#those who would like to take over your study!

[azrielbrainrot]

Moonlit Shadows - Act II

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old forgotten ruins, if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: hints of angst, tiny bit suggestive, making out?

Word Count: 8,7k

Rating: 18+

Notes: This part was running even longer than the first one so I split it into two parts and my plans for this story to only have 3 parts have changed into 4. I can't help myself in adding little details to this story, I love these two so much. Also just realized how long it has been since the first part, I'm so sorry for how long it took. Hope you enjoy!

Act I

It's almost unbelievable how much life can change within two weeks, to the point Azriel can hardly remember what it was like to live without a mate, without you. This is only the third time he has come to the temple after you agreed to give the bond a try, and he's already eternally glad you did. Sitting on the steps to the temple, watching the sun set over the mountain while his mate told him about her life was now a normal occurrence. He truly couldn't believe his luck.

Not even a month ago, Azriel would have spent the time he had between missions either training himself to exhaustion or simply doing some more spy work behind his High Lord's back. Every family dinner or outing was plagued by his cruel thoughts, always murmuring about his unworthiness while he watched his friends happy and in love, never allowing him a moment of reprieve. But now he got to meet his mate, talk to her for hours and learn her innermost thoughts. By the Mother, he was even contemplating asking Rhys for some time off for the first time in his life so he could see you more often.

“It's impossible to get tired of this view,” you murmur, taking in the barely visible sun rays as the sky turns different shades of pink and orange. As cliché as it sounds, Azriel thought the same thing as he watched you.

He manages to drag his eyes away from your beautiful, peaceful face, studying the view you'd shared with him. You were right, this view could easily rival Velaris at night. Since the temple sat at the top of the mountain, you could see the entire forest from here, and, as beautiful as the sunset had been, he knows the moonlight brings out the true beauty of this place, and yours as well. It's almost unbelievable how you could become even more captivating than you already were, he could hardly take his eyes off you when the moon rays were shining down on you, reflecting on your white hair and adding an even more intense twinkle to your white, silvery eyes.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Almost four hundred years,” you say, nibbling on the biscuits the temple provided at the wave of your hand. He had learned the temple shared a similar spell to the House of Wind and Rhys' cabin. “I was almost thirty when I came.”

The thought of you locked in this temple for that long brings up memories of the dark cell his father kept him in when he was a child, but he tries to shake them away quickly. You were here of your own free will, and as far as he could tell you rather enjoyed living in the temple. This place couldn't be compared to the cell he'd been in any way.

He hopes you didn't catch where his thoughts went, this bond is hard to control most of the time and feelings often filter through unattended. It's because of the feelings the bond brings up that he often finds himself thinking of those moments he has been trying to forget for centuries as well. It almost feels like the bond is prying open everything he has kept locked away, wanting to lay him bare before his mate.

Still, it was hard to believe that you would be completely satisfied living hidden away, no matter how shiny your cage or how fulfilling your role in the temple was. He enjoys his quiet time a lot more than the average person, something even his family doesn't understand at times, but he can't imagine what it's like to live alone for centuries, with no one's company but your own. Azriel couldn't have survived with only his thoughts as company, not when his mind is such an ugly place, even his duty wouldn't keep him alive then.

You smile up at him before he has the chance to put his worries into the right words. “I know what you're thinking. It gets lonely up here, I can't deny that, and I know I've missed a lot of experiences over the course of my life, some that I might never get the chance to relive, but I've always been happy up here.”

“Do you have any family left? Friends?”

“No. Any friends I had before coming here have probably long forgotten about me, some might not even be alive anymore,” you look at him then, hesitation making itself known in your tone and mannerisms. He might have overstepped without meaning to.

“My parents passed away a few decades ago. They came to visit me as much as they could, and we'd send each other letters every few weeks. They came by to spend every Solstice and birthday with me.” You let out a small laugh, “Once they had a little fight and my mom just showed up here with a bag full of clothes and a couple boxes of cupcakes.” You look down at your hands, a lump forming in your throat, “They're the ones I miss the most.”

“I'm sorry.”

There was a tight feeling coiling around his chest, but he can't quite pinpoint if it was his own response to you being sad or if your feelings were bleeding into his own. All he knew is that he wanted to put a smile back on your face.

“It's okay. They were both close to a millennia old and lived their life to the fullest. I would have liked to be with them in their final moments, but it wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Is it really impossible for you to leave? Even at times like those?”

You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the emotion talking about your parents' deaths evoked. “Yes, being bound to the temple is part of the oath I made. I'm not entirely sure what would happen if I actually managed to break the wards, but I would lose my powers and wouldn't be able to come back at the very least.”

The emphasis you put into the final words told him you thought more would happen. Breaking an oath with a God could very well be fatal, since even a regular bargain made between fae can take someone's life if not fulfilled. He feels a string tightening around his heart as it usually does when he's reminded of your predicament. You will never leave this temple, and, as much as he wants to respect your wishes, he can't help but mourn what your life could have been, what the two of you could have been. There's so much he wishes he could show you, beautiful places he wants to take you to, and people he wishes you could meet.

“There were times when it was hard to be stuck here.” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts, finding you've turned around, sitting cross-legged as you face him. “Obviously it was hard when my parents died, though the Goddess allowed their ashes to be brought to me so I could scatter them on this mountain,” your eyes travel to his wings, lingering on a few scars that will never leave the leathery skin, “I think it was even harder to bear when Amarantha came into Prythian and imprisoned the High Lords, and then when the war with Hybern broke out.”

You let silence fall between you for a few moments, eyes falling down onto your hands, kneading your left palm with your thumb as the first rays of moonlight made the aura around you more noticeable, a faint white light glowing around your entire body. He hopes it's not sacrilegious to think so, but you truly looked like a Goddess in this moment. His eyes fall onto your hands as well, debating on reaching to hold them in his warm ones when you resume your explanation.

“This power the Goddess shared with me has made me very strong, enough so that She leaves the protection of the temple entirely to me, but the biggest downside is that I can't help outside these wards,” you look up into his eyes then, regret lacing into your words, “I could have helped you. If the oath that gave me these powers didn't include staying in this temple, I could have tried to placate Amarantha before she could take everyone Under the Mountain, or at the very least fight alongside you during the war. A lot of people wouldn't have lost their lives if I could have helped.”

He understands what you mean, he has fought even while injured multiple times, during this war even, not willing to stop when he knows he can help even if it cost him his life, so he knows that watching from afar knowing you could have made a difference had to have been extremely frustrating, but he also can't help but feel selfishly glad you weren't there. The war had been bloody and cruel, if he could he would shield you from that sight if it was the last thing he did.

“You said it was Fate that decided you were supposed to live in this temple and protect it, right?” You nod, confusion written on your face. “Then it wasn't your place to be in the war. The temple was written into your life, and the war was written into ours. There's nothing we can do to change our fate.”

He seems to have said the right thing as you watch his face, the pained expression you previously wore slowly being replaced with a happier one, a smile even making its way into your lips, not quite as bright as before but a good start nonetheless.

“I still wish I could have gone,” you say, a twinkle in your eye, “maybe then you would have been written into my life sooner.”

Azriel had never found himself blushing as often as he does when he's around you in the five hundred years he's been alive. The worst part is it seems like you're not doing it on purpose. You keep complimenting him, showing him how much you enjoy having him in your life effortlessly, as if it's simply in your nature. Still, he can clearly see how much you enjoy the fact that you can bring him to this state so easily, a proud expression obvious on your face as you watch color take over the tips of his ears. Luckily for him, it's extremely easy to turn you into a bashful mess as well.

He shifts his weight onto his palm, leaning closer to you, a swift and fast movement, that of a trained soldier. Your sweet, intoxicating scent assaults him instantly, images of how he would let it intertwine with his own invading his mind for a treacherous moment - the mating bond seldom lets him have a moment of peace. Your breath hitches under his attention, wide eyes locked onto his.

“We've been written into each other's lives from the moment we were born, before our world was created even.” Your eyes travel down to his lips for a beat, the movement was quick enough that he might have mistaken it if it weren't for your proximity. It brings a satisfied smile to his lips as he adds, “whether at the temple or on that battlefield I would have found my way to you. That I can promise you.”

The reaction you give him is nothing short of delicious. Mouth slightly agape as you struggle to maintain eye contact at his confession, the wild rhythm of your heartbeat ringing in his ears and down the bond. He decides to push his luck a bit and test the waters, leaning even closer, enough so that your warm breath meets his skin, eyes dropping to your lips before stealing a cookie from the plate that sat beside you, straightening up as he brings it to his mouth, giving you space once more. He can't help the smile from growing when he hears your intake of breath, eyes dropping to your lap and hands smoothing down your skirt as you try to regain composure.

On one hand, he almost feels bad for teasing you like this, knowing there's a big difference in how you have both led your lives up to this point, even if you're relatively close in age. He would also hate to make you feel actually uncomfortable in any way. But, on the other hand, he wants nothing more than to whisper the most depraved things he wants to do to you so he can watch desire take over your face, so he can erase any semblance of innocence away. Although knowing exactly how experienced or not you are will end up being pertinent information if you both choose to keep chasing this bond, Azriel decides to take mercy on you tonight and change the subject.

“What was your life like before coming here?”

Looking up at him with tinted cheeks and wide eyes, you blink a few times, taking you a moment to answer, probably not expecting him to ask you a question so soon or too lost in your thoughts - he briefly wonders if they're any similar to his. Azriel can almost feel the bond purring, that ancient, inexplicable tether delighted at both your reaction and his playfulness, at your closeness.

“I'd say I used to live a pretty normal life,” you start, focusing on his shadows as they played over the steps, still too embarrassed to keep his gaze, “I used to live in a fairly small town, one of those where everyone knows each other and nothing too exciting ever happens,” a nostalgic smile takes over your lips, remembering your childhood. Azriel wishes he could take you back there, have you show him around the place where you grew up.

“My parents owned a small bakery so I helped them around before coming here. I liked baking with them, I wasn't too bad at it either, though the early schedule wasn't my favorite, I always liked sleeping in.” You seem lost in thought for a moment before shrugging and continuing, “Outside of that I had a few friends and a couple of lovers… nothing special.”

Azriel tries to ignore the sick twist of jealousy he feels at the mention of past lovers, knowing it's completely unfair to you, and irrelevant to your relationship now, but that damned bond doesn't know the first thing about rationality. Rhysand wasn't kidding when he said the mating bond grates, at times it was almost suffocating.

“One of the things I miss the most from those times are my parents' pastries,” you pout slightly, a playful glint in your eyes, “I may be biased but they were delicious.”

“It might not be the same, but I can bring you some from Velaris,” he offers. “The bakeries in town are always putting out new delicious things. I'm sure you would love them.”

“I'd like that very much, Azriel,” you say, that blinding smile he loves so much returning to your lips, a smile of his own mirroring yours. His name sounds like heaven, hell, and everything in between falling from your lips.

“Next time I'll bring you some of my favorites,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him as he tilts his head, “Actually, I don't have too much of a sweet tooth so I'll bring you Cassian's favorites instead. I think you would much prefer the chocolate covered cakes he likes to eat than my lemon tarts.”

“It's a deal then,” you nod at him, extending your hand for him to take, Azriel doesn't resist even for a second, letting you shake his hand as if you were in fact making a business transaction. “And if you come empty-handed I might put in a word with the Goddess and not let you in.” He lets out a chuckle, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting go, missing the warmth of your palm against his immediately. To think there would come a day where he would actually want someone to keep holding his hand.

“You can bring some of your lemon tarts too, I want to try what you like first,” you tilt your head, “but you're right, my favorite is always chocolate.”

Azriel chuckles, “Both it is.”

The rest of your time together is spent much like this, talking for hours about any and everything. By the time he forces himself to tell you he needs to go back to Velaris, the moon was already ready to make its way for the sun once more, and your eyelids were significantly heavier, trying your hardest to ignore your fatigue in favor of staying with him for as long as possible.

He never knows what to do or say when it's time to say goodbye to you. It's abundantly clear that neither of you want him to leave. There's also always a part of him that fears he won't be able to come back, that for whatever reason the Goddess decides he's not in need of the temple anymore and the wards keep him out of your reach.

Aside from that, your relationship has been walking the line between platonic and romantic from the first day. You wanted to keep your heart and his as safe as possible given the entire situation. He couldn't fault you for that, but that meant you were stuck acting like friends, as if a mating bond wasn't connecting your bodies and souls, and because of it Azriel couldn't grab your cheeks and kiss you like he's been desperately dreaming of, even though your eyes find themselves entranced by his lips as often as the other way around.

As he gets lost in thought, wondering how your lips would taste, your eyes drop to his shadows, unaware of it all. Dark wisps moving from his own natural shadow cast by the moonlight to yours, some of the bravest, more disobedient ones even swirling up to your ankles tentatively. At least they were still being respectful.

“They like me,” you smile brightly down at them.

Like is not a strong enough word to describe his shadows' feelings when it comes to you. At times it's even hard to make them focus on their job as they sit and wonder what you're up to in the temple. Part of this might be his fault since he has always used them to spy on anyone he needed to, and now he's finding it hard to explain to these beings, who struggle with social cues as it is, that spying is a breach of privacy, something he only does because it's his job, and the last thing he would ever do to you, so they can't go and check on you simply because he misses you every second of the day.

Apart from that they've also taken to giving him romantic advice - which has been disturbing to say the least, - whispering words into his ear that they think you would like to hear, trying to guide him to the flowers or pastries they somehow know you prefer as he passes by the market street, even pushing him to sing to you. They go as far as trying to convey their own feelings to you through him, whispering praises in his ear, and in turn making the bond inside him wish he could send his own shadows on a trip to the bottom of the ocean never to return.

“Yes, I think they do,” he says defeatedly as he watches one of his impertinent shadows travel up to your hand, swirling around it as you bring it up closer to your face for inspection. He can't wait to hear how delighted it is of gaining your attention.

“Shouldn't they hide from the light?”

Azriel takes a step closer, holding your hand and ordering the shadows to cross over to his body so he can have this moment with you. Raising his hand up to your cheek, scarred thumb caressing your soft skin as he murmurs, “Not from yours.”

The irony of his mate being someone who quite literally glowed in the dark wasn't lost on him. For some reason, the fact only further proved you were made for each other in his mind. It's almost like the Mother was telling him that no matter how dark his soul was, it would never diminish your light as it glowed ever eternal alongside your Goddess.

“I really have to go now.”

It pains him to say it, but he's already going to be late and that'll raise questions he's been trying very hard to avoid. It was enough of a miracle that Rhys hadn't told anyone - outside of Feyre of course - that Azriel had found his mate, and he would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. They would ask him too many questions he wouldn't know how to answer, and, admittedly, he also wants to avoid the teasing comments while the bond is so fresh - nothing good can come out of giving Cassian and Nesta a way to make him blush with only a couple of words.

“Alright,” you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Every time he has to leave you behind, he considers giving up everything and moving to this temple with you.

You raise on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, his eyes closing as a shudder runs through him, wings coiling tighter into his back. His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, his lips falling upon your forehead as a wave of satisfaction rushes his side of the bond. Both of your hearts beating wildly as he steps away slowly and starts walking closer to the edge of the stairs.

“I'll come back as soon as possible,” he promises one more time before taking flight.

“I know, Azriel. I'll be waiting.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The unmistakable feeling of someone passing through the barrier rushes over you, sending your heart racing immediately. For a moment you think it's Azriel coming by unannounced, a smile breaking out on your lips as you get up to your feet, but a quick look into the bond that lays dormant inside you is enough to tell you he's still in Velaris, far away from the temple.

Your smile drops and a wave of sadness washes over you, freezing you in place, heart dropping at the reminder of the distance that lays between you and your mate, of the days you'll still have to endure alone before his next visit.

You feel movement again, now closer to the top steps, and shake yourself out of unwanted thoughts, pushing them all to the back of your mind as you shake any stray cookie crumbs from your trousers. If it isn't Azriel coming to see you then it's definitely someone coming to visit the temple, and you have a duty to fulfill.

It's only been a few weeks since Azriel first came looking for the temple, you've never had visitors showing up so close together. They're usually few and far in between, leaving you on your own atop the mountain for years at a time as the rumors about the temple die off among most of the population. The prospect of seeing someone again so soon has excitement rushing through your veins, completely overshadowing the solemn feelings from before.

You walk to the mirror, quickly checking your appearance before winnowing straight to the top of the stairs, catching your new visitor by surprise as she walks towards the temple slowly. The gasp she lets out when she spots you waiting for her brings a bigger smile to your lips, making you almost giddy as you cross your hands behind your back.

“Welcome to the Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple and I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats as well as helping anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just like you have.”

The well rehearsed speech comes to you naturally, the words flowing effortlessly from your mouth as you take in your visitor's wonder, curious eyes taking in the beautiful place. Of course she didn't have any speech rehearsed but it might as well have been since her next words mirror everyone else's when they arrive.

“I never knew there was a temple here,” the awe in her face brings you the usual sense of pride.

“It's a bit of a secret,” you wink at her, walking closer to the temple, motioning with your hand for her to follow you.

“My grandmother used to say these mountains were the most beautiful place in Prythian so I wanted to spread her ashes here, but I always thought she meant the actual mountains,” she muses. “This place is breathtaking.”

“The temple is hidden behind a powerful spell. I'm afraid when talking about this day your memories will be somewhat limited,” you explain softly as you lead her to the gardens in the back, the perfect view for her grandmother's final resting place.

As you go through the usual explanation, you realize you truly skipped most of it when it came to Azriel's first visit, though you still think you did better than expected given the circumstances. It's easy to forget your own name or any rehearsed speeches when you find yourself face to face with your mate.

The rest of the visit goes by fairly quickly. You lead her to the gardens and let her choose the perfect place among the flowers and trees, helping her spread the ashes as instructed, saying a quick prayer and then allowing her a moment to grieve, standing off to the side while still keeping a watchful eye over everything.

You can't help but let your eyes wander to the spot where you had spread your parents' ashes, the tears lining the young fae's eyes reminding you of the countless ones you had spilled as you went through the same. Over the years you've grown somewhat accustomed to their absence, - never fully, you've long since accepted that would be impossible, - but recent events have made you bitterly aware of it.

You wished you could tell your parents you had found your mate, would give anything to feel the anxiety of introducing them to Azriel. Now you can only imagine nervously writing them a letter, telling them all about the charming fae the Mother had chosen for you. They would show up at the temple the next day, not even the Goddess would be able to keep your mother from meeting her daughter's fated mate. Gods, they would have loved him.

A weak sigh escapes you. Nothing could take away the pain of losing a loved one, but you hope that the thought that her grandmother now lies within the temple's walls will lessen her grief even if just for a moment.

It's time to accompany her back to the stairs in no time, her tearful thanks and goodbyes echoing over the entrance hall. Watching the young fae descend the steps brings you a sense of accomplishment as usual, but this time there's an annoyingly acute emptiness growing inside you, tainting it.

Most visitors don't linger in the temple, only getting what they came for before going on their way, before going back to their busy lives, but as you watch her disappear between the trees, you're left wishing she would have stayed longer, sat with you and talked for a moment.

It wouldn't be fair not to acknowledge that this feeling had always manifested inside you after every visit you've received over the centuries, especially back when your parents were the ones stopping by and leaving you with hesitant glances over their shoulders, but you know that it had only grown more noticeable after Azriel first arrived.

Becoming familiar with someone's presence once again had made you more aware of your situation, more aware of just how many words and thoughts you had been keeping to yourself in your years of seclusion. It reminded you of how alone you truly were up in this temple. Before, the silence had been part of your routine, something you had no problem falling back onto after the rare visitor came and disturbed it. Now it felt like a consistently harder task, the silence ringing too loud in your ears, making you too aware of the echo that followed your footsteps.

Sitting down on the first step, you let out a sigh from deep in your chest, stretching your legs out, only noticing then that you had not changed out of your slippers in your rush earlier. It's a shame, you only really wear your nicer shoes when you have guests, which even with Azriel's more regular visits doesn't happen nearly often enough.

You feel yet another stab through your heart when you realize your first instinct is wanting to share the news with your mate, tell him about your visitor and your silly mistake, tell him how it reminded you of your parents and maybe even confide in him how lonely it all had made you feel.

You've been alone for so long that you had forgotten what wanting to share every exciting thing that happens with someone felt like. What is quickly becoming a familiar ache settles over you at the cold reminder that Azriel isn't within your reach. You'll have to wait until he visits again to share these news with him and see the smile on his face.

It's been over a week since he last came by, which wouldn't be much time at all if he weren't your mate and you couldn't feel him through the bond, so close but so far away. He warned you he would be busy with an assignment, even promised he would make it up to you when he was finished with it, but you can't rationalize how much you miss him or how much you wish he was by your side, and so you keep sitting on those steps well into the night, waiting for someone who isn't coming.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

With delectable excitement running through his veins, the kind that only you could bring out of him, Azriel takes one last look in the mirror, fixing his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure everything looks perfect and in place before entrusting yet another box of pastries to his shadows. He has been on the hunt for the best chocolate cookies in Velaris ever since you told him they were your favorite, but he also can't stop himself from trying to spoil you in any way he can.

It's been over a week since he last saw you, and Azriel has been counting down the days for your next meeting ever since he left your side. He couldn't help but feel uncharacteristically annoyed whenever he remembered the mission that ended up keeping him away from home, and in turn from you, for several days. Deep down he knew Rhys had actually been giving him more free time to go visit you than he usually would have in other circumstances, even covering for him when he disappeared for hours on end so the others didn't find it too suspicious. Unfortunately, the bond often spoke louder, and with it came a moodiness that Azriel only felt lifting up earlier today, when he started getting ready to see you.

He makes his way downstairs, already worrying about how the flight will mess up the hair he had just been combing through so carefully. If it weren't for the wards surrounding the House of Wind, he would have winnowed straight to the temple.

“You took a bath.”

A voice coming from the sitting room calls after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks, shadows crawling up his tense body. He curses himself, some spymaster he was, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice he had company nor the forethought to avoid it. It seems he won't be able to leave without anyone noticing after all.

Azriel hesitates for a moment, unwilling to linger and lose even a second of precious time with his mate. Leaving would only make him appear more suspicious though, so he takes a couple steps into the room instead, finding the oldest and the youngest Archeron sisters looking back at him with amusement written in their eyes.

“I bathe.”

“You don't usually use any of the smelling washes.” Nesta's tone sounds nothing short of accusatory, glancing at Feyre while she talks as if trying to prove a point. “Not since recently at least.”

Azriel was never one to overthink about his appearance, perfectly content with keeping things simple, so it really doesn't come as a surprise that his best friend would notice his newly found appreciation for it. He had also not only accepted a few of Mor's invites to go shopping but also started using the clothes, fragrances and even accessories her and Rhys had gifted him over the years - something that unfortunately the High Lord had picked up on too and teased him relentlessly for whenever they were alone.

And, even in his recent distracted state, he would have to be a fool not to notice Nesta's curiosity towards his whereabouts and sudden mood changes. She has even been asking him about his missions, feigning interest in his spymaster duties just so she can catch him in a lie, knowing he would never dress like this to go spy on their enemies.

“Are you suggesting I smell, Nesta?”

“No, you smell amazing,” she clarifies quickly, sounding so sincere that he feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. Now he almost wishes Cassian was here.

“Then what's the problem?”

Knowing Feyre as well he does, it's extremely commendable that she's managing to keep quiet through this whole conversation, even more so that she hasn't said anything when Nesta surely came asking her what she knew. It also sends a certain warmth through him that she's going against her instincts to keep his secret - even though she and Rhysand have probably been gossiping about him every chance they get.

“There's no problem. I'm simply curious,” she says, clearing her throat before adding with a wicked glint in her eye, “you can't tell me you used your best smelling cologne to go on a mission.”

“I didn't say I was going on a mission,” he says, humoring her for a bit.

As amusing as this unexpected back and forth was turning out to be, it was, at the same time, stealing some of the precious time he had with you. He should have already made it out of Velaris, over the mountains where he would winnow straight to you.

