#wonder what more i could draw for this au

[velarisdusk]

Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

word count: 1.9k author's note: i had the idea for this one literally AS i was writing the last one im annoyed i didnt write it right after bc i know i had GREAT ideas that i literally cannot remember anymore sigh ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The venue hums with the kind of energy you’d expect for a band as big as Wings of Illyria, the low chatter and country rock playing in the background almost drowned out by the buzz around the meet-and-greet booth.

Cassian, the life of the party you always imagined him to be, is already surrounded by fans, effortlessly drawing people in with that easy grin of his. But security is quick to move in, ushering people away with practiced calm, the crowd reluctantly shifting to make room for the band’s massive presence.  Rhysand sits beside him, polished and smooth as ever, his gaze flicking between the crowd and the band’s merch, playing the role of the charming frontman like he was born for it. But Azriel—Azriel looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You spot him leaning back in his chair, a half-smirk barely visible beneath the dark fringe of his hair, eyes scanning the room with a look that says he’s mentally checked out. The cigarette tucked behind his ear, defying the “No Smoking” sign above the booth, is the least surprising thing about him.

You can’t help but notice how effortlessly Azriel leans into the atmosphere, the way his posture seems to say he’s both above it all and fully in control of the space around him. The black leather jacket slung over his chair, the way his fingers casually thrum against the table, it’s all effortlessly cool. But before you can linger on him too long, a voice cuts through the room, sharp and high-pitched enough to make your teeth ache. 

The girl in front of you is practically vibrating, her hands shaking as she clutches her phone to her chest like it’s a lifeline. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispers to her friend, barely able to hold it together. “What if I say something dumb? What if they laugh at me? What if Az doesn’t even look at me? I have to tell him how much I—”

It’s the way she says Az—not like she’s just a fan, but like she’s personally on a nickname basis with him—that makes your eye twitch. You don’t want to judge, but fuck, could people just enjoy things without this level of intensity? She’s decked out in enough Wings of Illyria merch to make you wonder if she owns anything that isn’t branded. Her denim jacket is practically a billboard for the band, from the patches to the pins to the shirts she’s stacked under it, all so bright and loud it’s almost cartoonish. She looks exactly like the kind of people you’ve seen mocked in those “fan stereotype” posts, and it grates on you more than it should.

You bite back a sigh, trying to ignore the discomfort gnawing at your nerves. It’s not her fault, right? People can like things however they want. But as you stand there, you can’t shake the tightness in your chest, the buzz of unease you’ve been carrying all day. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night—too busy running through every possible scenario, obsessing over the idea that maybe, just maybe, you’d misinterpreted the song. What if it wasn’t about you at all? What if you’d been foolish to even think it was? You’d spent so much time convincing yourself this was the right thing to do, that you could handle whatever confrontation came with it. But now, with the weight of it all on your shoulders, doubts have started to creep in. 

To each their own, you remind yourself, trying to shake the jittery feeling in your stomach. 

The line inches forward, and you shuffle along with it, caught between your own nerves and the chaos around you. Every second stretches and the girl ahead of you is still whispering furiously to her friend about all the reasons this moment is life-changing for her. You try to tune it out, focusing instead on the distant hum of the music overhead, and the faint shuffle of feet, the air heavy with anticipation.

And then, it’s your turn. 

Cassian is the first to notice you, his smile broad and infectious, like he’s genuinely thrilled to meet every single person who steps up to the booth. “Hey!” he greets warmly, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. “You excited for the show?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you reply, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

Cassian beams like you’ve just made his night. “That’s what I like to hear! First time seeing us live?”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Second. Saw you guys in Orlando last year.”

“No shit?” he says, leaning forward slightly. “That was a great crowd. One of the best on that leg of the tour. You catch the whole set?

“Most of it,” you admit. “I got stuck in traffic and missed the first couple of songs.”

Rhysand, who’s been quietly observing, chuckles at that. “Typical,” he says, his voice smooth and amused. “Traffic in that city is practically a right of passage.”

“Right?” you say, laughing despite yourself. “I swear I left two hours early and still barely made it in time for ‘Bloodlines.’”

