What are you talking about?"

This time he heard Ruby laugh, her boots thumped against the floor as she approached him. Stopping Infront of him, she lifted his head to meet her gaze, while he couldn't see, he felt her gaze burning into him.

"Did you really think we'd take you back to remnant?" She cackles, her other hand grabbing and stroking his still erect cock. "Soo~rry to disappoint you, but we agreed that you're just gonna....get in the way...so.......We were just gonna leave you here~!"

Upon hearing casually say that, Jaune's eyes widen under his blindfold. Why would she say such a thing? After all he's done, all he's been through, they wouldn't just leave him in the Ever After, right?

He felt a weigh press down on his lap. the sweet smell of roses fills his nostrils. He tried to get free from his bonds, but the reaper's hands on his shoulders forced him to stop.

"But..." her suddenly chirp tone disturbed him "I think we can give you a little goodbye present before we leave~"

Without warning, he felt Ruby impale herself onto his sensitive rod. Both parties moaned loudly, both climaxing just from insertion. Jaune groaned as he felt his second orgasm launch from his tip, increasing his sensitivity. Not waiting for him to stop, Ruby began bouncing, her movements frantic and rough. Despite her tiny frame, she was unbearably tight, practically milking him each time she collided with his hips.

"Fuck...Ruby...Please...."

"Oo~, Does it hurt little Jauney?" she teased, rolling her hips. She pulled his head closer to her own "Good~"

She crashed her lips on to his, catching in a deep, unwanted kiss. He tore his lips away, not wanting to feel anything from here, but she grabbed his face and pulled back to her own, only for him to move it away once more. Annoyed by his resistance, Ruby punched his face, and despite her size and lack of martial training, she hit hard.

"Stop moving you stupid, beautiful man!" She demanded, hit him again and again until he whimpered for mercy. Blood pouring down his face.

"...p...please......stop......" he begged, accepting her dominance.

Pleased, she cupped his face once more, pulling him back into the kiss. Still frantic, but this time, more romantical in a sense. Her hips never stopping their movement, even as pearly white cum feel from her overstuffed cunt. She moaned into his mouth as she speed up, his cock making a grotesque bulge in her stomach that fluctuated up and down as she pulled him in and out her core. Her pert bubble butt clapped loudly against his thighs and small but modest breast bounced joyfully.

Around them, Jaune heard moist and lewd noises, no doubt the rest of team rwby enjoying the show. He got confirmation when he heard Blake speak up.

"Are we sure we want to just leave him here?" she asked, giving Jaune a small bit of hope "I think he'd make a great prostitute with a cock that size~"

He heard Yang agree with her, mentioning that she would love to take him along if only to use and abuse for her own pleasure. Hell, they even discussed how they sell him to other women for a profit seeing as he's an Arc. He even heard Weiss agreeing with them. While he wanted to be disgusted, a growing part of him felt hopefully that they'd take him back to Remnant. He couldn't stand the thought of being left alone once more, and became desperate to go home once more.

"Please....take me with you.." he begged, making the women laugh

"And why should we?" Ruby asked, ceasing her movements.

Jaune panted heavily, his body feeling sore from Ruby's rapid bouncing. "I'll do what ever you want...I'l even be.....I'll be your whore for life...Please...don't leave me alone..."

Tears dampened the fabric over his eyes, his mind clear of any thoughts other than leaving the Ever After. He felt Ruby climb off his lap, exposing his sensitive, cum covered cock to the air. He savored the moment of freedom but it was short lived as he felt another hot and slit pussy slide down his cock.

"OOO fuck, Daddy~" he heard Weiss moan, "You're stretching me out~"

As she began hopping on his member, Jaune didn't complain. He just accepted his new life as the toy of team Rwby.

However, if he could see, he would have saw that the one riding him was none other than Neopolitan. The women Fucking herself stupid on his cock as clones of team rwby flanked her sides. Turn her head, she looked behind her to see the real Ruby Rose watching with tears in her eyes. Beside was a small purple and blue cat that stared at Neo and Jaune with great interest.

"Ruby, what exactly are they doing?"

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 10

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Alliances

Notes: Next chapter tho 👀

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:�� 10/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As the Monk had told, you arrived at the monastery long before dawn. There was not another soul awake it seemed. He led the horses to the stables, you followed him inside, and he untied the horses’ reins from one another so they could walk around freely. To keep yourself busy while he concerned himself over the two new horses he had acquired, you put your attention on his own horse. The stallion was quite the charmer, he loved the attention he was given and treated you like he had known you all your life. Maybe he could sense the Feyblood in you and knew that it was similar to his rider’s.

As you pampered the horse, you noticed something on his left front leg. A cut covered in dry blood, but still bleeding somewhat. You took the scarf from around your neck, knelt down and began to bind it around the horse’s leg, all the while you spoke some soft encouragement to the stallion. This poor creature didn’t even show that it was in pain. At the sound of the Monk clearing his throat, you wanted to take a step back and away from his horse. That failed when he turned out to be so close that you ended up bumping into him with your back.

“I’m sorry…” you quietly said while moving out of his way.

He blinked twice, staring at you a little. You didn’t know how to read the look he gave, and send your eyes to the ground.

“Goliath…” he uttered the name to his horse softly.

How had he not seen that his loyal friend was injured? Had he been so careless? It must have happened when he fought those sellswords.

“Goliath?” you repeated it.

“It’s his name.” The Monk shared his attention between you and the horse, brushing his hand over the neck of the stallion. He looked down at your scarf now tied around Goliath’s leg. “Thank you.”

You thought you hadn’t really heard it, because it was said so quietly. “What?”

He pointed to the scarf. “For helping him. I will make certain the wound is cared for.”

“Good.” You stood somewhat awkwardly a couple of steps away from him.

The Monk beckoned for you to come closer and you did, he took your hand and put it on Goliath’s neck, right where he had been petting the stallion. “He enjoys it most when you scratch his neck here.”

It felt so strangely normal to let him guide your hand to where he knew his horse loved to be pet. He didn’t seem like the sort of person to just trust anyone with his horse. He let go off your hand and you petted the horse on your own.

“I think he knows I have Ash Folk blood in me.” you said.

“I believe so.” He agreed on that after seeing how Goliath was responding to you so well. “Did you have a horse?”

“No.” A bitter chuckle escaped you. “I wasn’t allowed to have one. It would have made it more tempting to try and escape my home again.”

He offered some wisdom, “A home should never be something you wish to escape.”

“It’s all I ever thought about. I just didn’t think it would be like this.” You were referring to the new strange situation you found yourself in.

He took hold of your elbow and began to walk towards the exit of the stables with you. “If you keep your word, I will keep mine. Play the part and reap the rewards.”

You let out a small sigh. “You have to know that it isn’t easy for me to pretend to be part of what you and the paladins do. I have to be someone I am not to have a chance to survive in the world.”

Much like he himself did…

He was understanding of the struggle you faced. “I will tell Father you are not fit for battle, you will not be expected to cleanse. But he will insist that I continue to show you how to use your abilities to find Fey-kind and awaken the Fey Fire in you.”

You wondered why the priest was so convinced that you could be a valuable ‘asset’ to the mission. “Why is he so interested in my magic?”

His answer took a moment to come. “We are losing count of the men we have lost since the Wolf-Blood Witch began her uprising. Your magic could heal the wounded.”

The Monk closed the stable door, and with that the conversation because he asked you to be quiet upon entering the monastery.

His hope to not wake anyone was futile, the two paladins who were ordered to keep watch inside the monastery had seen him arrive and woken Father Carden.

The priest approached the Monk in the hallway, “You found her. Well done, my son.”

Father looked so content, so proud. It had been so long since he’d seen that look aimed at him.

The Monk gave a polite inclination of the head, showing his subordinance.

“Why is she not bound?” The priest asked, disapproving of the fact.

He sounded so proud to share the knowledge with Father Carden, “It was her choice to come with me, Father. She came of her own free will.”

The priest’s expression changed instantly. “She has?”

“Yes, Father.” he said.

Father Carden gave him a nod, looking quite proud of his Monk, he even sounded friendlier, “This is excellent news.”

The priest took some steps closer, intending to approach you. You were very aware of it and stepped back to stand behind the Monk. It left them both speechless for a moment. It happened without thought and even surprised yourself. Why did you think he would shield you now, from the person he had served for years, from the one who had raised him? It felt ridiculous and even embarrassing.

“Where must I bring her to, Father?” The Monk asked to distract Father from it.

The priest thought about it for a moment, “Give her a room.”

“A room?” He was taken off-guard by Father’s choice.

Father Carden was firm with him, “She cannot be left unbound yet. But she will not need to be if she stays in a room that can be locked. Show her what she receives for her wise choice.”

The Monk’s eyes widened ever so little. “Yes, Father.”

At least Father gave no scolding for leaving you free of the ropes until now. And for him to give permission to leave you free of them inside the room was a sign that Father believed this was heading in the right direction.

“Go now.” The priest said. “It is the midst of the night, we need our sleep.”

The Monk made a small bow, then took you by the arm and guided you along.

  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

    The room you were given was simple. It only had a bed and a small table standing beside it with a lantern on top. There was a small window, not big enough to escape through. A cross hanged above the door. The Monk watched as you walked inside and headed straight to the bed.

“I get to sleep on it?” You felt like asking, because so far they had only let you sleep on the ground whilst chained or bound.

He stepped into the room as well, closing the door behind him. “Yes.”

You sat down on the bed the second he had answered. He came closer and reached for the satchel at your side, your hand landed on top of it right away.

“I am not going to take your mother’s journal.” He read the fear in your eyes.

You read the truth in his and let him open the satchel. He took out the ointment that the Sisters of the abbey had put in a small bowl wrapped in linen. He unwrapped it and took some of it on his index finger, he reached out and touched the cold ointment to the fresh bruise on your temple that was beginning to darken. You winced at the touch.

He gingerly continued. “That wasn’t there before they took you.”

You didn’t know how to react. “Cassian hit me. I don’t even remember the ride to Ravenwick after that.”

When you leaned away again, he stopped and put down the ointment on the small bedside table. He looked just as uncertain as you felt.

“May I ask you something?” you asked.

His answer was delayed for only a moment. “Yes.”

“If I am to see you as the one to guide me in this. Will you show me how to use a sword?” The worst he could do was say ‘no’ to it.

He made no direct promise of it. “I shall consider it.”

It was not a ‘no’…

“In return, I’ll try to be more Fey for you.” You tried to be a little persuasive.

He actually looked entertained by the attempt. “More Fey?”

You shrugged your shoulders, smiling a little while jesting, “That is what you and Father Carden expect of me isn’t it? For me to use my nose, and to try to set things on fire.”

His brow arched. “Should I be concerned that you might burn our monastery to the ground?”

“Do you think I could?” It was a risky jest.

With the power burning in you, there was indeed a possibility. But there was a certain calmth in your presence, a flicker of innocence that told him you wouldn’t resort to burning the place down.

He crossed the small distance between you, “I believe you could.” He stopped at the tips of your boots. “But you will not.”

You eyed him curiously. “What makes you so sure?”

He was studying your face, every small response, “You told me that you do not want to kill anyone. I believe that to be the truth.”

You looked down at the floor, voice growing quieter, “I let my own brother be killed…”

The Monk kept his eyes on you. “He was a danger to you, and to anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Do you believe you could have saved him from the darkness he had accepted as his home?”

“I don’t think so. No.” you sighed quietly. “At first I thought he did it just to make our father proud, but then I realized he was happy to be a monster. There was never a moment that I can recall where he didn’t treat me the way he did.”

You shook your head, his death still weighed down on your conscience.

A monster. And still you mourned him. It was admirable that your compassion was not destroyed by what had been done to you.

Your attention was on your hands, they kept fidgeting, “Sometimes I thought I deserved it, for being the reason my mother died after my birth. But I was never the reason at all, my father killed her when she tried to run away with me. She wanted to save me. Cassian just… became the person he so admired.”

The Monk knelt down, stealing one of your hands away from the other so they would stop their endless fidgeting. “I went to Ravenwick today to speak to your father, I was given the order to kill your brother if Lord Aldith refused to return you to Father, and he did refuse. You have no blame in his death. Your brother broke his agreement with Father.”

Father Carden must have given them one last chance before risking the anger of a Lord, and your father had waved that chance away.

“I still refused to help him.” you recalled the moment Cassian had tried to make you stop him.

He tried to reason with you. “You could not have stopped me.”

You were not so quick to forget the part you had played in his death. “I could have tried. But I didn’t. I let him die. I even told you to not make him suffer.”

He was very honest about that moment. “I admire the mercy you showed him by asking that off me. Because I would not have given him such a quick death if you had not asked. You are not at blame.” He gave your hand a small squeeze. “Let me carry the blame. Let this not leave a blemish on your conscience.”

Your eyes lifted from the ground and up to his. In your mind another piece of the puzzle that formed the Weeping Monk fell into place. There was compassion in him, in the way he lightly held your hand and offered some words of comfort the best he could.

You took his hand off of yours, giving a small smile, “This is not your burden to carry. I will do this alone, it’s the only way I might forgive myself for it one day.”

He was taken aback by the display of the strength in your character. He gave a respectful nod and rose from the ground.

You were grateful for the kind gesture, it can’t have been easy for him to let this side of him see the light while he was expected to be a ruthless soldier. “But, thank you. I know you are expected to follow orders, but you do it without being a monster to me. That is a choice you made, one my brother didn’t.”

His features softened just ever so little. “Try to sleep.”

You nodded.

He looked at the lantern, the candle burned inside of it, “Do you still have the ring?”

It sounded like it had just crossed his mind, you touched the ring where it still hanged under your shirt. “Yes.”

“It is worth enough to pay for a room at an inn for quite some time.” His eyes were still on the fire.

Was he truly feeding you ideas for your future? The whispers haunted your ears again. Repeating the same thing they repeated every time you even considered leaving the Monk.

    ~“Stay… stay… stay…”~

    Just as you wanted to say something to him, the whispers spoke another word through their intelligible sounds.

    ~“Together…”~

    He turned his head so quickly, like it had been called out loud into the room, and you realized he had heard it as well. Your eyes met, he could tell that you had heard it too.

“You heard that?” You gaped at him.

“They are telling you to stay?” His silent shock was palpable.

Had he heard that too??

“What are they telling you?” You grew suspicious.

He looked so guilty and even hesitated to answer. It was so blatantly obvious that he was thinking about lying.

“What else do they tell you?” you asked angrily and far more impatient.

He cast his eyes to the wall. “To protect you.”

To protect you?

“How long have they been telling you that?” your voice had gotten so much quieter.

The Monk barely lifted his eyes from the ground. “Since the night you tried to harm yourself.”

You were trying to make sense of it all. “And you listened to them… even though you fear it will damn your soul.”

“I want to know why they want me to protect you.” he admitted.

Your own confession followed. “And I would like to know why they insist that a stay near you.”

He stepped closer, eyes studying your own. “I wonder if you and I are the last of the Ash Folk. Perhaps it is why they are so persistent to keep us both together.”

It was a plausible explanation, albeit a saddening one.

“The last…” you uttered quietly.

When the Monk touched the tip of his index finger to your cheek, you stared at him. “I will keep you alive. And if you still wish for it, I will tutor you on how to wield a sword. You must know how to defend yourself.”

For the first time since long, there was hope in your eyes. “Thank you. You’re not as terrible as I thought you were.”

He didn’t take it as an insult, instead he smirked and withdrew his hand. “It is late. Try to rest. We shall speak of this further tomorrow.” The Monk walked to the door, opening it. “Rest well.”

You could only nod and watched him leave the room, you heard the door be locked and his footsteps retreat.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The insistent whispers of the Hidden woke you from your sleep, no matter how much you tried to ignore them they persisted. You turned over to face the wall, hoping the change of position would be comfortable enough to fall asleep again. And then you heard the lock turn. Your eyes were open right away and you looked over your shoulder to see the door slowly open. It would have been far more frightening if it had not been clear that this was the doing of the spirits haunting you. Slowly you sat up in the bed, staring at the door for a while. Why had they opened it? You stood up and walked over to it, their whispers got more and more encouraging. What were they going to lead you to this time?