“Then where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I'm going to have dinner with my mother,” Azriel offers, tone not wavering around the lie even for a moment.

“Oh.”

He feels a little bad for lying, especially since he's using his mother of all people as an excuse, but he knows that if he explained the situation to her she wouldn't mind at all. In fact, this reminded him to make some time to visit his mom, not only had it been quite a while since he last went, but he also wanted to tell her all about you.

Hiding the truth from Nesta and the rest of his family wasn't something he was content with either. Azriel knows they would all be overjoyed with the fact that he had found his Mother blessed mate, but he wanted to make sense of the situation before telling them. As things stand you're simply his friend, even with the shimmering bond between you, and you're still up in your temple, far away from everyone. He wouldn't even be able to properly explain the situation or his feelings on it, Gods know he tries whenever Rhys asks. He probably wouldn't even be able to take them to meet you.

Talking to his mother was always easier though. She never expected answers or explanations, she truly only wanted him to be happy. He can imagine the load off her shoulders it would be to find out her son had found a mate. Yes, he needs to make time to tell her, if no one else.

“I hope you have a lovely dinner, Az,” Feyre says, hiding a knowing smile behind her teacup, apparently not helping herself in at least getting a word in.

“Yes, I hope it all goes well,” Nesta adds, recovering rather quickly, the glint returning to her eyes as she likely reminds herself that one dinner with his mother doesn't explain all his strange recent behavior. Maybe he could still make a spy out of her, she's definitely determined.

Azriel simply nods and bids them a quick goodbye, doing his best to walk at a normal place to the front door, a relieved sigh escaping him when he shoots up into the air, passing the wards keeping the House of Wind safe, feeling himself get engulfed by his shadows as they take him closer to you.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

“When you first showed up I thought you weren't a good flier,” you reminisce, leaning back further into the cushions propped at your back, a smile playing at your lips. “Or that maybe you were still young.”

Azriel's gaze darts around the library at your words, a breath escaping him before his beautiful hazel eyes meet yours once again. Biting your lip, you try to stop your smile from growing as you watch a flush traveling across his skin, crawling up his delectable neck until his rounded ears become tinted with a pinkish color.

“My wings froze in place,” he admits with a soft smile of his own. “It's a miracle I landed on my feet at all.”

A giggle escapes you then, followed by a breathy chuckle from him, remembering the way his knees had buckled under his weight, how your own felt equally as weak in the face of the all-consuming mating bond. The sound echoes around the library for a moment, carrying around the bookshelves and artifacts laying about, a delighted sound that these walls have not been privy to too often, so used to the silence as they were, as you were.

This was the first time you've brought him into the library since his first visit and the initial tour of the temple you had given him. You usually stay outside whenever Azriel comes to visit, either sitting by the steps watching the moon and the stars, or in the garden, on a bench by the flowers; under a tree, taking advantage of the soft grass that grows here with the Goddess' blessing. But as time passes and his visits become more frequent, you suddenly felt the urge to show him different parts of the temple, to have these little dates - if you could even call them that - in different places to make up for the fact that you couldn't leave the temple's grounds. The light rain that fell today, signaling the end of summer, had been the perfect opportunity.

What you didn't expect was for it to feel so much more intimate. It shouldn't have come as a surprise honestly, this is your house after all and even if he had been here multiple times he had never really lingered inside so now bringing him to the room you spend most of your days in feels different, it made your heart beat faster as soon as he walked in, the bond screaming in elation when he sat in the sofa you're curled in almost every day, taking his place by your side. You don't think you'll ever be able to sit here without this image popping up into your mind.

“I think you did good under the circumstances,” you offer, hand twitching at your side, wanting to reach out and touch the flush covering his cheek, reaching for another cookie instead to keep your treacherous fingers occupied.

Azriel had made good on his promise to bring you every pastry and sweet from Velaris, never arriving at the temple without carrying something delicious within his shadows. Today he brought you various cookies of different shapes, sizes and flavors. They were all delicious, their rich taste blooming in your mouth when you bit into them, but it seems he overestimates just how much you can eat, especially since he barely helps you at all - you swear you've only seen him eat one singular cookie since you opened this box.

“It sounds like you're just saying that to make me feel better.” You shake your head in denial, you really weren't, but he continues before you can say anything else. “Us Illyrians take a lot of pride in our flying abilities, you know? I'm not sure I can let this go so easily.” The teasing smile that blooms on his face is completely mesmerizing, it almost makes you forget yourself. “You'll have to let me show you.”

It takes you a moment too long to process his words, your silver eyes too caught up on his inviting lips to pay any attention to what he said. You'd like to blame these moments where your thoughts stray when you look at Azriel on the bond, but you're not so sure it was all its doing. If he notices he doesn't let it show, allowing you to meet his eyes again like nothing had happened.

“You want to take me flying?”

“If you let me,” he murmurs softly. The excitement written in his eyes was contagious, and if you didn't know any better you'd say he had been waiting on a chance to ask you.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of the possibility ever since you first laid eyes on Azriel. You had never seen a winged fae before so flying always seemed like a childish dream, but now you couldn't help feeling a hint of wistfulness every time you saw him land swiftly on top of the steps. Who wouldn't want to fly? The thought of the wind caressing your skin as you cut through the clouds sounded heavenly, not to mention Azriel's arms wrapped around you as he held you against him. The thought summons warmth to your chest, and lower.

“I'd like that,” you say, “but I'm not sure if it will work because of my oath. We would not be able to go far.”

“Around the temple should be fine, right?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“It's a promise then,” he smiles brightly down at you. “Next time I'll take you flying. I would take you right now but it's still raining.”

“Do you know when the next time will be?”

The words escape you before your brain catches up to them. The way his smile falters, and some of his shadows rush to him from where they had been lazily swirling around the library makes you want to take them back immediately. You know they do that when he's upset or sad, something you rarely see when he comes to the temple. The thought that you were the one to make him so makes you want to rip out your heart and beg for his forgiveness.

“I'm only curious. I didn't mean anything by it,” you rush to explain, the last thing you wanted was for him to think you blamed him, or expected more of him. Azriel had been nothing short of perfect and understanding given your limitations.

“I would come every day if I could.”

“I know, Azriel.” You can hear the longing in his voice, filtering in through the bond as well, even if he tries to hide it. “I would go to you if I could too.”

Thankfully this brings the smile back to his lips, even if still somewhat overshadowed by the reality of your relationship. You've noticed Azriel has a hard time believing he's wanted, and you probably only make it worse since you have not accepted the bond.

“I'm not sure when the next time will be. I should be free in a couple of days, but if Rhys and Feyre need me in the meantime it might be longer, and I don't want to keep your hopes up if I might not be able to show up after all,” he explains as he reaches out for your hand tentatively, holding it delicately in his as his thumb starts drawing circles over your open palm, sending a tingling feeling shooting up your arm and straight to your chest. Shouldn't you be the one comforting him?

“I'll be here waiting either way, Azriel. I don't want you to neglect your work because of me,” you say, squeezing his hand, holding it tighter in yours.

“I'm not. There's no immediate threats on the court so things have been relatively calm, and I think I've earned some time off for all the years I worked without it.” The two of you were similar in a lot of ways, how focused you could be on your work and loyal to your duty was one of them. “Rhys has been easier on me too,” he adds.

“Does he know?”

“Since the first night,” Azriel nods, “I tried to hide it but he saw right through me. I haven't told anyone else though.”

You frown softly as his words settle between you, biting your lip softly and hopefully hiding it before he notices. You didn't know how to feel about Azriel having to hide you from his family, having to sneak around whenever he visits you. The way your chest constricted as soon as the words left his mouth told you what the bond felt immediately though. Your eyes drop to your still intertwined hands, the sight making your heart flutter despite your inner turmoil.

A mating bond was an extremely rare and beautiful thing, something you would be proud to tell your friends and family all about, the whole world even, but you can't blame him for not telling them anything when there's no guarantee this will work, when you made it clear from the first day that you didn't think it would work. All he had to do was explain the situation for the expected congratulations and joyous smiles to turn into pity and sympathetic words instead.

“I'm sorry.”

Now it was Azriel's turn to frown, leaning closer to you and squeezing your hand, trying to meet your eyes as you focused on his hand, on the shimmering silver string that kept you eternally bound to each other.

“What are you sorry for?”

“It's my fault you have to hide it.”

“Of course not-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging on his hand. You were tired of him making excuses for you, of acting like nothing was wrong. If his mate were anyone else, he would have probably at least started dating them regularly by now, might have even already accepted the bond.

“I need you to know,” you look up at him, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with every word even when it becomes too much to bear, “if it weren't for the oath I made and if I could leave the temple, if we could live a normal life, I would accept the bond in a heartbeat.”

You can't quite read the expression that falls over his face, and your nerves are making it impossible to keep a cool head. As the silence stretches on, his hand frozen in yours and his hazel eyes staring right into your soul with unwavering intensity, your heart starts beating extremely loud, pouding at your eardrums as the thought that you said the wrong thing invades your mind.

“Azriel-”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please,” he breathes out, a desperately needy sound coming from deep in his chest. Scarred hands come up to hold your cheeks as he leans down, touching his forehead to yours, hazel eyes closing. “I really want to kiss you.”

You're unsure why he thought you could ever deny him such a request. Leaning in the rest of the way, your lips find his in a soft kiss before you lose your courage. It had been entirely too long since you've felt someone's lips on yours and the fact that it was Azriel, your mate, only made the fire starting inside you burn brighter.

A moan crawls up your throat before you even have a chance to think to keep it down. Azriel swallows it gladly, offering you a deep, satisfied groan of his own as the kiss turns more desperate. All the want you've both tried to keep locked away rising up uninterrupted as teeth and tongues clash, your hands tugging at his soft hair while his fall to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You have no idea how long you're tangled up in each other, the world falling silent while his hands roam your body, but by the time your mind finally clears and you manage to get a grasp on your instincts and on the bond, you find yourself straddling his lap, your dress pushed up to your hips and his shirt half unbuttoned.

Your entire body was glued to him. You could feel every breath he took, the low purring in his chest rumbling against yours, and the evidence of just how much he wanted you pressing against your core. It's as if you had been trying to crawl under his skin, maybe you were, it's not like that would be enough.

Even as you pull apart, chests rising and falling together as you catch your breaths, you don't move away from him, your eyes still closed as you keep your foreheads pressed together. You think it might be impossible to, just the thought makes you want to chain yourself to him, the bond making it difficult to even think at how adamant it is on you keeping your mate as close as possible.

Azriel seems to be of the same mind as he lets out a soft groan, strong arms tightening around you, the sweet pressure pushing an embarrassingly needy and breathy moan past your lips. He leans into your neck, a shiver running through his body as he takes in your scent, the way it deepened with arousal and mixes in with his sending his mind into a frenzy the same way it does yours. If anyone were to walk into this room, they wouldn't be able to tell them apart at all, there wouldn't be any doubts that you were his.

You feel him drop an otherwise chaste kiss to the overheated and sensitive skin of your neck, the way his body tenses at the harsh breath you take in telling you he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it instead. With how out of practice and needy you are at this moment, you think you'd come undone on his lap if he did, the thought sobering you somewhat.

Calling his name softly, surprised by how breathy and undeniably affected your own voice is, you wait for him to gather his own thoughts, abandoning your neck reluctantly, his half-lidded and blown out hazel eyes meeting yours. You know mating bonds are a lot harder to manage for the males so you can't even imagine what is going through his mind, how hard he has to hold himself back from claiming you as his own when you're soaked and pliable on top of him.

Even though you were the one who called his name, you find yourself at a loss for words in the face of his desire. You don't want to tell him to stop and you don't want to move away from him, but you have to, you both know that. And so you kiss him again instead, softly, apologetically.

[heeluvv]

𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐎𝐍-𝐎𝐍𝐄 ᯓ★

pairing 𖤝 idol! nishimura riki x fan! reader

genre 𖤝 smut

warnings 𖤝 p in v, unprotected sex, make-out sesh (idk honestly), etc.

natty's notes 𖤝 mdni, hate comments will be deleted. (it's pretty long)

the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air as you sat in the dimly lit private lounge, heart pounding in anticipation. you were the lucky fan who had won an exclusive one-on-one meeting with niki, the enigmatic maknae of enhypen, and the reality of it felt surreal.

your fingers clutched at the hem of your skirt as the door creaked open. then, he was there.

ni-ki stepped inside with the kind of effortless confidence that sent shivers down your spine. he was taller than you imagined, dressed in all black, his sharp gaze locking onto yours instantly. he took his time shutting the door, fingers lingering on the handle before he turned back to you, a smirk curling on his lips. he didn’t speak right away—he just stared, assessing, his dark eyes scanning your expression, your posture, your hands twisting in your lap.

“you look nervous,” he finally murmured, voice deep and laced with something unreadable.

you swallowed hard. “i-i guess it’s just… overwhelming.”

he chuckled, slow and rich. “you don’t have to be so tense.” he moved forward, measured and deliberate, his hands slipping into his pockets as he closed the distance between you. “you’re the one who wanted this.”

your breath hitched. his words hung between you, heavy with implication. you had wanted this. you had spent countless nights imagining what it would be like to be this close to him, and now that he was standing in front of you—so real, so impossibly magnetic—it was nearly too much.

he sat beside you on the plush leather couch, his body sinking into the space next to yours, close but not quite touching. yet you could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a trap. your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt as he turned slightly, propping an elbow on the back of the couch, his gaze never leaving your face.

“how long have you been a fan?” he asked, voice smooth, inviting.

you struggled to find words, your throat suddenly dry. “since debut.”

he hummed in acknowledgment, studying you with quiet amusement. “so you’ve been watching me for a while.”

the air between you thickened. you nodded, pulse hammering against your ribs. “yes.”

his tongue darted out to wet his lips, slow and deliberate, as if he knew exactly what effect he was having on you. “tell me,” he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. “what’s your favorite thing about me?”

your stomach twisted. he was teasing you, testing you, pushing you to see how far you would go. your mind raced with a hundred answers—his talent, his confidence, the way he commanded attention without even trying—but none of those seemed right in the moment.

“the way you move,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a breath.

his smirk deepened, interest flickering behind his eyes. “yeah?”

you swallowed, pressing your thighs together. “on stage… the way you take control. it’s like you know exactly what you’re doing to everyone watching.”

ni-ki tilted his head slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee. “and what do i do to you?”

your heart lurched. you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you could handle. your fingers curled tighter into the couch, nails digging into the fabric. “ni-ki—”

he reached out, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up. the touch was light—too light, like he was testing your reaction. your breath stilled in your lungs as his thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, his eyes flickering down, lingering.

“i like hearing you say my name like that,” he murmured, his voice dark and smooth, like velvet against your skin.

the tension was suffocating now, wrapping around you like a vice. he didn’t move away, didn’t break eye contact, just let the moment stretch between you until your pulse was thrumming so hard you thought it might burst through your skin.

his lips hovered near your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “do you know what happens in private meetings like this?”

you shook your head, unable to speak, your body wound tight with anticipation.

his fingers trailed down your throat, featherlight, his touch igniting something deep in your core. “neither do i,” he admitted, his lips barely grazing your skin. “but i’d love to find out.”

he crashed his plush lips onto yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours in a frenzy of unspoken desires. the moment his mouth met yours, the sweet, creamy taste of your vanilla gloss coated his tongue, sending a spark down his spine, igniting something primal within him. a soft groan rumbled from his chest, a mix of hunger and disbelief at what he was doing.

in his mind, a war raged—logic screamed that this was reckless, forbidden even, yet every fiber of his being ached to feel you, to claim you. you were just a fan, someone he should admire from a safe, respectable distance, but from the second you stepped into the room, your very presence ensnared him. the way you carried yourself, the effortless beauty that radiated from you—it was mesmerizing, intoxicating. he had tried to resist, to maintain the careful boundaries drawn between admiration and indulgence, but now, with you in his arms, those restraints snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

his fingers gripped your waist, pulling you closer, desperate to close the space between you. he needed more, needed to drown in the sensation of you—your warmth, your softness, the way you surrendered so easily to his touch. his heart pounded, breath ragged, as the weight of reality momentarily faded into the background.

he wrapped his strong arms around you, effortlessly lifting you before settling you onto his lap, pulling you flush against him. the warmth of his body seeped into yours, his grip firm yet full of longing, as if he never wanted to let you go. your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands, tugging just enough to make him let out a low, breathy groan. his lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your neck, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine before he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses against it.

sucking, nibbling, teasing—he took his time, reveling in the way your pulse quickened beneath his touch. his tongue flicked over the spot just below your jaw before he latched on, leaving a mark, a silent claim, his lips moving as though he wanted to imprint himself onto every inch of you.

"fuck, baby…" niki groaned, his voice thick with want as his lust-blown eyes met yours. they held you captive for just a fleeting second before the hunger overtook him again, and he crashed his lips onto yours with a desperate intensity. the kiss was deep, searing, as if he needed to taste every part of you, to drown in your sweetness. his tongue slid past your lips, claiming your mouth in a way that left no room for hesitation—only raw, unfiltered desire.

his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding your movements against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure crashing through both of you. every slow, deliberate grind had him teetering on the edge of control, his breathing growing heavier with each passing second. his head lolled back for a brief moment, lips parted as a deep groan threatened to spill from his throat. but he wasn’t willing to give in so easily—not yet.

forcing himself to meet your gaze, his hooded eyes locked onto yours, dark and heavy with lust. he bit down hard on his bottom lip, a feeble attempt to stifle the needy moans and deep grunts bubbling up inside him. but the way you moved, the way your body molded so perfectly against his, made it impossible to hold back completely.

“shit, baby…” niki exhaled, his voice thick with desire, almost breathless as his hands slid up your body. his rough fingers trailed over your sides before greedily cupping your tits, squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure to pull a whimper from you. his thumbs grazed over your sensitive peaks, teasing, testing, relishing in the way you shuddered under his touch. his lips parted again, eyes drinking in the sight of you, utterly lost in the intoxicating pleasure that neither of you could escape.

"fuck, baby… i can't…" he grunted, his voice thick with desperation as his hands gripped the hem of your shirt, yanking it over your head in one swift motion. his fingers worked with a feverish urgency, snapping your bra off with a single skilled movement before his lips crashed onto your bare skin.

his mouth latched onto your tits, hot and eager, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before sucking it in with a deep, greedy pull. the wet sounds of his mouth working against your flesh filled the room, blending with your breathy moans as he ravished you, sucking and nipping with a hunger that made your head spin.

"n–niki—!" you gasped, your voice breaking into a moan as the pleasure coursed through you. your hips never ceased their movements, grinding against him with increasing desperation, the friction only fueling the burning need between you. you could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining against the growing heat between your thighs, your core soaked and aching for more.

he groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing over your peak before pulling back, his lips red and swollen from the way he had devoured you. his hooded eyes, darkened with pure lust, flickered up to meet yours, his breath ragged as he took in the sight of you unraveling beneath him.

"i want more..." you moaned out, your voice breathless with need as your fingers tugged impatiently at the waistband of his pants, silently pleading for him to rid himself of the barriers between you.

niki's breath hitched, his restraint snapping like a fragile thread. without hesitation, he stood up, his movements hurried yet precise as he stripped himself of his pants and boxers, the fabric pooling at his feet. his gaze never left you as he did the same for you, peeling away the last remaining layers until nothing separated your heated bodies.

his breath caught in his throat as he took you in—bathed in the soft glow of the dim light, your skin glowing, every curve, every inch of you absolutely breathtaking. his eyes darkened, filled with nothing but raw hunger and awe, as if he were gazing upon an angel fallen straight from the heavens, too perfect to be real.

"fuck… you're so beautiful," he murmured, voice laced with admiration and lust before he reached for you, effortlessly pulling you back onto his lap.

his lips crashed onto yours again, needy, desperate—he could never get enough of you, never tire of the intoxicating taste of your mouth, the way you melted into him, soft and pliant in his arms. his hands roamed your body, mapping out every dip and curve as his hips bucked slightly beneath you, his cock twitching as it pressed against your slick heat.

he groaned deeply, the feeling of your wetness coating his cock making his head spin. gripping himself, he stroked his tip along your entrance, teasing, coating himself in your arousal as his lips hovered over yours, breath hot and heavy.

"you ready, baby?" he murmured, his voice deep, sultry, promising nothing but pure pleasure. he smirked against your lips, his hands squeezing your hips as he positioned himself. "i'm gonna have you screaming my name..."

he finally pushed inside you, the sensation of your tight, warm walls wrapping around him stealing the very breath from his lungs. a deep, guttural moan tore from his throat, his head tilting back as pleasure shot through him. his grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he tried to steady himself, tried to keep from losing himself too soon in the overwhelming heat of you.

“shit… you’re so fucking tight, baby…” he groaned, his voice strained, thick with pleasure. his forehead pressed against yours, his heavy breaths mingling with your own as he fought to control the way his body begged him to move.

he started slow, his hips rolling into you with deep, deliberate strokes, savoring every inch of the way you clenched around him. each movement sent another wave of bliss coursing through his veins, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to hold back. you felt too good, too perfect—he was already teetering on the edge, his body screaming for more, but he wanted to make this last.

his hands roamed over your body, fingers tracing over your curves as his lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as he built up a steady rhythm. every thrust sent sparks of pleasure between you, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, mixing with the breathy gasps and moans that spilled from both of you.

"fuck, baby… i don't know how much longer i can hold back," he groaned, his voice trembling with restraint, every fiber of his being aching to give in, to let go and drown in the feeling of you.

his hands cradled your face, fingers pressing firmly against your skin as his hips snapped into you with growing urgency. each thrust was deep, deliberate at first, but as the pleasure consumed him, his rhythm grew desperate, erratic. the way you clenched around him, the way your body responded to his every movement, had his mind fogging over, completely lost in the intoxicating euphoria you provided.

his lips sought yours hungrily, devouring every moan, every gasp that spilled from you as he lost himself in your warmth. but it wasn’t enough—he needed more. his mouth trailed down, teeth scraping against your jaw before latching onto the sensitive skin of your neck. he sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the bruised flesh as though he wanted to mark you, to claim you as his.

his body trembled now, shuddering with every thrust, every squeeze of your tight walls around him. his cock twitched violently, a telltale sign of just how close he was to the edge. his grip on you tightened, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, his groans turning into broken curses as he felt himself spiraling.

“fuck! shit, baby… i’m close…” he gritted out between heavy pants, his voice strained, raw with pleasure. his lips returned to yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing every sound you made, as if he needed to feel every bit of you, needed to drown in you completely before the inevitable release crashed over him.

his hands gripped onto your breasts, fingers kneading the soft flesh with a desperation that matched the erratic rhythm of his hips. each snap of his pelvis against yours was rough, urgent, his control slipping away with every thrust. his damp hair clung to his forehead, stray strands falling into his lust-darkened eyes, the intensity in his gaze sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

the way he looked at you—wild, needy, utterly consumed—pushed you further, made you unravel beneath him. your hands clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his heated skin as your body rocked in sync with his movements. every deep stroke forced you to bounce on his cock, the pleasure so overwhelming it sent shudders through your entire body.

his hands trailed down your back, rough fingertips tracing your spine before sliding lower, gripping onto your ass with a bruising hold. his palms squeezed your flesh before delivering sharp, stinging smacks, the loud sound echoing through the room, mixing with the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, his restraint slipping entirely as he chased the high that was quickly consuming him.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!—” he choked out, his voice ragged, his breath erratic as he felt himself spiraling. his hips snapped up into you one last time, deep and unrelenting, before the tension within him snapped.

a strangled moan ripped from his throat as his release hit him hard, white-hot pleasure surging through his veins as his cum spilled into you, thick and warm. the sensation sent you tumbling over the edge with him, your walls fluttering around his pulsing length as waves of pleasure wracked through your body.

he held onto you tightly, forehead pressed against yours, panting heavily as the aftershocks of his climax coursed through him. his hands, once rough and greedy, now smoothed over your skin in slow, soothing strokes, grounding both of you as you came down from the intoxicating high together.

heavy breaths filled the room, the air thick with the aftermath of pleasure. your bodies remained pressed together, skin slick with sweat, the heat between you lingering even after the intensity had passed. the scent of sex and warmth clung to the space, a reminder of just how deeply lost you had been in each other.

niki’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath you, his arms still wrapped securely around your waist as if he had no intention of letting you go just yet. his touch softened, no longer fueled by urgency but instead by something more tender. his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine before he reached up, brushing back the damp strands of hair clinging to your flushed face.

his lips found your cheek, pressing delicate, lingering kisses against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the way he had devoured you moments ago. each kiss was soft, almost reverent, as if he were memorizing you, savoring every last bit of this moment.

a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he murmured, voice still husky and laced with exhaustion, “i hope i see you more often now.”

his words carried more weight than just post-bliss small talk—there was something genuine in the way he said it, something that made your stomach flutter. his fingers grazed your jaw, tilting your face just enough for his lips to brush against yours once more, a slow, lazy kiss filled with unspoken promises.

natty's notes 𖤝 hoped you enjoyed and tysm for 300 followers !!