Cassian gives you a mock sympathetic look. “Tragic. That’s one of my favorites to play live.”

“It’s a good one,” you say, your nerves easing just a little. You glance between the two of them, noting how Rhys’s sharp gaze is fixed on you like he can tell there’s another reason you’re here. 

“So,” Rhys says, tilting his head slightly. “What’s your favorite track?”

How the hell—

“I mean, the whole album is great,” you say, “but ‘Sear My Skin’ has been on repeat lately.”

It’s a calculated choice, and you don’t miss the quirk of Azriel’s brow in your peripheral. 

“Interesting pick,” Rhys says, his smirk widening. “That one’s been causing a bit of a stir lately.”

Cassian chuckles. “Yeah, Az really knocked it out of the park with that one.”

And there it is—the perfect segue. You glance past them, finally letting your gaze settle on Azriel, who’s been silent this whole time. 

He’s leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable as his dark eyes meet yours. For a second, the noise of the room seems to fade, and you realize your heart is pounding in your chest, 

“Azriel,” you say, his name coming out steadier than you expected. “Can I ask you something?”

He quirks that brow again, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You just did.”

Cassian groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on, man. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be,” he mutters.

Azriel ignores him, his gaze still fixed on you. “What’s the question?”

You take a breath, forcing yourself to hold his stare. “The song—’Sear My Skin.’ Is it about me?”

Rhysand doesn’t bother hiding his laughter, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a show. Cassian’s drink nearly slips out of his hand, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, Oh, shit.

Azriel doesn’t react immediately. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable, until the silence stretches so thin you think it might snap. 

“Who are you?” he asks finally, his tone maddeningly calm. 

You blink, thrown off by the audacity of the question. “You seriously don’t remember me?”

He leans back, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t remember half the women I sleep with.” Cassian chokes on his drink, Rhysand’s grin stretching wide enough to show teeth, but you’re not about to let Azriel off that easily. 

“Pressed against the door, your lips trace the ache?” You quote the line pointedly, crossing your arms as you glare at him. The memory rushes back—how he’d tasted on your tongue, how his hands had threaded through your hair before all hell broke loose. “Sound familiar?”

“It’s not that deep,” Azriel replies, his tone dismissive, though his gaze sharpens ever so slightly. 

“Really?” you counter, your tone dripping with incredulity. “Right before I finish, your body’s all I feel, breathed in your ear ‘you feel too good to be real.’” Your voice rises, your chest tightening as the words leave your mouth. “You literally said that to me while you were balls deep in me against a wall.”

Azriel freezes, his lips parting slightly as a faint flicker of surprise breaks through his carefully guarded expression. For a split second, it’s almost satisfying. 

Cassian’s reaction is anything but subtle. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he doubles over in laughter, nearly spilling his drink again. He gasps, pounding the table. “Yo, what the fuck?!”

Rhysand isn’t fairing much better, his laughter barely contained as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his amusement still sharp but with a more controlled edge than Cassian’s, to his credit.

Azriel’s jaw tightens, and he finally breaks eye contact, glancing down at the table. “Okay,” he mutters, the word barely audible over the laughter. “Maybe it’s a little about you.”

Cassian claps a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to muffle another loud “Yo!” Rhysand smirks, watching the two of you closely. 

But you shake your head, not about to let him off with just that. “A little? Really? You practically narrated the whole thing—I deserve royalties.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. “Royalties?” he repeats, half-laughing, but still avoiding eye contact.

Before he can properly respond, a security guard steps forward, tilting their head toward the door, a silent gesture that your time is up. 

You roll your eyes but shoot Azriel a teasing smile. “Guess I’m out of time for royalties. But I’ll be expecting them in the mail.”

As the security guard ushers you forward, Rhysand speaks up. “Well, nice to meet you, Sear My Skin,” he says, voice dripping with humor. 

You grin back at him, a little cheeky. “My name—”

“It’s (y/n),” Azriel interrupts, dragging a hand over his face as he speaks, his tone casual but something darker in his gaze that would’ve stopped you in your tracks if not for the man guiding you away.