Carefully you stepped outside the room, someone was snoring loudly in one of the other rooms down the hall but it wasn’t where the whispers were leading you to. You tiptoed through the hall, turned a corner or two, then entered a shorter hall that only held a few rooms. Their whispers got stronger the closer you got to the door at the very end of the hall on the right. You knew who must have been behind the door they had lured you to and nerves crashed into your being. Why where they doing this? What did they expect of you? Why would they want you to go to the Monk’s room in the middle of the night?

You didn’t want to think further on it, it was uncomfortable. And then you remembered… sneaking through corridors to not get caught was pointless if it brought you straight to the door of the one person who could tell that you were there purely by your scent. Like a thief in the night you trailed back on your steps, heading back to the room you were supposed to be in.

“Stop right there!” A voice rang from behind you, a door had opened and a paladin had stepped out.

You froze, not knowing what to do.

He had a weapon ready in hand, a small axe that he pointed your way accusingly as he got closer. “How did you get out?!”

You backed away from him, hearing the warnings that the whispers were feeding your ears. This paladin was too suspicious towards you, he saw you as a threat.

“I…” You were stammering, trying to make yourself look less threatening to avoid losing a limb to that axe.

Suddenly, the paladin came to a stop, “Brother?”

You jumped when you felt someone take hold of your arm from behind, your heart ran at an impossible pace. As you spun around in the hold your elbow hit the Monk’s chest.

He wasn’t amused by this nightly interruption at all, it looked like he had thrown on his undershirt in a hurry, you were on the receiving end of two glares.

“She has escaped!” The paladin gestured to you, still using that axe to do so.

If father heard of this…

“She has not.” The Monk denied it and he kept a firm hold on your arm.

The paladin looked between you and the Monk a few times, coming up with his own conclusion as to why his Weeping Brother might be in the halls with you so late in the night. You could just read the assumption off of the paladin’s face and felt uncomfortable.

The paladin bowed his head in submission. “Yes, Brother.”

This would surely cause rumors tomorrow.

The Monk began to walk, pulling you along, as he passed the paladin he told him, “Return to your quarter.”

The paladin followed that order immediately and without questioning. The Monk walked you through the hallways.

You noticed he wasn’t taking you in the direction of the room you had escaped from. “I-”

“Quiet.” He said, sounding quite agitated by the situation.

He walked you back to the door the whispers had drawn you to, and when he opened the door he made you walk inside first before following. He locked the door, keeping the key on him. It was indeed his room, you knew because it smelled like him. His scent… that Fey scent… you didn’t even know you had gotten to recognize what he smelled like until now.

“How did you get out of that room?” he asked sternly.

“I heard the whispers of the Hidden. Then I heard them open the door.” You nervously fidgeted with your sleeve. “They lured me to your door.”

Being disappointed was difficult when you were looking at him with a pair of embarrassed and worried eyes.

His expression changed instantly after what you had said last, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You were honest. “Didn’t you hear them too?”

To him this must have looked like this had all been some elaborate plan of yours.

“No.” He frowned confused.

This could have easily cost you the little trust he had shown.

You tried to explain it. “They showed me where I could find my mother’s journal, I thought they wanted to show me something else. I wasn’t just planning to leave.”

He gave a nod, a small sigh, “But this does tell me that a locked room will not suffice. You will sleep here, where I can know when these spirits open doors for you.”

You looked around, trying to determine what the most comfortable place on the floor was before choosing a corner and walking towards it.

He caught you by the arm and steered you towards the bed. “Not the floor.”

You refused to move. “But-… it’s your bed.”

His brow arched high. “Are you truly fighting me on this?”

He had a point… why should you care? You hummed, then walked to the bed on your own and made yourself comfortable right away. The Monk looked rather amused by your quick change of thought and attitude.

Then he cleared his throat, hoping it would erase the uncomfortable tone from his voice. “I would be grateful if you do not speak of this to Father.”

“About me getting out of the room, or being in yours?” you asked.

“Both.” he said with a look.

You father’s bargaining side awoke in you, “What do I get in return?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, then picked up the woolen blanket off of the foot of the bed and tossed it into your lap. “Enough incentive?”

You took that blanket like it was made of gold and draped it over your body as you laid down. “It will suffice.”

“Good.”

“For now.”

That earned you quite a look from him, then his eyes dropped down to the satchel again that you had refused to take off ever since you had put the journal inside. You put the blanket over it as well, feeling oddly protective over it. With a shallow nod, he respected your choice of keeping it near and he went to the corner beside the door, sliding down to sit against it. You took his cloak from where it rested on the head of the bed, and tossed it in his direction. He eyed you curiously.

You laid your head down, shutting your eyes. “In case you’re cold.”

Quite considerate…

The silence filled the room and held it in it’s hold for the rest of the night.

  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

    The last thing you expected to wake up to was the pommel of a sword pointing right at your nose. You sat up with a jolt, the Monk was already up and ready to leave where he was heading off to. You frowned at him, not understanding why he was offering you a sword. Where did he even get that sword? It wasn’t his. He must have been out of the room whilst you still slept.

He kept holding the sword out for you to take. “I was given permission to test your skill with the sword. Father still wants to know.”

“Are you going to test me, or teach me?” You squinted your eyes and took the sword from his hands.

There was a slight smirk on his lips, it was the answer you sought. The sword carried the symbol of the Church on the hilt, it must be one of the ones used by the paladins. It wasn’t dull at all, it was sharp, something you didn’t really expect the Monk to hand to you.

“I’ve never owned a weapon before.” You thought back to all the times you wish you had owned one.

He took a step back, beckoning for you to follow. “You will. Come with me.”

You stood up and began to follow him, then stopped. “Wait. My hands aren’t bound.”

He turned and looked a bit confused, until he remembered what Father Carden had said. He actually looked in doubt for a moment, then decided to tie your wrists together anyway.

“I will take them off later.” he assured.

Well, it would be quite pointless to test someone’s skill with a sword when the person could barely even hold one like this.

The Monk took you by the arm and walked you through the monastery, you noticed that a lot of paladins were coughing and sneezing as you roamed the halls. He seemed to avoid walking past or near them.

“Are they sick?” you asked him.

He looked around, paying attention to two paladins who walked a little further up ahead, his voice kept a low volume. “Some of them have a cold I believe.”

“Oh…” You didn’t like the sound of that.

Some of them… well some of them looked pale, and others looked downright miserable. You had seen situations like this in Ravenwick before…

The Monk didn’t take you out of the monastery, he took you into a large room where wooden benches had been pushed out of the way and against the walls. Space had been created into this room, space for sparing. After he had closed the door, he placed you into the middle of the room.

“First,” he said, removing the ropes from your wrists, “let me see how you hold a sword.”

Of course that was enough to make you even forget how your hands worked. You always hated it when others asked you to show how you did something. It must have looked ridiculous to him, still he stood patiently waiting until you held the sword. He hummed, the look in his eyes told you that you weren’t holding it right, but he stopped you from correcting it yourself. He came closer again and replaced your hands on the sword.

“Don’t grip it too strong,” he said, then let a jest slip out, “it is not a hammer.”

You glared at him for the smug remark, he didn’t seem to mind at all. Your hand had moved and he immediately corrected your hold again. It took minutes before he finally stopped correcting you on how to hold a sword, you barely dared to move your hands anymore.

“Well… I’m holding it.” you mumbled.

He drew his longsword, and with one swift motion he struck your own sword out of your hands with it. You had jumped back, stunned by the speed of it. He hummed pensively, picked your sword up and handed it back just to start placing your hands correctly on the sword again. It took him a while before he was content with it, this was a learning moment for him too. It struck you as interesting that he really took this seriously. He really intended to teach you well and it took you off-guard. A soft giggle fell out of you and he stopped what he was doing to look at your face.

You shook your head, still smiling. “I didn’t think you would be so serious about this.”

The corner of his mouth curved up a bit. “If I teach you wrong it could mean your death.”

He proceeded to take hold of your arm and show you exactly why holding the sword like that made you able to move it quite free and fluently, your own arm or body wasn’t blocking the range it had like this.

He was so focused on the task. “It must be as if the sword is part of your arm, you must acquaint yourself with it. Now practise moving the way I am showing you.”

After helping you a couple more times, he stepped away and let you try it on your own. The sword’s heaviness began to tire your arms after a while but you fought through the strain it put on your muscles.

“Try attacking me.” The Monk suddenly said, sounding far to at ease with it.

“What?” Your eyes widened.

He beckoned for you. “Try.”

After a moment of hesitation, you scraped together your courage and got closer to him, you swung the sword just like he was trying to teach you. He swerved to the side, caught your arm and pulled. The sword was forced pointing to the ground by him, his free arm came around your abdomen and held you still, he stood against your back with his chest.

You didn’t move at all anymore. “You told me to attack!”

“I never said I would not defend myself.” He sounded quite entertained, then the praise came, “Well done, you learn quick.”

It was perhaps the first praise you had heard in years, you couldn’t even remember the last time. Praise had been rare, with Cassian and Aldith it had always been derogatory remarks towards any achievement you had made. You got very quiet, while it was nice to hear praise you also had no idea how to accept it, as if part of you still believed it wasn’t genuine…

He sensed the reaction in you, because he still reacted in the same manner on those rare occasions where Father would praise him for something.

He turned you around, holding you near by your lower arm, “You did well. I can see that you listened to my instructions.”

All you did was nod to acknowledge the praise. Now that he stood close, you noticed just how similar he smelled to the forest. It was like instinct when you leaned forward a bit and inhaled the scent, it happened so quickly and you leaned away again right after. The Monk appeared speechless.

“You smell like the forest.” You concentrated on the scent.

His eyes darted over the features of your face.

That stare of his made you realize how inappropriate it had been. “I’m sorry…”

He kept looking at your face. “Your ability to smell the Fey is growing stronger, is it not?”

“I think so. It’s like I am starting to pay attention to the scents around me.” you answered truthfully.

He was glad to hear it. “That is how it began with me.”

Your curiosity was growing. “What do I smell like to you?”

A short silence passed between you before he stepped closer. He leaned in and tilted his head, his nose was not an inch away from your neck as he inhaled. You had thought he would do it quite quickly, because you doubted a Monk was comfortable doing this at all, but he didn’t. He didn’t move away, he didn’t move at all.

He had not been in the opportunity to truly smell your Fey scent from this close, and now that he had, an avalanche of vague memories were burying him. He had just been a boy… so very long since he had last inhaled a scent similar to it. The memory strangled the heart he thought he had lost that day many years ago.

Maybe it had been a mistake to ask him, but how could you have known what sort of reaction he would have? You moved ever so little to take a step back. He hooked an arm around you instantly to prevent it, to keep you close enough to inhale your scent.

Fear began to crawl it’s way into you, your voice gave it away, “Please don’t.”

He released you instantly and took a small step back. The eyes of a frightened woman were looking back at him…

“Forgive me…” Shame made him drop his gaze to the floor. “I would never…”

The door of the large room opened, two paladins stepped inside.

“Father is summoning you, Brother.” The oldest said.

The Monk gave a nod. “I will go to him. Bring her back to the room.”

“Yes, Sir.” They said in chorus.

The Monk took back the sword from your hands and bound your wrists again, the only time he looked up at your face you could see the embarrassment he was feeling. Once you were bound he steered you to the paladins and left the room whilst they brought you back to the one you were locked in again.

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[niallerspayno]

I Like Your Style (Niall Horan x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: hey love, if you’re up for it i would love to read an enemies to lovers imagine with Niall and the reader. maybe he often flirts with her but they still really hate each other, until she one day snaps and they make out? just if you feel inspired, love your profile!!❤️

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

Masterlist

You still remember that night—the night everything started. It’s burned into your memory, every detail as vivid as if it just happened.

The award was for Breakthrough Artist of the Year. A career-defining moment, they called it, and you had fought tooth and nail to get here. Months of relentless touring, sleepless nights in the studio, and navigating an industry that always seemed just a little more skeptical of you. But the competition was fierce.

There were four nominees: a critically acclaimed indie darling, a viral TikTok sensation, Niall Horan—former boyband star turned solo artist with an already massive fanbase—and you. The underdog.

You had convinced yourself you wouldn’t win. How could you, standing next to names that practically guaranteed success? Even as they called your name, you sat frozen for a moment, your brain struggling to catch up with reality. The applause surged around you, bright and overwhelming, as the cameras captured your stunned expression.

You stood, smoothing your dress with trembling hands, and made your way to the stage. The trophy was heavier than you expected, cold and solid in your grip as you delivered a speech that you barely remember now—something about gratitude and hard work.

But the real drama started after.

Backstage, you see him almost immediately.

Niall.

He’s leaning against the wall in the press area, his signature grin plastered on his face as the cameras crowd around him. But his eyes—his eyes are scanning the room, and when they land on you, that grin shifts. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something magnetic about it, something that tugged at your gut. It’s as if he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

He strolls over to you with that swagger of his, the one that drives you crazy.

“Hey, congrats on the win, darlin’,” he says, his voice so casual you almost miss the way it sends a spark of irritation through you.

“Thanks,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

But Niall doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes rake over you in that playful way that makes you want to shove him away and lean closer all at once. “I’ve gotta admit, you do have your own... style,” he says, leaning in just a little too close, his breath warm against your ear.

It’s the way he says it—the style part—that makes something cold snap inside you. Like it’s not a compliment at all. His eyes glint with amusement as if he’s daring you to react.

You clench your jaw. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask, keeping your voice level, but your pulse betrays you.

Niall just shrugs, the grin still playing on his lips. “Could be. Depends on how you take it.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it, something that only adds fuel to the fire already burning between you two.

Before you can say anything else, the press swarms you both, and Niall steps back just enough to let the spotlight shift. He’s still watching you, though, his gaze never leaving your face as he answers a few questions.

“She’s got a good look, doesn’t she?”

“You mean her style?” A journalist teases.

Niall chuckles, giving a lazy nod. “Yeah. Something about her vibe.”

You feel your stomach churn. The comment wasn’t just a dig at your style—it was a jab at your talent. You can hear it in his voice, the way he downplays everything. The worst part? The media eats it up. The headlines the next day are brutal.

“Niall Horan Throws Shade at Breakthrough Artist Winner?”

“Pop Rivalry Turns Icy After Award Show Win.”

“Niall Horan’s Casual Dig: Is There Drama with the New Star?”

It all spirals out of control. The press turns a single comment into a full-blown feud, spinning a narrative that’s hard to escape. Niall’s flirty remarks become more frequent, more blatant, each one adding a layer of tension. The more he flirts, the more you want to tear your hair out, especially when it feels like he’s teasing you on purpose—like he knows exactly how much it annoys you.

But even as the rivalry intensifies, there’s this lingering question in the back of your mind. Is he playing a game, or does he mean something else entirely?

And now, here you are—seated next to him on The Voice, the cameras rolling and the entire world watching. You both grin for the cameras, but the tension between you is palpable. Flirting aside, it’s clear: this competition is no longer just about talent. It’s personal.

...

The studio is alive with electricity, the anticipation hanging in the air as the next contestant steps up to the mic. You’re perched on the edge of your seat, already tense, because you know this is the moment. You can feel it. This contestant is exactly what you’ve been waiting for—a voice that could break through the noise, something unique.

But of course, Niall is sitting right next to you, not even pretending to be subtle. He’s leaning back in his chair with that cocky grin plastered on his face, practically vibrating with excitement. You can’t not notice him. He’s always been like that—loud, insistent, trying to make you feel something, anything.

You know what he's doing.

"Bet you a tenner I get this one," he says, his voice low but not quiet enough to escape your hearing.

You glance over at him, your gaze narrowing. "Keep dreaming, Horan. You couldn’t pick talent if it slapped you in the face."

He raises an eyebrow, that grin of his only growing. “Is that right? You might wanna watch this, then. I’m about to claim them.” He leans forward, eyes burning into yours, and for a second, there’s something in the way his jaw clenches that makes you feel… something. It’s not a nice feeling, though—it’s the kind of frustration you get when someone knows exactly what they’re doing.

You lean forward too, but you don’t let your gaze linger on him. You can’t. You have to stay focused. This contestant could be yours.

The music starts—a soft, melodic intro that gradually builds—and the voice that fills the studio takes you by surprise. They’re good. Damn good. The rawness, the power in the notes. It’s clear they have something special.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Niall mutters, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he eyes the contestant. “You sure you can handle this one, love?”