[sophsbookstore]

Floral Encounters

Charles Leclerc x Florist!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Word count: 1340

A/N: lmaoooo i've been gone for a really..really long time…but guys we are so back! New year, new fanfics that need to be written. Requests are still very much open if you have anything you wanna see, sorry for the absence and happy reading!! <33

The little flower shop nestled on a quiet street in Monaco was a peaceful haven among the hustle and bustle of the city. Inside, the soft scent of roses and lilies mixed with the gentle hum of classical music playing from an old speaker in the corner. The owner, Y/N, was behind the counter, arranging the last few bouquets of the day. She loved her shop, the routine of it, the way it allowed her to be surrounded by beauty every day. But most of all, she loved the chance encounters—those small moments where someone new would come in, buying flowers for loved ones, or sometimes for no reason at all.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when he first walked in.

Charles Leclerc.

He had been a familiar face on the streets of Monaco for years, though Y/N had never had the chance to meet him. She had seen him in passing at a café or two, but nothing that could spark a conversation. She couldn’t say she was a huge fan of Formula 1, but she knew enough to recognize the man who had become a hero to so many in the city.

He stepped into the shop, the doorbell chiming as it swung open, and for a moment, Y/N was taken aback. She quickly composed herself and flashed him a friendly smile.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” Y/N asked the man in front of her

Charles paused for a second, as if processing her presence. His green eyes flicked over the shelves filled with flowers, before landing on her. His lips curved upward in a small, charming smile.

“I need a bouquet,” he said, his accent thick but easy to understand. “Something... for my mother.”

Y/N nodded, stepping forward to guide him. “We have a variety of roses, peonies, maybe some tulips... what’s the occasion?”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to find the right words. “No real occasion. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”

The simplicity of it made Y/N’s heart flutter a little. He wasn’t here for a birthday or an anniversary. Just because. That kind of thoughtfulness was rare. She tilted her head slightly, studying him for a second before offering a suggestion.

“Well, if you’re looking for something elegant, I’d recommend a mix of white roses and lilies. They’re classic, timeless.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as if he was amused by the suggestion. “Timeless, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Y/N gave a small laugh and picked out a few stems, expertly arranging them in a hand-tied bouquet. “The lilies symbolize purity, and the roses... well, they symbolize admiration and love. Perfect for a mother, don’t you think?”

He leaned against the counter, watching her work with an intensity that made her feel a little warmer than usual. “Sounds like you know your flowers,” he said with a grin.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” Y/N replied, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she wrapped the bouquet in parchment paper. “You get to learn a lot when you’re surrounded by them every day.”

When she was finished, she handed him the bouquet. “Here you go. I hope she loves it.”

Charles took the bouquet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment, sending a small jolt through her. He didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he looked down at the flowers, his expression softening.

“I’m sure she will,” he said quietly. Then, as if thinking of something, he added with a teasing smirk, “You’ve made this a bit hard to top. Do you take requests?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

“I might need you to help me with another bouquet next week,” he said, his gaze lingering on hers just a little longer than necessary. “But... this time, it might be for someone special.”

Y/N grinned, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’d be happy to help,” she said, her voice lighter now, more playful. “Maybe I’ll even throw in a little extra flair for someone special.”

Charles gave her a wink and turned toward the door. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said with a laugh before leaving the shop, the bell above the door ringing again.

The days turned into weeks, and Charles kept his word. Every time he raced in Monaco or elsewhere, he would come into the shop, often with a similar request. Sometimes it was for his mother, sometimes for a friend, and sometimes, he hinted that it was for someone else entirely.

After a particularly thrilling race where he finished second, Charles returned to the shop, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. He was still wearing his racing gear, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how different he looked outside the car—his intense, competitive energy replaced with something a little more... relaxed.

“Back for more flowers?” Y/N asked as he entered, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

He nodded, though there was a certain hesitation in his usual confident stance. “Yes, but this time, I’m celebrating something special.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, walking over to him. “Oh? What are you celebrating?”

Charles paused, glancing around the shop as if to gather his thoughts. Then, his gaze landed on hers, and a flicker of something unspoken passed between them.

“I’m celebrating getting to see you again,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, but hearing it now, in such a direct way, made it feel like something new.

Y/N smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. “Well, that’s a good reason to celebrate.”

He grinned, stepping closer to the counter. “I think so.” He leaned in just a little, lowering his voice. “What do you think? Another bouquet, just to make it official?”

Y/N considered him for a moment, her fingers brushing against a vase of lilies nearby. “I think you’re getting pretty good at this... but how about we make it even more official?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Her smile widened, and she set down the flowers she was holding. “How about you let me buy you dinner?”

He blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback for a second. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. “You’re asking me out?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Y/N teased, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Charles chuckled softly, his eyes not leaving hers. “Not at all.” He leaned forward just a bit more, his voice quieter. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she didn’t let the excitement show too much. “It’s a date, then,” she said with a wink.

The dinner was set for a few days later, at a small, intimate restaurant by the harbor. Charles showed up in a simple button-up shirt and jeans, looking effortlessly handsome. They shared stories over a bottle of wine, laughing at each other's jokes and enjoying the easy, warm atmosphere between them. The night ended with a stroll along the water, hand in hand, both of them silently agreeing that it was the beginning of something new.

Charles looked at Y/N, his expression soft. “You know, I’ve been to Monaco many times, but I think this is the first time I’ve really felt like I’m home.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Well, I’m glad I could be a part of that.”

“I think you’re going to be part of a lot of things in my life,” he said, his voice sincere.

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, her heart full. “I’m looking forward to it, Charles. I really am.”

And as the stars twinkled overhead, they both knew that this was just the beginning.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

An Enigma

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: angst, blood, threat of violence, unwanted touching, harassment

Summary: You and Bucky are in an arranged marriage set up by both your parents. It’s a way to keep the peace between your two families. You thought Bucky didn’t care for you, but when someone from your past comes back into your life, Bucky makes it known that all he ever thinks about is you.

Square Filled: au: no powers (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You step into the kitchen but keep to the wall in intimidation. Your husband is standing there with his back to you. He’s shirtless with only a pair of slacks on. You’re not sure what is more hot. Him being shirtless or dressed in a three-piece suit. He has his phone to his ear so you don’t dare interrupt him, scared of what he might do or say to you. It’s not that you’re scared he’ll beat you, it’s just that he’s always so stoic and rarely shows his emotions.

There’s something you want to ask him but you’re scared of what he’ll do when you ask it. He’s your husband for god sake. Just go up to him and ask him! Your inner personality isn’t as scared of him as you are. You wouldn’t be this way if you had married him out of love. No, this marriage was arranged by yours and his parents. You were forced to be his wife, so you’re not even sure he loves you much less likes you.

Still, your marriage meant a truce between your family and his, but that doesn’t mean he stopped hating your family.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in and say something?”

You snap out of your own thoughts and look at Bucky who is now facing you. His shirtless back is almost as delicious as his shirtless front, but you’re too nervous to appreciate the sight in front of you.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

Bucky looks you up and down, studying your behavior and body language. You’re jumpy, your hands are sweaty and shaky, and you can barely meet his eyes for more than five seconds.

“Why do you look so scared?” He smirks. “I won’t bite.”

“My dad called.” His smirk is lost. “He’s having a family dinner next week. He wants both of us there.”

“I see.”

“I’d be really happy if you came. He won’t try anything, I promise. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment.

“Wait, really?”

“You’re my wife. If my father-in-law is asking for dinner, then so be it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. It’s next Friday.” You take out your phone. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

You turn to leave but Bucky’s voice stops you. “One move.”

“What?”

“If he tries one move, my knife will be lodged in his throat.”

Your eyes widen but you hear the threat loud and clear. You nod and scurry off before he can make any more conditions. Your father is part of one of the biggest crime families New York has ever seen. He has power in every single corner of his jurisdiction. No one can do anything without him knowing about it. Bucky’s family is the other family that has ties to mafia dealings, making them just as powerful as your family.

Both families split New York in half, but they’re constantly fighting over drugs, property, clubs, money, etc. If it can be used to manipulate and exert power over people, both your families are greedy for the taking, especially if those businesses live on the border of both jurisdictions.

One day, your father met with Bucky’s father about a truce, something they both will want to agree to. This was when your mother was pregnant with you, but he loves to tell the story so you feel like you were practically there. If you were to marry Bucky, then both families would be able to come to agreement on those petty fights.

A truce would be made. The cost? Your freedom. Any children that you may will bear will be part of the biggest crime family this country has ever seen.

When you were old enough, you met Bucky through a family dinner. He came off as stoic, cold, and calculating. He didn’t let anything get under his skin. Then, his nieces and nephews joined the party and he became a different person. His hard resolve started melting, giving you a show of who the real Bucky was. It’s different when he’s in front of business partners and your family, but you have a good idea of who the real Bucky is.

He’s a mystery, something you’re desperate to solve.

To prepare for the dinner, you decide to go to the gym and hopefully shed a few pounds. You’ve always loved doing cardio, so the treadmill became your best friend. You go so often that the front desk lady knows you by name.

“Welcome, Y/N. Have a good workout.”

“Thank you, Betty. I will.”

You walk over to the treadmill and start with a walk to get your blood pumping. You put your headphones in and listen to your favorite podcast. You listen to all sorts of things when you work out but lately, it’s been about the podcasts. You’re an hour into your workout when someone touches your shoulder. You take out your headphones and look back to see someone you never thought you’d see again.

“Vince. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a gym. I’m working out.”

You look him over and notice he’s not sweaty or red. If he’s been here as long as you have, he hasn’t been working out.

“Right. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You’re about to put your headphones back in when he steps onto the treadmill next to yours. He leans over and rests his elbows on your handlebars, and you immediately stop your machine. It’s a good time to call it a day.

“I came over here to say hi.”

“I should get going.”

You step off the treadmill and walk over to the cleaning station to grab some paper towels when you feel him standing behind you. You used to feel so safe with him but that all changed when your father discovered a hole in your wall that came from his room which was right next door. He was your bodyguard, supposed to protect you from creeps, and ended up being one. He was truly a pervert.

The only reason why your father didn’t kill him was because you didn’t want to deal with it. You convinced him to just fire him, so he did. Now he’s back but you’re not sure why. Your father made it very clear that if he tried to come near you again, he would do more than fire him. You turn and find him standing closer than he should be.

“What do you want, Vince?”

“Just to talk. I’ve become better. I’ve worked on myself. I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be your bodyguard again.”

“Like hell, that’s going to happen. You shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t even your gym. Just go home.” You step around him to clean your machine but he grabs your upper hard harder than normal. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what pain is. I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t give me my job back. I’m a good bodyguard. I kept all the creeps away from you.”

“Yeah, except for you. Let me go.”

He does but he doesn’t move away from you. You have sensitive skin so you know you’ll have bruises on your arm from his grip.

“Don’t be so shocked if one day you find me inside your house. I know you don’t have a bodyguard now.”

You don’t need one. You have Bucky. He’s very possessive and protective over you. You’re not sure what he’s going to do when he finds out about this, but you can imagine it’s not going to be kind. Crew cleaning your machine. You drop your supplies and rush out of the gym in a panic. During the ride home, you think of ways to lie to Bucky. He’s going to take one look at your face and know something is wrong.

You’re a terrible liar, but you can’t think of anything because you’re too scared. Scared to the point of tears. Maybe if you sneak inside and run to your room, you’ll be able to calm yourself down enough to come up with a convincing lie.

You park in the garage and rush inside knowing Bucky has cameras and sensors for when someone enters the garage. You’re about to book it up the stairs when you run smack into Bucky’s chest.

“Where’s the fire?” He sees the panicked look in your eyes and immediately becomes on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just an intense workout. I’m going to take a shower.”

You go to leave but Bucky grabs your arm in the same place as Vince did. You wince and he lets you go immediately thinking he hurt you. His eyes narrow on the bruises Vince let, and the fire in his eyes tells you he’s not going to believe anything but the truth.

“What. Happened.”

You have no choice but to tell him the truth before you get in trouble for lying.

“Before you, I had a bodyguard. He was caught spying on me through a hole he created in my bedroom. He was fired and my father made it clear never to bother me again. Well, he was at the gym. He… threatened me… saying I shouldn’t be surprised if I find him in this house because I don’t have a bodyguard now. He… wants his job back.”

“Okay.”

Bucky moves around you to go to the garage but you jump in front of him and put your hands on his chest. He looks calm but you know he is fucking pissed. It’s taking all of your strength to keep him from entering the garage.

“Bucky, stop.”

“If you think I won’t pick you up and move you out of the way, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Bucky, please. I will bring this up to my father tomorrow at dinner. Please let my family handle this. He worked for my dad. He should deal with it.”

Bucky looks down and he sees the desperation in your eyes. It doesn't do shit to calm him down but he backs away knowing this is what you want.

“Fine.”

Bucky retreats to his office for the rest of the day. Before you know it, Friday has come and you’re walking up the steps to your father’s mansion. You’ve been dreading this moment since the gym but you know you have to tell your father about this. Bucky was supposed to ride with you but you hadn’t seen him all day.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m glad you’re here!” your mother says when you walk into the house.

“Hi, mom.” She pulls you in for a crushing hug. “You just saw me last week.”

“I know, but it feels like a lifetime. Where is Bucky?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be here. He said he would.” Your father walks in and you smile when you see him. “Daddy!”

“Princess,” he smiles.

You bounce over to him and hug him tightly. He’s a very tall and muscular man but he has always been gentle with you. You’re his princess. You’re his only daughter, so he takes your health and well-being very seriously. You have six brothers but he’s not the same with them as he’s with you. They’re just as scary as your father. You’re not sure why you ever needed a bodyguard when you had six living at home with you.

You join your family in the dining room and greet your brothers. The family butler brings out the food until there is a plate in front of everyone. You look beside you at the empty chair and wonder where Bucky is. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would. If he had to work, he would have told you.

“So, Y/N, when am I getting grandbabies?”

“Mom!”

“I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“You have grandbabies. Tony and Luke both have children. Gio has one on the way.”

“None from you, though.”

“Okay, well, when I get pregnant, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Where is Bucky?” Stefan asks, shoveling food into his mouth as he speaks.

“Stefan!” your mother scolds. “Don’t eat like an animal.”

“Sorry, mom,” he says with his mouth full.

“I don’t know. He said he’d be here. He’s probably caught up with work.”

Once your brothers are finished with their meals, they eagerly go for seconds. The dining room is filled with chatter about people’s plans, kids, and trips they have coming up. You never talk about work while you’re eating. That’s reserved for after dinner and always over a glass of top-shelf whiskey.

Suddenly, all chatter ceases when someone walks into the dining room. Bucky. Only he’s covered in blood. Blood stains his nice suit and spatters his smooth skin, but he acts as if he has nothing on him. His hands are clean though. He sits next to you and accepts the food the butler brings. He takes a bite of the meat and moans at how good it is.

“Is it taken care of?” your father asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Chatter returns as normal as if Bucky isn’t covered in fucking blood. Even your brothers don’t seem to care that blood is now on the table. Your mother doesn’t care that blood is getting on her nice white dining chair. You lean closer to him and grab your napkin. You grab his chin and start wiping the blood from his cheek.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Where were you? Why are you covered in blood? Whose is it?”

“Vince.”

Now everything makes sense. He must have called your father to tell him what you told him who then told your mother who then told your brothers.

“I told you I’d handle it.”

“He touched what’s mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“He touched my wife.”

You throw the napkin down knowing it’s useless. “Last I checked, Bucky, you don’t own me.”

“No, you but own me.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “I’d do it again and again to protect you.” He grabs your chin with his clean hand and kisses you. He pulls away from you and wipes away the drop of blood he got on your skin. “Eat.”

It takes you several seconds to wrap your brain around what just fucking happened. You grab your fork and take a bite slowly. Maybe there is some warmth to that cold heart.

x

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[chvoswxtch]

romcom- headcannons (request a director’s cut to make it spicy)

i just wanna see how matt reacts when you accidentally say that you love him for the first time

matthew "abandonment issues & touch starved" murdock would short circuit so let's talk about it

headcannon below the cut

moonstruck starring matt murdock

i'm going with college matty for this one bc he's cute and I said so

let's just say the two of you have been dating for awhile. matt knows that you care about him. he can hear it in your voice, he can feel it in your touch, he can literally hear your heartbeat, he knows how your body reacts when he's around, like he knows

but matt "my dna is made of catholic guilt and I don't think i'm good enough for anyone and deserve nothing good in this world" murdock is not someone who communicates his feelings (at all) very well. so even though he feels it, he doesn't say it, bc he doesn't know how, but also bc he's worried it might freak you out

but even though he has those heightened senses, he can't read your mind. so he doesn't know that you're waiting for him to say those three little words first, bc you don't wanna freak him out either

so both of you are kinda tiptoeing around it and finding ways to say it without saying it

but one night, you're in matt's dorm, and you're helping him study for a mock trial. he's supposed to be taking it seriously, but the two of you have also been splitting a bottle of wine, so he's making up bullshit arguments on the spot that are making you laugh, and now you're both just playfully arguing bc you're both stubborn

"objection-"

a loud laugh bubbles in your chest, and your stomach aches from laughing so hard

"what do you mean objection? no, bullshit. I was right and you know it."

matt's amusement fills the entire dorm as he nearly doubles over, shaking his head and trying not to spill his wine on his sheets from his shoulders shaking from his full body laughter

"you can't say bullshit in court, you'll get held in contempt."

rolling your eyes with a grin, you lightly shoved at his shoulder and took a sip of your wine

"i'm gonna hold you in contempt for being a pain in the ass. what kind of law firm are you running here?"

matt's sightless gaze fixes in your general direction, his soft lips spreading into that stupid charming cocky grin that makes you feel dizzy, his dimples deepening in his cheeks

"a really good one."

rolling your eyes again, you let out another soft laugh as you brought your wine to your lips

"I love you."

as soon as the words left your mouth you froze, and so did matt. they just slipped out. you hadn't meant for them to, even though it was true. and now they were hanging heavily in the silence. you'd seen how matt had almost stiffened, his grin disappearing, a concoction of surprise and shock on his face

the words had caught him off guard, and for a second he thought maybe he had imagined it. the way you had frozen up too clued him into the fact that those words had slipped out on accident. but he was less focused on the fact that they had just slipped out and more focused on the fact that you meant it

your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest now, like a hummingbird was stuck in your ribcage, but it had been steady before. when those words came out of your mouth, it was with ease and conviction. it was real

the longer matt was silent, the more your panic began to rise, fear spreading through the branches of your nervous system that you might have just fucked this all up. your brain scrambled to come up with damage control. setting the glass of wine down on his nighstand, you swallowed thicky and turned to face him fully

"you don't have to say it b-"

matt didn't give you a chance to finish that sentence. as soon as you started speaking he reached over to set his own wine glass down and then grabbed your face to capture your lips in a deep kiss

the emotions building up in his chest were so strong, so overwhelming, it would've brought him to his knees if he wasn't sitting down. you loved him. you loved him. he was kissing you like he wanted to devour you, and he did

breaking the kiss for just a moment, he panted against your lips he murmured a husky whisper

"I love you."

he wanted to say so much more. he wanted to tell you everything that was in his heart, everything he's been holding back. but matt was a man of action, and he wanted to show you instead

pushing you to lay on your back, matt settled over you, taking his home between your hips, prepared to spend the rest of the evening showing you just how much he loved you

[rosiecosy]

same time tomorrow?

(vk!woozi x ak!reader) - descendants au

you weren’t supposed to be here.

it was dark, late, and eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your skin and made your breath feel too loud. but you had to get out of your suffocating dorm. the weight of expectations, the endless praise about your talent—it all felt too much tonight. your fingers ached to draw the bow of a violin, to play something that wasn’t for an audience or a grade, something just for you.

technically, the library was closed after dark, but auradon kids were too well-behaved to break the rules. so who would be out here to catch you?

sneaking out was easy, like dancing to a tune only you could hear. you barely made a sound as you slipped past the halls, down the marble steps, and into the dimly lit corridors. the library was massive, with towering shelves and velvet reading nooks, but you never cared much for the books. instead, you ran your fingers along their spines absentmindedly, your mind set on where you really wanted to go.

the music hall.

being the daughter of a famous auradon composer meant living under a spotlight you never asked for.

"she’s going to be a prodigy."

"amazing—just like her father."

and sure, you lived up to those expectations. but sometimes, you just wanted to play like no one was watching. to lose yourself in the music, free from titles, free from praise. maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind adding someone special to that moment, too.

but then, a sound stopped you in your tracks.

music.

low, deliberate, with a kind of aching depth that sent a shiver down your spine.

curious, you followed the melody, like a moth to a flame, until you reached the center of the library, where a grand piano sat beneath the glow of a single candle.

and there he was.

woozi, prince of the underworld.

his silhouette was cast in flickering gold, hunched over the piano, fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys. his brows were slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together in concentration, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

you leaned against a bookshelf, mesmerized.

you’d heard plenty about him—how he was the only VK who never caused trouble, how he had an uncanny ability to sense when people were lying, how he was ridiculously talented but refused to perform for anyone.

but you’d never heard him play.

he finished the piece with a lingering note, letting the silence settle before sighing and leaning back.

"you gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say something?"

busted.

you smirked, stepping out of the shadows. "didn’t take you for the type to play by candlelight. kind of dramatic, don’t you think?"

woozi rolled his eyes. "says the one sneaking around like some tragic antihero."

touché.

your gaze flickered to the piano, then back to him. "what was that song?"

he hesitated before answering. "...something i wrote."

it wasn’t often that people in auradon admitted they liked something a VK did, but you weren’t like most people.

"it was good," you said honestly.

"obviously."

you laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. "modest, too."

he didn’t respond right away, instead tilting his head slightly, studying you.

"you play?"

"yeah," you admitted. "but i’m more of a violin type gal."

woozi’s eyes flickered to the violin leaning against the wall. without missing a beat, he gestured toward it.

"play something then."

"why?"

"because i don’t feel like playing alone."

his voice was flat, indifferent—but there was something in his eyes that softened the edges of his words. something that made your heart stutter.

so you grabbed your violin and slid onto the bench beside him, the warmth of his presence making you hyper-aware of how close he was.

"you don’t have to be careful," he murmured. "just play."

so you did.

you started slow, drawing your bow across the strings in a melody that felt familiar—something soft but a little melancholic. you’d played this song before, but for the first time, it didn’t feel lonely.

because a second later, woozi joined in.

his piano wrapped around your violin like it had been waiting for it, filling in the spaces, matching your rhythm without hesitation. he didn’t overpower you, didn’t try to take the lead—he just played with you, like he understood where the music was going before either of you did.

his knee brushed against yours, and you swore you felt him shift just slightly closer.

you stole a glance at him mid-song—his expression had softened, eyes half-lidded in concentration. you’d never seen him like this before. relaxed. open. beautiful.

your heart did a funny little flip.

for a moment, it was just you and him, lost in a melody that neither of you had planned.

when the last note faded, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

woozi leaned back, smirking. "not bad for an auradon kid."

you mirrored his expression. "not bad for the son of the dead."

his fingers hovered over the keys like he was debating something. then, finally—finally—he grinned.