You blink at him, and can’t help the smile blooming on your face. He remembered you. Really remembered you. 

Just as you’re about to take another step toward the exit, Cassian shouts from behind you, “Wait, wait, wait!” His voice is a mix of urgency and excitement. 

You turn around, confused, as Cassian's already talking to someone behind the merch table. The team member nods, already moving to grab something and hand it over to you. Cassian looks at you with that mischievous grin you’re so used to seeing on video. “We’ll set you up for the show. Don’t leave without saying hi to us again, yeah?”

You look at the woman heading your way and take the slip she hands you, your heart stopping when you read the words Backstage Pass. You’re not sure what’s happening, but the thrill of it courses through you. “Uh—Yeah, thank you?”

“Anytime, princess,” Cassian says with a wink, leaning back in his chair as he makes a show of lounging. 

You glance at Azriel one last time before being nudged along by the guard. He looks back at you for a moment, unreadable as ever, but there’s something in his eyes. But he says nothing, and it’s enough to make your chest tighten, a mix of anticipation and confusion bubbling in your stomach. 

[fuqnia]

I Thought I Was Unique (2) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kyle broflovski x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | this part is so fuckin weak, i'm sorry 💀 but it's funny i think! as usual this is long.

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! fighting, inexperienced reader, p in v, oral sex (male receiving), bjs, reader is still stoopid (?), virginity loss

♡ Synopsis | kyle didn’t mean for it to go this far. he didn’t mean to fall for you, didn’t mean to let jealousy and frustration ruin everything. but now, after the party, after the fight, he can’t take it back—and neither can you.

event masterlist | part one

The text from Stan had been simple: “Hey, the guys wanna hang out tonight. Just us, no drama. Kyle won’t be there, promise.” You’d stared at it for a while, guilt twisting in your stomach. You hadn’t just been avoiding Kyle—you’d been avoiding all of them, and they didn’t deserve that. So, against your better judgment, you’d agreed. When Stan pulled up outside your dorm, you grabbed your bag and headed downstairs, only to freeze in your tracks the second you saw Kyle sitting in the passenger seat. Without a word, you spun on your heel and started walking back to your building, your chest tight with anger and dread. But before you could get far, Kenny leaned out the open truck window, shouting, “Oh, come on, [Y/N]! Don’t be a buzzkill!” His tone was light, but you caught the edge of exasperation, and it was enough to stop you. With a resigned sigh and a stomach full of regret, you turned back and climbed into the truck, the tension hitting like a slap the moment the door closed behind you.

The cab of Stan’s ancient, beat-up truck reeks of stale coffee, gym socks, and the kind of regret that only college drama can create. The cramped backseat feels like a torture chamber—Cartman’s elbow digs into your side while Kenny sprawls out, taking up more room than a human being should.

Up front, Kyle is a silent storm in the passenger seat. His arms are crossed, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if he’s grinding his teeth into dust. His curly hair catches the glow of the streetlights, but he refuses to turn around, refuses to look at you. Which is fine, because you refuse to look at him either.

Kenny broke the silence first, glancing sideways at you with a sly grin. “Sooo…” he started, drawing the word out. “You gonna tell us what happened at the party? Or are we just supposed to guess?”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights.

“Come on,” Kenny pressed, bumping your shoulder lightly. “I’m dying to know. You show up looking like a million bucks, and by the end of the night, your makeup’s running, and you’re crying like your dog just died. What gives?”

“Kenny, knock it off,” Stan snapped from the driver’s seat, shooting him a glare through the rearview mirror.

“I’m just saying,” Kenny said with a shrug, though his tone was too amused to be genuine. “It’s not like she’s been super talkative since she got in the truck. Figured someone should ask.”

Cartman grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “My money’s on Damien being an asshole. Or maybe it’s Kyle. Hell, maybe it’s both.” He glanced toward Kyle, who flinched but didn’t turn around. “Come on, Kahl, what’d you do this time?”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his gaze locked out the window. “Leave it alone,” he muttered, his tone clipped.