His words come out playful, but there’s a distinct edge to them. Like a challenge. And you hate it.

You’re not backing down. Not now. You press your lips together, forcing yourself to stay calm as the voice soars higher. You’re ready—so ready—for this. You need this.

Kelly Clarkson leans forward, clearly paying attention, and her voice rings out. “Ooooh, I’ve got a feeling about this one. You two might actually be in trouble.”

Blake chuckles beside her, enjoying the spectacle. “Looks like our two favorite coaches are about to go head-to-head again. Good luck, kids.”

You throw Blake a sarcastic grin. “I don’t need luck, Shelton.” Then, without looking at Niall, you add, “I’ve got skill.”

Niall just chuckles, and the sound grates against your ears. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got plenty of skill. But it’s me who knows how to make people shine.” He winks, obviously trying to get under your skin. And damn it, it’s working.

“You keep talking, Niall. Eventually, you might convince yourself,” you mutter, your fingers itching over the button.

You know he’s close to hitting it. You know he wants to press it as badly as you do. And there’s no way you’re letting him get away with it. Not this time.

The contestant hits a perfect high note as the song ends, and it’s your moment. Your hand slams down on the button, and your chair turns with a satisfying whoosh. At the exact same time, you hear the sound of Niall’s chair whirring around too. You both know. It’s a race now. The stakes are higher than ever.

The crowd erupts in cheers, the audience clearly buzzing with excitement over the fierce competition. The contestant stands there, wide-eyed, unsure who to choose, and you can feel Niall’s presence just inches away. His gaze locks with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You know I’m the better choice,” he says, leaning forward just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. There’s a hint of something in his voice—something more than just a game. Something personal. And you hate how much it affects you.

You turn to the contestant, keeping your voice smooth and confident. “Don’t listen to him,” you say, flashing your most charming smile. “I’m the one who’s going to take you places. I’ll give you the chance to be exactly who you’re meant to be.”

Niall’s eyes flick to you, but his expression shifts, something colder lurking behind the cocky grin. “Oh, I’m sure you will. But here’s the thing—I’ve got experience. I know what it takes to make it. You’ll be in good hands with me.”

You can feel your heart rate picking up. You’ve been in enough of these situations to know what’s at stake, and this time, you can’t let him win. You won’t.

Blake’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little showdown here. I don’t know about you, Kelly, but I’m loving the drama already.”

Kelly grins, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. “I think they’re both ready to throw down. Should we get the popcorn, Blake?”

The contestant steps forward, clearly uncomfortable with the mounting tension. “This is... tough. I’m really torn.” They glance between you and Niall. “You’re both amazing coaches…”

You smile a little too tightly, your patience fraying at the edges. “I’ll give you everything you need. We’ll win this, together.”

Niall leans even closer, his voice softer, more persuasive. “I won’t let you down. You’ll be in the best hands with me. Let’s make this happen.” He says it like a promise, and you can’t stand the way it makes your heart skip.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the contestant steps forward. “I’m going with... Niall.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You feel the weight of them, the finality. Niall grins, standing up and reaching out to give the contestant a high-five. “You made the right choice.”

As Niall celebrates, you lean back in your chair, forcing a smile you don’t quite feel. You can feel the heat of Niall’s victory like a brand against your skin.

He glances over at you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

Blake snickers. “They’re definitely not over this rivalry. This season’s gonna be fun to watch.”

You can barely keep the snarl from your lips. “Oh, just wait, Horan. The season’s just getting started.”

You stand, tension crackling between you both as you watch Niall walk away with his new contestant. You know it’s only a matter of time before you get your turn. And when you do... it’s going to be your victory.

...

The stage is set for another Blind Audition, and the energy in the studio feels electric. The previous battle was a tough one, with Niall swooping in to steal your contestant, and it’s been eating at you ever since. You will get one back from him. You’ll make him regret thinking he’s the top coach on this show.

You’ve been watching Niall closely, and you know he’s itching for the next powerhouse vocalist to walk through those doors. He’s sitting back in his chair, relaxed, like he’s already got the next contestant locked down. But you’re ready to ruin that plan.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your fingers hovering over the button. His cocky smile, the way he leans back so casually—he thinks he’s got it in the bag again. Not this time.

The next contestant steps forward, a powerhouse vocalist who hits that first note with so much raw emotion that it sends chills through the room. You’re instantly invested, nodding along to the beat. There’s something special here.

You can feel Niall’s eyes on you as the voice fills the studio, and you see him twitching, clearly ready to slam down his button the second he feels the connection. You don’t even give him the chance.

Without thinking twice, your hand moves swiftly, slamming your button down and blocking Niall from turning around. The bright red light flashes above his chair.

“No!” he shouts in disbelief, sitting up straight. “What the hell, you can’t be serious right now!”

Your smirk is all too satisfying. You stare at him, keeping your voice cool, though there’s a playful edge to it. “Oh, I’m serious. I’m not letting you take this one from me, Horan. Not this time.”

Niall glares at you, his frustration clear. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You blocked me?” He laughs in disbelief, his voice dripping with irritation. “That’s low, even for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Low? I’m just playing the game, Niall. You’re the one who’s been stealing from me all this time. Now it’s my turn.”

Blake chuckles from his chair, glancing at Kelly. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s finally getting a taste of their own medicine.”

“Guess it’s just what happens when you think you can take everyone,” Kelly adds, teasing Niall in her signature way.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, enjoying the chaos you’ve caused. Niall, though, is seething. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

“Well, let’s see how this plays out then,” he mutters under his breath, clearly fuming.

You keep your eyes locked on him for a second longer, enjoying the tension that’s now simmering between you. You’ve managed to outplay him for once—and it feels good.

The contestant finishes their performance with a final, dramatic note, and the moment of silence feels like an eternity.

Blake is the first to hit his button, and then Kelly does the same. But you’re waiting.

As soon as the contestant finishes, you hit your button again, and the chair spins. You watch the contestant’s face light up with excitement as they see your chair turned, and your heart swells with satisfaction.

But Niall’s chair remains turned away. You know he’s struggling to hide his annoyance.

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me,” you say, your voice almost a challenge as you look over at him.

He meets your gaze, his jaw clenched, eyes narrow. “You’ll regret that,” he says under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“I highly doubt it,” you reply, turning your attention back to the contestant, ignoring Niall’s glare. You’ve just taken something precious from him, and it feels good.

The contestant steps forward, looking between the coaches, clearly thrilled by the attention they’ve just received from all of you. But you know this is where it gets tricky. You’ve got the advantage—Niall is blocked, and now you have to convince the contestant to join your team.

“Listen,” you begin, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve got a voice that can move mountains. I can help you take that talent to the next level. I know exactly how to guide you to success, and I’d love for you to be on my team.”

“You made the right choice,” they say with a smile, stepping toward your team.

A rush of triumph fills your chest as you give the contestant a big smile. “I won’t let you down.”

Niall, on the other hand, is trying to keep his cool, but you can tell by the way his shoulders are tense and the way he’s not looking at you that you’ve won this round. You couldn’t help but enjoy it just a little.

...

The moment you step backstage, the adrenaline from the Blind Audition still courses through your veins. You’ve just blocked Niall, taken a contestant right from under his nose, and it feels damn good.

You pull your jacket tighter around you, your mind racing with the satisfaction of winning this round. But just as you think you're in the clear, you hear a voice behind you—low, smooth, and unmistakably Niall's.

"You think you’ve won, don’t you?” His voice is laced with that teasing arrogance that always makes your blood boil.

You turn around, your heart racing at the sight of him, standing there with that smirk plastered across his face. His eyes narrow as they meet yours, like he's trying to read every thought behind your cool exterior. But you can’t let him get to you. Not now.

"Won? It’s just a game, Horan," you reply, your voice biting. "But I guess that’s a concept you wouldn’t understand, considering how you’ve been playing this entire season."

Niall takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. His cocky grin remains, but there’s a tension in his posture that you can’t ignore. "I don’t need to play games when I’ve got talent on my team," he says, his voice low and challenging. “You think you’re so clever, blocking me? But it’s only a matter of time before I take it all back. You can’t keep this up forever.”

You lean against the nearby wall, crossing your arms and letting out a sharp breath. "You’re all talk, Horan. And honestly? I’m getting sick of hearing it. You’ve been stealing from me every round, but you can’t take a little competition?"

Niall smirks, clearly enjoying the way your frustration is boiling over. "You’re cute when you get all fired up, you know that?" His voice drops an octave, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. His words hang in the space, almost like a dare.

You roll your eyes, refusing to let him get the best of you. "Cut the crap, Niall. This isn’t about flirting. It’s about the competition. Keep it professional."

But even as you say it, you can feel the heat radiating from him. The way he’s standing so close now, his presence filling the space with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. His scent, that mix of cologne and something undeniably him, seems to invade your senses. You try to ignore it, but your pulse betrays you, speeding up in a way you can’t control.

He steps even closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for a bottle of water on the counter, his fingers grazing your skin just long enough to send a jolt of electricity through your body.

The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make the air between you both thick with something unspoken. The sexual tension is palpable now, hanging between you like a storm ready to break.

"Keep telling yourself that," Niall murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again. His voice is soft, almost teasing, as if he's savoring this back-and-forth. "But we both know there's more to this than just the competition."

You can’t breathe for a moment, your mind racing. You hate the fact that he’s right, that you feel something when he’s near. Something more than just professional rivalry.

But you won’t let him see that. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you.

"Just keep it up, Horan," you bite back, pushing off the wall and standing straighter, trying to compose yourself. "You might be cute, but I’m not here for games. You’ll see. I’m not the one who’ll be standing alone in the end."

Niall chuckles, that wicked grin never leaving his face. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that.” He leans in just slightly, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispers, “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to show it. You grit your teeth, stepping back and putting some distance between you two.

"You’re delusional," you snap, fighting to keep your voice steady. "If you think I’m falling for your charming act, you're sorely mistaken."

Niall stands there for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips once more before he straightens up and steps back. "Maybe I’m not trying to charm you." His gaze hardens as his smile turns into something a little darker. "But keep pretending that’s not exactly what’s happening. It’s cute, really."

You can’t stand it. You’re done with him. “You’re so full of yourself,” you mutter under your breath, turning away to gather your thoughts.

But Niall isn’t finished yet. "I’ll leave you to your delusions, sweetheart. But just remember this—no matter how much you try to block me, I’ll always find a way to get to you." His voice is thick with meaning, like he’s daring you to challenge him.

You turn back just in time to catch the glint in his eyes, the fire still burning between you. For a moment, neither of you moves. There’s a beat of silence, heavy with the unspoken words and emotions that have been building since you walked into this backstage area.

Then, without another word, Niall walks away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding in your chest and a fire raging inside you that you can’t quite extinguish.

...

The air backstage is filled with anticipation as the Battle Rounds approach. The tension between you and Niall has only grown over the course of the blind auditions, and it’s now time to take things to the next level. Every coach knows this round is critical—not just for the contestants, but for their pride.

The producers have a surprise in store for everyone tonight. To kick off the Battle Rounds in a spectacular way, they’ve asked the four coaches to perform a song together as an opening number. After a brief moment of surprise, all of you agree to the idea, knowing it’s a perfect way to set the tone for the intense competition ahead.

The air is thick with anticipation. The studio lights blaze above, casting a bright glow over the stage. The live band hums behind you, ready to bring the rhythm to life. You’re seated in one of the ornate chairs, feeling the weight of the competition settle on your shoulders. You glance around the circle of coaches—Niall is sitting next to you, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He shoots you a half-smile, the kind that holds a hint of something else, a little too playful. You catch his gaze, but you refuse to acknowledge it for too long, focusing instead on the task ahead.

Blake and Kelly are to the other side of Niall, both chatting lightly amongst themselves, their voices floating over the murmur of the audience. Blake is already making faces at the crowd, showing off for the cameras, but Kelly’s gaze keeps flicking between you and Niall, like she’s sensing the tension brewing between you two. You know she’s not blind to it—neither is Blake, for that matter.

The band strikes up the first notes of Can't Take My Eyes Off You, and the audience erupts in cheers. You lift the microphone, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and your nerves dissipate into the music. The competition has officially begun—this performance will set the stage for the battle rounds, and every word you sing feels heavier now.

You glance over at Niall, your heart giving a small jolt as he leans slightly toward you, his voice low but unmistakable. He’s waiting for the right moment to take the lead, but you’re not going to let him have it that easily. You shift in your seat, ready for the challenge.

The first verse starts, and you sing, your voice floating smoothly into the air.

"You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you"

You feel Niall's presence beside you—his attention unwavering as he follows your lead. But there’s something else there, something beneath the surface. His eyes flick to you as you sing, the playful challenge between the two of you still palpable. He leans closer just as his turn comes, and you can feel the air shift.

"You'd be like Heaven to touch I wanna hold you so much"

There’s a subtle tension building between you, an invisible string connecting you both as your voices harmonise. The entire moment feels charged, as though you’re both competing for the spotlight, even though you’re supposed to be collaborating. You can’t deny the heat of his gaze as it lingers on you, something unspoken between you, neither of you willing to break it.

The song swells, and you take your turn with a bit more flair, your eyes locking with Niall’s.

"I love you, baby And if it's quite alright I need you, baby To warm the lonely night I love you, baby Trust in me when I say"

The two of you are side by side, but it feels like you’re worlds apart. You can sense his smirk before he even opens his mouth, and when he sings, his voice smooth and teasing, you can almost feel the challenge in his words.

"Oh, pretty baby Don't bring me down, I pray Oh, pretty baby Now that I've found you, stay"

You fight to keep your composure, your voice strong, but it’s hard to ignore the silent battle unfolding between you two. He’s playing with you, pushing you, and you won’t back down.

You both reach the final chorus, and there’s a shift—a spark that ignites between you as you sing in tandem. The energy is electric, the entire performance now feeling like it’s not just about the song, but about proving something. To each other. To the audience.

"And let me love you, baby Let me love you"

The crowd’s roar rises as you finish the last note. The music fades, and you both hold your microphones, your breath heavy from the performance. You steal another glance at Niall, and this time, his smirk is gone, replaced by something else—a quiet recognition. His eyes linger on yours, and for a moment, there’s an unspoken understanding between you.

The applause is deafening as the coaches exchange looks, Blake already grinning and giving you both a thumbs-up, while Kelly gives you an approving nod. But it’s Niall’s gaze that sticks with you—the challenge is still there, unspoken, but clear. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his eyes still on you.

You can feel the tension between you like a string pulled tight, waiting for the next move.

...

The applause still rings faintly in your ears as you make your way backstage. The buzz of the performance is dulled by the swirl of thoughts in your head—mainly, Niall. The way he leaned just a little too close during the song, his voice dipping in that teasing way he knows drives you mad.

And maybe it’s the heat of the performance or the months of frustration bubbling over, but you’re done. Done letting this hang over you, done second-guessing every look, word, and touch from him.

You spot him by the craft services table, casually leaning against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world, laughing with some producer. His easy charm grates on you, pushing you to stride over, your steps fueled by determination and anger.

“Niall,” you say sharply. He turns, his brows lifting in surprise. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Alright then,” he drawls, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager for some one-on-one time, love.”

“Save it,” you snap, your tone brooking no argument. “Somewhere private.”

His smirk falters, curiosity flashing in his eyes, but he shrugs and follows you into the quiet hallway. The air between you is already thick, and as soon as you’re out of sight from the crew, you whirl on him.

“I’m not playing games anymore, Niall,” you say, your voice taut. “What did you mean at the awards show? The comment about my ‘style’—what was that supposed to be?”

He blinks, caught off guard. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“Yes, I’m still hung up on it!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “You made me look like a joke in front of everyone. So, explain. Was it a cheap shot, or were you just being your usual, arrogant self?”

Niall exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, but his playful smirk doesn’t quite disappear. “You really think I’d waste my time taking cheap shots at you?”

“Don’t act like you’re above it,” you fire back. “You’ve been throwing jabs at me since day one.”

“Because you make it so bloody easy,” he counters, stepping closer, his voice low and laced with that maddening charm. “You walk in with your head held high, acting like you’re untouchable. It’s…endearing.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” you say, pointing a finger at his chest.