"same time tomorrow?"

he said it so casually, like it wasn’t making your stomach flutter, like he wasn’t tucking away this moment for himself just as much as you were.

and just like that, you nodded.

[dksfml]

misfit - lee chan, jeon wonwoo

pairing: student!lee chan x teacher!reader x coworker!jeon wonwoo genre: delinquency, slight violence, major plot twist, love triangle???, slightly suggestive, dino is hot period word count: 6.5k summary: what would you do if you caught yourself in teaching some delinquents (one of whom refuses to take his eyes off you) because of a job that your good friend slash now coworker has offered you? a/n: got inspired while watching study group. AND because I went to a seventeen con a while ago and dino surely got into my bias list. everyone stay safe!!!! enjoyyyyyyy

The morning air was crisp as you walked through the university gates, the golden hues of the rising sun casting long shadows over the quiet campus. This was your first official day as a professor, the culmination of years of studying, passing the licensure exam, and navigating post-graduation uncertainty. You had spent the last year lingering in your small apartment, jobless and wondering if you had chosen the right path—until Jeon Wonwoo offered you an opportunity.

Wonwoo had been your anchor during that uncertain period. You’d met him during your final year of university, and while he had always been somewhat reserved, his sharp intelligence and dry wit had drawn you in. He had a way of making everything seem a little clearer, a little more manageable. When you’d expressed your frustration with not finding a job after passing the licensure exam, he had listened quietly, like he always did, his gaze thoughtful. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you had received an email from him, offering you a position as a lecturer at the university where he worked.

You still remembered that moment—how the weight of that email had felt like a lifeline. And how, when you’d thanked him over a coffee that afternoon, he had shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re smart. You deserve a shot,” he’d said, his voice so typically matter-of-fact.

Since then, Wonwoo had become not only a colleague but a steady presence in your life. He was someone you could rely on when things went wrong, and someone who always seemed to have everything under control. His reserved nature was still a mystery, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. He had a protective streak that you only began to notice once you started working with him closely—watching him step in when things got too chaotic or when your confidence faltered in front of students.

In those quieter moments, when you shared lunch breaks or brief moments of downtime between classes, he would talk about his own experiences teaching. His insights were always thoughtful, often offering advice without being overbearing. And sometimes, when you were frustrated, he had a way of easing your worries with just a few words. Even when he didn’t directly say it, there was always an underlying sense that he was looking out for you.

You knew that, in a way, Wonwoo had always been a silent mentor—never overtly guiding you, but always there when you needed him. Today, as you stepped into the university grounds, he was still that familiar figure in the background. You might be starting your own journey, but you weren’t doing it alone. Not as long as Wonwoo had your back.

And now, here you were, about to teach your first class.

“You nervous?”

The question came from Wonwoo, who walked beside you, his usual composed and serious expression in place. He was a man of few words, but his presence alone was reassuring.

“A little,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag. “But I’ll be fine.”

Wonwoo hummed, unconvinced. “You’re assigned to 3-C, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You sure you don’t want me to switch with you?"

That made you pause. “Why would I?”

Wonwoo finally looked at you, and for the first time this morning, a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "You’ll see."

You frowned at his cryptic words but brushed it off. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you got me this job. I can’t mess up on my first day.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his silence said enough.

And with that, he walked off to his own classroom, leaving you standing there, confusion brewing in your mind.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to Room 3-C.

The moment you reached the door, the realization hit you.

Loud laughter, desks scraping against the floor, students yelling across the room—it was absolute chaos. Some were standing on chairs, others were throwing paper balls, and a few were in the middle of what looked like an arm-wrestling match atop a desk. The noise, the reckless energy, felt overwhelming. You could already feel a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as you stepped into the doorway, taking in the scene before you.

You had expected some rowdiness—every first day was a bit chaotic, right? But this... this was different. It wasn’t just rowdiness; it was pure, unbridled anarchy. The kind of behavior that felt almost designed to test your patience and authority. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. This was your first real day as a professor, and it already felt like you were standing at the edge of a precipice.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your feet to move forward. So this is what Wonwoo had meant when he warned you about the challenges of teaching here. The thought barely crossed your mind before you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a wave of noise and disarray seemed to crash over you. No one noticed. It felt almost as if your presence was irrelevant, swallowed by the overwhelming disorder in the room. The loud chatter, the sporadic shouts, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor—all of it blurred into a maddening symphony that made it impossible to focus on anything other than the noise itself.

For a moment, you simply stood there, taking in the madness. You had prepared yourself for some degree of disruption; you weren’t naive. But this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. Students were climbing over desks, yelling across the room, engaging in loud arguments. The space felt thick with a palpable energy, a sense that no one was in control—not you, not anyone.

You weren’t one to raise your voice unnecessarily. It wasn’t your style. You believed that authority should come from presence, from the subtle ways you commanded respect—not from fear or shouting. You were here to teach, to guide—not to battle. But with every passing second, it became harder to ignore the creeping frustration building within you. The idea of just letting it slide seemed impossible.

And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to give you an out, someone else did it for you.

“Oi.”

The word was simple—short, firm, yet carrying a weight that immediately cut through the chaos. It was the kind of command that silenced a room without raising the volume. The laughter died down almost instantly, and the noise slowed to a muffled hush. You felt your body stiffen, your focus narrowing as you turned toward the back of the room.

There, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, sat a figure. His messy hair and relaxed posture told you everything you needed to know—he’d clearly just woken up from some kind of nap, and yet, his presence was commanding. The room had fallen silent for him as easily as if he were a force of nature.

Lee Chan.

As he met your gaze, the air between you shifted. His dark eyes gleamed under the dim morning light, unreadable but intense. There was a certain sharpness to him, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was unsettling, but you refused to be intimidated. You weren’t here to be cowed by anyone, least of all a student, no matter how powerful his presence might be.

You didn’t need to be told who he was—you could see it in the way the room moved around him. The students had instantly fallen silent at his command, all of them snapping to attention as if they knew, deep down, that this was a battle they would lose if they defied him.

Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, in a voice that was still calm, but not without authority, he spoke again.

“Sit down. The teacher’s here.”

The effect was immediate and almost eerie. The class scrambled to obey, students shuffling quickly back into their seats. The previously rampant chaos dissolved into nothingness in the span of a few heartbeats. Chairs scraped across the floor in a rush of motion as everyone rushed to restore some semblance of order.

Your grip tightened around the roster in your hands. It was subtle, but the realization settled in: Lee Chan had more authority over these students than you did. In fact, he had more authority over this classroom than anyone, and they all knew it.

Still, you couldn’t let yourself be rattled. You refused to let this one student dictate the rhythm of the room. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and met Chan’s gaze once more. “Thank you,” you said, your voice calm but firm.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his dark eyes simply continued to study you with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, clearly losing interest.

Turning your attention back to the roster, you began calling out names, trying to push the lingering tension aside. It would be easy to focus on Chan—his presence was like a weight pressing down on your chest—but you couldn’t let that control the way you conducted the class.

That is, until a voice from the back of the room snapped your attention back into focus.

“She would do better as a camgirl.”

The words came from one of the students—a boy with a cocky grin and an air of entitlement that grated against your calm. The remark hit like a slap, echoing in your mind as the room fell into a tense, suffocating silence.

You paused, fingers tightening around the paper, a slow burn igniting within you. It wasn’t the first time you had encountered disrespect, but something about the casualness of the comment—the way it seemed to roll off his tongue without any regard for your presence—struck a nerve.

You lifted your gaze, voice even but sharp as you locked eyes with the student. “What was that?”

The student—Kang Jaemin, according to your roster—smirked, sinking deeper into his chair. “Just saying,” he drawled. “You’d make more money doing something else. We’d all tune in, wouldn’t we, boys?” He winked, nudging his friends. A couple of them chuckled in response.

It was immature. It was crude. And it was unnecessary. You stood there, breath held, trying to decide whether to ignore it or shut it down immediately. You had faced worse—much worse—in your teaching career. You knew that responding with anger or frustration would only fuel the fire.

But before you could even form a reply, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor shattered the silence.

Without a word, Chan kicked his desk forward with a force that made everyone in the room flinch. The room went completely still, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to him. His gaze was cold, hard—focused solely on Jaemin, who was still lounging in his chair, clearly oblivious to the danger he was in.

“Apologize,” Chan said, his voice low but filled with unspoken menace.

Jaemin scoffed, rubbing his nose like it was no big deal. “What’s it to you, boss?” He flashed a grin, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flickered nervously as he took in Chan’s stance.

A nervous whisper came from beside him. “Hey, Jaemin, just drop it. Chan’s already in a bad mood this morning,” his seatmate muttered, voice barely above a breath.

Chan didn’t move from his seat, his eyes never leaving Jaemin. His voice was steady, even calm, but there was a weight to it that made every student in the room uneasy. “She’s our teacher,” Chan said quietly. “You respect her, or you leave.”

The command hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. For a moment, the classroom seemed to hold its breath. Students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances as the tension between Jaemin and Chan grew.

Jaemin opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Chan’s eyes hardened, and he tilted his head ever so slightly—a subtle but unmistakable warning.

Jaemin hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, the challenge came.

“Or what?” he scoffed, his lip curling in defiance.

Chan exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on Jaemin with a quiet intensity that sent a chill through the room. The silence that followed was suffocating. His voice was calm but held a deadly weight. “Or I’ll make you.”

The tension in the classroom thickened, becoming almost palpable. Students shifted nervously in their seats, their eyes darting back and forth between Chan and Jaemin, sensing that something had shifted—something beyond their control. Some leaned forward, watching the confrontation with bated breath, while others instinctively backed away from the desks nearest the two boys, as though expecting an explosion.

Jaemin scoffed, brushing his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, trying to exude the same arrogance that had caused the conflict in the first place. “You think you can order me around just ‘cause everyone here’s scared of you?” His voice was mocking, almost too casual for the moment. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re pathetic. What, got a little crush on the new teacher?”

The taunt hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. That was all it took.

Chan’s movement was so fast, it was almost a blur. Before Jaemin could react, Chan was on him, his fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw in a sharp, brutal crack! The impact echoed across the room, and Jaemin was sent stumbling backward into the desk behind him, his knees buckling as he struggled to regain his balance. The sound of the punch resonated like a thunderclap in the stillness that followed.

Gasps erupted from the students, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the class. Those nearest to the altercation scrambled to get out of the way, chairs screeching against the floor as they instinctively shifted back, creating space. The tension had finally come to a head—and it was as chaotic as it was terrifying.

Jaemin wiped his lips, his fingers coming away stained with blood. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage as he glared at Chan, barely able to contain his fury. “You son of a—!”

Before Jaemin could finish his sentence, he lunged forward, a primal, reckless move driven by anger. His fist swung at Chan, but the other boy was already one step ahead. With a fluid motion, Chan caught Jaemin’s wrist mid-air, twisting it back so sharply that Jaemin let out a grunt of pain. The force of the move sent Jaemin to his knees, his face contorted with both shock and fury as he struggled to free himself from Chan’s iron grip.

The entire classroom was frozen, watching with wide eyes as Chan’s expression remained cold, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. There was no wildness to him—no desperation. His composure made the whole scene even more unnerving.

“You don’t talk to any woman like that,” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous, the words dripping with an almost chilling finality. “That’s not so gentleman of you.”

Jaemin’s face twisted with more rage, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Like I care what you think—” he spat back, but the words were drowned out by the mounting tension in the room.

Just as Jaemin struggled to break free, another loud bang rang out through the room—this time, it wasn’t from the students or the fight. Everyone froze, the noise so sharp it cut through the chaos like a knife.

At the door stood Jeon Wonwoo, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on the fight in front of him. His presence alone was enough to send a wave of unease through the students, like a cold front sweeping in, freezing the energy in the room. The sharp clack of his shoes against the floor was the only sound as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

His gaze flicked to the two boys, and then, without hesitation, his voice rang out, cold and authoritative. “Break it up.”

The command was simple, but it carried a weight that no one could ignore. Chan’s eyes flickered toward the other professor for a brief moment, an imperceptible hesitation passing through him, before he released Jaemin. Jaemin stumbled to his feet, still seething, his chest heaving with rage, but there was little he could do. His pride had taken a blow that he couldn’t easily recover from, and the air in the room seemed to settle just slightly as the two boys were forcibly separated.

Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, the door burst open again, this time with the arrival of the student council president and another professor. They moved swiftly into the room, their presence immediately commanding the space. Within seconds, both Chan and Jaemin were being pulled away, their bodies being guided toward the door by the authority of the faculty and student leaders. The chaotic energy that had pervaded the room for what felt like an eternity dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving only the echo of the confrontation hanging in the air.

And just like that, it was over.

The class sat in stunned silence. The atmosphere felt thick, almost suffocating, as if no one knew what to say after witnessing such a volatile moment. Some students exchanged nervous glances, others seemed almost relieved that the tension had been broken, but no one dared to speak out of turn.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temples, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your head throbbed with the weight of the moment, the emotional whiplash of what you had just witnessed settling deep in your bones. The chaotic flare of violence, the tension, the unsettling silence—it was enough to leave anyone rattled. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. You still had a class to run—one that had just seen more than its fair share of drama.

The room remained heavy with silence, save for the occasional rustle of someone shifting uncomfortably in their seat. No one seemed quite ready to move on, the air thick with lingering unease, like a storm that hadn't quite passed.

Wonwoo stood beside you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the unsettling atmosphere. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, a quick scan as though searching for any hint of lingering distress. It was a habit of his, the subtle way he kept track of everyone around him, always assessing.

“You okay?” His voice was steady, familiar—like a grounding force in the midst of chaos.

You exhaled slowly again, grounding yourself. “I’m fine,” you murmured, adjusting the papers in your hands as if that simple motion could erase the chaotic energy that had flooded the classroom. But the image of Chan, that brief glance he had thrown your way before disappearing down the hallway, lingered in your mind like an echo.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the classroom before turning toward the door. His attention shifted elsewhere, but something in his posture, the small shift in his stance, told you he was still watching you. Observing. “Let’s just get through today, alright?” he said, a quiet suggestion more than a command.

At the far end of the room, just before stepping out, Chan paused. His back was to the door, but his eyes flickered back—just for a second—across the room. The briefest glance, but enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly. But it was as though he had taken note of everything. Of you. The way he looked at the scene, the way he committed it all to memory, was unsettling. Then, just as quickly, he was gone.

You couldn’t help but wonder what’s inside his head.

The faculty room was quieter, but the atmosphere was still charged, the earlier events hanging in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. You sat at a corner table, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept returning to that fight. The way the room had shifted the moment Chan stepped in. The look in his eyes. Something about him felt different. Dangerous. And you had a creeping feeling you hadn’t seen the last of it.

Professor Kim, the head of the disciplinary committee, sighed heavily, adjusting her glasses. “The fight was disruptive and violent. This cannot be ignored. Both of them need to be disciplined appropriately.”

Professor Park, ever quick to share his thoughts, didn’t hesitate. “Jaemin, of course, has a long history of problems. We can’t say we didn’t expect this. But Lee Chan…” He trailed off, his tone shifting as though weighing something in his mind. “He’s not a student we can easily overlook. He’s a troublemaker—just in a different way.”

Your brow furrowed slightly as the name “Lee Chan” reverberated in your mind. From what you had heard, he was intelligent, sharp—his grades were impressive, even top-tier. But the way he carried himself? The silence that followed him, like a lingering shadow? It didn’t add up. Something didn’t feel right.

Professor Choi, usually reserved, leaned forward, adding to the conversation with a rare intensity. “He gets good grades, yes. But that doesn’t mean we should let his actions slide. His reputation alone is enough to make anyone hesitate. He’s not just a student—hell this school is named after his family name. Though no students here knows that fact, his presence still command respect, or fear. He makes people follow him, just by being in the room.”

You listened intently, absorbing every word, every hesitation. You had heard the rumors about Chan even before you came into this school, whispers in the hallways, the unease that followed him like a dark cloud. But until now, you hadn’t fully realized the weight of it all. The way people avoided his gaze, the way others seemed to bend to his will without question. You were amazed by the realness of it all.

Wonwoo spoke up then, his tone calm, but his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Chan might be smart, but he’s trouble. He’s one of those students who uses his reputation to get what he wants. He’s not above intimidation, and that’s something we can’t afford to ignore.”

You glanced at Wonwoo, surprised by his bluntness. He wasn’t someone who typically spoke so openly about students—at least, not those who still managed to keep their grades up despite their behavior. It was almost as if he knew something you didn’t.

Professor Kim raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you think his good grades should excuse his actions, professor? Because his grades don’t justify a fight. He’s crossed a line.”

Wonwoo sighed, a fleeting flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I’m not saying we should excuse his behavior. But Chan has a way of manipulating situations. If we come down too hard on him, it could make things worse. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t respond well to authority, and if we push him too far, it could escalate.”

The room fell silent for a moment, as if everyone was processing the implications of his words. The tension between caution and confrontation hummed in the air, unresolved.

Professor Park narrowed his eyes, a sharp edge to his voice. “So, what are you suggesting? That we give him a pass just because he knows how to make people scared of him?”

“No,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady and certain. “But we need to be careful. We can’t treat Chan like any other student. He has a way of turning things to his advantage, of twisting situations. And this is not just because his family own this school. This is because he built his reputation that way, making other students afraid of him. If we push him too far, we risk triggering something we might not be able to control. He’s not like the rest of them.”

The conversation settled into a heavy silence, each person wrestling with their thoughts.

Finally, Professor Kim let out a long breath, her fingers tapping lightly against the papers in front of her. “We’ll put both students in detention for the time being. Jaemin, no surprise there. But with Chan…” She paused, as if trying to weigh the possible consequences of her next words. “He’s not the type to back down, and we need to keep that in mind moving forward.”

It had been one of those days—busy, slightly chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You found yourself sorting through papers at your desk when a familiar voice broke through the quiet hum of the faculty room.

“Hey, you’re looking pretty focused there. Are you sure you’re not trying to work yourself to the bone?” Wonwoo’s voice had that familiar teasing tone, and you could almost hear the faint smile behind it.

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who spends half his time pretending to read the reports when he’s just watching the clock,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair.

He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’m just keeping an eye on you. Don’t want you getting lost in all that paperwork.”

You shook your head, amused. “If I get lost, I’ll just call you for help. But I’m sure you’d rather be napping in the staff lounge, huh?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “I’m a responsible adult. I don’t nap during work hours.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, not all the time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I should start timing your breaks, see how long you really go without a nap.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I’m more efficient than you think.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t forget, I’m the one keeping the department running smoothly.”

You leaned forward, matching his teasing tone. “I’m sure the students would beg to differ. They’ve all been talking about you.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable for a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. “What about me?”

You leaned back again, crossing your arms with a playful smile. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been the silent hero in the background. Maybe you’ve earned a fan club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners. “A fan club, huh? I like the sound of that. Just make sure you don’t join it.”

You shot him a wink, amused by his overconfidence. “I don’t need to. I already have my own fan club.”

His grin widened, but before he could say anything more, the conversation shifted, and the teasing between the two of you faded into comfortable silence.

A few days later, you were buried under paperwork once again, the weight of the past week pressing down on you. Your phone buzzed with another unrecognized number, and you ignored it, frustrated. But then, almost instinctively, you found yourself dialing a number you’d been trying to reach all day—Chan’s number.

You sighed in frustration, tapping your fingers against the desk as the phone rang. “Come on, pick up already…” you muttered under your breath.

The soft click of the door opening made you freeze, and you quickly turned your phone’s screen away, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Who are you calling?” Wonwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and inquiring.

You froze, trying to play it cool, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed you. “It’s… just someone,” you said quickly, attempting to brush it off.

Wonwoo stepped closer, leaning against the edge of your desk. His eyes flickered to your phone before meeting your gaze, and there was a knowing look in his eyes. “Is that the fifth time today? They still aren’t answering?”

Your stomach twisted. Wonwoo was always perceptive, but this time, it felt like he could read you like an open book. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone steady. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “Just trying to get in touch with a student. He’s been… absent.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not missing the way your fingers tightened around the phone. His voice softened, his teasing tone slipping into something more serious. “It’s Lee Chan, isn’t it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t just guessing. He knew. You hesitated for a moment, before nodding slightly, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He hasn’t been showing up to class, and he missed his detention after the fight last week. He was supposed to work in the library after class, but… I haven’t heard from him.”

Wonwoo’s gaze didn’t leave you as he processed the information. “He’s been avoiding you?” His tone held a quiet concern, though there was still that ever-present edge of curiosity in his voice. “Isn’t that a bit… unusual for him? I thought he usually showed up when he needed something.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and unease wash over you. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s been days now. I’m not sure what’s going on. He’s always been hard to reach, but he’s never just ignored things like this.” You paused, your mind racing with the possibilities. “I’m worried something’s happened.”

Wonwoo gave you a long look, as if trying to gauge the situation. “Chan’s the type to do things his own way,” he said softly. “Maybe he’s just making a point. Or maybe he’s not ready to deal with the consequences yet.”

Your fingers tightened on the phone again, the thought of Chan slipping further away from your reach gnawing at you. “I just don’t want to let it slide. He has to face the consequences, but I don’t know how to make him show up.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened, just slightly, as he straightened up. “He won’t make it easy for you. But if you want him to show up, you’ll have to push a little harder.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But that’s what you do, right? You get the students to listen.”

There was a certain understanding in his words that made you pause. Wonwoo didn’t say it outright, but he knew how hard you’d been trying to reach Chan, and how important it was that you got through to him.

You gave a short, tight smile, grateful for the insight. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just have to find a way to get through to him.”

Wonwoo nodded and gave you a small, knowing smile. “Let me know if you need help with that.” His tone had returned to its usual teasing edge, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel like he wasn’t just offering help on a whim.

“Thanks,” you said, though your mind was already elsewhere, focusing on what you could do next. After a brief moment, Wonwoo left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at your phone for a moment, the unanswered calls piling up in your call log. Chan wasn’t just skipping school—is he avoiding you? That would made everything feel far more complicated. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game he was playing this time.

You made your way back to your apartment, your mind still racing with the events of the day. The walk had done little to clear your head. The sky had darkened by the time you reached the familiar building, and the usual hum of city life seemed distant, almost muffled, as if the world around you was out of focus. The weight of everything, your new role, the chaos in your classroom, and the unresolved tension settled in your chest.

As you approached your apartment door, you realized something was off. The hallway light flickered overhead, casting strange shadows along the walls, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the door itself. The door to your apartment, which you were sure you had locked this morning, was ajar. Just slightly, but enough to make your stomach twist with unease.

You froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your instincts told you to back away, to go back downstairs and find someone, anyone, but you remained rooted in place. You had been living here for months without issue, and yet now, in the quiet of the night, the very thought that someone could have been inside your space felt foreign and terrifying.

You stepped forward cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier than the last, and you felt a shiver creep down your spine. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open a little further, and you glanced inside. The apartment was dark, but nothing seemed out of place. The silence was unsettling, too perfect, like it was waiting for you to make the next move.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood just inside the doorway, your hand still on the handle. Every part of you screamed to leave, to turn and run back down the stairs, but you couldn’t. You had to know. Had you forgotten to lock the door? Was this a mistake? Or was someone else in there?

The moment you stepped into your apartment, something felt off.

A slow, uneasy breath left your lips as you carefully pushed the door open, stepping inside with cautious, measured steps. The dim lighting from the street outside spilled through the window, casting long shadows against the walls.

Then—

“Oh, you’re back already?”

That familiar voice sent a sharp jolt through your body, but not from fear. From pure, unfiltered frustration.

Your head snapped toward the couch, where he sat so casually, one arm resting over the backrest, his legs sprawled out like he owned the place. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips as his dark eyes drank in your stunned expression.

Lee Chan.

You exhaled sharply, tension flooding your body as you stormed toward him. Without hesitation, you smacked his broad shoulder—hard.