He grabs your hand before you can pull away, his grip firm but not harsh. “I’m not patronizing you,” he murmurs, his tone dropping. “I’m telling you the truth. You’ve got this fire about you that makes it impossible not to push your buttons.”

You snatch your hand back, your pulse racing for reasons you’d rather not admit. “So, that’s what this is? Some kind of sick game to you?”

“No,” he says, his own frustration flaring now. “It’s not a game. But maybe I said what I said back then because I was jealous, alright? You’ve got this incredible career, this talent I can’t help but admire, and I—”

“Jealous?” you cut him off, your voice incredulous. “That’s your excuse? You made me feel small because you were insecure?”

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his blue eyes blazing. “You don’t get it, do you? It wasn’t about making you feel small. It was about getting your attention. And, for the record, I’ve got a lot of respect for you, even if you refuse to see it.”

“Respect?” you laugh bitterly. “Is that what you call constantly flirting and turning everything into a competition?”

“Would you rather I ignored you?” he shoots back. “Because I don’t think you’d like that either.”

His words cut through you, your heart pounding as the tension between you reaches a breaking point. His gaze is locked on yours, and for a split second, you think he might close the distance between you.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, stepping back to break whatever spell this is.

“And you’re infuriating,” he retorts, though there’s something softer in his voice now. “But admit it—you’d miss me if I stopped trying.”

You hate how your cheeks heat at his words, how your anger feels tangled up in something deeper, something you’re not ready to name.

“Forget it,” you say, shaking your head. “This was a mistake.”

You turn and walk away, not daring to look back. But you can feel his eyes on you, and his words—sharp, teasing, and maddeningly honest—linger long after you’ve gone.

…

The Battle Rounds are behind you now, but the tension between you and Niall hasn’t eased in the slightest. If anything, it’s only grown sharper with every exchange, every offhanded quip, and every side-eyed glance from him that lingers just a beat too long. The audience eats it up, of course, but for you, it’s exhausting. Weeks of sniping at each other on live television have done nothing to resolve the resentment simmering beneath the surface. Now, it’s the Knockouts, and fate—or maybe just some cruel producer with a sense of humor—has pitted your contestant against Niall’s.

You sit in your oversized chair, trying to project calm confidence, but the energy crackling in the room feels like it’s working against you. Niall is close enough that you can hear him tapping his foot against the base of his chair, his arm draped over the backrest in that infuriatingly casual way that makes it seem like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His contestant is up first, and when the cameras cut to you both for reactions, he leans toward you with a grin that’s all smug mischief.

“Hope your kid brought their A-game,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. “Mine’s about to blow the roof off.”

You don’t bother looking at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the stage instead. “Confidence is cute, Niall. Overconfidence, though? Not so much.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and maddeningly unbothered. “We’ll see how cute it looks when I’m walking out of here with another win under my belt.”

The lights dim, signaling the start of the performance, and Niall leans back in his chair, still grinning as if he already knows the outcome.

His contestant delivers a near-flawless performance, commanding the stage with an undeniable presence and a pitch-perfect rendition of a current pop anthem. The audience is eating it up, cheering and clapping in all the right places. You can’t deny the talent—it’s impressive. Annoyingly so.

When the performance ends, the applause is thunderous, and Niall is on his feet, clapping like a proud parent at a school recital. He glances at you as he sits back down, his grin sharper now. “Tough act to follow, eh?”

You finally meet his gaze, matching his smirk with one of your own. “Oh, don’t worry. My contestant knows how to make an impression.”

And they do. Your contestant strides onto the stage and delivers a performance brimming with raw emotion and artistry. It’s less polished than Niall’s act but undeniably heartfelt, a stark contrast that resonates with the crowd. By the time the final note rings out, the audience is on their feet again, their applause just as loud as before.

You glance at Niall, satisfied to see his expression falter—if only for a moment. “What was that you were saying earlier?” you ask, your tone sweet and pointed.

But Niall recovers quickly, leaning closer as the audience noise fades. “Not bad,” he says, his grin returning. “I’ll give it to you—your kid’s got heart. But sometimes heart isn’t enough, love.”

The final decision is made, and when the host announces Niall’s contestant as the winner, he explodes out of his seat, throwing his arms in the air with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“YES!” he shouts, turning to you with a laugh that’s equal parts giddy and teasing. “Told you, didn’t I?”

You stay seated, forcing a tight smile as the cameras cut to you. “Congratulations,” you say through gritted teeth, though your eyes narrow as he takes his sweet time basking in the moment.

As the stage clears and the contestants exit, Niall plops back down in his chair, still buzzing with energy. He leans toward you again, his voice a soft murmur so only you can hear. “Don’t take it too hard, love. You’re still my favorite rival.”

You glare at him, your composure slipping for just a second as your frustration bubbles over. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” he says with a wink, clearly relishing every second of your irritation.

The cameras cut to a commercial break, but the tension between you remains.

…

The day finally comes to an end, and the air backstage is charged with the hum of crew members packing up, the chatter of contestants celebrating or consoling one another, and the occasional burst of laughter from Kelly and Blake somewhere nearby. You’re standing at your vanity, wiping the last of your makeup off, your reflection staring back at you with tired, frustrated eyes. It’s not just the long day weighing on you—it’s him. Niall.

The Knockout rounds have been a whirlwind, but tonight felt like the final straw. His cocky grin, his teasing, the way he gloated about his contestant's win—it’s all too much. You’re still stewing over it when you hear his voice from the doorway.

“Burning a hole in the mirror there, love. What’d it ever do to you?”

You glance at him in the reflection. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his tie loosened and his shirt untucked like he owns the damn place. His hair is a little mussed, his grin infuriatingly lazy, and yet your stomach tightens in that traitorous way it always does when he’s around.

“I’m not in the mood, Niall,” you say flatly, turning back to the mirror.

He steps inside anyway, the sound of his boots soft against the carpet. “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not my fault you can’t handle a bit of competition.”

You spin around, unable to stop yourself. “Competition? You mean you strutting around like a peacock and rubbing it in everyone’s faces every time you win? Yeah, real classy.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, but there’s amusement flickering in his eyes. “Strutting like a peacock? That’s rich coming from you, miss ‘watch my contestant steal the show.’ You’ve got the whole humble act down, but we both know you love being center stage.”

Your pulse races, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you are so full of yourself. Do you even hear the things you say?”

“Oh, I hear them,” he says, stepping closer. “And so do you. That’s why you’re always snapping back, isn’t it? Admit it—you love our little game.”

“I—” you start, but the words die in your throat because he’s too close now, his scent—clean, woodsy, with a hint of something darker—filling your senses.

“You want to know what really gets to you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low, his eyes locking onto yours. “It’s not my ego. It’s not the teasing. It’s the fact that you feel something when we’re going at it. Admit it. You hate how much I get under your skin because part of you likes it.”

Your heart is hammering now, and every nerve in your body feels alive, sparking with frustration and something else, something hotter. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I know this,” he says, his hand brushing against yours, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist. “If I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.”

And there it is—his challenge, his dare, hanging in the charged air between you.

Your breath catches, and before you can overthink it, your free hand grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him down. The moment your lips collide, it’s like a dam breaking.

The kiss is fire and electricity, all-consuming and frantic, mouths clashing as though you’re trying to prove something, trying to win a battle neither of you truly wants to end. His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, eliciting a low growl from him that sends a shiver down your spine.

The world fades away—the noise outside, the glaring lights, the rivalry that’s defined your relationship. All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours, the press of his body against yours, the way his hands roam as though he’s memorizing every inch of you.

His tongue slides against yours, and the sensation pulls a soft gasp from you. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his teeth nipping lightly at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. You press closer, your back hitting the edge of the vanity, and he groans against your mouth as his hands grip your hips tighter.

It’s fiery and desperate, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll lose yourself completely in him. His lips trail along your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin as he murmurs, “God, you drive me mad, you know that?”

The sound of his voice, rough and breathless, snaps you back to reality. You push against his chest, not hard enough to truly separate, but enough to remind yourself where you are.

“Niall,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and pink, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Say the word,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, your mind spinning, your body still thrumming from his touch. Finally, you exhale, your voice trembling but steady. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Sure, love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

And just like that, he’s backing away, leaving you leaning against the vanity, your lips still tingling and your heart racing. As he walks out, he glances over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

You’re left alone in the quiet room, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin, and you know—this changes everything.

...

The following morning dawns crisp and bright, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that marked the Knockout rounds. The studio buzzes with its usual pre-show energy, but you feel strangely detached, your thoughts replaying the night before on an endless loop. Niall's words, his touch, his kiss—all of it lingers, pulling your focus no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

You’ve managed to avoid him all morning, diving into rehearsals with your team and keeping your interactions limited to polite nods when absolutely necessary. But as fate—or that same meddling producer—would have it, you find yourself alone in one of the empty sound booths just before lunch, reviewing notes for your contestant. And then, like clockwork, he’s there.

“Running away from me already?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper beneath it, something uncertain.

You don’t look up, pretending to be engrossed in the clipboard in your hands. “Not everything’s about you, Niall.”

He leans casually against the doorframe, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. “Last night felt pretty personal, though. Or am I imagining things?”

Your cheeks burn at the memory, and you finally look at him, your expression carefully neutral. “If you’re here to gloat, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.”

His grin falters slightly, and he steps inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “I’m not here to gloat,” he says softly, his tone a stark departure from his usual bravado. “I’m here because we need to talk.”

You set the clipboard down, crossing your arms defensively. “About what? How you can’t seem to go five minutes without trying to get under my skin?”

“About why I do it,” he counters, his voice steady, his gaze locked onto yours. “Because I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

The confession hangs in the air, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He takes a tentative step closer, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“Do you even know how this started?” you ask finally, your voice quieter now, almost tentative. “What you said back then—about my style. It felt like you were tearing me down, like you didn’t think I deserved to be here.”

Niall winces, his jaw tightening. “I know. And I was a right idiot for saying it like that.” He rubs the back of his neck, exhaling heavily. “But it wasn’t what I meant, not really. I said it because… hell, because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” you repeat, incredulous.

He nods, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. “You walked into that room like you belonged there, like you were untouchable. And I—I hated how much I noticed. How much I admired it. You had this fire, and it scared the hell out of me, but it also drew me in. So, yeah, I made that stupid comment, and then the press ran with it, and before I knew it, we were enemies.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You could’ve just said that.”

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his voice low. “Still don’t, half the time. It’s easier to tease, to rile you up, because at least then I get a reaction. At least then I get to feel close to you, even if it’s in the middle of a fight.”

Your heart pounds, your defenses crumbling as you take a shaky breath. “Niall…”

He steps closer, his hand reaching for yours but stopping just short. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this, love. Tell me I didn’t ruin us before we even had a chance.”

For a moment, the room feels impossibly small, the air between you heavy with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, you take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “You didn’t ruin anything,” you whisper. “But you’re damn good at making things complicated.”

He laughs softly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulls you closer. “I’ll take complicated if it means I get to keep this—keep you.”

And then his lips are on yours again, softer this time but no less consuming. The kiss is a promise, a new beginning, and when you pull back, your foreheads resting together, you know there’s no turning back.

“Well,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. “This should make the live shows interesting.”

His grin is back, full and unapologetically cocky. “Oh, love, you have no idea.”

The rivalry isn’t over—it never will be. But as he holds you close, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, you realize you wouldn’t want it any other way.

...

The finale of The Voice is a spectacle unlike any other. The stage is a kaleidoscope of lights and sound, the energy in the room electric as the final contestants prepare for their performances. Months of hard work, endless rehearsals, and nail-biting eliminations have led to this moment—and while the focus is supposed to be on the contestants, the coaches’ chemistry has become just as much a part of the story.

Specifically, yours and Niall’s.

The once-infamous rivalry has evolved into something else entirely, leaving fans, contestants, and even the production team buzzing with speculation. You and Niall are still competitive, but the edge has softened. He cheers for your team members, and you’ve been caught smiling—smiling!—at his. The biting comments have turned into playful banter, and there’s a lingering warmth in your interactions that has everyone guessing.

“Okay, spill,” Kelly says during a commercial break, leaning over the arm of her chair to give you a pointed look. “What is going on with you two? First, you’re at each other’s throats, and now it’s like... I don’t know, some rom-com in the making.”

Blake chimes in, arms crossed and smirking. “I don’t know about rom-com. It’s more like a Hallmark movie—predictable as hell. I mean, just kiss already.”

“Will you two stop?” you hiss, glancing at the cameras, but your flushed cheeks give you away.

Niall, sitting in his chair with all the confidence in the world, just grins. “Don’t listen to them, love. Let them speculate. It’s more fun that way.”

Kelly raises an eyebrow. “See? That. That right there. The way he calls you ‘love’ like it’s no big deal. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Before you can respond, the host’s voice fills the arena, announcing the night’s first performance. The conversation is tabled—for now—but the tension lingers, amplified by the way Niall’s gaze keeps finding yours, even when the cameras aren’t rolling.

...

The finale flies by in a whirlwind of stunning performances, heartfelt speeches, and a palpable sense of anticipation. The votes are tallied, and the stage is set for the big announcement. You stand with the other coaches, your heart pounding as the host begins the dramatic countdown.

“And the winner of The Voice is…”

The crowd erupts as the host calls out Niall’s contestant’s name. Confetti rains down, music swells, and Niall throws his arms up in triumph. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he pulls his contestant into a celebratory hug, but his eyes flick to you almost immediately.

You clap for the winner, genuinely happy despite the outcome. You’ve come to respect Niall’s coaching style, even if his ego sometimes gets in the way. He’s good at what he does—annoyingly good—and you can’t help but admire him for it.

As the chaos dies down and the cameras cut back to the coaches, the host turns to you and Niall, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, before we wrap up this incredible season, I think there’s one question on everyone’s mind.”

Your stomach drops. Oh no.

The host gestures between you and Niall. “What’s the deal here? First, you’re rivals, then you’re besties—what’s really going on?”

The audience roars with laughter and cheers, and you’re about to brush it off with a witty comment when Niall steps forward, his grin turning downright devilish.

“Well,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the noise, “I think it’s about time we clear the air, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. “Niall, don’t you dare—”

But he does. Before you can stop him, he strides over, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you.

It’s not just any kiss. It’s a moment. The kind that steals your breath and melts your knees. His lips are warm, firm, and utterly consuming as he pulls you closer, one hand sliding to your waist as the other cradles your cheek. The crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and clapping, and you vaguely hear Blake yelling something like, “FINALLY!”

For a second, you forget the cameras, the audience, everything but the feel of Niall’s mouth on yours and the way he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his grin as bright as the stage lights.

“Guess the secret’s out, love,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You blink, your heart racing, and manage to mutter, “You are so dead.”

He just laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he turns to the audience. “Thanks for a great season, everyone!”

The cameras capture every second, and by the time you make it backstage, the internet is already exploding. #NiallAndY/NFinale, #VoiceCoupleGoals, and #EnemiesToLovers are trending worldwide, with clips of the kiss going viral in real time.

Kelly and Blake are waiting for you in the green room, both grinning like Cheshire cats. “Well, that was dramatic,” Kelly says, sipping her drink. “Even for you two.”

Blake claps Niall on the shoulder. “You’ve got guts, Horan. I’ll give you that.”

Niall just shrugs, looking completely unrepentant. “What can I say? I like making headlines.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. As much as you want to throttle him for the public spectacle, there’s no denying the weight that’s lifted now that the truth is out.

Later, as you sneak away from the chaos for a quiet moment, Niall finds you leaning against a backstage railing, staring out at the city lights. He slides his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Not bad for a season finale, huh?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You tilt your head back to look at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his gaze. “You really are insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

...

Part 2

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader.

Chapter Twelve: Without You I’m Just a Fraction

summary: theo’s dealings come to light.

modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington.

masterlist

——

  From the moment you walk in the door to your home, Steve knows something is wrong. Can see it in the fall of your shoulders, the way you don’t respond to his touch, how you seem overall deflated. Like someone sucked all the life out of you, leaving you a husk of what he knows you to be. 

This bright and vibrant person, always giving him shit in the best way. The kind of way that challenges him, makes him want to come out of his shell more, makes him open up to his fullest self. 

But now you seem almost listless. Your face blank as you strip out of your dress and slip into the shower. He follows with a knock on the sliding glass panel — finds you sitting there on the bench, knees pulled up to your chest, letting the steam fog up the room as if there’s a stain you just can’t quite get out. 