“You—!” Your voice wavered, caught between anger and relief. “Why are you not answering my calls?”

Chan barely flinched, only tilting his head slightly as he watched you with that irritatingly amused expression. Then, in one swift motion, he stood, his arms wrapping around you before you could escape.

“Now, why is my pretty teacher crying?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was something in the way he pulled you against his chest, how his hands instinctively found your waist, that made your stomach flip.

You clenched your jaw, your hands gripping his hoodie. “Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”

Chan let out a short exhale, like your concern was misplaced.

“Worried about me?”

“Yes, worried about you, you idiot!” You pushed at his chest just enough to glare up at him. “You didn’t show up for detention. You haven’t been at school. You disappeared, Chan. I kept calling, but you never picked up. What was I supposed to think?”

His gaze flickered across your face, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into something almost smug.

“Do every teacher worry about their students like this?”

Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck.

You smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”

He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Ugh, I hate this.”

“Hate what?” You narrowed your eyes, suddenly remembering exactly why you were so furious with him in the first place.

“Sitting in that classroom, watching you teach, pretending you’re just another professor, when I know I could grab you anytime and kiss you so hard you forget your own name.”

His voice was low, raw with frustration, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch in your throat.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he scoffed under his breath.

“This is exactly why I told you not to accept Wonwoo’s offer.”

Your brows furrowed, irritation flaring inside you. “We’re not doing this again.”

Chan’s grip on you tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. “Yes, we are. You knew what would happen if you started working there. You knew there was a chance you’d be assigned to my class, and you still took the job.”

Your hands curled into fists against his hoodie. “What was I supposed to do, Chan? Turn down a stable job just because you don’t like it?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation, sharp and unyielding.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“No, I’m being realistic.” His voice dropped, something darker lacing his words. “Do you know how much I hate seeing you there? How much it pisses me off when I have to sit through a lesson and pretend I don’t want to pull you out of that classroom and keep you all to myself?”

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I told you it would be difficult,” he continued, his fingers pressing lightly into your waist. “I told you I wouldn’t handle it well, and now look. I can’t even focus in that damn classroom, because all I can think about is how wrong it feels for you to be standing there, acting like I’m just another student.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was being selfish, but deep down, you knew—he wasn’t lying.

It had been hard.

Harder than you expected.

Keeping your relationship hidden, pretending there was nothing between you when the weight of his gaze alone was enough to unravel you. And when he stopped showing up to class, when he ignored your calls—it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Your shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Chan.”

He studied you for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just…” His fingers brushed against your cheek, his voice softer now. “I hate this. I hate not being able to have you the way I want.”

Something inside you cracked at his words.

You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair as you exhaled shakily. “I hate it too.”

Chan smirked, but there was no teasing behind it this time—only something knowing, something bittersweet.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he murmured.

It was as if the air between you shifted—thick with tension, unspoken words, and the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Chan’s fingers brushed over your shoulders as he slid your coat off, letting it fall to the side without a second thought. His touch lingered, slow and deliberate, as he guided you toward the kitchen table.

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“Chan…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.

But he was already behind you, his presence overwhelming, his hands warm as they rested on your waist. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Now,” his voice was low, filled with something dangerous, something utterly possessive.

“Bend for me, my love.”

[maxdibert]

Your canon takes are AMAZING!!!!

Say, what do you think teen Barty was like? Or any other Slytherin from the Marauders era. I absolutely hate how he's made into a crazy, spunky, weird caricature by the fans- he's giving too much Pinkie Pie from that old Smile video iyky and for no good reason. Like??? Wasn't everyone shocked to learn he became a death eater?? Implying he didn't show his crazy side??

What little we know about young Barty is that NO ONE expected him to be a follower of Voldemort. His father had him completely under his thumb—or at least, that’s what Crouch Sr. thought. In fact, Crouch Sr. boasts about what a great student he was and the incredible grades he got. It was a shock to everyone to learn that the son of one of the wizards who despised dark magic the most and pursued dark wizards relentlessly was part of Voldemort’s cult. So clearly, Barty wasn’t an eccentric twink flaunting his psychopathy with witty, sassy, and sharp comments, because that image has absolutely nothing to do with what we’re told about Barty prior to Azkaban.

I think Barty was actually quite an introverted kid who got along well enough at Hogwarts because of who his father was. He was very focused on his studies and always tried to avoid drawing attention to himself. He was terrified of his father, who didn’t inspire respect but fear, being the patriarchal figure of the family with a terribly dominant character. Over the years, he probably accumulated a great deal of resentment towards him. He didn’t feel loved or supported, and no matter how hard he tried to please him, it was never enough because, for Crouch Sr., nothing ever was. So, one way to get back at him, so to speak, was to take an interest in what Crouch Sr. hated the most: the Dark Arts.

It’s common for people who grow up in oppressive environments with parental figures who are more of a threat than a source of protection to develop anxious and obsessive behaviors. It’s likely that Barty learned his lack of empathy from his father, who never showed any understanding toward him. As Voldemort’s influence grew at Hogwarts, I think Barty gravitated toward some kids involved in the movement. Voldemort probably saw him as an asset: the son of a high-ranking Ministry official who could be used to extract valuable information. So Voldemort essentially gave him everything Crouch Sr. never had: attention, validation, and affirmation. Voldemort didn’t show him affection, but he didn’t reject him either, and he even valued (or at least pretended to value) his loyalty and talent. That was something Barty had never received from a male authority figure, so he saw Voldemort as a substitute for the father who had always intimidated and rejected him. This explains his unwavering loyalty and devotion to Voldemort: Voldemort gave him a purpose, but more importantly, he gave him value.

Barty likely kept a low profile, avoiding being seen with Slytherins or people who might be connected to the Death Eaters, and collaborated with Voldemort in the shadows. I don’t think he was ready during his teenage years, no matter how radicalized he became, to confront Crouch Sr. He wouldn’t have risked rumors about the people he associated with reaching his father’s ears. So all those silly notions about him being part of a Slytherin gang are absurd because they don’t align with what we know about him in canon.

No, not at all—Barty waited for his moment to graduate, and that’s when everything he’d been bottling up came out. At some point, I believe he developed psychotic behavior combined with a compulsive need to prove to Voldemort that he was worthy, that he wouldn’t fail him, that if Voldemort trusted him, he would repay that trust by being his most loyal follower. Voldemort had given him the security his father never had, and that was the most valuable thing in the world to him. So he was willing to do anything to repay Voldemort for the sense of recognition he made him feel. And all of this came with the added (whether conscious or not) satisfaction of destroying Crouch Sr.’s reputation and hitting him where it hurt the most.

And, well, the rest is history. I think this version is much more coherent and consistent than the cheap caricature the fandom has made of him.

[crowsofdarkness]

A Fight For Darkness: Chapter Three

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard) x Female!Reader.

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of taking own life, black mail, blood, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use, arranged marriage, 18+ smut that I will mention at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: An unknown text and a list full of questions for what happened to your sister leads you down to the underground fight ring that belongs to none other than Eric Draven, The Crow. Once he captures your eyes with his, the web you were desperate to untangle suddenly tightens.

Authors Note: This is not cannon to The Crow(2024). Shelly nor her and Eric's love story exist in this series. Eric does have his fast ability to heal thought. Tags are open for this series as well!

A Fight For Darkness Masterlist

ERIC

Anyone who knows me knows that I strive by my routine, I don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that. Every morning I wake up in my loft apartment above my fight club, do exactly fifty push ups, shower, eat toast with butter with my black coffee and head down to the club where I spend all day either doing the day to day grunt office work. Or train for the next fight. Then by eleven p.m when I closed the fight club, I sauntered back up the stairs to my apartment where I shower and then climbed into bed at exactly midnight only to wake up by six in the morning to do it all over again. 

I’d done this every day the last three years since I’ve opened up the fight club, only deterring when the occasional hook up decided to show up but that was so far in between. Especially the last few weeks. I had some girls show up on fight nights wanting to celebrate my win, to which I indulged in a couple. But every time one of the women would lay underneath me, all I could picture was a certain pair of fear filled eyes that flamed with defiance. 

Ever since Y/N’s eyes began haunting my hook ups, I put an end to them. Not only were they disrupting my routine, they were getting in the way of my current mission. 

Again, anyone who knows me knows I never deter from my routine. 

So tell me why I was sitting on my bike across the street from this stupid frilly cafe watching those fear filled and defiant eyes scanning over something on her laptop? 

Y/N didn’t heed my warnings not to look more into her sister's disappearance. Instead, she went full force into it, meeting with random men who either played her along wanting something more or others who sent her off in different directions to make her run into another cold lead. 

It had been almost a month since I told her I never wanted to see her face again yet I’d been watching her every movement for the last two weeks. Either she would hang inside of her apartment which was on the ground floor which made it easy for me to watch her through her windows or she would hang out at different cafe’s. Y/N never noticed me watching since I made sure to keep some distance between us. She had been at this cafe for over four hours now, running through three cups of whatever green drink she’d been drinking. I couldn’t see exactly what she’d been looking at on her laptop due to my position but I knew it had to do with her sister. 

I too had been looking into her missing sister the last few days and what I found out wasn’t exactly shocking, given what happened at my fight club the night Y/N showed up. Which, I was still metaphorically cleaning up by the way. I had my guys dispose of the two bodies and scrub the room with bleach from top to bottom and I wiped clean the security footage after I studied it for hours on end. The first few times, I watched the two guards of Roeg and how they got inside of my club. But I soon found myself watching Y/N on the security footage. The way her dress fit her body like a glove that night, the tops of her breasts exposed due to the low cut. Or the way she turned away in disgust as I fought my opponent that night. 

Every single time I replayed the security footage, my cock would throb inside of my jeans before I’d pull it out with a grip so tight, it made my breath catch in my throat. How the hell had this little minx come into my life unexpectedly and completely turn it upside down?

You know it wasn’t unexpected. There was a reason why Y/N showed up at your club that night. 

Running a hand over my jaw, I continued to watch Y/N as she sat on the patio of the cafe, typing away at her laptop. There was a soft breeze in Detroit today causing the hem of her dress to blow off of her thighs, giving me sight of her skin begging to be marked by me. As long as the weather allowed it, she always wore a dress. I’ve realized she loved to show parts of her body whenever she could and everytime I caught sight of her, my cock begged to be let out. To feel her cunt clench around me. 

“Fucking focus,” I grumbled to myself, seconds before my phone buzzed in my pocket. 

Forcing my eyes away from Y/N, I pulled out my phone to see a new message from Greg, one of my guards. 

Greg: Fight tonight at eleven. Main event. Any invites you want me to send out? 

My eyes flicked over to Y/N across the street, letting them linger for a few moments before I clicked out of my text thread with Greg and opened a new one. Once I finished, I pocketed my phone in time to see Y/N grab hers which was on the table next to her laptop. Her furrowed brows extended as her eyes wideband when she read the text I had sent her, her face looking around rapidly to her surroundings. With a wicked smirk, I placed my helmet back on before she caught sight of me and brought my bike to life, peeling away from the curb for the first time in four hours.

READER

I stood in front of the familiar door, weighing my options. Ever since I received the text earlier today, the one with the bloody crow and some words attached to it, all I could think was if it was a good idea or not to go. 

Unknown: Try not to turn away when I fight tonight, little crow. Also, green is your color.

Immediately after I read the text, I looked around my surroundings because I had been wearing a green dress earlier so they were watching me. It was insane how one word could set my body ablaze even though I had no clue who sent that text. 

Correction, I knew exactly who sent that text. 

Eric Draven. 

I hadn’t seen nor heard from him since that night in his club almost a month ago. I’d been busy doing the exact opposite of what he told me that night. I continued to look into what happened to my sister only this time, it was all I focused on. I took time off of work to put my all into it. There was a reason why I was invited the first time to that fight club and given what I found during my research, I didn’t stumble into that double murder by accident. 

My sister knew the female victim, the hooker as that one guard called her. My sister and her met at a nail salon two weeks before she disappeared. Then, six months later, this other girl ends up murdered. Even though the trail between them ran cold after their initial meeting, I knew this was all connected somehow. I just couldn’t figure out how Eric’s fight club was connected. 

Hence why I’d been contemplating going tonight. 

I absolutely hated violence, couldn’t stomach it due to my past, so the thought of going to the fight club again to watch him fight brought a very sour taste to my mouth. But the prospect of being able to snoop in Eric’s office for more answers was too loud to ignore. 

The part that confused me the most about this entire thing? He told me he didn’t want to see my face inside of his club again so why did he send me another invite?

While I didn’t have proof, along with everything else I’d been looking into, it was evident that Eric had been watching me today due to knowing what color dress I wore. 

To which I reiterated to myself the earlier thought. Why the hell did he want to see me after telling me to stay away?

Blowing out a breath, I glanced in the mirror next to the familiar door I’d been standing in front of; my familiar front door. I was dressed in a pair of leggings and a green hoodie, for no other reason than comfort. As soon as I slipped on my shoes, I paused when I reached for my door, doubt encasing me. The last time I went to this fight club I walked in on a murder, nearly dying in the process. But there was a reason why Eric invited me and I would have been stupid not to go, right? 

It had nothing to do with seeing those bright eyes again. Or drink in the sight of those tattoos that littered his sweaty skin. Absolutely not. It was because he could have answers to the questions I had. That’s all. 

Right. 

Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I opened the door to my apartment ready to step out but halted when a pair of dark eyes pinned me in place. 

“Caught you,” the man smirked before everything went dark.

ERIC

Black. 

Inky black took over my vision, creeping from the inside out as my fist lay into the man's face below me, cheers from the audience edging me closer. My body and mind weren’t communicating together, my fists doing what they wanted as I continued to lay my fist into this man who long ago gave up the fight. I already won, the ref determining me the winner minutes ago, but that didn’t stop me. From the moment I entered the cage, I’d been on a high I couldn’t explain to anyone. No one would understand the rage that filled my veins at knowing she didn’t show up tonight. 

Before my fight, I asked my guards posted up outside the back alley door if Y/N had shown up to which they simply shook their heads. I even double checked my systems to see if her invite was scanned in case the guards didn’t recognize her. She hadn’t shown. 

Of course she wouldn’t show. I meant nothing to her. My fight club meant nothing to her. She wasn’t meant for something like this, like me. I let this woman crawl her way into my routine, my life, and for what? Because I liked the way her legs looked in a dress or how the fear filled her eyes the first time she was in my club. Y/N didn’t belong here and I was an idiot for sending her that invite. I told myself over and over on my way to the ring that I simply invited her so I could remind her to stop looking for her sister, not because I wanted to see her upclose, growing tired from watching Y/N from afar. 

“ERIC!” 

A noise which sounded like someone banging on the cage broke through the inkey haze but that did nothing to stop me from my onslaught on my opponent. 

“CROW!” 

More banging. “You have a phone call! It’s important!” 

My head snapped over to the voice, seeing Greg urging me through the open door, the sounds of the cheering crowd white noise. I let out a broken breath, wiping the blood that gathered on my hands over my chest and pushed away from the broken man beneath me. Rising to my full height, I let the rowdy crowd boost my ego as I took the steps down out of the cage and followed Greg towards my office. I quickly flicked my gaze through the crowd hoping maybe that Y/N showed up but her pretty eyes never met mine. 

Swallowing the disappointment in my throat, I slammed the door shut to my office as Greg handed me my phone. 

“Who is it?” I questioned. 

“Unknown. They won’t tell me who they are or what they want, they demand to speak to The Crow.”

I raised my brow while glancing down to the call that was on hold. “You know I don’t take random phone calls like this. You interrupted my fight for this?” 

Greg snickered. “That find ended long ago, we both know that. But I wouldn’t interpret you unless it was important, you know that.” 

When I urged him with a nod, he hesitated while running a hand over his face. “Whoever is on the other end of the call said you would be interested in this call because they said one name.” 

“Which was?” I sighed, growing aggravated. 

“Y/N.”  

My jaw clenched when the familiar blank ink filled my blood stream again, seeping into the depths of my vision with the mention of Y/N. 

“Get Jay, now! I don’t care how you do it or whatever you have to pay, do it!” 

I ordered while pointing a finger at Greg, whose eyes widened before he scurried out of the office, the noise from the crowd breaking into the room for a few seconds before the door closed.

While Greg was my go to guy, one of my best guards, Jay was my second in command. He was the only one I could trust with situations like this. The only problem? Jay had been picked up by the police three nights ago on a drunken disorderly charge and had been held on no bail since it was against a cop. On top of all of my stalking on Y/N, I’d been dealing with how to get him out of jail. 

Letting out a few steadying breaths, I finally took the phone call off of hold to be met with deep and unsteady breathing. 

“Where is she?” My voice an eerily calm. Something I did not feel inside of my body. 

“Who is she to you?” The voice, definitely Russian, asked. 

Sitting behind my desk, I eased into the old leather seat with a quiet groan. “Why does it matter? Tell me where she is.”

“You know,” there was some rustling on his end. “I’ve spent weeks wondering why this woman showed up in an underground fight club and stumbled upon my boss’ death.”

Alexi Sokolov. This was one of his men. 

“How did you find her?” I asked. 

He hummed. “Pretty easy actually. She asked around about a missing family member and demanded to know if the Russians had anything to do with it.” 

I bit my tongue trying to keep my curses at bay and ran a hand over my mouth instead. 

“Did you have anything to do with it?” I questioned. 

Silence was all I heard for a few beats before the man spoke again. “She’s a pretty one. Put up a great fight while we tried to get answers. So color me surprised when we tossed her place to find your card in the drawer of her desk.” 

“I’m going to-,” I clenched the phone tight in my hand. 

“Check your phone.” 

I blinked at the man's words, taken aback slightly, before pulling away my phone to see a new message pop up with a picture. Y/N was tied to a chair, dried blood stuck to her forehead but fresh blood pooled at a wound on her cheek. Her eyes were filled with fear and not the kind that turned me on. 

It was the kind that scared me. 

I wasn’t completely sure on how she managed to sink her imaginative claws into me so deeply. I didn’t give a fuck about the girls I fucked let alone dated and that was less than two. But seeing Y/N fearing she was about to die, it made that inky black intensify in my vision. 

“So again, I ask. What is she to you?” The man’s voice spoke when I brought my phone back to my ear. 

The office door clicked open and in walked Greg followed by Jay who wore a smug smile on his face. I didn’t have time to note how quickly he’d been sprung from jail or how Greg made it happen because I held up a finger and set the call on speaker. 

“It’s none of your business,” I said. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Draven. This bitch was in the room where my boss was killed. She knows who did it and unless she tells me who it was in the next two minutes, you can find her body at the bottom of the river.”

Muffled screams followed my cries echoed loudly through my phone. 

“That bitch you’re talking about is my wife!” I seethed without thinking. 

Greg and Jay stilled while sharing a look but I didn’t bother trying to explain myself, too busy focusing on the picture still on my screen. 

“Well, this is a turn of events,” the man chuckled darkly. “Half a mil. Parking garage in Greektown. Two hours. If you even think about doing something funny, your wife dies.” 

Before I could respond, the line went dead and I threw my phone across the room, shattering it against the wall. A slew of curses roared from my lips as I pushed myself away from the desk and stormed over towards the closet. 

“Eric,” Greg said with a hesitant voice. “When the fuck did you get married?” 

Quickly tossing on a shirt and throwing a pair of sweats over my shorts, I let out a noise. 

“I didn’t.” 

Jay still wore that smug smile, his blue eyes shimmering with deviance. “I was in jail for less than fifty hours and you went and got married?” 

A muscle in my jaw ticked as I slipped on my boots. “I didn’t. Look, the only way to save Y/N is to protect her the only way I know how. No one will touch her now knowing she’s protected by The Crow.” 

“This guy is requesting half a mil. Is this broad worth all that money?” Greg asked. 

In a flash, I had him pressed up against the wall with a thick forearm against his throat, my eyes blazing with that inky blackness. The only thing that seemed to break through it was the picture of Y/N tied up. 

“That is the second time you called her that. If I hear you utter that word again, I’ll make sure no one will be able to find you,” I said. 

Greg, unable to breath due to the force against his throat, only nodded so with a grunt, I let his body fall to the floor and turned towards Jay. 

“Alexi’s men have her at her apartment.” 

Jay raised a brow. “How do you know?” 

“The picture was taken in her living room,” I answered while grabbing the keys to my bike. 

“Stalking her, huh?” Jay teased. 

I sliced my eyes into him. “I can get to her place in less than ten minutes on my bike. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me.” 

While I went over the plan with Jay, Greg slowly rose from the floor and coughed a few times. “How do you know she’s still alive? That picture could be old.”

My heart thundered in my chest at the idea that Y/N could be dead but I refused to believe it. These were Alexi’s men, they not only wanted revenge but they wanted the money more. They wouldn’t risk killing her before getting the hand off. 

But it wouldn’t come to that. 

READER

Exhaustion clung deep into my bones, and consciousness slowly faded in and out. But the pain was worse. My entire body screamed with the fresh cuts and bruises, the ropes digging into my ribs and arms, keeping me tied to the chair. I could barely see, blood pooling into my eyes from the wound on my forehead and the gag in my mouth was soaked with my saliva. 

All I wanted to do was sleep, the fight inside of me long gone. I wanted to give in, let the darkness that had been trying to take me under finally succeed. I’d been fighting for the last two hours, I couldn’t do it anymore. 

The two men were off in my bedroom, conversing to themselves about something, I didn’t know what. I’d been in and out of sleep for the last hour, ever since they hung up the phone on whoever they called. I could barely hear the conversation because my ears had been ringing due to the pain in my head. I only could scream when one of them wrenched my hair back to contort my neck in a way that ached and brought tears to my eyes. 

Whoever these two men were ransacked my apartment while they rambled on about this other guy, Alexi. Something about revenge and soon, we would all pay. When I told him I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, the taller of the two men hit me upside the head to knock me out. I awoke tied to the chair where they took turns hitting me until I gave up who killed this Alexi dude. I feared they would do something worse than beat me so in order to keep myself safe, I bit back on the sass and tried to make them believe I had no idea what they were talking about.

“Do we believe him? I mean why would she be staying here and not with him?” The shorter one asked the taller one. 

Even through the white noise haze that filled my brain, I could tell they had some kind of thick accent. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here,” the taller man began to pace my bedroom. “I told you this was a bad idea! We’re drug runners, Jeremy! We shouldn’t be doing this. We don’t kidnap and torture people. And now The Crow is after us!” 

I lifted my heavy head at those words. The Crow? As in Eric? 

“Which means he’s good for the money,” the shorter man, Jeremy, snickered while smacking his partner's chest. “I’ll call you when I have the cash so you can put a bullet in her brain.”

That seemed to breathe life into me because as soon as the taller man began stalking towards me, I fought against my binds. The urge to fight once more filled my veins and just as the man reached me, my front door busted open. It happened all at once, Eric stepping through the threshold with a gun aimed at the taller one, dropping him with a bullet to his head. Jeremy slipped behind me and forced the muzzle of his gun to the side of my head. 

“Drop it! Or I’ll put a bullet in your wife’s head!” 

Wife? 

What the fuck?

Eric continued to hold his gun directly at Jeremy’s head while those bright eyes lingered on my injuries. My green hoodie had been cut away from me so the bruises on my arms were prominent under the light of my apartment. I saw a thick vein twitch in his neck as Eric swallowed thickly. 

“I’m only going to say this once. Let her go,” Eric said. 

Jeremy pressed the gun deeper into the side of my head causing me to cry out in the bind in my mouth. My face was a mess of tears and snot. 

“Your wife knows what happens to Alexi so I’m not-.” 

Jeremy’s body dropped to the floor beside me, his blood spraying all over my face, and I cried out some more into the bind in my mouth as fresh tears spilled from my eyes. I thrashed against the ropes around me, the chair nearly falling over until Eric was there, kneeling in front of me to pull the bind from my mouth. 

“Hey, hey,” his soft voice cooed while he cupped my cheeks. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” 

“I didn’t-I don’t know.” I shook my head rapidly, the realization that they were dead and this was finally over suddenly sank in. 