It sends him spiraling. Worrying something must have happened when his back had been turned. Something someone must have said or done, be it a partner of his company, employee, or one of the other wives. He tries to recall anything he had seen. Any moment that would give him some insight as to what he is walking into, but nothing jumps to the forefront of his mind.

Instead he asks if there’s room for him on the bench. Ducks under the spray of water to fold you there against his chest, your back to his front, cradled in the circle of his arms. 

Your head falls to your knees, shoulders trembling as you submit to your emotions, and he breaks, because the only words you give him are, “Theo knows about us.”

  ——

  “So…what does he have?” 

“The video,” you tell him later, when you’re both in pajamas, sitting across from one another on your bed, hating that your night has turned into this rather than amorous kisses and twisted bedsheets. You can’t even think about anything else right now other than Theo — other than his threats of blackmail against you. Suggestions that he’ll take you to court, if need be. “From our party. I know you remember that night. I know you lied and said you didn’t, and it doesn’t matter anymore, but we…were apparently caught on camera.” 

“Okay,” he says solemnly, rubbing a hand along his cheekbone. “Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say? Okay? Steve, this is far from okay.” 

“I know!” He shouts, and it’s the first time he’s ever raised his voice around you. At your jolt, he crawls closer to you on the mattress, cradles your face in his palms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry. I — I’ll call my lawyer in the morning. See what our options are. I’ll have them look over the will again.”

“Steve,” you whisper, voice breaking off into a sob as he tugs you into his arms, hands rubbing up and down your spine as he muffled your cries with his chest. “I’m scared.”

“I know, baby,” he soothes, but his racing heart beneath your ear betrays him when he says, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  ——

  Charlie sprawls by your feet that next morning, his head over your ankles. Your hand reaches over to pet him, earning a nudge of a wet nose, before rolling over to face Steve. He’s awake — probably has been all night, what with the dark circles beneath his eyes. Nose judging along his jaw playfully, he offers you the softest of smiles. A quick little upturn. But it’s enough to have you shuffling closer, one hand coming up to rest over his cheek. 

It’s in your momentary distraction you don’t see Steve reach out to run along your forearm, the bruises blooming beneath your skin making you wince. His eyes narrow, the breath in his lungs becoming a harsh rasp. Each more strained than the last. 

“Did he touch you?” There’s no point in denying it, so you nod your head, face crumpling all over again as he pulls you into his chest and presses his face into the crook of your neck, voice broken as he mutters, “I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s not worth it,” you tell him, palms rubbing up and down his trembling back. “He’s horrible. The worst. He’s cheating on Cami too.”

“He put his hands on you,” he growls out, and you hug him tighter. Try to quell the rattling of his form. The endless tremors that wrack his exhausted frame. “I love you. I’m sorry, I love you.”

You lay like that for minutes. Hours. Longer, even. By the time morning has turned into evening, neither of you has made any effort to move – still too stricken by the events of the past twenty-four hours. Still overcome by the endless barrage of whirling emotions. The dawning realization and understanding that your secret has been revealed. Brought to light. That someone so desperately wants to use the knowledge against you both. Against your marriage that, though it may have been forged in lies, is now real. 

Neither of you speaks. There are no words – not really. And neither of you wants to anyway. Instead, you merely bask in the presence of the other. In the constant and solidity of your marriage. It brings you peace now in the growing disquiet within your soul.

So as Steve later gets ready for the evening, he brings you in close near the doorway. Pulls you tight within the circle of his arms, whispering, “I will make this right,” against the crown of  your head. And you believe him. Put all your faith, hope, trust, and love in him as he kisses you one last time at the door and leaves you in the penthouse with the silence of the four walls of your home, and Charlie’s concerned glances from where he lays on the floor. 

“Your dad is going to make everything okay,” you tell Charlie, patting his head affectionately. 

You believe him. 

You have to, because otherwise there is no hope. 

——

  Cami comes by that evening. The kids are staying with her parents, leaving the two of you to sit around in the living room, ruminating over everything that has happened while you wait to hear from Steve. 

One word. All you need and want from him is one word right now. If only to know what’s happening, to find out what the consequences of your actions may end up being. But instead you've been met with radio silence. Sharing in Cami’s grief as you tell her what happened the remainder of the evening. 

You start at the beginning. With the fake marriage agreement, working your way all the way through the present day. To your time away with him, to the love that has grown between the two of you. To your fears that you’ll have cost him everything because of it. 

“I mean…he’s not wrong,” you tell her after a while, smiling sadly to yourself. “I did marry Steve after meeting him only a handful of times. My marriage is a lie.” 

“But it’s not now,” she reminds you, sincerity in her tone. And you know she’s right. “You love him. Anyone can see but just looking at the two of you how you feel about one another.” 

“I do,” you say, glancing down to your phone once more where there’s a picture of you and Steve as the background, him with his lips on your cheek, and you with the giddiest grin across your lips. “I’m in love with him, Cami.” 

“Then it’ll be okay,” she reminds you, reaching over to clasp your hand. You note her very bare ring finger with a frown, and she offers you the softest of grimaces. “It’s going to be okay for me too. I don’t know how, but it will.” 

“Where is he now?” you ask sullenly, watching as her features drop once more. 

It’s the least dressed up you’ve seen her. Used to a socialite life since she was a mere child, Cami is one for designer shoes, clothes, and bags. And while she’s likely still in designer clothing, it’s no more than an oversized hoodie and leggings that donned her form, her curly mane of red hair in a messy bun at the top of her head. 

She looks small like this, sitting in your living room. Impossibly broken. Irreparably so, with Charlie laying across her lap in support. Her fingers comb through his hair, the puppy oblivious to the chaos and calamity that has followed the two of you around in the wake of the party. 

“He’s away again. He’s been spending so much money since I found out about the cheating. I know he got a raise, but it’s almost like he’s overcompensating now.” 

“I remember you saying that,” you say, thoughts trailing off a bit as Cami prattles on further. 

You: Steve, did Theo get two raises this year? 

“I think he’s headed to Italy with the woman he’s seeing. I haven’t gotten the nerve to look at our billing statements. I don’t really think I want to at this point,” she says, and it’s a broken, watery sound. “This was it for me. My father is going to set me up with a divorce lawyer, and we’ll go from there.” 

My Love: No…why do you ask? I’ll be home soon, baby. I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. 

My Love: I’ll grab us dinner on our way home. Don’t worry about cooking or anything. I miss you. 

“The kids are confused, and I know all these changes will be hard for them, but he’s never been all that active with them either.”

You: Thank you. I miss you too, but I promise I’m okay. Cami is here. We’re keeping each other company.

“And I know I haven’t been the best to them, but I want to be,” she says vehemently, sniffing loudly to keep her tears at bay. “Do you think people can change?”

 Your eyes soften with the heartbreak in her tone. “Are you asking if I think you can change?”

She whimpers, face crumpling with her anguish. “I just want to be a good mom.” 

“You are a good mom. You’re making all of these hard decisions for their betterment with them in mind. You are a good mom, Cami.”

You: I think you should look into it. Cami said Theo has been spending all this money — talking about getting another raise. 

My Love: I’ll have it looked into. I love you. <3

You: I love you too. <3

“I’m proud of you, Cami,” you whisper, crawling closer to wrap your arms around her neck, letting her fall into your embrace. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

“I’m sorry he’s trying to take you down with him,” she says, letting out a shaky exhale, tears imbuing her every word. “I just wish there was some way we could make this right. All of it.”

It’s not her cross to bear, and even so you can only imagine what she’s feeling. This realization that her husband is not at all who she ever thought of him to be. Years of marriage and two children later, and she’s just realizing it now in the worst way imaginable. The fact of the matter is, he’s capable of not only cheating on the woman he vowed to love and remain faithful to forever, but he’s also not above putting his hands on another human being, as well as blackmailing them in broad daylight. 

And like a strike of lightning. Or sheer divine luck, your phone illuminates once more on the coffee table. You pluck it up in your palm and see the message flashing across the device, heart pounding at the words that are there. 

My Love: My beautiful, beautiful genius of a wife. We found something. 

“Steve thinks he may have found something.” 

  ——

  Steve calls in a meeting at work two weeks later. Every day that passes sends you into a tailspin of emotion, but Steve asks that you promise to trust as his attorneys work out the details of everything. 

In the end, before you walk into the conference room, clad in a black skirt and a blazer top, trying to maintain an air of business professionalism, he grabs your hand. Clutches it tight as he pulls you down the hall, wanting a little bit of privacy away from all the peering eyes. 

“I want to start with…I’d give it all up. The company, the name, all of it. It has never meant much to me other than some…probably fucked up sense of upholding a legacy.” He swallows, folding you against his chest, rocking you in his arms. “But I would give it all up, because none of it matters. You are the most important thing in my life. Most important person. I love you.”

“Steve…” Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, heart hammering away behind your sternum. 

“I mean it,” he says, pushing back enough to look you in the eye. “None of it matters. Only you. I’d give it all up for you.”

“You have me,” you remind him, placing your hand over his chest. “Forever, right?” 

“Forever.” He nods, and you swear you catch the slightest glimmer of tears gathering in his eyes. 

Leaning up onto your toes, you kiss him. Silence all the swirling thoughts likely running rampant in his mind over the last few days of preparing for this meeting. 

And now here it is. 

  ——

  Steve’s attorneys are not present for the meeting, but he’s prepared with everything they’ve since discussed. Instead, he runs it as he does every morning meeting. Only this time, you sit in the background and listen as he greets the room. He’s professionalism embodied, all sweeping motions, booming voice, and full of confidence. He runs through what you assume is normal morning meeting jargon. 

Listing accomplishments and setbacks. Shouting out strong workers and encouraging them in their endeavors. And then he becomes serious. A grave look crosses his features as he stands in front of the room and tells everyone, including a smirking Theo, that he had approached you about marriage months ago, after hardly even knowing one another. 

“It was irresponsible of me and I understand if this has hurt your trust in me,” he tells the room, and you watch as the faces all around you look on with sympathy toward Steve. Sympathy. Understanding. No one seems alarmed or angry. No one says much at all — not really. “I do love my wife, but if anyone has any issue, please let me know.”

No one speaks for a while. They merely glance around the table at one another. At you. As if no one knows what to say in this instance. Then again, it’s not really an everyday occurrence that one’s boss admits to falsifying a marriage. 

It’s an older man you recognize who speaks first. Your breath whooshes out of your lungs in a deep exhale as he speaks, “Steven, what are you even going on about, my boy? You’ve loved that woman since she walked down the aisle. We were all there. We all saw it on your face.” 

“Can we get to work now?” another man teases, standing up and clapping your husband on his back. “Fake marriage. That’s some shit my girlfriend tells me she reads about in some of her books.” The man turns to you then, grinning. “Mrs. Harrington, it was great seeing you this morning.” 

The room begins to disperse. Each laughing at Steve’s admission. Each brings a smile to your face, and a glower to Theo’s. You almost forgot he was even there until Steve calls his name and asks for him to stay behind. 

“Honey, would you mind joining me at the table?” Steve asks. 

Your heels feel heavy as they clack against the floor. As they carry you the short distance to where Steve is sitting, where he’s pulled out a chair for you to settle down in. Theo laces his fingers in front of him, elbows propped up onto the table, a bored expression lining his features. 

“I would like to start off by saying that if you ever put your hands on my wife again, I swear to god, Theo —”

Theo snarls, spitting venomously, “She came at me with accusations she knows nothing of —”

“You were cheating on your wife!” you retort hotly, hand slamming down on the conference room table. “What else is there for me to comprehend? Or are you still insistent on me being an idiot on top of being beneath you because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my fucking mouth.” 

Steve snorts beside you, his hand coming around to rest on your bicep. There’s clear pride evident in his gaze, those hazel eyes of his locked on your profile as Theo leans back on his chair, the back of it straining against his weight. 

“Cami, you see, she —”

“Cami is more woman than you’ll ever deserve. And you’ve gone and fucked that all up by galavanting all over the United States, flaunting your affairs right in front of her face.” Your words are snide and sound foreign on your lips, but you want them to sink in. To really settle deep within him — not that you think he’ll change. Cami asked if you thought people could change. Some people can. People like Theo? You’re not quite convinced. “She might have been the only person who would have saved your ass, but you went and screwed that up too.” 

“What do you —”

Steve pulls out a folder and slides his father’s will across the conference room table. Theo leans in again onto his elbows, reading over the contents within. Steve’s legal team had highlighted certain parts. The parts Steve shared with you, the ones that had made you break down into happy tears when he told you. 

“You see, my father’s will stated I needed to be married. He didn’t say by what means — only that I married. I was married in June. You were there, weren’t you?” Steve asks, a sly grin sliding across his features. 

“I was,” Theo grumbles. 

“My wife and I were friends when I proposed to her. It’s more than a lot of people can say when they marry,” Steve explains, and Theo begins to wither a bit on the other side of the table. “People marry for different reasons other than love all the time. But again, all I needed to do was marry. I did that, so I ended up satisfying the will. I also addressed our coworkers today, all of which seemed not at all bothered by my news. So that blackmail you tried to use against my wife? Seems pretty pointless now, don’t you think?” 

Theo doesn’t say anything. Just blinks as he pushes the will out of the way, as if he cannot think to stare at it any longer. It’s then, in his momentary distraction, you text Cami to come in. She appears moments later in a flurry of movement, her head hung low, eyes not once meeting Theo’s as she comes over to your side of the table and sits on your left. 

“Darling —”

“Save it, Theo. I’m disappointed in you, for not only hurting me, but for hurting our family — and Steve’s family. They’re our family, too. But you don’t care about that.” She laughs bitterly. “I don’t think you really care about anyone, do you?”

Theo’s quiet, and you reach over to grab Cami’s hand for support, saying, “You know, while you were busy running around with the other woman in your life, we looked into your most recent raise. You don’t have to say anything. All your questions will be answered soon. Just — embezzlement is one hell of a crime, Cousin.”

Theo’s skin pales. Goes from his usual tan pallor to a sickly pale one. Cami, yourself and Steve all rise to your feet as previously discussed. 

“I’m sure you’ll be wanting a moment to process,” Steve says as the three of you make your way over to the door. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

Cami pauses next, laying her hand on his shoulder. “And Theo?” 

He lifts his head. 

“I want a divorce.”

  ——

  Ultimately, Theo was found to have been stealing money for two years. A fact that, with the help of Steve’s attorneys, starts to come to life after a few months, building a case against the man. 

Court proceedings likely won’t be for some time, but it brings you peace to know that he’ll be facing justice for what he’s done. 

On top of that, Cami moves out of the city and in with her parents. You and Steve try to visit often enough, your newfound friendship with the woman quickly becoming one that you value endlessly. 

Today, however, none of that matters. 

No — none of it matters at all. Not as you stand on the beach surrounded by some of your closest friends, standing across from Steve. Eddie stands between you both, asking you both to recite those vows you spoke exactly a year ago now. 

You brush your eyes as Steve finishes saying his vows, his mouth rounding to form those three words that’ll forever make your heart take flight no matter how many times you’ve heard him say them. 

The wind rustles the drapery along the arch erected around the two of you. It teases at the little petals on the flowers positioned along the edges. They flutter in the wind around you, like little kisses that dance along your cheeks and dress that you wear today. Simpler than your wedding dress from before. A white gown with spaghetti straps, no veil this time, and sandals instead of too expensive heels. Across from you, Steve’s in a white suit, looking handsome as ever. His skin has a fresh glow from the past few days you’ve spent with your friends, celebrating in the Maldives where it all began, before readying for this day. 

Eddie announces Steve may kiss the bride and you’re eagerly meeting him in his embrace, his arm swooping low around your waist to dip you as your friends scream and clap in their excitement. 

There’s a small celebration in the back of a rented restaurant as day turns to night. Lights are stringed up around the place, like dozens of little fireflies twinkling in the night sky. You’ve discarded your shoes, dancing to the music from the live band the restaurant has hired for the evening. A woman sings, as you sway with him, a little drunk on champagne, and high on life. 

On love. 

Eddie and Chrissy and Robin and Nancy are wrapped up in one another, too. Full of light and bliss. Of endless plates of food and their endless glasses of rosé. And farther in the distance, Cami dances with a man she met while on a much needed vacation. 

It’s new, and she’s not sure it’ll go anywhere, but she looks happy and that’s all you could ever hope for. 

Later, you’re brought across the water by boat to your secluded little bungalow. The same place you honeymooned the year before, this time holding hands across the long ramp leading to the home. He’s on you the moment you flick the lights on, bathing the place in an orange glow. 

Fingers slide along the straps of your dress. Kisses are pressed along your breasts. Steve slides a zipper down and watches your dress slither down to the floor, revealing a pale lingerie set beneath. In return, you push his suit off his shoulders. Ease the buttons on his shirt from their trappings. Tugs down his pants and watches them pool near his ankles. 

He drags you down onto the bed. Eases your thighs apart and licks at you until you’re crying his name, back arching up toward the ceiling, fingers in his hair. Those heated lips mark a path up your trembling stomach, along the curves of your breasts, lingering over your mouth where he whispers he loves you into skin. 

And you kiss him firmly. Fiercely as his fingers thread through yours against the mattress, wrinkling the blankets when he pushes in and rocks his hips into yours, his breathing turning into soft pants. Into curses of how good you feel. Your sighs and whimpers become moans and keens as your feet dig into his back, drawing him closer, heat rolling up your belly until the rubber band snaps and you’re shuddering once more, feeling his own orgasm rattle his form. 

You bask in the glow of your love as night turns into morning, bodies tangled on the hammock seated just outside of your bedroom window. Your head rests on Steve’s chest, bodies still slick with sweat from the numerous times you come together in the night, eyes drifting closed as you listen to the steady thump of his heart within. 

He tangles his fingers with yours, toying with your rings when he whispers, “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” 

You lean up onto your elbows against his chest, brushing your lips over his. “Happy anniversary, Steve.” 

  ——

just one more, friends. 🩷🩷

[the-broken-truth]

Platonic Yandere Miguel O'Hara w/ Twin Brother Who's Had Enough With Him [Part 2]

Summary: Your brother has gone too far - chasing your wife away from your house, controlling your missions in the Spider-Society, and now breaking into your house and telling you you have no right to live your own life. You've had enough of him and his controlling ways. While escaping from Miguel, you decide to head to your Wife's Parents' House and tell her that you are cutting off your brother...but what happens when you find your Wife's Parents tied up with red webbing and your wife missing? This...is not good.

[Earth-928 / Nueva York / Lydia's House]

[Name] webbed his rope of web to the apartment complex where Lydia's Parents lived - her car was in the driveway so she must have been there. The lights were on suggesting that someone was awake and he was going to speak to his wife and tell her that he was cutting ties with his brother, leaving the Spider-Society, and starting a new life with her and her alone. He landed in front of the door and deactivated his suit when he made sure that no one was around before he entered the apartment complex. He walked up the stairs and entered the second floor where Lydia was currently staying when he noticed one of the doors was completely ajar; that was Lydia's parents' home! He darted to the door and pushed it open, causing the couple, tied to two chairs with red webbing and gagged with a cloth to keep them silent. [Name] quickly ran to them and fell to his knees, before ripping the cloth out of their mouths and began untying them.

"Mr. & Mrs. Banks! What happened! Where is Lydia?!" [Name] asked in a panicked voice.

"He...He took her! Spider-Man 2099 came out of nowhere, tied us up, and took our daughter without saying a single word to us. Please, you have to save Lydia! She and the baby are all that matter!" Mrs. Banks said, that made [Name's] eyes widen in horror.

"Baby? What baby?" [Name] asked with tears coming down his face.

"Lydia didn't tell you? She's pregnant." Mr. Banks said as he rose from his seat and rubbed his wrists.

[Name] looked at the ground with wide eyes, his wife-to-be was pregnant and his brother had her! He knew how much his brother hated Lydia but would he hurt her enough to...too... Wait, did he know that she was pregnant?! He needed to move! [Name] shot from his knees and ran out of the room, down the stairs, and turned on his suit before webbing back to the Spider-Society - whatever he was planning to do to Lyida, he was going to be there.

[Spider-Society / Labartory]

"Please! Please, let me go, Miguel. I never did anything to you, I didn't betray your brother." Lydia cried as she watched Miguel fill a Syringe with a clear liquid before he flicked the needle and turned to face Lydia.

"You...are a distraction for my brother, you are talking to him, taking his attention away from me, where it belongs. Now, you're pregnant with his child - another distraction. I'm going to get rid of you both and make sure that he knows that he belongs to me and me alone." Miguel said as he began walking towards Lydia - who was strapped to a chair with her arms and legs secured but she struggled. Miguel was close to her and pointed to the needle at her arm before a web connected with the body of the needle and yanked it out of Miguel's hand, making it shatter against the wall, Miguel looked behind him and saw [Name] standing there with his eyes full of anger with tears running down his face.

"Miguel...you dare! You dare try to kill my wife and my baby! Have you lost your fucking mind?!" [Name] roared at his crazy brother, who just smiled at him.

"All of this is going to be for your good. You need to let big brother handle all of this and everything will go back to normal." Miguel said as he walked over to [Name] with his arms out - as if he wanted a hug. But the moment he got close, [Name] shot his fist out and socked his brother in the face, sending him spiraling to the ground before he shot webs at him to keep him still. [Name] ran to Lydia and unstrapped her before pulling her into his arms in a tight hug. [Name] grabbed Lydia's hand and ran out of the room while Miguel struggled against the webs.

"[NAME]! BRING THAT BITCH BACK HERE! YOU DON'T BELONG TO HER, YOU BELONG TO ME! [NAME]!" Miguel said as he started ripping the web off of himself before he got up and chased after them - he was going to get rid of Lydia and keep his little brother safe, no matter what.

[wanderingknights]

Started thinking about crow!Rook, Neve and the Minrathous decision and ended up spiraling about Rook/Viago and being favored by your talon (being the kings bastard son)

You fuck up a big Crow operation and instead of being killed (like anyone else would be) Viago simply sends you away (after yelling a lot). You get roped into an insane plot to save the world and some time later run into what is most definitely the love of your life standing over dead venatori like it’s nothing (her names Neve and youre a goner). Some crazy ritual later some gods get released and after months of being away you get to go back home. Viago is still angry and yells at you about it but everyone around keeps implying he’s easier to deal with when you’re around (yeah right). After recruiting a grey warden your fellow crow and Neve let you know that the cities are under attack and you need to go to one. Your heart wants to go home but logically you know how bad it’ll get if the venatori take over. This is where your belief in Viago comes in. He’s the talon that survived a direct attack that killed 3 other talons, if anyone can find a way to survive through the worst things it’s him. Two De Rivas, one in each city, thats the only way to win. Except you save Minrathous and go home to a destroyed city, turns out your talon is just a man and your blind faith in him doomed your city.

You do what you can to help around Treviso while the accusing glares of your fellow crows follow you around everywhere. And again if it were anyone else they would be dead already but having the talons favor (being the kings son) means that you get away with a lot and crows know better than to target you directly. Time passes, you save the world and get to watch your love blossom and become someone who trusts and leans on the people around her (she’ll never be an optimist about almost anything but she learns to rely on her friends always). And while shes more open with your friends (family really) you feel yourself get more and more paranoid each passing day. Crows betray each other, that’s just how it is and now that the world is safe there’s no reason for them to not go after you. You’ve always made fun of Viago for being on edge all the time and distrusting of everyone around him but it’s different now when you know you’ve got a big target on your back. He’s let you get away with everything, even letting Treviso down, somebody is going to want you dead you just know. And while you don’t exactly regret your decisions you do start to take his lessons much more seriously, I mean he is right, food and drinks are just so easy to poison no reason not to take your time and test them every single time.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

hiiii i learned your name Aiden!!! How are you? Hallow i’m the sugu angst anon, sadly not asking for angst because poor sugu need a break and i love him so much so he deserves the whole world, i wanna thank you for writing my requests 🫶

and if you wanna consider 👀 perhaps an au where sugu didn’t spiral into the whole monkeys thing and so he is a teacher just like satoru? and he’s dating reader whose also a teacher, and they’re in a secret relationship that got revealed and gojo feels betrayed LMAO, anddd that’s all, hope you’re doing great! 🫶

Angsty Anon, how are you!? I love your requests, it's always a pleasure to write for you 💙💙 and yeah, I'm Aiden! I'm only now realizing I've never properly introduced myself on here, so, I guess this is my official introduction lol. And of course, I would love to consider Sugu as a teacher, that's so cute!

Now Loading...

Starring Suguru Geto, in a slightly softer world.

Have you ever heard of the multiverse theory? It gets switched around and misinterpreted a lot, but the basic premise of it is that for every possible outcome, there is a universe that follows it. So, for example, if you're on a walk one morning, and come across a fork in the road, you may choose the left path. When you do this, another universe is created in which you choose the right path, and yet another still where you didn't go on any walk at all.

As such, this implies that there are some fundamental truths across all universes. Every universe you encounter will have stars in the sky, and a force of gravity will keep everyone down. You won't find a universe where atoms aren't the building blocks of life. You won't find a universe that doesn't have a sun in its center. And you won't find a universe where Suguru Geto is a morning person. 

He all but yells into his pillow as his alarm sounds off at 5:45 AM. He considers violence, a possible war crime against his phone for committing the egregious sin of waking him up before the sun is even up. He considers aggressively turning the alarm off and going back to sleep, letting the world continue on without him as he becomes one with his comforter. 

And in the end he does none of it. He turns his alarm off like a normal person, and forces himself out of bed at the truly ungodly hour of 5:45 AM. Why you ask? Because class starts at 7 AM, and the kids he teaches are relying on him to show up and be a model jujutsu sorcerer, just like they are for all of the other teachers at Jujutsu High. And just as it is a fundamental truth that Suguru Geto is not a morning person, it's a fundamental truth that he would do absolutely anything for those he loves. And Suguru loves all of those kids, even if they can get a little annoying at times. 

He’s falling asleep while brushing his teeth when he gets his first text of the day from you. A short and sweet “Good morning sweetie 💜” to give him the motivation to push through his morning routine. 

He sends “Good morning to you too Darling 🖤” to you while smiling, finishing up brushing his teeth before mentally preparing himself for the arctic plunge of a shower he’s about to take to finish waking himself up. 

Once he’s dressed and as awake as he’s going to be at 6:00 AM, he goes to check on Nanako and Mimiko out of habit. Of course, he finds their shared room empty, considering they moved into the dorms a week ago when school started. 

“Right.” He grumbled to himself, shaking his head. At this point, it feels like he’ll never get used to them not being around. He wondered how Satoru adapted so quickly when Megumi moved into the dorms. Then again, Satoru seemed to be made for adaptation, meanwhile, Suguru had always struggled more with change. 

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, A car horn blared through the quiet suburb. “What is he-?!” Suguru snapped at the air before rushing outside and into his friends car.

“What the hell are you doing Satoru?!” He asked, suddenly very awake.

“Letting you know I’m here.” Gojo smiled as he pulled out of Sugurus drive way and onto the road.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but could you not have just texted me?” Suguru grumbled, “You’re going to wake up the entire neighborhood!”

“My phones dead.” Satoru shrugged. He had a habit of passing out while scrolling tik tok and forgetting to put his phone on the charger. 

“And I suppose knocking on my door was out of the question?” Suguru asked. Gojo clearly did not see the issue with violating air pollution laws, and it was starting to irk him.

“In the rain? No way dude!” He laughed. It was at this point Geto looked out the window. Well shit, it was raining. He was so focused on just getting to the car he managed to miss it. 

“It’s like, barely raining.” He argued with his friend. The white haired main beside him just shrugged.

“Hey man, you’re lucky I give you a ride at all,” Gojo reminded him, “I could just teleport to school.” Suguru would have tried to argue with that, but he knew better than to enter an argument on the losing side. He just sighed and shook his head.

“Whatever man….thanks for the ride.” He added at the end.

“You’re welcome!” Gojo smiled. Suguru sighed as he got comfortable in the seat, leaning against the window. The main reason he got rides from Gojo was so he could take a nap on the way to the school. It was a long drive, and the thirty minutes he spent passed out in Gojos car went a long way to making him not an asshole to his class in the morning. It felt like his eyes had been closed for all of two seconds before Satrou was waking him up, letting him know they had made it to their destination. 

“Good morning Geto, good morning Gojo!” You greeted the men as they joined you in the teachers lounge. Suguru smiled warmly when he saw your face, familiar and bright, even at 6:30 in the morning. 

“Good morning L/n.” Geto yawned as he rushed to the coffee pot in the room, still half full.

“Morning L/n!” Satoru beamed as he sat next to you. Normally, the three of you were on a first name basis, but a professional setting calls for professional dialect. “So, you two do anything fun on your weekend?” Gojo asked. Geto looked at you from the corner of his eyes, seeing how you handled this situation. You would have stolen a glance at him, but Gojo would have definitely noticed that.

“Eh, not much really,” You shrugged, “I went and visited my parents, and mostly just tried to catch up on reading.” That was definitely, 100% not what you were doing this weekend. In actuality, you had spent the entire weekend with Suguru. The two of you had seen a movie, checked out his favorite soba shop, and spent the vast majority of the time cuddled in his bed watching horror movies to get ready for ‘spooky season’ despite the fact in was, indeed, April. 

But you couldn’t say any of that to Gojo. You and Suguru were co-workers, your romantic relationship wasn’t just discouraged and taboo- the employee handbook strictly forbid it. As much as the two of you wanted to tell your shared best friend about the beautiful relationship you’d found, you couldn’t. Mostly cause Satoru couldn’t keep a secret to save his ass.

“Cool! What about you Suguru?” Gojo smiled as he looked to his best friend, deciding for now that professional language was for the birds.

“Eh, I mostly stayed in. I re-watched the scream movies.” He shrugged as he drank his black coffee.

“Isn’t it kinda early to be watching horror movies? Or, I guess late?” Gojo asked. 

“It is never too early for spooky movies.” You said, jumping to Getos defense maayybe just a little too quickly. Gojo raised his eyebrows at you. 

“So I see were feeling a little defensive.” He pointed out. 

“Not defensive, I’m just saying. It’s always horror movie time if you’re not a coward.”

“Hey, I-”

“Uhh, Sensei?” Itadori asked as he popped his head into the door. Immediately all attention went to him, and silently, you thanked the pink haired boy for saving your ass.

“Hey Itadori! What’s up?” Gojo asked, all smiles for his student. 

“I could really use your help with the algebra assignment from last night,” Itadori explained, “I don’t think I really grasp…well numbers.” He explained. Gojo chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t argue cause he, like Geto, knew better than to argue with the truth.

“Yeah Kid, no problem. Let’s go to the classroom.” Satoru said, getting up and letting Itadori lead the way. There was a heavy silence that filled the room after, both of you listing to Satoru’s footsteps until they vanished. Once they were gone, you both let out a deep breath.

“Well that could have gone worse.” Suguru chuckled softly.

“Yeah, that was my bad,” You sighed, “I swear, he looks into the littlest of things.”

“That’s Satoru.” Suguru confirmed with a nod, “Always suspicious of something. Somethings never change.” He shrugged. You looked around, making sure the coast we clear before standing up to give Suguru a quick hug. 

“Ain’t that the truth.” You chuckled. Suguru smiled as he held you close, his mind wondering off to the other things that never seemed to change. The school, sorcerer society as a whole, the way he felt for you- even all the way back in high school. He had a crush on you even before you saved him, and it only intensified after.

Of course, as far as you’re concerned you didn’t save anyone that day in the graveyard. You just talked some sense into an old friend. You would never know just how close to the edge Suguru was that day. How could you? All you knew was that his faith was shaken, and he needed some reassurance. 

He could still go back to that afternoon in his mind like replaying a movie. He could still see the gray skies of fall, heavy with dark clouds. He could still smell the rain water and grave dirt hanging in the air. And could still sense the confusion he felt when you brought him to your best friends grave. He had never met the girl, she had died to a curse long before you enrolled in Jujutsu High. So why were you bringing him here now?

“This is where my friend lies,” You explained to him what he already knew. “It’s been a few years now, but I still think of her every day.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Y/n.” He said the only think he knew to say.