“You killed them,” I whispered while Eric cut away the rope that tied me to the chair. 

He gently helped me up, slowly when I hissed out in pain and kept my gaze on him. 

“They most likely were going to do the same to you, Y/N,” he stated. 

My body felt weak, unable to stand, so Eric helped me through the mess of my apartment towards the kitchen when he had me rest against the counter. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

With a wheezing breath, I held my arm against my ribs where they had kicked me a few times, and I replayed the events of what happened from the moment I opened my front door to the second he stepped through. 

“I don’t know who they called though,” I licked my dry lips. “Or how you knew they were here.” 

“They called me. Demanded I pay them half a mil in order to get you back,” Eric said. 

I weakly narrowed my eyes at him. “Why would they call you?” 

He hesitated for a few beats and it was then that I noticed he had dried blood on his hands and I remembered he had a fight earlier. One that I was personally invited to by him. 

“Did you win?” I asked, nearly blurted out. 

The corner of Eric’s lips lifted in a smile that made something low in my gut burn. 

“One thing about me, little crow, I always win,” he winked. 

I shifted on my feet, hissing at the pain that shot through my body, but it paled in comparison to the way it felt when I heard Eric call me crow. 

“Why did they call you?” I asked again. 

With a sigh, he rested his hand on his hips. “They found my card on your desk. They worked for Alexi and wanted answers for his murder.” 

My eyes widened when I realized why that name sounded so familiar. He was the man in the room that night, the head of the Russian mob. A sob escaped through my lips and my body began to shake. All this time, I thought it had something to do with my digging into my missing sister but it was in fact because of the murder I had stumbled into. 

“Hey,” Eric lifted my chin with a finger, cringing at the wounds on my face. “It’s alright.” 

“No,” I shook my head in his grasp. “It’s not. These guys found me, they knew where I live. What’s stopping other members of Alexi’s group finding me?” 

His gaze hardened. “I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“How?!” I cried, the tears mixing with the wound on my cheek which caused it to smear my face in blood. “Why did they call you? Why did they want you to pay half a million dollars for me? I’m nobody!” 

Eric cursed before taking off his shirt to press it against the side of my face to stop the bleeding. I couldn’t even find the urge to gaze at the tattoos on his chest like the last time I saw him shirtless. 

“The reason why they let you live as long as they did was because they thought you were my wife,” he informed while gazing down at the two dead bodies that continued to take up space in my apartment. 

“I’m sorry, what?” I stood up straighter, the room nearly tilting on its axis. “What gives you the right to claim we are married when we don’t even know each other!”

“It’s the only way I could make sure you were safe until I showed up,” he snapped his head back towards me. “They would have killed you if I didn’t!” 

“So you say we are married?!” I screamed. 

“To save your life, fuck yes!” His voice matched mine, anger evident on his face. 

“Why? You don’t even know me. You told me to stay away yet you invited me to your fight club tonight. Why?!” 

He shrugged. “I wanted to see your face.” 

I stared at him with a blank expression, how nonchalant he quickly became, and scoffed. “Get out. If I never would have met you, none of this would have happened! You don’t know the hell I went through the last few hours, I thought they were going to-.” 

The words died off on my tongue, unable to finish my sentence because the tears began to burn in my eyes. It was true what I said before. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Eric’s fight club that first night and I was stupid enough to almost go again tonight. 

Eric’s eyes flashed with an unknown emotion as he pointed back to the bodies. “And how were you expecting to deal with this, hm?” 

Dropping his shirt to the counter, I let out an aggravated groan. “I’ll call the police. Say they broke in and attacked me, which is the truth, and I shot them in self defence.” 

Eric let out a deep laugh, one that shook me deep to my bones. “The cops? They’ll dig into you and find out you’re searching into your missing sister. Illegally may I add.” 

My jaw dropped slightly. “I’m not-.” 

Quickly he had me pressed against the edge of my counter by his hips and I bit the inside of my cheek when I felt the hardness of his thigh between my legs. 

“Do not even think to lie to me, little crow. I know you’re still looking into your missing sister even after I told you to stop.” 

I glared up at him with defiance flaring in my eyes. “I don’t listen to you. You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do. And you certainly cannot tell people we are married. That’s so fucked up!” 

“I’m doing this for you,” Eric sighed. “You don’t realize the shit you stepped in. Alexi’s men? They’re child’s play compared to Roeg’s men. They’re the ones who chased you that night and it’s only a matter of time before they find you. And the lie of you being my wife won’t keep you alive.”

“What does that mean?” My voice wavered. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his warm breath fanning over my own. 

“We need to make it official. The only way to keep you safe is for us to get married and you come live with me. There’s an unspoken rule that no one messes with whoever is connected with The Crow. I can keep an eye on you until everything blows over. Keep you safe.”

I ignored the way my body ignites as I did my best to gather my next words carefully. 

“Why can’t we keep up the lie?” 

“Roeg’s men are too smart. They’ll look into it and find out it’s not real. I promise you, as soon as this blows over, we can divorce and you can go back to your life.”

I snorted. “You would like that, huh? Having a wife against your will to heighten whatever your agenda is against Roeg? You haven’t even told me who this guy is.” 

Eric shook his head, the earring on his left ear dangling. “This isn't about me, little crow. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why me?” I asked, just above a whisper. 

His finger grazed over the cut on my cheek. “I have no fucking idea.” 

I found myself leaning into his touch. “I’m not important, Eric.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he mused while pressing his thigh deeper against my pussy, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. “You’re more important than you think.”

“If I agree, what do I get out of it?” I forced myself to ask after pulling away from him, knowing that if I didn’t I would do something I regret. 

“Besides not dying?” He teased with a sly smirk. 

“I’m serious, Eric. I’m about to uproot my entire life to be married to a total stranger who runs an illegal fight club because people want to kill me.”

When I finally said it outloud, it sounded even more ludicrous.  

Eric ran a hand through his hair before locking his eyes with me. “Once we are married, I’ll help you find your sister.”

[ilovewomenfr]

can u do a Vi x a bullied! chubby! fem! reader where the reader gets bullied and Vi makes her feel better with taking her virginity and Vi is very experienced while reader is a virgin?