“Suguru, why are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” You asked, suddenly looking at him with overly intense eyes that made him feel so small. Why did he was he a Jujutsu Sorcerer? He didn’t fucking know! Especially not anymore. He used to know. But, he lost that direction. After Riko died. After Haibara died. He didn’t know what the point to any of this was anymore.

“Why are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” He asked back, not so smoothly dodging the question. You just pointed at the grave.

“For her. And for you, and for Riko and Haibara. For everyone I have loved and will love, I do it to protect them.” You explained it as if it was just that easy. And maybe it was. For you.

“How are we protecting them exactly?” He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Please, tell me just how exactly we protected Riko and Haibara?” He questioned.

“We protect them in death.” You shrugged, “Honor what they would have wanted. Do you really think Riko would want you to waste the life she so desperately wanted because of her death? Do you think Haibara would have wanted you to throw away all of your potential because some higher ups fucked him over? Or do you think they would want you to live your life to the fullest, and work hard to see that potential fulfilled?”

“I think they would want us to fight for a fundamental change in the system. For a world without curses.” 

“Suguru, you and I both know that’s not possible.”

“But it is,” He argued, saying things out loud he had only thought up until now, “Humans are the only ones to produce curses, you know.”

“So what? You’re just going to kill all humans?” You scoffed at the absurdity of the idea, and he genuinely felt a little embarrassed. “What would that fix?”

“Well, there would be no curses, for one.” He pointed out.

“And what would that achieve?”

“We wouldn’t have to watch our friends and family die at the hands of disgusting curses!” He argued, frustrated that you couldn’t see his vision.

“No, we would just have to watch them die at the hands of other sorcerers, right?” You pointed out. “A world without curses doesn’t fix the cruelty that created them. Curses aren’t what killed Riko, and removing them won’t bring back Haibara.”

“No, Humans killed Riko.” He could still hear that god forsaken cult, clapping away as if a little girl hadn’t just been slaughtered. No, worse. Clapping away because a little girl had just been slaughtered. It was all he could hear late at night. You sighed and nodded.

“That's true. She was killed by a human, who was raised by sorcerers.”

“So are you trying to argue that actually sorcerers are the root of all evil?”

“No Suguru, I’m trying to argue that there is no “Root of all evil.” That it’s all just beings that exist. There are bad humans, of course. Just like how there are bad sorcerers. Everything that exists exists with some good and some bad. You can’t just fix the world with one final, fucked up solution.”

“I just don’t see the point in trying to save people who historically treat us like were fucking disposable!” Suguru snapped, hating that it was starting to seem really hopeless. Were you right? Was there really nothing he could do?

“Sugu, I think you’re getting caught in the details. You’re not seeing the forest for the trees.” You sighed. “ Yes, the Star Cult was full of the most fowl people. And yeah, a lot of humans do treat us like shit. But there are just as many humans who are kind to us. Humans who see their children's cursed techniques as blessings, not curses. Humans willing to die if it means being there for the sorcerers they love and standing by them. Humans like your parents, and my best friend. Humans that are worth protecting.”

“So we have to protect them all just because a few are good?”

“Would you protect a bad person to save me?” You asked. He hadn’t really thought of it like that. It was a moral question he wasn’t ready for, and struggled to find an answer to.

“I mean, I guess I would.” He finally said. 

“Exactly. That’s kinda the point of Jujutsu Sorcery for me. It’s not to protect the world- that’s too monumental of a task even for Satoru Gojo. It’s to protect the ones I love and care for.”

“And what about when we can’t protect them?” He could feel the tears prickle as his eyes now, a stinging that demanded attention. He rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to make it go away.

“Then I live to honor them, in a way I think would make them proud. I understand where you’re coming from. Heartache is a hell of a thing to battle, and witnessing a young death changes a person. But, continuing to perpetuate that hurt, won’t make it go away. Especially when it comes to such grandiose ideas like “kill all humans!” it doesn’t fix anything. It just hurts the people around you, both with us and departed. I mean, is slaughtering a billion strangers really worth ruining the people closest to you? The ones who love you? Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru.”

He didn’t know what to say. But that line rang in his ears. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. It drowned out the clapping in his mind. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. It played louder than Yuki telling him that humans were the only ones to create curses, and that he knew what he believed. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. And it was what was playing in his ears as he stared at two kids in a cage. Scared, alone, neglected. He felt it then, his hate rise up like bile in his throat, threatening to slaughter him. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru. Please, don’t let your hate kill you Suguru.

He took a minuet to breathe. Was killing this village really going to do anything? It would feel good, yeah- righteous even. But there were a million more like it. And he couldn’t single handedly slaughter them all. Not without hurting You, Gojo, Shoko, Riko, Haibara, and his own mother all in the process. Were a billion strangers worth the people he loved? 

“You know, if you don’t want these girls in the village, there’s a better way to handle it.” That night he adopted Nanako and Mimiko. Sure, he may not be able to save every Jujutsu Sorcerer in the world. But at least he could save these two. A few weeks later, that village burned to the dirt in a forest fire, so maybe karma was real. 

The bell ringing broke his train of thought, and snapped him back to the real world. You smiled as you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you at lunch!” You winked to him as you grabbed your bag and made your way to your classroom. He smiled softly as he watched you go. 

“Yeah, see you then.” He said, making his way to his own classroom. 

Suguru swore up and down his class wasn’t hard. It was classical literature, if ya just read the book, and did the assignments, he was pretty generous with the A’s. It was why conversations like this were always at least mildly amusing to him. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re being to difficult about this” Nobara argued, “It’s just a few points!”

“Nobara, rounding from a C to an A is not a few points. It’s an entire letter grade.” He gently reminded her. 

“Yeah, and what’s an entire letter grade if not just a few points?” She argued back. He sighed and rubbed his temples. Nobara had always been a forced to be reckoned with, and was always determined to get what she wanted.

“Look, Nobara, I’ll compromise with you. You know the big report we have coming up on Fires on the Plain?”

“I do.” She confirmed.

“If you do really well on it, And I mean really well, I need you to make at least an A on it- I’ll bump your grade to a B+” That was where her grade would be at anyway if she made an A on the report, “Sound good?” Nobora grinned like she got away with something.

“Oh yeah, I could do that in my sleep!” She declared, and Suguru had to hold back a laugh, “You’re on Sensei!” She grinned, muttering a soft ‘sucker’ under her breath as she left the room. Once she was gone, Suguru let his chuckle out. It was always fun tricking his students into accidentally taking their studies serious. 

“Whats got you giggling?” You asked from his doorway, a small smile creeping onto your lips from the sound of his light laughter.

“Oh, nothing,” He said with a wave of his hand, “Just my students thinking they’re gaming the system by-” He pretended to check his notes- “Doing the work.”

“Let me guess, Nobara?”

“It was Nobara.” He confirmed, and you both let out a small giggle. You walked into his classroom and leaned against his desk facing him. 

“Very on brand for her. So, have you thought about dinner tonight?” You asked. He smiled and nodded, getting out of his chair to come and wrap his arms around your waist. Was it risky? Kind of, everyone was out to lunch, sure, but that didn’t mean that you two weren’t out in the open. He couldn’t help it though. Whenever you were around, he had to have his arms around you. He didn’t spend almost 6 years chasing your affections to not hold you whenever he could. 

“I have actually,” He smiled, “I thought we could cook something together tonight? I found a new pork belly recipe that seemed right up your ally.”

“Oooo, another night in! How exciting!” You giggled. And you meant it too. While to most people, a night in was a boring everyday thing, Jujutsu Sorcerers weren’t blessed with the luxury of having a night at home promised to them. They weren’t even guaranteed the simple pleasure of coming home at night. So, a night in to the two of you was fun, exciting, and unquantifiably valuable. 

“I thought you’d be excited,” He smiled lovingly at you. You look so precious in his arms. He couldn’t believe something as beautiful and pristine as you found any value in him. That you had found him worthy of the time it took to save him. Suguru wasn’t a religious man, but he thought maybe he could believe in angels if they were half as perfect as you were. He had no idea what he did to earn the right to have you as his angel, but he was so fucking happy he did it.

His swelling emotions got the better of him, and he leaned down to kiss you. A warm current flowed between the two of you, the familiar taste of cinnamon coffee filling your senses as you melted into him. He was comforting and safe, and in his embrace you were almost convinced nothing bad could ever happen. 

“OH, I KNEW IT!” Of course something bad had to happen. The two of you scrambled away from each other, looking at Gojo like two teenagers that had been caught making out in your parents car. It was actually embarrassing. “I KNEW YOU TWO HAD A THING!”

“Satoru, It’s not what it looks like!” You panicked.

“Yeah, It’s not like that, Y/n just…had something on her face! I was wiping it off.”

“With your mouth!?” Gojo scoffed.

“...Yes?” Someone, take away Suguru’s lying privileges. Your face hit your plam at the lame lie, and Gojo rolled his eyes.

“I’d asked if you guys thought I was dumb, but clearly you do! Why would you keep this from me?” He all but whined as he fully entered the classroom.

“Well Satoru, it’s…well..” You tried to think of something to save his feelings.

“There are celebrity tabloids better at keeping secrets than you Satoru.” Nevermind Suguru, go back to lying.

“Hey, that’s not true!” Satoru said on his own defense, “When Shoko started smoking again I kept that secret!”

“Shoko started smoking again?” You gasped.

“...fuck.” Satoru whispered. 

“See Satoru! That’s what we mean.” Suguru sighed, seeing his job flash before his eyes. 

“It’s still not cool!” Gojo pouted, “My two closest friends in the entire world fall in love and they won’t even tell me! No wonder you guys haven’t wanted to hang out on the weekends. You’ve been together, haven’t you!?” You and Suguru looked down in shame. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair to keep him completely out of the loop. 

“Do you guys hate me?” Gojo asked, the betrayal he felt seeping into his voice. 

“No, Satoru, we love you!” You assured him.

“You’re our best friend, of course we love you!” Suguru confirmed, “We just also like being able to pay rent!”

“Paying rent is so important!” You nodded. 

“I wouldn’t tell anyone!” Satoru insisted, “I would never do anything to put your livelihoods at risk! I thought you guys would have known that.” He pouted. 

“We do know that,” You sighed.

“Do we?” Suguru whispered, just for you to swiftly pat him to remind him to behave.

“We were just being cautious. I’m sorry we hurt your feelings Satoru.” You apologized as you went to your wounded friend, patting his back for comfort. Suguru joined you on his other side.

“Yeah man, I’m sorry. We’ll try and keep you in the loop about more things, okay?” Suguru promised. Satoru sniffled and nodded. 

“Okay…I forgive you guys.” He said, looking up and smiling at the two of you. “So when do I get to come to date night?”

[whispersfromtheshadowsoffical]

Hello, twins asking! ( •ᴗ•)⸝🍵 ☕️⸜(•ᴗ• )

I L-O-V-E-D this the moment I saw it, everything looks really cool!!!! So I showed it to my brother and we both started gushing about it.

Since you don't mind answering questions, I would love to know if the game will have the option to indulge their yandere tendencies? I love Xenos, he would just need to bat his eyelashes for me to smooch him, even if he just admitted to killing a whole group of people (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³ ~ Coffee

Following what Coffee said, I was wondering... I saw that they all have different stats for jealousy levels, which is interesting!✧*。Anyway, my question was, how would their different personalities play into how they acted when, you know, losing their shit? Like, full on yandere mode! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ ~ Tea

Hello! Thank you for sending in an ask! I'm so glad you like my game so far, and I'm super excited for it to come out! After reading your ask, I literally had a giant smile on my face!

The whole reason I made this game was so people could choose their personality and how they want to react to a yandere. What gave me this idea is when I was reading fanfics I always saw people complaining about the MC so I really want this game to be like choose your own character type kind of thing. And tbh right now Xenos is one of my favorites and I would give him everything so OF COURSE there will be options to indulge them :3

Each character I made after a certain type of personality so you get the full Yandere experience, Which means varying levels of jealousy and other things ;)

Apollo, in his delusional state, is quick to feel betrayed and insecure, especially when things don’t go the way he imagines. His mind spirals into irrational conclusions, leaving him in a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. In these moments, he’s like a puppy desperately seeking reassurance. But no matter how much pain he feels, he’ll never direct the blame at you. To him, you’re flawless, untouchable. Instead, he turns on himself and those around him, lashing out with accusations. He'll say things like, "They must’ve tricked you," or, "It’s all their fault!" He becomes his own worst critic, convinced that he must be the one who’s not good enough, or that everyone else is conspiring against your love. Yet through it all, in his mind, you remain perfect—beyond reproach, untouched by his anger, the center of his affection.

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

Soren, on the other hand, has two sides. His sadistic side where It doesn’t matter if it’s not your fault—he finds a twisted pleasure in watching you squirm under his accusations. His sadistic tendencies ensure that punishment is inevitable, and while he might take his frustrations out on you, there’s no need to worry about your pretty face. Soren values beauty too much to mar it, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get off easily. His temper flares unpredictably, much like Xenos, and when he lashes out, it’s with a dangerous mix of frustration and cruelty. He might bind you, lock you away, or even subject you to mental torment, always ensuring you’re aware of who’s in control, but the surface will remain unscathed—after all, you’re his pretty little thing.

Soren his most common side is where he manipulates you. If he senses you drifting away, he’ll break down, tears streaming down his face as he pleads for your attention. His soft, angelic appearance makes it easy for you to feel sorry for him, to comfort him despite your better judgment. In those moments, he knows exactly how to make you fall back into his grasp, using every bit of his charm to ensure you stay right where he wants you. His manipulative side is just as dangerous as his sadism—he plays both roles effortlessly, depending on what keeps you in his collection.

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Lynx, in all his arrogance, expects nothing less than complete devotion. In his mind, you belong to him—his possession, his plaything—but he’d never admit it openly. Instead, he hides behind layers of pride and tsundere denial, acting as if your existence is merely to serve him and fulfill his every whim. You’re there to do his bidding, cater to his needs, and he’ll rarely give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much he actually cares.

When jealousy strikes, that’s when his true feelings bubble to the surface, though he’ll never express it in any way other than through sharp words. He’ll lash out, insulting you in that indirect, roundabout way of his. Maybe it’s something like, "Why would I care what you do? It’s not like you’re important or anything," or a sarcastic comment meant to remind you of your place. It’s his way of asserting control, of letting you know that he’s the one in charge, and you’re his. But deep down, you might catch a glimpse of the truth—the possessiveness hidden behind his words, the flicker of insecurity that drives his cruel tongue.

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Xenos is the embodiment of obsession, always lurking in the shadows, watching your every move with a twisted sense of fascination. He prefers to stay hidden, observing from afar as he documents every detail of your life. His favorite pastime? Playing little tricks on you, just to see your adorable reactions. Maybe it's something as simple as moving your belongings or sending anonymous messages, but he lives for the moments when your confusion shows on your face, savoring every expression as if it's a personal gift.

However, when jealousy consumes him, his calm facade cracks wide open. Much like Kanto from Diabolik Lovers, Xenos doesn't handle jealousy well—he’s far too emotionally unstable. He’ll lash out in a childish fit of frustration, screaming and crying as if the world’s crashing down. His tantrums are unpredictable, full of wild accusations and irrational behavior, all fueled by the fear of losing his obsession.

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

Nox is perhaps the most overprotective among them, making him seem like the tamest at first glance. His primary concern is your safety, and he genuinely believes that no one can care for you as well as he can. Nox doesn't outwardly display jealousy; in fact, he convinces himself that he's not jealous at all. But actions speak louder than words. He might subtly isolate you from others under the guise of protection, insisting that the world is too dangerous for someone as precious as you.

When he locks you away, it's not out of malice but out of a twisted sense of love and duty. "It's for your own good," he'll say softly, assuring you that this is the only way to keep you safe from all the bad creatures out there. His demeanor is gentle, his touch soft, making it easy to overlook the fact that you're essentially a prisoner in his care. Nox creates a comfortable environment for you, tending to your needs and lavishing you with attention. He might bring you your favorite books, cook your favorite meals, and spend hours engaging in conversations to keep you content.

Deep down, Nox struggles with the fear of losing you to the dangers he perceives in the world—or perhaps to others who might win your affection. He masks his insecurities by focusing on your well-being, convincing both you and himself that his actions are justified. In his mind, he's your guardian angel, the only one capable of ensuring your happiness and safety. While he doesn't throw fits of jealousy like others might, his overprotectiveness is a cage wrapped in kindness.