cw: virgin!r, experienced!v, fluff, pretty vanilla, soft sex, body worship, praise kink, porn with a bit of a plot, use of y/n when necessary, reader is shorter than vi, vi lokey just yaps for a bit, pet names, a bit of overstimulation (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), KNEE THING (r!receiving)(YIPPEE!!)

~~~men dni!! 18+~~~

an: i kind of played around with structure and text in this just to get back into the flow of writing. the photo of the outfit is just kind of what i was picturing the reader wearing in the video mentioned. im gonna get the requests out slowly, i havent forgotten about them i just got way more than i expected! i’ve got another one in the works rn as well as my own little ellie fic along with being in school.

You recently posted a tiktok on your pretty small account, only followed by friends and a few random people. It was just a fun little video of you and your girlfriend doing a fit check; you were wearing the cutest maxi skirt and felt confident as hell. That was until the video blew up, raking in thousands of views, which then evidently resulted in several comments about your weight. Of course some of the comments were positive: ‘you guys are so cute together’, ‘omg this is soooo butchfemme i love it’, ‘stunning!!’ But they quickly got overshadowed by all the hate: ‘ew your girlfriend deserves better’, ‘oh she’s fat… gross’, ‘this isn’t cute…’

After your classes you head into your single dorm, setting up to study and trying to ignore the comments that just keep flooding in, some homophobic and some body-shaming. Your phone is blowing up and you seriously just need to focus on school, so you go to put it on do not disturb, the last comment you see in your notifications says ‘people like you don’t deserve love’. That’s the last straw, you sit in front of your laptop as you feel tears building up for the umpteenth time today. Your phone buzzes once more; you reluctantly check it,

vi❤️ - i saw the comments on your video are you okay?

With a deep breath you answer:

can you come over?

Less than ten minutes later she knocks at your door, when you open it she pulls you into a hug, “I’m so sorry y/n” she murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your head, you look up at her, “how much did you see?” Vi shakes her head, “doesn’t matter because none of them are true.” You look up at her, bleary eyed, “how many of them did you read, Vi?” you ask, your voice breaking as you bring her to sit with you on your bed. The two of you sit down as Vi nods her head, her throat bobbing as she swallows, “I saw most of them, and they’re all fucking ridiculous.” she scoffs, “so you don’t agree with them?” Vi turns her head, “are you serious right now babe? Why on earth would I agree with them?” You sniffle and Vi pulls you onto her chest, lying down with you, “Hey, don’t pay attention to those comments, you’re beautiful.” She pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, her hands holding your hips, when she pulls away, she smiles fondly, “I love you, so much. Don’t let random people on the internet get in your head okay? Your body is perfect and who cares if you’ve got curves it just makes everything better.”

With a small smile on your face, your lips meet hers once again, her tongue making its way to meet your own, drawing a hum of desperation from you. Vi flips you while keeping her lips on yours, carefully slotting her leg between yours; quelling the soft ache beginning to form. You pull away, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, “Vi- you know I haven’t-” you whisper, “We don’t have to if you don’t feel rea-” “No! No, I want this, I’m ready.” Vi grins, “yeah?” You bite your cheek and giggle, “Yeah.” “You’re so cute holy shit.”

Vi’s lips crash into yours and her thigh presses against your clothed cunt, your breath hitches, she hasn’t even done anything yet and it already feels worlds better than when you do it yourself. Vi’s tongue delves into your desperately parted lips as if on a journey, swallowing the moans coming from you. Her hands are everywhere, one on your hip, on finding its way up your shirt to brush her thumb over your nipple, eliciting a whine from you. If you weren’t soaked before, you definitely are now. She smiles, tugging your bottom lip with her teeth before her lips find their way onto your neck, finding your pulse point and sucking gently, your breathing gets heavy as Vi trails her lips down to your clavicle; teeth and lips and tongue all along the skin. “Let’s get this off you” she tugs your shirt up- throwing it somewhere in your room once it’s off.

Her blue irises darken at the sight of your tits, “God you’re so gorgeous babe,” Vi squeezes them together and pulls your right nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling and sucking the pebbled skin; “H-holy shit” you gasp, hands finding her pink locks, “haven’t even gotten to the good part yet” she mumbles, a slight chuckle coming from her. Vi does the same on the other side and moves down your stomach, kissing practically every inch of skin, “You’re so pretty y/n” she murmurs against your skin, the pits of your stomach flip-flopping as she finally gets to your waistband. “Can I?” “Please.”

Vi eagerly tugs down your pants, leaving you in a soaked baby pink thong, “Holy shit you’re so wet.” she smiles, amused. You bite your lip as Vi runs her thumb along the fabric, “o-oh” your voice comes out as a breathy moan, heart racing as she starts teasing your clit ever so slightly through your underwear. She pulls her hand away and runs the both of them up your thighs, “why’d you stop?” Vi just grins, swiftly tugging down the fabric, pupils blown out. “Oh my god.” the words sound so desperate, without any warning she pulls your legs over her shoulder, “you’ve got a pretty pussy,” her breath fans across the wet curls. Vi looks up at you, ensuring to make eye contact before she licks your aching cunt from the bottom to the top then focusing her tongue on your clit, drawing a whine from you, “Viii.” You feel her smiling as she rolls her tongue perfectly against you. It feels better than anything you could do yourself. The soft licks gradually get stronger until she’s flicking your clit and your nails are digging into her scalp.

“Oh fuuck” whines are escaping you without any control and it’s only egging her on, “Fuuuck Vi!” you try to squeeze your legs around her head but she pushes them back open, her middle finger tracing around your entrance before gently curling it into you, “Holy hnghh shit!” your back arches as her slender finger pushes into you repeatedly, Vi laps at your clit again, a soft moan coming from her and sending vibrations up your body. “More pleaase babe” you beg and feel her smile against you. She adds a second finger, filling you up, and your moans become pornographic at the dual stimulation she’s providing you. Vi’s fingers are grazing your g-spot perfectly and you think you might have already came a couple times but you’re so in the moment you don’t know or care. Your pussy is squelching obscenely with every movement of Vi’s fingers, soft moans leaving her as well. “Vi I think I’m gonna cum!” you grasp onto her hair and you hips buck as you clench around her, resulting in more moans from Vi. You feel yourself shaking as she slips her hands out but keeps licking at your drenched cunt like it’s the air she breathes, sucking onto your clit like she’s never going to get this opportunity again. “Vi! I- mhh too much!” you push her head away from your pussy. She smiles lazily, her chin sheen with slick, “You taste so good, got carried away” she giggles, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Wow.” you breathe out as Vi wraps her arms around your waist, “You okay?” she asks as she holds your face, resting her forehead on yours as you nod, she kisses your nose softly, “I love you so much” you smile for the umpteenth time tonight, “I love you more.” After a few moments Vi sits up from the bed, “Where are you going?” “Gonna grab a towel so I can clean you up, stay here okay?” she kisses your forehead. The two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms shortly after.

[crisco-babe]

Platonic Yandere!Jackie Taylor

*Headcanons*

Warnings:

Fem!reader (technically, but there's no pronouns used so can be read as GN), Manipulation, toxic friendship, Jackie lowkey, highkey in denial about everything, destruction of property???, swearing, gaslighting, emotional abuse, implied physical abuse, a bit of angst, anything I missed, let me know!

*Pre!Wilderness*

Jackie is not obsessive!

Can she be a bit controlling? Sure, but that's not a bad thing! She's a natural born leader. Headstrong. Confident. A good, no, a great friend that just wants the best for you!

She's only ever wanted to help you. Has only ever wanted to take you under her wing, like Shauna, and mold you into the best version of yourself.

So when you say you don't like soccer and don't want to join the Yellowjackets, it's simply because you're just scared of not being good enough, that's all!

Don't worry! She makes sure to come over after school with Shauna and help you practice every day until you're comfortable trying out again.

When you ask to take a break, panting and sweating as you let yourself fall onto the grass. Jackie isn't being mean when she tugs and pulls at you. She's being motivational, she's not letting you give up on yourself.

When Shauna tries to get her to "dial it back a bit" it's just because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get what you need.

And sure, she could have been a bit nicer, a bit softer with the way she played, but how would you learn? How would you become a true YellowJacket?

Luckily, it only takes two or so weeks before you're willing to tryout for the team again! All the sweat, tears and accidental bruising paid off!

She may not be the captain of the team yet, but she can very persuasive.

Don't worry, there's always a spot open and ready for you to take, even if that means pushing out a weak link to make room.

Freshman, sophomore and junior year go by rather smoothly.

Sure, sometimes you guys aren't fully on the same page. There's one or two petty fights here and there, sometimes with you, sometimes with Shauna.

It's usually about Jackie being too "pushy" or whatever, but it's simply because you're just not seeing the big picture.

You just didn't understand how hideous that shirt really was. Yeah, yeah, your aunt bought it from Paris as a gift, but that doesn't mean you have to wear it.

And yeah, she's gets that you were "really into" them, but if they really liked you, they would have taken that prank letter she got Shauna to write pretending to be you with a grain of salt. Jackie would have forgiven it.

Regardless though, much to her dismay, fights with you were different then her fights with Shauna. With her all it took was an apology, maybe even a few days of distance for the bigger disagreements and then Shauna would come back, tail tucked between her legs and apologetic

But with you, she has to try a little harder then she deems fair. If she's controlling, it's only because you're so fucking stubborn!

She doesn't like how comfortable you seem to be without her, without her guidance.

The way you seem to be almost relieved when you are given space to 'cool off' really annoys her.

She hopes using Shauna as leverage is enough to have you getting over it. That you'll realize how easy life is when you have them by your side.

"Who's side are you even on, Shauna?"

Sometimes though, the Shauna card isn't enough and she has to resort to actually coming to you. Even when she shouldn't. Even when it's not even that big of a deal.

"Come on, we're a team, remember?" She'll even let one of Jeff's more tolerable friend's flirt with you just to sweeten the deal.

Most of the time, that's enough.

But for those rare, and few and between fights that happen where it isn't...

Well, she has to get a little more creative, a little more personal.

Her critiques are more frequent and a little harsher during practice

Soon she starts forgetting to invite you to team meetings

notebooks start disappearing before study sessions, your bag once rips open on the way home from school. Your car starts stalling every morning..

It rarely gets to this point but that doesn't mean she'll hesitate to take it there when she needs too.

By the time Senior year rolls around, you and Shauna are content in your roles. Life is easier with Jackie in your corner.

You still hate soccer, still hate prep rallies and keg parties with Jeff and his buddies, but you'd never tell her that.

You're hoping with college, you'll be able to grow some much needed distance

Jackie has of course already decided where you'd all be going, her and Shauna sharing a room the first year, you and her the second.

You told her you'd applied, hoping to buy yourself time to hear back from the colleges you actually applied for

'One more year' The thought both a mantra and a prayer

Jackie hadn't been too bad the past month or so, preoccupied with nationals and Jeff.

You hoped your "misplays" would be enough to stop from getting into nationals. That they'd be small enough to miss her radar but significant enough to slow down the game.

You loved the other girls, truly, but the idea of having to get on a plane and spend even more time with Jackie made your stomach churn.

Unfortunately, your teammates picked up your slack easily.

That doesn't mean that in between the cheering that Jackie didn't make sure to send you a glare of disappointment.

"You really gotta focus." She said sternly, Shauna - like always - stuck in the middle, tension thick around you all. "Do you need some extra practice time?"

The small scar above your knee throbs at her words. Even Shauna starts to shift uncomfortably.

"No, I was just a bit nervous." You try to keep your tone casual, try not to flinch back when Jackie moves closer and lets a hand fall onto your shoulder in what you assume to be understanding. "I promise, it won't happen again."

Jackie sighs, fingers digging into your shoulder just for a moment, just enough for you to feel the meaning of it before she moves back, arms folding as she leans against a locker.

"You're right, it won't."

Jackie knows she can be a bit rough with you, a little too harsh. But it's just because you need it more.

Shauna's always been more fragile, like a bird with clipped wings.

You have always been stronger, have always been able to handle more

It's one of the things she loves most about you. Your fight for freedom, your willingness to be better.

But it also means sometimes having to pull you back. It's for your own benefit, even when it doesn't feel that way.

Even when it hurts

What kind of friend would she be if she didn't help, didn't mold, you into being the best version of yourself?

It's all for you, it's always been just for you..

-----

A/N

Hi all, this was suppose to be both pre and during wilderness Jackie, but it would have been mega long so I'll post part two at a later date. Also wanting to write for all the yellowjackets, but we shall see...

Also first time writing in two years so be gentle!!!

Hope you enjoy! Feel free to message me about anything, happy to answer any questions!

Love Ya!!!

[wickerwax]

Down in the Mud (Codywan First Kiss Bingo 3)

The rainforest was both raining and foresting diligently. The slope they needed to climb was more of a complete vertical, and slick with wet leaf litter, ferny deadfall, and mud. It had been a long, stupid day, and was shaping up to be a longer, stupider night, and Cody was so tired.

First, the Chancellor’s “recommended” strategy - the one that General Kenobi had politely objected to, and been met with an uncomfortably smiling hostility that hadn’t been worth the pressing - had been almost comically short-sighted. The local inhabitants of this small tree-heavy moon in the back-end of nowhere-combat-significant were apparently on the fence about the Republic. Despite that lack of significance to the war-front (“Master Kenobi, are you suggesting that some members of the Republic are more important than others?”, ”...As Marshal Commander Cody correctly pointed out, there does need to be a strategic element to planning time-sensitive -”), demands had been made regarding a closed and private meeting that required the two of them (and only the two of them) to hike into the jungle to a remote location to negotiate. (Cody wasn’t prone to paranoia as such, but neither was he a stupid man, and even a stupid man would have considered something A Bit Odd by now.) Said locals had not showed at the meeting place.

Frankly, Cody had some doubts the locals existed at all.

Then the storm rolled in, petty with lightning, downright harassing with downpour, and just kind of an asshole with enough interference to knock out their comms.

And then the narrow little path rapidly turning to sludge had decided to take umbrage with being walked upon and sent both of them to the bottom of this ridiculous muddy slope where the stream was already looking as nastily-engorged as a Rodian leech.

Ruined his karking helmet against a tree on the way down. He’d refused the offer of his General’s robe, yanked the hood up over his head himself when the infuriating man seemed content to be rained on. They’d had a short, mostly non-verbal argument about who was most prepared to handle the current weather conditions and been left at an impasse to fume (Cody) and peer distractedly at the surroundings (Kenobi, somewhat uncharitably).

He sighed.

His comm hissed faintly with static.

General Kenobi turned from where he was studying the wet mass of mud and moss and slimy leaves, like there was any path less hazardous if only he frowned hard enough.

He had water dripping onto his nose from his hood. Cody wished he was miserable enough not to appreciate it. The last thing he needed to cap this day off was forgetting himself and where he stood with his superior officer - who even now was smiling ruefully at Cody. “It’s not looking good, I’m afraid, my friend. I hope you’ve a water ration saved, I don’t believe the sonics are going to prevail after this affair.”

“I feel reasonably confident that you’d share yours if I didn’t, sir.” he replied without thinking. Despite his flat voice, his General’s brows rose. Even with the hood shadowing his face, and the crap visibility, Cody could see his eyes twinkling. It was insufferable.

“Of course, Cody.” It shouldn’t have been possible for his voice to be both comfort and caress like that. “What’s mine is yours, you’re always welcome.”

Cody frowned harder.

“In any case, I think our best bet is this angle here – We should be able to step against the base of those root systems where they’re acting as stabilisers, and avoid the worst slips.” Kenobi pointed out his planned route and it – well, it didn’t look good. Good had been left behind on The Negotiator before they accepted this meeting. But it looked doable.

Halfway up, one boot lost to the sucking mud beneath the slimy dead-leaf carpet, Cody didn’t disagree with his previous assessment so much as add an asterisk amendment; It will be more miserable than you could have prepared for. He was missing at least two of his smaller plates, clawed off by aggressive vegetation, and his blacks had ripped somewhere around the small of his back. The thermostatic function had coughed out a pathetic little death rattle with it. Higher up the wind screamed, but down here it ripped past like the current of a river and brought the rain worming with it. He was starting to shiver.

General Kenobi wasn’t doing so much better. He had lost his robe to a nasty tangle of under-brush they couldn’t avoid, and had only barely escaped losing any further layers to the stars-be-damned combination of weather, visibility, and botany by what Cody assumed was some pinpoint – and, he gathered from the low, vicious stream of curses, difficult – application of his Force. Concentrating, his boots had slid on a mud-slick root, and Cody’s hair-trigger reflexes had caught him – but had knocked both of them several steps off of the not-track they were attempting to follow.

Cody squinted up at the dripping canopy, wishing for the night-filter on his helmet. He was all too aware of the warm hand steadying him, could all but feel the touch burning against the outside of his bicep.

“Cody, my dear – you’re shaking.”

Ah, well, maybe the infatuation wasn’t entirely to blame for once. “It’s a bit chilly, sir. Tiny hole in my blacks – it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He nearly swayed when that warm hand was removed. Kenobi made a concerned noise and Cody had to grab for him before he could start pulling at his tunics. They stumbled back into the wet foliage-wall behind him – shaking hands having tugged too hard and tripped Kenobi into him. His hands were still circling his wrists when the greenery gave way.

Yelping, they fell through and hit moss and mud with an unpleasant squelch.

His head filled with noise as thunder cracked and rolled far above, and water crept into his hair and soaked into his blacks. His General was sprawled over his chest, silhouetted against the murky grey hole they’d fallen through. Cody’s fingers twitched around his wrists.

Kenobi lifted his head carefully and looked at him through the minimal light. “Commander, I can’t shift my weight properly without access to my hands.” he said, light and concerned.

Dim and distant lightning flashed. It flit through the layers of murk and tree and sheeting rain and lit Kenobi’s eyes silver at the backs. Perhaps a lesser man would find that unsettling. Cody, despite the ice making a home in his bones, tightened his grip instead of releasing it.

“Cody,” he sounded properly worried now. “You’re going to get colder lying on the ground like this.”

“I’ll move,” Cody said, “I just- In a moment.” His bootless foot felt like he’d replaced his toes with slush – regulation socks not built for this. His back was a creeping sheet of miserable damp.

“If you want to huddle for warmth, my dear, that’s very doable. But not with you in the mud like this, come now.” The Jedi sounded patient in the way that meant his eyes were all tight at the edges with stress. Cody loosed his fingers immediately.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Nothing to apologise for, my dear Commander. I am merely concerned for your well-being.” He levered himself off of Cody with a tidy sort of swiftness. Held his hand back out to assist. “Out of the mud now, there’s a lad.”

One hand gripping his General’s as he laboured upright, he scrabbled at his belt. Past his comm – hissing stopped entirely, ready light gone dim – and dug for one of his emergency glow-sticks. Cracked it against his thigh and let the pale green light seep into the – not a cave, not quite.

They were in a sort of root-bound nook – it looked like the soil had been especially rocky and the multitude of plant species had gone completely wild with their root systems to duracrete things in place – only some boulder or other had been dislodged, leaving a gap to fill up with the early-adaptor sort of growths.

It was almost tall enough to stand in. It was only about three arm lengths deep and irregular with it, which wasn’t huge but was perfectly able to fit the two of them huddled together - if they ducked heads, or crouched.

It was better than being face out in the rain. “Should we take shelter here?”

“Fantastic,” Obi-Wan replied, “Squatting in a muddy hole. This really is the mission that keeps on giving.” He went quiet, the green-glow shadow of him focused on the ground. “Ah, no, my mistake. It's quite moss-heavy, actually. There must be some sunlight in here regularly, Force knows how.” He dragged a hand over his face, then stared at it, looking dismayed. “Blast it all,” he hissed, “I’ve just gone and rubbed mud all through my beard, haven’t I.”

“In all fairness, General, we were already pretty much all mud already from that climb.” It was difficult not to do as the Jedi had mentioned earlier, and huddle into his warmth. Trying to control that urge, he instead was hit with a gut-rolling, full body shudder and began shivering in earnest. Kenobi’s attention was immediate and intense.

“Right. We can’t be standing all night long, that won’t do either of us any good. This moss is completely soaked, Cody, I don’t want you touching it any more than necessary-”

“I’ll just squat then, shall I?” Cody broke in sarcastically, narrowing avoiding bloodying his lip with the way his teeth were chattering. “I know the men call me thunder thighs, sir, but be reasonable.”

“In what world would I think that was an appropriate course of action, Commander," he said flatly. “No, I’m going to be your seat - my layers are still intact.”

Cody gaped at him. Thunder rolled again, just as distant, and the faint flash of lightning followed it. The green fell away in the face of it.

Rimed in silver, eyes gleaming, the Jedi's expression was set and determined.”"You’re the one with the ripped blacks, Cody, it’s a vulnerability - and besides, I have the Force to aide me. I will be the seat.” he repeated.

“I- Sir, that’s not-” Cody’s heart was thundering as much as the storm above was. It did not help with the shaking. “General.”

“There’s no use arguing, Commander, it’s just good resource allocation.”

“Resource-” Cody rasped, reeling. “Sir, you aren’t a resource.”

“Thank you, Cody, but I very much am, and you only have one boot. Neither of us want to keep walking in that mess until we have better light – and, with any luck, less active flooding occurring. So: sitting.”He wasn’t even looking at Cody anymore, was studying the uneven floor for the most strategic space to have Cody in his lap. For survival. While himself getting more and more wet because the moss in here was like a karking sponge.

“I’m going to at least take off my back plates then.” Cody fought the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose. With the shivering, he’d probably just stab himself in the eye. He was about to be suffering enough. “It’ll be too uncomfortable otherwise, and you can put them down as some kind of layer between you and the ground.”

Kenobi was smiling audibly- now that he had his way, he thought grumpily. Like he’d let the man sit in an ice bath of moss just to keep Cody’s ass warmer - literally. “Just so, Commander. Thank you.” He paused, and Cody busied himself with his armour. “Do you need... assistance? With your back plates?”

It was possible. Shaking hands and all. “No, I have it.”

Semi-hunched in the enclosed space, it only took a few seconds to discover that Cody didn’t ‘have it’ as much as he’d like. His belt was manageable but the clasps slipped away from him. He bravely refrained from swearing, and shuffled around so his back was to the Jedi. Who, without making him ask, gently began unclasping it.

The immediate result was further chill – wet material no longer hidden by the armour and exposed to the air. Kenobi moved fast and neat, setting the main back plate down as a base, leaving him to remove the less awkward front bits on his own and stacking them tidily. He seemed entirely unperturbed as he folded himself down against the wall and motioned for Cody to sit.

He was all out of arguing. He’d take the mortification on this one. At least no-one was around to see it, and his- Kenobi wouldn’t be able to see his face.

Cody sank carefully into the cradle of his General’s crossed legs with his back pressed up against the Jedi’s front. He could feel his tunics and part of the smooth leather of his belt through his torn blacks, far warmer than his skin already. He tried not to squirm about it. It was not helped by the Jedi shifting to properly distribute his weight, his thighs flexing distractingly beneath Cody. “Ah,” he muttered against Cody’s shoulder, “One moment, this should help.”

He twisted and moved about while Cody tried to stay upright instead of leaning into him. Was this the worst possible way in which one of his fantasies could have come true? Yes, yes it was.

There was a satisfied “Got you,” behind him that made the shivering different, and worse. Next thing, the front of Kenobi’s tabards were being deftly arranged over his shoulders and down his chest – a damp, body-warm blanket tucking them close together. “Better?” came a murmur by his ear.

He made a low affirmative noise in his throat rather than speak. Nothing good could come of him opening his mouth right now.

Kenobi’s arms settled around his waist beneath the tabards and held without pressure. Warmth seeped back into him through his back and, despite his better judgement, Cody started to slump into him. The shivering lessened, and with it, his strength to avoid indulging. He snuggled back against his- the Jedi. His Jedi’s arms tightened.

“Better?” he asked again, quiet under the rush and roar of the weather outside. The emergency glow-stick had nearly faded out, a dull green touchstone near his feet.

“Better,” Cody agreed. “Sorry for - earlier assumptions. Not even assumptions, I guess, just. Snapping.”

“You have a temper very rarely, darling, and today has been a true comedy of errors. I can handle a little snapping. I know your experience of natborns hasn’t been one of whole-hearted support.”

He found his arms had naturally gravitated to covering Kenobi’s, fingers sliding together. “I know you though, sir. It wasn’t fair of me.”

He felt the huff of breath, warm on his neck. “Must we, Cody? Right now?”

“General?” he asked, prodding. His spine seemed to be in the process of moulding to his Jedi’s sternum. He adjusted his position slightly, getting a tiny, involuntary pant as his weight pressed back and down.

“Obi-Wan,” he replied, sounding vaguely frustrated. “Cody, a little -ah – care, if you please.”

Cody shifted fractionally again, and finally let his head drop back onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “If you insist,” he said. “I suppose the regs didn’t cover this one.”

“I don’t suppose they did.” His arms had tightened a bit while Cody was moving. It was becoming pleasantly warm where they were plastered together, even if Obi-Wan’s belt was too-hard in places. His toes were still thermally-challenged, so he tucked his socked-foot under his other knee.

The angle shifted him back again and Obi-Wan oof-ed. Cody turned his head and found himself face-first in his beard. “Sorry, si- Obi-Wan. Getting comfortable.”

Obi-Wan twitched. “No need to apologise, my dear. Just – please, stop moving.”

The green glow-stick had died out. There was the greyer shadow of where they had fallen through the vine-wall, the occasional glimmer of white from ever-more-distant lightning. For Cody, it was the darkness of Obi-Wan’s throat, the imagined sight of how red-gold threaded with silver would look from this close. He felt it bob with a swallow.

“Is the storm quieting, or am I imagining things?” Obi-Wan said, very quiet, so quiet he sounded like he was afraid to disturb Cody – like Cody’s weight pressing him into an armour plate and a muddy wall was fine, actually. Like Cody’s cheek pressed to the collar of his damp tunics was something he would choose.

Outside, the wind had dropped to a whimper. Trees rustled rather than crashed – the pit-pat dripping of water-logged plants instead of the active pattering of rain. A slightly too-fast heartbeat thrummed under his ear. “We might actually get to walk out of here.”

“I imagine we’ll meet search parties. Waxer wouldn’t wait any longer than overnight.” he didn’t raise his voice any but he tilted his head very slightly. Cody nuzzled in greedily. He felt Obi-Wan’s throat bob again.

“Waxer will rise to the occasion – he always does, that’s why I like him,” Cody answered, just as quiet. A tremor ran through Obi-Wan and Cody nestled further back immediately. Found that his belt wasn’t the only hard line pressing there anymore. He gripped Obi-Wan’s hands more firmly beneath the cover of the tabards and dared the tiniest roll of his hips.

Obi-Wan choked. “C-Cody-” His fingers flexed, twisting with his into his blacks.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, gentle, and thrilled at the second, more intense shudder. “Is this okay?” He waited for a moment, aware of the thudding pulse of the man behind him, the shallow too-quick breaths. “I’m all warmed up,” he continued, getting a thin wheeze, “I can move now, if you’d like.”

“Clarity.” Obi-Wan hissed. “Is that an offer, a suggestion, a threat? I can’t quite tell, Cody, given the grinding.”

“Exaggeration, sir – Obi-Wan. One little roll? Hardly counts as grinding. I could demonstra-” Cody tucked his face further in his neck, grinning, when Obi-Wan made a quietly furious noise to cut him off.

“Threats! Here I am, being at least a passing-grade sort of chair, and you-”

“The sort of chair, is exactly my point – are you the sort of chair that is okay with me like this?” Cody let a little of his insecurity into his voice, familiar with Obi-Wan’s style of derailment.

He deflated, and wiggled awkwardly against his back. Cody’s bulk didn’t allow him space to retreat, only pressed him harder against Cody. Both of them stifled groans. “It’s- Cody, I don’t wish to overstep.”

Cody sighed. Obi-Wan bit off a curse and dropped his head back against the wall. “Obi-Wan, if anyone is overstepping, it’s pretty obviously me.”

Obi-Wan clutched him around the middle and loudly breathed out. “No. No, you’re not. I’m just – surprised.”

“...so, I can keep going?”

“You may continue to wreak havoc on my self-control if you feel so inclined, my dear,” he chuckled, but he didn’t lift his head off the wall, nor manage to hide the strain in his voice. “I shall endure with enthusiasm.”

He considered his options. Rubbed his thumbs along Obi-Wan’s thoughtfully. “If I turned around, could you endure?”

“Depending on what you did next, likely not,” he replied dryly. “Am I to walk out of here with filthy leggings, Cody?”

“Your leggings are already filthy, what’s a bit more?” Cody said, pretending at reason.

“Other than the considerably more awkward placement? Nothing, I suppose. Do you want me to endure, Cody?” The hardness against his lower back was close enough to the tear in his blacks, he was tempted to slide down. But not more tempted than he was to turn around, and make both of them suffer. Still, it would be a long walk back.

“I want you to try.” He released one of Obi-Wan’s hands to reach back and weave his fingers into that thick copper hair. Nudged him into dropping his head forwards, and used the improved angle to trace a kiss over his cheekbone. Dried dirt flaked away under his lips. He shifted his grip, arched his neck, and brought their mouths together in a chaste, teasing kiss.

Obi-Wan’s lips parted against his, and his tongue flicked against Cody’s lip. He froze, then broke the kiss laughing. “Force, Cody, we’re filthy. Is that from my face?”

“It might be,” Cody said, grinning. “Is that a deal breaker?”

“It should be,” Obi-Wan told him, bringing his free hand up to frame Cody’s face in the dimness. “It really should be. But no, it’s not.”

“Good,” he said, and tugged him close again. “That wasn’t nearly enough of a taste.” He swallowed the next laugh, and the moan that followed. Let out his own gasp when Obi-Wan got his clever mouth on the line of his neck and made every nerve dance.

“Definitely demanding half your water ration,”Cody said breathlessly, twisting to give him more room.

“As I said, Cody,” Obi-Wan told him, doing something brilliant to the curve of his ear. “You’re always welcome.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo kiss three is dirty kiss, which unfortunately my little gremlin brain thought would be hilarious to take literally xD

[youreorangeyoumoron]

why is talking to doctors...........like this

[mifunebooty]

Really funny this white dude in my speech class group i remember he kept making eye contact with me and i was like does he like me um and turns out he did that with everybody white people weird

[tonycries]

Animals - G.S.

Synopsis. Yes, your best friend is secretly an alpha. Yes, he acts like a fúcking anímal when he rúts. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alíve.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Gojo, rúts, best-friends-to-lóvers, creampíes, bréeding, GOJO’S POWERS, knots, MARATHON SÉX, overstím, knots, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, OMÉGAVERSE AU, pússy-spánking, héats tríggered, semi-public, matíng press, oraI (fem), slight bondagé, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 7.0k (uh-oh)

A/N. Nanami always gets the short end of the stick LMAO, anyway hope y’all have the loveliest week <3

“Satoru, you’re being strange.”

Granted, Gojo Satoru acting weird wasn’t anything new. 

Especially not when he’s two hours deep into the most droning meeting you’d bribed him into attending as of late - knee bouncing, fingers tapping, head turned towards that firmly shut door like he just wanted to escape. Needed to. 

Then again, even you found your attention waning. Finding whispering with your best friend much more interesting than whatever latest mission statistic Yaga had to present. 

“M’doing just peachy, sweetheart.” Gojo smiles - but it looks stilted, pained. And even through his blindfold, you already knew his snowy brows were furrowed. “Who’s the one not listening to ol’ man Yaga now?”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes down at his figure beside you - draped over the cool mahogany table as if he owned the place. “Well- you better not be faking sick to get out of this meeting. Again.”

He only hums, “Don’t worry your pretty lil’ h-head about it, m’kay?”

With a final, tired rub at your temples, you’re turning back to Nanami to ask for all the world where Yaga was on his fifty-page report now-

And then, it hits you.

Suddenly.

Something smells sweet.

Like candy - particularly that sugary, strawberry-flavored kind you’ve had to tell Gojo off on more than one occasion for eating too many of. Tilting your head just a bit, you think you could also catch hints of honey and pine, such a strange, hypnotic combination.

“S-Satoru…” your words come out in a syrupy gush, feeling your head whirl.

“Hm?”

And despite yourself, you’re taking in deep, heavy inhales of the air surrounding you. Hungry. Mouth salivating as that heady, perfumed whiff clouds up all your senses. “Do you- hah- what is- do you smell-”

“Ngh- no?” he’s cutting you off with a barely-audible groan, one you probably wouldn’t have even caught if your abilities weren’t so sharpened right now. Gojo’s movements seem sluggish, languid as if he was moving through molasses when he raises up one hand to massage the back of his neck.

You can only watch as his head droops down onto the long table with a wince. 

Strange. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have almost thought- 

No, there was no time to be entertaining wild conspiracies. Because at this very moment you’re too caught up flitting through the dates of all your previous heats in your mind. Urgently. 

Three weeks.

Your next heat wasn’t due for another three weeks. So, sure, you didn’t take your suppressants just yet but, that really didn’t matter, did it?

It wasn’t normal for jujutsu sorcerers to be anything other than a beta - and as an omega, you knew firsthand just how difficult it was to fight tooth and nail just to be able to sit at this table. 

Historically, any other faction of society would rather be caught dead than outed, and have their second gender be taken advantage of by the very curses you were supposed to exorcize. Forced to face the stigma of alphas and omegas being too “unstable” or “vulnerable” to be trusted with missions.

This was the very thing you’d been trying to avoid ever since you argued your way into studying at Jujutsu Tech - losing control. 

Especially now.

But god, you were burning up. It smelled so sexy.

And, taking a sweeping glance around the table of betas - at your fellow sorcerers, those grim elders, and your disheveled best friend - that left only you to explain the scent.

You were only thankful that their noses weren’t as powerful as yours. Clinging onto this as a saving grace, with a shaky gulp, you gently nudge Nanami on his side. “Hey- Ken?”

“Yes?” And maybe it was the heat - whatever this was - but Nanami’s deep baritone sends shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning in traitorously closer to his heated body. His jaw ticks, “Is something wrong? You look…”

“Satoru’s also-”

“So what?”

Without warning, one of his hands comes to splay out across your forehead. Just a mere touch has him sucking in a sharp gasp, “You feel warm, I think you have a fever. You can’t continue the meeting like this.” 

You shake your bleary head in protest. 

“I won’t let you.” Nanami’s voice hardens with a tone of finality, and yet, you still find yourself trying to whirl around to look at Gojo. Maybe for help, maybe for a distraction to escape when your colleague speaks again - this time directed at Yaga. “Principal Yaga, it seems my dear friend here is sick.” Circling an arm around your shoulders to pull you up from your seat and onto weak legs. “If you’ll please excuse us, I will escort-”

Nanami stills - everything stills. 

Everyone stills when his voice tapers off with a ragged grunt, and you feel his chest heave in unsteady breaths. So close now that you can mark the exact moment Nanami’s eyes widen, “Are you…”

Shit. 

Shit shit shit-

“Wait.” Yaga’s voice bellows reproachfully. “Is this- That smell-” But even he can’t find the words, slumping back down into his seat.

Truly, the scent was so saturated now, so primal that even the most stubborn of unmated betas were sneaking peeks at you. You bite your lips raw at another glossy gush from your already-heated cunt. It was so embarrassing - your heats have never acted like this before, let alone come three weeks early.

Sure, perhaps that one time on your very first day at Jujutsu Tech itself - which was embarrassing by itself. And, yet, your mind had never been clearer than it was right now. 

Eyes sliding over to a familiar, trembling mop of white hair - never been needier. 

Fuck, what was your delirious self thinking-

As if drawn by an invisible string, Nanami’s inching impossibly into your hot proximity, hazel eyes falling half-lidded when he takes in a deep whiff. Grumbling, “My love-” Another. And another. Nose almost grazing your pulse now, “-you’re in-”

Slam!

“Out.”

It’s a threat.

That was the first thought that slammed into you, and then the voice continues, slow, snarling like a predator on the edge of ripping something to shreds. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Before you finally understand, it’s a command.

There’s one strong hand around your front, pinning you against a sculpted chest. Something about it has your pulse booming in your ears, fingers clawing at that pale wrist at your shoulder. Yet, he doesn’t even flinch.

Nanami, however, reluctantly detaches his hands from your body, and you finally have enough strength to look towards the origin of the words. Only for your glassy gaze to meet with a towering Gojo Satoru standing at his full height - when did he even get up? 

Jaw clench, sharp canines bared, blindfold dangling haphazardly around his neck - ah, he looked like a man that crawled from hell and back simply to take you all along with him. 

With you at lucky number one. 

First in his line of sight. Close enough that you can finally smell him. 

Oh.

Oh. 

And you swear you saw his eyes tint with the faintest blue lightning when your own scent perks up. Boring into you for just a millisecond before narrowing his gaze down at a stupefied Nanami, cracking the kinks in his neck. “Unless ya wanna watch.” He bares the rest of the room with his flooring glare, “Unless all of you want to watch.”

It’s chaos. 

They understood - perhaps long before even you did. 

Chairs clatter, the desk trembles, and that safe haven of the door is swung open. That weezing council of elders are first to stumble over one another into the hallway, Yaga following shortly with a wordless sigh. 

Until the only ones left are you and him - and Nanami.

Blond brows raising, his eyes flit frantically between you and a possessive Gojo. Sputtering out, each word jagged, and dry as if they’re being wrenched from his chest. “What is the meaning of this- We- I thought you were a- a beta.” 

Everyone did, and Nanami was speaking what your mind couldn’t right now. 

Gojo Satoru always presented himself as a beta - never affected by your heats, never disappearing once every few months for his ruts as you remember Suguru did. He always seemed so normal - perhaps the one thing about him that was. Unaffected by the stupid little trials and tribulations of alphas and omegas in sorcery. 

But it was undeniable, he was an alpha. 

And taking a deep inhale of his saccharine sweet perfume - so overpowering - he might just be the strongest you’ve ever encountered. How fitting.

“You thought.” Gojo’s voice was clipped, rumbling with a low growl that sent electrifying shivers down to your very cunt. And his tone just makes Nanami jolt. “And I can’t right now so I- fuck-”

Gojo’s body wracks with a violent shudder, making him hunch over - with you in tow. His hot breath puffs out in feverish pants near your ear, abs clenching as another velvety wave of pheromones emit from him. 

You mewl when your body is jostled in his toned arms, nudging the very curve of your ass - tight uniform skirt hiking up just enough - so that you push in a slow drag against something rock-hard. Massive. Weeping out in a sticky damp spot that seeps into your skin. 

“Hah-” you’re gasping, face swirling to nose up the crook of his neck - where the candied scent was most prominent. “Toru–”

There’s a gasp - and it’s not from you this time. 

Both you and Gojo are snapping your dazed heads upwards at a frozen Nanami, his hand shooting to cover his nose. Eyes wild- “I-”

Before thinking better of it, it seems like Nanami opted to keep some part of his sanity as he abruptly turns on his heels without a second glance backwards. Marching robotically, the only moment he stops is once he’s at the doorway. One hand tugging on his suddenly too-tight pants, the other on the doorknob. Eyes still trained forwards when he calls out gruffly, “Don’t break the table, insurance doesn’t cover it.”

SLAM!

Finally alone.

Your vision swims - is the door even locked? Is this- God, you feel hot. So hot - too hot.

And Gojo’s burning up, arms wrapping around you so tight that you could feel the way his skin flushed with a thin sheen of sweat. He breathes out into your ear, “My pretty girl…”

“Oh sh-shit–” you’re whimpering, big fat tears welling up behind your eyes. And without wasting a second, as soon as it splatters hotly on your best friend’s skin, he licks a long, lazy stripe to lap at the hazy saltiness. Babbling away, “Feel so dizzy hngh- and you- you’re an alpha?”

Honestly, part of you still didn’t want to believe it.

But as soon as he husks out a gravelly moan, as soon as his tongue dips down a wet pathway to the scent gland on your neck - you already know you won’t be making it out of this alive. “Why did you hide it from me?”

“Mhm- fuck! m’sorry.” he grunts into your skin, slightly muffled. Nipping ever-so-slightly, “M’sorry m’sorry- had to- my sudden rut made my- hah, made my pretty omega go into heat, didn’t it?”

His soft palms glide down your trembly body, greedily kneading every dip and curve that comes his way. He’s lost. So, so lost. 

Plastering his lips down every inch of skin he could reach, that sweet scent sticking to you like a sloppy second skin. And you can barely even think when you feel his swollen dick just twitch behind you, a fresh wave of swelteringly hot precum sloshing right through your silken skirt.

You whimper when you’re rutting messily back and forth, and he drags a thick thumb to pry your spit-glossed lips open. “Aww, poor baby. Tell me- fuck tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

And all you can really give him right now is a circular swivel of your hips, which evidently wasn’t enough. 

Because Gojo’s furious tip only hardens, and he hisses with a slight tug up your skirt. Cold fingers dancing ravenously up the edge of your drenched panties, gliding the very rounded tip of his index slowly across your sopping slit. 

“Tha’s not enough.” he snickers, and suddenly you’re hit with another wave of emanating pheromones. Enough to make you just slobber a glistening coating all down his long digits. “Use your ah- w-words like a big girl now. Because when I start…” His teeth find your earlobe, and his fingers find themselves planting a dripping wet slap! across your puffed-up clit. Unwavering. Unapologetic. “I won’t be able to stop.”

“Please, Toru.” That cute little nickname makes him jump, makes him throw his head back with a low moan. Brows scrunching together as if pained. “Don’t want you to stop-”

Maybe you were going to say more - maybe you would’ve called him that nickname and driven him even crazier. 

But Gojo doesn’t wait to find out. 

In one, fluid motion he’s picking up your body into the easiest princess carry you two would’ve laughed at if this was one of those romcoms you watched together. Just splaying you out on your back across the cool table, he situates himself in the perfect position between your legs. 

Oh, how he loved this view. How he’s spent so many ruts just like this imagining this view.

“F-fuck- You have no idea how- how crazy it drove me.” rasping groans drag out from his throat, strained with every slow drag of his cock down the front of your now-see-through panties. “How wild-” You’re nearly screaming when his canines dig in to that soft spot underneath your ear. “-to pretend I didn’t know you smelled so hah- so fucking delicious.”

And then you feel him still - alert, ready.

Chest heaving, an almost chilling tone dipping into his words when he spits, “Except when you smell like him.”

Your jaw falls slack when the temperature in the room heats up another few heady degrees, and the sheer power of your two scents mixing together is almost maddening. 

“He- he? Toru, what do you-” you’re gasping out in tiny huffs, while he busies himself with biting and licking down your exposed neck. Enough to leave you smeared all over with marks. “Who- Kento?”

“Oh, sayin’ another man’s name when you’re with- fuck- me?” Gojo’s bucking powerfully into you, his body was pinning you down. Scorching, now. “Such a naughty omega- I should kill him for how he touched you.”

Truly, his alpha was fucking clawing at him to trek out of this room right now and finish off the job - but, no, you were too hypnotic. And Gojo Satoru, the strongest, was no match for you.

The wet thwack of his fingers once more kisses in a rude smack against your clit, making you squeal. Ringing across your thundering ears, he swears at that broken, blissful noise from you. “Fuckin’ oh, would ya let him see you like this, too? Let him touch you like th-this?”

And Gojo looked so starved, velvety blindfold tickling your chin when he leans in close. Lips ghosting your own - but not quite. You’re suddenly brought back to the very first thought you had - that this is about to be a bloodbath. 

“I wouldn’t–” you bite back in your honeyed tone, and you can feel your omega just purr in satisfaction. “N’ it’s not my fault that someone-”

Smack! Harder, sprinkled with tiny bolts of electricity.

“Correct.” 

It’s breathed out into your mouth - a quick, hedonistic peck. Gojo just taunting your sanity before he’s pulling away with a gruff string of profanity, like it hurt him just as much as it did to you. 

You feel your slick dribble down into a saturated puddle below you. And the mere sight of it makes Gojo just reel his hips deliriously forwards, grinding his massive bulge across your dripping cunt until you could see it soil a fountainy dark patch on his pants. 

“F-fuckin’-” his eyes roll to the back of his head at how hot you were. How pouring wet. Wrangling your quivering legs painfully stretched open, “-woman of my dreams.”

With two, thick fingers hooked over the hem of your skirt, it’s being torn off in an easy pull. Falling somewhere in a pile of impractical tatters onto the meeting room floor, along with your shirt.

And as soon as it’s off, Gojo’s only growing more feral. More hungry. 

He’s drooling from one corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t even notice at this point. Honestly, barely even realizing the burning pain when he falls to the floor on his knees. Clattering haphazardly, insatiably nosing up your jittery inner thighs. 

“Oh sweetheart- oh my pretty girl. My pretty, pretty girl–” he’s breathing out, head lolling drunkenly against your legs. And Gojo gulps when he spreads your panties away with a wet glide of his thumb, just enough to see your messy hole winking up at him eagerly. All soaked and needy. “M’gonna have so much fun being yours.”

He kisses wetly through your panties - without warning, without even breathing. Just surging his pretty face into the heated crevice between your thighs, taste buds on his pinkish tongue grazing up the soaked fabric.

Like he was addicted.

“Oh- oh my god-” you’re mewling out, lower lip wobbly at every sultry swirl of Gojo’s tongue over your pussy lips, painting your messy hole in every mesh of slick and spit he could conjure up. “It feels too- hah–”

You were always so sensitive during your heats, every single one of your senses heightened to the max. So it made your mind all overwhelmingly melty inside to have his steaming hot mouth on your equally ravenous cunt. Hungry.

Yeah, he was addicted.

Dragging a few fingers in-between your glistening folds, scissoring them shamefully open to spit. Once. Twice. 

Some of it splatters strayly onto the start of your thighs, which Gojo glady licks up all over again to stream out a thick wad back onto your silt. Until your cunt was drooling translucent dredges of everything he has to give, he smears his messy thumb in easy rotations around your clit. Filthy. 

“So gorgeous- so good f’me.” Gojo titters, biting down teasingly on the very edge of your panties. And he can’t hide that fucked-out little groan when pulls it back, back, back to just snap! it meanly right on your cunt. “Fuck- you taste as s-sweet as you smell, mmm–”

You’re yelping when his long tongue draws a slow circle around the edge of that first ring of muscle, just barely pushing back against how your gummy walls are trying to hug him. To milk him for everything he has.

“S-such a tease-” you whine, fingers tangling into his cloudy white hair. Soft - the silken tresses smoothed over your palm, slotting between your digits when you pull his mouth roughly onto your pussy. “Jus’ want you on me- ngh!”

“Ohh ya can still t-talk easy, huh?” Gojo raises an amused brow from in-between your legs, that won’t be possible soon with how he’s going to have you. “Well then, don’t you dare beg me to go easy on you, girl.”

And he keeps the panties on - fuck, he keeps the panties on when mashing those ragged, rosy lips of his in a steamy make-out with your cunt. It’s as if he was breathing you in, so close that you could feel every clench of Gojo’s jaw, every grind of his chin into the very base of your pussy. 

“Sh-shitttt-” he spits, stray wisps of white covering his eyesight. Dragging you on his tongue through pure instinct. “Shit wait- ah you’re so fuckin’ so-”

Unable to even finish his sentences with that usually-sharp tongue of his. No, that tongue right now was too occupied with the steady, repetitive drag along your snug channel. Bullying into your sodden sensitive spots, thrusting back and forth back and forth back and-

And his fingers, oh those infamous fingers were straying back onto the sensitive nub of your clit. Drawing tight, tempestuous circles that have you keening at the dual stimulation, thighs stuttering to an embarrassed close. 

“Open.”

It’s just like before - and Gojo’s using that annoyingly baritone tone of his that hits you at your very core, that makes your omega snap open your legs for him.

Even you’re surprised at how pliant your body acts before your mind right now - and so is Gojo. though, his expression doesn’t show it, every bit of that feral animal that scared everyone out of this room not too long ago. 

“That’s it- that’s it–” he can’t hold back, hands glued to the globes of your ass to pin you still against his mouth. “Ha- so fuckin’ different when ya listen to me, so fucking sweet.” Breathing in deeply, “Were ya giving off this scent so Nanami could do this, too?” 

Thwack!

Another mocking slap against your clit - not enough to make you cry, but with just enough buzzing jujutsu to make your batting lashes teary - forces you to find your words. 

And fuck, Gojo swears there’s no sweeter music than the sound of your voice - especially when you’re moaning like that. 

Voice breaking into a whine, accompanied by a few raw clenches of your pussy around his furious tongue. “N-no fuck- don’t know-” your hips arch into the most perfect curve he’s ever seen. One that makes his mouth water, cock straining against his pants. “Toru- jus’ want you, wanna cum- wanna- want you so bad.”

Fuck - and who was he to not go along with each and every one of your pretty whims?

Pussydrunken already. He’d read about this - but he really had no clue how potent an omega in heat was, never having spent a rut with one. That little special occasion was always saved for you but, ah, that was a story for another time.

“M’gonna cum- hah- so- close-” 

Right now, he couldn’t think of anything other than how gorgeous you would look when you cum. How delicious - your sweetened scent raising up by a few notches, taking over his sentences. 

He feels his cock just throb at the mere thought.

Which is why Gojo’s pulling away with one final, sodden kiss on your pussy. You feel the curvaceous curl of his smirk against your cunt, and a deep, filthy inhale. 

“Nah.” he smiles a glistening smile up at you - grin glossed all over with a sheen of your sweet, sweet juices. And the rest of his face was almost-obscured with a curtain of his white bangs, but you still think you could peek the glow of his inhuman eyes through them. Powerful. “Don’ think you’re c-cumming anywhere other than on my knot first, pretty girl.”

And he’s so tall that Gojo’s blocking out the dim meeting room lights when he stands up - slow, smug, making you spend each passing second in such anticipation. 

Face expressionless - almost hypnotized - when he shrugs his shirt off. Lips parted into a soft oh! eyes half-lidded, heaving he slides his belt off almost lazily. 

It clatters! to the ground, and he’s sliding down his drenchingly wet boxers with it - leaving a gleaming trail of precum down the front of his toned pelvis. Letting his achy cock finally spring free, he hisses when it hits the too-cool air. 

And you do, too - though, for much different reasons. 

Because Gojo’s so unfairly big - fitting, for an alpha of his stature. Blushed the prettiest pink at his rotund head that matched his cheeks right now, gradiating down into creamy tufts of white at his thick base. Showing the starting of his knot swelling. It made you wonder whether he tasted as sweet as he smelled. So hard it looked painful, curving into a long, solid shaft that glides a wet smear across his washboard abs. It makes your omega just preen, rabid to have him inside you right now now now-

“Heh, impatient lil’ thing, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” Gojo huffs out in a heady bout of laughter. “Can practically feel yer omega ngh- calling out to me, is this what you want?”

You claw ferally at the milky display of his back, branding him in your own way. “Yes- please-” 

A sudden rip! makes you realize you still had your panties on - up until a few seconds ago, at least. Jostling him ever-so-slightly closer, you mewl when the rounded tip of his angry cock nudges against your pussy lips. Melding into a slight kiss that already makes him stream steaming hot ropes of precum.

And if you were in any better state of mind maybe you’d have noticed the way the light above flicker, fizzing with electricity just as much as you were right now. 

“Heheh- oh y-you made me like this, ya realize?” he chuckles out - but his voice didn’t show even a hint of humor. It’s like he was out of control, out of rationality with each languid drag in-between your folds. Babbling, “You threw me into- fuck fuck fuck this is all- your-”

Honestly, Gojo’s so utterly shocked he managed to grit even half that sentence out. 

Because every sloppy second has him grinding upwards in the tiniest of ruts into your sung cunt, tiny, mindless grinds that make a low ah! ah! ah! rip from his throat. 

“Open that mouth f’me, sweetness-”

As soon as you do, you’re feeling a thick, glossy stream of saliva slosh onto your lolling tongue. Mouth wrenched shut until you swallow - and you do. Happily. Filthily. 

That’s enough to make Gojo lose it. 

And he’s plunging headfirst into your toasty insides, shoving back that tiny bit of resistance before your elastic walls are milking him so well. Greedily swallowing up every one of his generous inches, and it only seemed like more was to come.

“Oh shit- ohhh sh-shit-” His eyes are rolling to the very back of his head, mouth hanging open, that tiny trickle of drool splatters onto your skin. 

“T-Toruu—” your cunt was addictive, and so were those moans of yours. Craning your neck upwards, “Kiss me, please.”

For a second, he’s leaning in - making it seem like he was about to smear that firmly placed gloss all over his lips onto yours. But Gojo only sneaks a peck at the corner of your mouth, then the other - and then one on the tip of your nose. 

“I will I will-” he’s musing, giggles bursting from his lips. “Once we’ve mated, can’t get too greedy at once now? Can I?”

But oh how his actions spoke otherwise, because Gojo’s powerful hips absolutely refused to stop until he was well and fully buried into the hot depths of your cunt. Sheathing himself in all your soppingly wet walls, the sheer tightness was enough for him to throw his head back, heavy balls squeezing. In and out in and out. 

“Ohhh fuck-” Two hands of his roughly attach themselves to your hips, pitching up your needy whines when he drools down your pussy even more thoroughly. “You sure do make it f-fuckin’ hard though-”

You whine when your ass hits against something bulging and hot, whirling those dazed eyes of yours down at the intrusion. 

“Shit-” you’re gasping, eyes widening. And the sheer awe in your eyes is enough to make him grow, blood pumping to every thick inch of his cock until he was expanding even girthier, molding your pliant walls to his size. “That’s your knot- I-I-”

“I-I-I-” Gojo mocks, in a voice octaves higher than usual. Fucking the rest of that sentence with a harsh roll of his hips, knocking bruisingly at your cervix. “C’mon now ah- tell me- you can t-tell me anything.” Kissing softly at your ear lobe, zaps of jujutsu making you jump. “M’your best friend, right?”

How ironic.

All you can gift him in response is a few soft whimpers that only make him wilder.

“Fuck!” you’re keening when another one of his slams leave you gasping for air, feeling like he was clashing into your very womb. Glissading a deep, wet glide of his fat, curved tip across your spongy cervix, his breath hitches at the slight recoil. “I want it-” 

Your words make him almost falter with his ruthless pace, and you take it upon yourself to just drag him down by his muscled shoulders. Until he was hunching over you, abs flexing against your front, “I want your hah- knot in m-”

And you can’t even finish the sentence - you don’t know if you want to.

Because just that syrupy jumble of words is enough to make Gojo Satoru snap. 

To cut you off with a rough growl, teeth bared at you, in a split-second he has you limp legs thrown over his shoulder. Biceps flexing in such a mouth-watering way when he makes them lock at the ankle, bending down, down, down into the meanest little mating press your joints would allow. 

The change in angle has you scrambling - has him scrambling to crash his leaky head into your swollen g-spot. Hitting that bulging bullseye with no regrets - over. And over. And over and over and-

“Oh, marry me sweetheart.” he’s panting into your mouth. His pulsing girth rummaging your insides so good, dragging every ridge and thumping vein on his shaft against your sweet spots. He was so big that you felt like your syrupy cunt had already forgotten what it felt like without him pounding into you. Suckling wetly at the corner of your lips, “Marry me marry me- oh, fuck- gonna give you m-my knot. Don’ think I could go on hah- l-living without ya, pretty.”

He was feral - eyes glowing a blazing blue, sparks of lightning bolting down his milky skin. And you swear with each speeding cadence of his, the lights flickered on and off. 

Every slippery smack of his tight, cum-filled balls has you seeing stars, yearning for the additional burning stretch of being plugged by his knot. 

You’re throwing your arms over his neck, reeling him in like he was your prey, though his hips were devouring you. “W-we’re not even dating and you want me t-to be your hngh-”

“-wife!” He kisses every inch of your face, down your neck, over that soft scent gland of yours - now so overstimulating his senses with your sweet scent that he’s almost forgotten what his own smelled like. Buzzes of electricity skimming down your skin with each touch. He’s groaning, “Be my wife- please- fuck, I need you to be my wife.” Planting an almost-french kiss on that one sweet spot. Once. twice. “M-my mate- sh-shit-”

And you already knew Gojo was close with the way his pretty eyes are almost fluttering shut, the way his hefty balls clamp. Twitching in desperation, his thickened base pumps in even deeper - harder. As if he was trying to rut every single inch into your clingy depths. 

Every single inch.

“Mhm–” you moan, feeling the staggering stretch of his even hotter cock shape your walls. “I wanna- wanna be your-”

You don’t even bother finishing your sentence - and neither does Gojo let you.

Because it only takes a few more sloppy jackhammers before he’s finally sinking his taut knot into you. The stretch is so insane you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head, being plugged so suddenly full. 

And then you’re hurtling headfirst into your high - toes curling, white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes, your spine bowing so sluttily into his. And Gojo-

Oh, Gojo had his mouth sagging open the moment he felt his massive knot intrude against your silken sweet walls, stretching that snug channel around all of him. And he wishes he had the willpower to look down at the heavenly sight, he wishes he could do anything but sink his teeth down hard into your precious scent gland as he cums and cums and cums. 

The lights burst, shards deflecting off the limitless he’d coated over the both of you. 

Teeth breaking skin, metal tasting on his tongue, scents tangling together into one now.

You do your best to bite him back on his heady neck, breaking through Gojo’s milky skin to reveal a set of pretty pink indents.

Finally yours. Finally his. 

“O-oh, pretty girl–” he hiccups, voice cracking. Hips not moving even the tiniest second of momentum while he stuffs your tight pussy full of his potent seed. “My wife- my mate.”

And Gojo almost bawls when the tight lock of his knot prevents him from plunging into you as deeply and thoroughly as he wanted to right now. Sobbing down big fat tears that splatter! against your lips while he kisses your mind dizzy.

You could feel the syrupy slosh of his cum inside you with each one of his dragged-out grinds, milking your orgasm for as long as possible. Unmoving. Unapologetic in how he was spitting out such voluminous loads of milky white seed that overfilled you. 

“Shit- so much-” you’re whining, still clinging to him. And you don’t think he even hears you right now, mind blanking. “I feel so full, Toru-”

But you didn’t have to babble out those words for him to know, somehow, he just knew. Knew every single thing about you, but couldn’t dredge up the words to respond.

Too pussydrunken to do anything but bite you on your scent gland all over, he kisses a wet trail up to your lips, “Now you- really hafta m-marry me heh.”

Bang! 

Gojo’s fist comes crashing down on the rickety table - it’s too much for him.

Those ringing squelches and the way you were sucking out every single drop of his cum makes his sensitive shaft twitch. Tears blimping up into his eyes again, more and more velvety ribbons ooze out. “My wife- my wife my wife my wife- my mate-”

It’s just about all he can say - like a mantra. Over and over against your lips, until the peaks of your pleasure turn into mere tingles, until Gojo’s own knot is softening down. Slightly.

Just enough that he can pull out-

“Toru, what-”

“Shhh, pretty girl-” He’s kissing your puffed-up clit with another spank from his trembly fingers, and then an actual kiss. Mouth slotting over the mess he’s made below. Grazing all over like a creamy gloss. Filthy. “Rut’s just started.”

His ravenous tongue drags out your overstimulated high, and you’re clinging onto a lock of his snowy hair for dear life. 

“Please-” you beg, voice shot. You don’t even know what you were begging for, but god was Gojo Satoru happy to let himself be used. “Please please please, Toru-”

Oh, his fingers tighten on your thighs - imprinting neat patterns of crescents. Animalistic, in how Gojo just drags your twitchy body forwards.

His eyes were drooping shut, gaze crazed - frantic where he looked you right in the eyes from down below. Head craning to ram his stretchy tongue even deeper, quirking up deftly like he’s wanting to bruise his taste buds along your walls. 

Slurping at and collecting the creamy mess on his tongue - only to spit it back into your sloppy hole. Messy. 

Even with the dark, lightless room - with only those stray sparks of power to accompany you two - such loud squelches echo across his own ears. And just by the noise Gojo could tell how wet you were - as if you weren’t drooling over the lower half of his face, up to his cheekbones, already. 

Sticking to your inner thighs in an obscene drip! drip! drip!

It’s so shameful and you love it. 

And you love that you’re so cockdrunken that you aren’t even sure when you’re cumming - if you’re cumming. Whether those sudden crashes of pleasure were because of your nth orgasm tonight, or because of the way Gojo kisses you with another thwack!

Adrenaline and electricity coursing through your veins, ears thundering with your rapid pulse. Oh god, you never knew a heat could feel this good - this maddening. 

You moan, and he’s eagerly lapping up every sweet bead of slick you have to offer, like a man that hasn’t had an ounce of water in weeks. Brows furrowed, jaw sagging open-

“Shit shit shit-” he’s rasping out, and the very slide of his fingers across your skin sends waves of powerful jujutsu - somehow bunching at your clit just right. “M’cumming- m- m’still cumming fuck- won’t- stop-”

Just as soon as your orgasm is ending, Gojo’s is just starting. Like he’d been holding back on this from the moment he’d started eating out your overspilling pussy - happily. 

And exactly on time, too, because you barely even have the time to catch your breath before Gojo’s standing on his two unsteady feet. Just splitting you open on all of his red, raw inches - uncaring for your little mewls and those tears. 

Because you were sucking him up madly. 

Spearheading his swollen cock into you like he was trying to fuck another orgasm out of you. His strokes are long, harsh, showing off all the years of strength he built up boasting the title of the strongest. 

And this hastily put-together mating press has his cum just overspilling out of you by now, dribbling down in wet globs that made you wonder how much more he could fill you up. It seeps in a white circle underneath your ass, slicking you back and forth along the wood at each harsh ram. 

Again. And again. And again and again and-

“Made me this- hngh- this way, y’know?” he spits into your mouth - followed by a slurred string of swears. Every time his heftily smacking balls clench, you could feel the table creak under pressure. “Sat next to me with that fucking skirt- smelling so fucking- ngh- good- do you even know how delicious ya are?”

You can’t answer - because he’s back to squeezing in his staggering knot into you. Sparks exploding out from the corner of his scrunched-up eyes, forehead knocking into yours.

Gojo kisses you like he couldn’t get enough, letting you taste all the sin from just before. 

“Three weeks away, huh?” That accusatory little inflection in his words isn’t lost on you, only growing stronger and stronger as his staccato grows sloppier. “Have your- hah- heat in three weeks and fuck- I could just- smell it on you-”

It’s incredible. Sliding your frenzied bodies across on another, stinging with skin-on-skin and how your gooey walls constricted around him.

“Showing off in that scent and that skirt-” His eyes are almost bulging out of his head now, hips stuttering like just the very thought of that pile of fabric at the corner of the room drove him mad. “-fuck that skirt- always fuckin’ hated it. Hated how Nanami loves hngh- it. Made me lose fucking control a-and you know what?”

One of his hands curls around your throat now, the other taking hold of your left - kissing your ring finger pointedly. “I’ll do it all over again if it means I’d get to have ya like this, my mate.”

And just then he’s coating your melty insides in a creamy sheen, that overworked divot right at the end of his dick was firmly pressed up against your g-spot. Plugging you with his knot, and you swear you could see a little inflation forming where he was filling you to your limits. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it’s like he couldn’t stop - didn’t want to stop until his body practically forced him.

Gojo’s biting down hard exactly over those deep indents on your scent glands when his gushing spurts of seed turn into almost-painful blanks. 

Over and over, he’s cumming nothing. 

“L-love you, Toru-” you’re babbling out, reeling him in to peck the corners of his smirking mouth. 

Utterly fucked out of your mind enough that you don’t even register the loud boom! from somewhere in the distant grounds of Jujutsu Tech. Barely even care that the overpriced meeting table is now sagging on one side, just about in splinters. 

“Aww, m-my c-cockdrunk baby–” he titters shakily into your glossed-pout. “Love you, too, always have always- will-”  Patting the bulge on your stomach, before kissing you gently, “Ever since I th-threw ya into heat the ngh- first time ya met me.”

Oh. 

And later, you’ll learn that that almost-deafening boom was the generator for Jujutsu Tech, mysteriously bursting after a sudden spike in atomic pressure in the surrounding area. You’ll find out that every piece of furniture in the surrounding buildings had moved about six inches in your direction, and that the now-ruined table was an irreplaceable heirloom.

But for now, all you register is soft. 

Warm. 

With a gasp you realize you’re in a bedroom - Gojo’s bedroom.

“Did- did you teleport-”

“Mhm-” he pants, and in the dim lighting you could spot his leering grin. Satisfied. Pussydrunken. And you could feel his knot swell up hotly, halfway through to its previous size. 

You sputter, trying so desperately to find the words. Difficult, when Gojo still had you wrapped around his thick cock, all the way up to his fat, drenched base. Swiveling his cock in slow, sultry grinds for how much he couldn’t ram exactly how he wanted to right now. “Wh-why didn’t you do this before–?”

“Because-” he licks over his mating mark on you. “-wanted to show off what animals we were.” His grin grows wider, as does his tired cock. And that dangling blindfold around his neck ends up around your wrists, tying you up pliantly for him. “What animals we will be.”

---

Right now, all Nanami can think about is you you you- Yet,he doesn’t expect to see you for about the next week. Or, at least, that’s the hopeful side of him - knowing Gojo, and the state he’d left the meeting room in, he won’t see you again for a month. 

Possibly not walking.

Perhaps, that’s for the best. Looking down at his swollen, throbbing cock - one fist wrapped around its thick base, the other around his shaky phone, he clicks on that familiar app. 

Shit, his rut is near. Now, actually. 

Nanami sighs, it’s hard pretending not to be animals.

A/N. Was soooo giggling writing about how the table was some heirloom.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[luckyladylily]

So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.