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

Kaine is the ultimate flirt, always playful and teasing, never seeming to take anything too seriously. His charm is effortless, and he thrives on the reactions he gets, especially when he makes you blush or sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a game to him—he’ll scare you just enough to have you running straight into his arms, unaware that he’s the danger you should be fleeing from. The thrill of seeing fear flash in your eyes is something he relishes, and unlike others, he’s not subtle about it. He openly adores how vulnerable you become in those moments, how easy it is for him to slip in and play the hero to the very terror he creates.

While Kaine shares a sadistic streak with Soren, he’s far more forward about it. He doesn't hide behind tears or manipulative tactics; he sees no need to. In his mind, he doesn’t have to play mind games to make you his. He’s confident—perhaps even cocky—in his ability to get what he wants without resorting to deception. He believes he can break you down, piece by piece, and mold you into his perfect, compliant doll with nothing more than his charm and his sadistic tendencies.

Kaine’s affection is fierce and dangerous, but he’ll never hide it. He’ll show you exactly how much he enjoys your fear, how much it excites him to see you squirm, all while flashing that irresistible smile. There’s no need for manipulation when he can so easily bend you to his will with a mere glance or whispered word. His goal isn’t just to own you; it’s to reshape you, to transform you into his ideal creation—a perfect doll that responds to his every whim, trapped by the very affection that feels both comforting and terrifying.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

Hehe. @briandraws and @shygirl4991 because you two seemed interested in these goobers. You can ask me not to tag you anymore and that’s fine-

Still no idea what their ship name should be, so if anyone has any ideas, go ahead and feel free to share them! ^^

Gonna be writing a fic for these goobers eventually.

But yeah, Kris is taller than Donnie. In the show, he’s 5 ft 6 (from what I’ve found. My god, he’s shorter than Luigi-) and Kris is around 6 ft 1, and torments him for this relentlessly.

So, some more general info about this ship below the cut because these dorks and consuming my brain rn. I guess kinda spoilers for the fic?? IDK. It’s more a quick rundown of the plot. If you wanna read the fic I’m gonna write blind, then ignore it.

Kris used to be a Purple Dragon, but sort of switched sides shortly after they started working for Shredder. He sort of became an informant for the turtles, having struck a deal with them so that he could continue to keep the reputation of being a Purple Dragon without actually having to deal with the beat-downs the turtles would give them.

Kris is a year older than the turtles, Casey, and April.

Before they found out that he’s a part of the Purple Dragons, April ended up having a crush on him during her stint of time hating the turtles after her father was mutated. But Kris wasn’t into her and shut her down quick.

At some point, the Purple Dragons and Shredder find out about Kris betraying them and beats him up, threatening to hurt his family if he dares to double cross them again, which leads to him fighting the turtles.

Donnie is confused by all of this and knows something is up, so he heads to Kris’ apartment, where he finds out that he lives with his elderly grandpa and helps take care of his triplet younger siblings (Mark, Ethan, and Amy (If you get the reference you now platonically own my heart)) alongside his twin brother Manny. Donnie then promises Kris that he’ll help him, and Kris sort of brushes him off.

But eventually the foot do kidnap Kris’ family (who had no idea he was a Purple Dragon either), and the turtles jump in to help Kris rescue them, which is when Kris finally decides to quit the Purple Dragons for good and join the team. All of this takes place before the Kraang invasion of New York, so he and his siblings are there for season 3’s events, and Kris joins in for season 4’s events too because my boy is going to space. Manny doesn’t get involved much because he is not much of a fighter. Although he and Mikey do become friends who begin shipping Kris and Donnie together once they see how the two interact.

April is ecstatic over Kris joining the team, and Donnie is now unsure of how he feels about the whole situation because he’s still having his bi awakening, y’all.

But he does have some rivalry with Kris, similar to how he does with Casey, although it is very one-sided. Kris just goes along with it cuz he’s grown to love messing with him.

But after Kris shuts April down for the umpteenth time (yes, she goes after him like Donnie does with her because haha irony-), Donnie realizes that he isn’t really competition for April’s affections. But he still keeps doing what he’s doing and having this rivalry with him, even though April has been completely removed from the equation.

Haha, turns out he’s bi and has a thing for Kris and this realization sends our beloved Donatello SPIRALING.

And to my fellow TMNT 2012 fans… remember the Bigfoot episode?

Kris is absolutely seething with jealousy towards Bigfoot throughout that whole thing. My guy turns greener than all the turtles combined with jealousy. He’s actually the reason Bigfoot runs away because dude just snaps of her for daring to get so close to Donnie and keep bugging him like that.

He eventually confesses to this once the turtles tell him off, although he does say it’s because Bigfoot was “being creepy” towards his “friend” *cough* crush *cough* and that it made him uncomfortable to see Donnie uncomfortable.

And, Donnie may be a genius on paper, but he is dumber than a box of rocks with this shit because he completely misses all the signs that Kris is in love with him. Like… my guy a bit stoopid and I love him for it.

Not gonna spoil how they get together tho.

But as an official couple, they are unbearable. Kris will annoy Donnie while he is working. Donnie will drag Kris into his science stuff and ramble about it for hours. No, Kris will not understand a single word he said but will listen to the yapping anyway.

Kris also came up with a stupid human disguise that somehow worked so he and Donnie can go on dates in public, although they do frequent Murakami’s place for the obvious reasons (although it was strange when Kris first showed up there since he was sort of involved in that first fight but had ran the second he saw 4 giant turtles come in and beat up his… coworkers?? They definitely weren’t really friends. Bro was a part of the gang for survival purposes only)

They are insufferable when it comes to PDA after a while. It takes Donnie a bit to get used to it, since… first boyfriend and first relationship, but once he’s warmed up to it, he’s all for it. Hand holding, kissing, cuddling, they even started calling each other those cheesy pet names, but only in front of others. Like, Honey-Bun, Turtle-Pie, Schmoopikins, all of those.

Kris brews Donnie’s coffee and will drag his ass to bed if it kills him. He takes care of 3 9 year olds. He can handle a grown-ass (sort of…) turtle.

So… that’s all for now :3

[clariannahoney]

Rough Squirting Fantasy Part 3

Yoongi led Jane to the expansive bathtub, filled with warm water and scented with jasmine oil. The steamy atmosphere enveloped them as they stepped in, the water reaching just below their waists. Yoongi positioned Jane against the edge, her back to him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Relax," he whispered into her ear, his voice a soothing murmur. "Let me take care of you now."

Jane leaned into his embrace, feeling the tension from their earlier encounter begin to melt away under the warmth of the water and Yoongi's touch. His hands moved gently over her body, massaging her shoulders and neck, easing the knots of stress that had accumulated there.

As she relaxed, Yoongi turned her around to face him, his eyes locking onto hers. "You are so beautiful when you let go," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss that spoke of promises yet to be fulfilled.

Breaking the kiss, Yoongi trailed his fingertips down her spine, sending shivers through her body. He then guided her to sit on the edge of the tub, her legs submerged in the water. Kneeling before her, he looked up, his expression intense and focused.

"Spread your legs for me, Jane," he commanded softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

She obeyed, parting her thighs slightly, exposing herself to his view. Yoongi's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him. With deliberate movements, he reached out and cupped her sex, feeling the moisture there.

"So ready for me," he murmured approvingly, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over her sensitive flesh. Jane bit her lip to stifle a moan, her body responding eagerly to his skilled touch.

Yoongi leaned forward, blowing lightly on her heated skin. The cool breeze against her wetness caused Jane to gasp, her hips instinctively thrusting towards his hand. Encouraged, Yoongi inserted one finger, then two, into her core, moving them in slow, deep strokes that made her arch off the tub edge.

"That's it, Jane," he coaxed, watching her reactions closely. "Let me feel how much you want this."

His words fueled her arousal, making her more desperate for release. She gripped the sides of the tub, her breathing becoming erratic as he continued to pump his fingers inside her, building the pressure within her until she felt as if she might burst.

"Please," Jane begged, her voice hoarse with need. "I can't hold back anymore."

Yoongi removed his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. His tongue delved into her, tasting her deeply, licking and sucking with relentless fervor. Jane cried out, her body bucking beneath his assault, pleasure coursing through her veins like wildfire.

He changed his angle, finding the spot that made her toes curl. Jane's vision blurred, her mind spiraling into a vortex of sensation as he worked her relentlessly towards climax. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, Yoongi pulled back, standing before her once again.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, his voice commanding despite the huskiness betraying his own arousal.

Jane did as instructed, sinking to her knees in the water, her eyes level with his erection straining against his pants. Yoongi unfastened his belt, releasing himself, his cock springing free. Jane's breath caught at the sight, her mouth watering in anticipation.

"Suck me," Yoongi demanded, his hands gripping her hair tightly. "Show me how good you can make me feel."

She complied, wrapping her lips around his length, taking him deep into her throat. Yoongi groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as she bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around him. He held her steady, guiding her pace, his hips thrusting subtly to meet her efforts.

Jane's jaw ached, but the taste of him and the power she held over him drove her on. She hollowed her cheeks, applying suction that made Yoongi grit his teeth, his body trembling with the force of his restraint.

"Enough," he gasped finally, lifting her by her arms and placing her back on the tub edge. "Now I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name."

With that, he positioned himself between her legs, aligning his throbbing member with her entrance. Jane braced herself, her hands clutching the edges of the tub as he pushed into her, filling her completely. They both groaned at the exquisite joining, the slick slide of skin on skin enhanced by the water surrounding them.

Yoongi set a brutal pace, his thrusts hard and deep, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through Jane's body. She met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his downward plunge, her cries echoing off the tiled walls.

"Yes, like that," Yoongi growled, his face contorted with passion. "Take everything I give you."

Jane's world narrowed to the point where they were joined, the intensity overwhelming her senses. She felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave threatening to consume her.

"I'm... I'm almost there," she panted, her voice breaking with strain.

"Then come for me, Jane," Yoongi urged, his thrusts increasing in speed and force. "Let it all out."

[finniestoncrane]

Kissing as a dare with Dano!riddler??

Truth or Dare

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 650 ah big brain anon he's the perfect one for a silly little smooching dare 🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, kisses, kinda teasing and also maybe a bit of stress on eddie's end oop

Sitting on the rough, stained carpet in Eddie’s apartment you took another sip of your drink and then offered him the question.

“Truth or dare, Eddie?”

He looked nervously up at you, still picking at the skin around his fingers as he spoke.”

“Uh… truth.”

Your eyes lit up with glee and mischief, and he felt his heart sink in his chest.

“Ok… where is it you go every evening?”

He didn’t answer, but his wide eyes and narrowing pupils suggested you’d struck a nerve. With a self-satisfied grin you continued.

“I hear you sneaking off at night, we live next door to each other remember, dummy. The walls are paper thin. I can hear every time you open your apartment door. Do you have a secret someone you’re not telling me about?”

You hoped not. This was supposed to be a way to get to know him better, and here you were, running the risk of hurting your own feelings. Thankfully, Eddie interrupted your spiralling train of thoughts.

“That’s two questions.”

Smiling, you shoved his arm lightly.

“Ok, well answer the first one.”

“I… I��d… I think they’re supposed to be yes or no questions?”

Eddie held his breath, desperately trying to give himself time to think of a decent excuse that wouldn’t incur follow up questions. He really couldn’t afford to have you snooping around. You were such a good friend to him, more than that, he hoped… it would be a shame to have to… He shook the rather violent thought from his head and focused instead of trying to look casual, natural.

“That’s not the rules, Eddie. You’re thinking of Twenty Questions. Do you forfeit? You can try for a dare if you want.”

Thankful for the opportunity, he nodded profusely.

“Yes, please.”

He tried not to sound desperate, but he was still nodding, not even realising it until his soft hair fell out of place in front of his clear glasses. As he straightened them up and tucked his hair back into its usual neat but maybe slightly unfashionable style, you giggled a little.

“That’s fine. I’ll get the answer out of you either way.”

With a sly wink you brought your finger to your mouth, making a dramatic show of your ‘thinking’ when you knew exactly what his dare was going to be.

“Hm… ok… I dare you to… kiss me.”

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me, Eddie.”

“How… h-how would that-”

“Because! If you’ve got a secret partner that you’re not telling me about then you won’t want to be kissing just anyone. So, if you forfeit, I have my answer. You won’t kiss me because you can’t betray someone’s trust. And then you’ll owe me dinner.”

You were so pleased with your logic until Eddie undermined you.

“That’s presumptuous.”

It was. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss you because he just didn’t like you, or didn’t feel that way about you.

“I mean, I might just be a bad person.”

Blinking slowly, you looked into his eyes.

“I don’t think you are, Eddie. Definitely not.”

“Oh.”

Surprised at how sincere you sounded, Eddie allowed himself to let go, to ease up, leaning in to you and pressing his lips to yours in a soft and tentative kiss. His mouth didn’t move, his lips stayed still against your own as he pressed harder into you before he sat back, his glasses lightly steamed and his cheeks turning pink. He smiled, a lopsided, goofy little grin, as he wiped the lenses on his shirt and cleared his throat.

“Ok, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

He thought for a moment, looking deep into your eyes, slightly less afraid now that he’d actually kissed you. Now that he knew you thought he was a good person.

“Do you really want to know what I get up to at night?”

[tales-ofa-liar]

I read in a book about characters having to go through a must that makes them relive a trauma of theirs. One of the characters didn’t have one; they lived a relatively decent life with its ups and downs.

It got me thinking about myself and my trauma. I thought ‘huh do I have one?’ This then led me to think about all the moments that made me the way I am. Most of them I experienced second hand, someone confessing to me their greatest trauma. It made me think ‘wow, I don’t even have my own trauma but have to take it from someone else,’ which is very toxic. I was being hard on myself sure the trauma wasn’t mine but I was there for the aftermath and as a children we shouldn’t have to go through any of it, the trauma Itself and the aftermath of it. The point is, while I kept looking back on those moments I came across something so painstakingly obvious as my own trauma I almost laughed.

I’m a middle child. But for a really long time I was the youngest. I grew up with my parents constantly working to keep us afloat. So it meant that I was with my siblings a lot of the time. My eldest sister had a thought in her 4 year old mind, that was that she would be the only girl in the family. It was true since my brother was born but 4 years later I was born. It ruined her plans to be the only girl. So what she did was constantly tell me she never loved me. I was unwanted child. I was an add hardship to the family. I was a child that my parents were burden with because everything was going great until I came along.

I honestly don’t know if that was the only reason or if there were more to why she hated me so much. She only ever mentions the fact that I was born a girl instead of being a boy.

But it’s wasn’t just my sister. My brother would join in, already having form a bond with my eldest sister. It hurt a bit more when I grew up because he was the one who named me. It hurt a lot more because while my sister just straight hated me, my brother would sometimes play with me and we would have fun. However the minute my sister was around he turn right around to hating me. I was just “a thing to play with because I’m bored and there’s no one else around.”

But it wasn’t just my sister and my brother but also my father. He wasn’t around much but when he was he seems to know the right words that would send me in a spiral. When things broke by accident or some else I was the first to be blamed. It was never a “are you okay?” It was always a “I hope this didn’t break. Do you know how much it cost!” What hurt the most though was when we would have some daddy daughter moment, which was me always helping him out on some sort of project—that was the only time I got to spend time with him and I tried my hardest to take advantage of it, he would turn to me and say “why couldn’t you be born a boy” or “if only you were a boy we could so much more.”

But it wasn’t just my sister, my brother, and my father but also my mother. She would constantly pick me apart. Any achievement I made had to be broken down until its barest bone. I did my chores but I never did enough. I should’ve have done this and that because anyone could clearly see how dirty they were. I made something and instead of a ‘wow it look nice’ I got ‘this isn’t that great maybe you should stop and do something else.’

My whole life I’ve been chasing after love. I did a lot of horrible inexcusable things in order to receive even just a tiny bit of it. I betray my morales, my beliefs but worst of all myself for the sake of love. I tried really hard to get it, to feel it. Now I fear it, love is such a scary thing that I no longer want. But I am human so how could I possibly live without it? You don’t you just find new way to get or have it eat you up.

My biggest trauma is love.