Cartman’s grin widened. “Oh-ho! That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one. What’d you say to her? Or better yet—what’d you do to her?”

“Cartman, shut the hell up,” Stan snapped, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

You sank deeper into your seat, the memories of the party flashing through your mind like jagged shards of glass. Kyle’s words upstairs—low and annoyed—echoed in your ears:

“Are we doing this, or not?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to block it out. The taste of rum still lingered faintly on your lips, mingling with the sting of tears. You could still feel the weight of his gaze on you, his pleading tone to talk it out as stumbled out of that room and down the stairs.

Stan’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Seriously, can we all just… not do this right now? It’s been a long week. Let’s just get to Cartman’s place and chill, okay?”

“Fat chance,” Cartman muttered, shooting you a sideways glance. “Not when you’ve got all this drama just sitting here, waiting to be unpacked. Like, seriously, [Y/N]. Are you even gonna say anything? Or are you planning to keep sulking all night?”

Your fingers dug into your arms as you fought the urge to snap back. But the words lodged in your throat, heavy and bitter.

When the silence stretched too long, Kenny leaned closer again, his grin teasing but not unkind. “For real, though. What happened? One minute you’re having a blast, and the next you looked like a goddamn emo album cover.”

Your hands clenched, your nails biting into your palms.

Kyle’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold. “I said leave it alone.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly. “Touchy.”

Cartman snorted. “What are you, her simp now? Newsflash, dude: it’s not a good look. Makes you seem guilty as hell.”

Kyle’s head snapped around, his green eyes blazing as he glared at Cartman. “Say another word, and I swear to God—”

Stan groaned, slamming on the brakes and pulling over to the side of the road. The truck jolted to a stop, and the sudden silence was deafening.

“Out,” Stan barked, throwing the truck into park.

“What?!” Cartman squawked, his face twisting in outrage.

Stan twisted in his seat, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration. “Everybody out. Right now. I’m not driving another mile with this crap hanging in the air.”

Reluctantly, everyone climbed out, the cool night air biting against your skin. You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, keeping your distance from Kyle, who stood stiffly on the other side of the truck.

Kenny leaned against the hood, grinning as if this was all some kind of game. “Alright,” he said, his tone light. “Who’s throwing the first punch?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced down at your nails, picking at the edge of one like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The chipped polish was starting to flake, and you focused on that, ignoring the weight of everyone’s stares.

Kyle broke the silence, his voice low but tense. “No one’s throwing punches, Kenny,” he said. “But maybe it’s time we talk about what really happened at the party.”

Your stomach twisted, and your head shot up. “Kyle, don’t.”

“Oh, I think we should,” Kyle said, his voice rising as he took a step closer. “Since everyone here seems so curious about why you came running downstairs crying your eyes out, let’s tell them. Should we?”

Cartman smirked, his gaze flicking between you and Kyle like he was front-row at the circus. “This oughta be good,” he said, folding his arms.

“Kyle,” Stan warned, his voice tight.

But Kyle wasn’t listening. He was locked on you, his green eyes filled with anger, betrayal, and something you didn’t want to name. “You begged me,” he said, his voice trembling. “You begged me to help you. To ‘show you,’ so you could be ready for Damien.”

“Kyle, stop!” you snapped, your heart pounding so hard it made your voice shake.

“You don’t get to stop me,” Kyle retorted, his voice cracking with emotion. “You dragged me upstairs. You said you trusted me. And like an idiot, I believed you.”

The knot in your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his tone bitter. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. You knew exactly what you were doing, [Y/N]. And then you ran off, crying, like I was the one who—” He broke off, running a hand through his curls, his frustration palpable.

“Jesus Christ,” Kenny muttered, wide-eyed. “What the hell happened up there?”

“That’s enough,” you said sharply, stepping forward, your hands shaking with a mix of anger and shame. “You don’t get to twist this around on me. You didn’t have to do it!”

Kyle let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You asked me to kiss you! You begged me to—”

Before he could finish, you shoved him hard in the chest. He stumbled back, his mouth snapping shut as he glared at you, his face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Go to hell!” you yelled, your voice cracking as your eyes burned with unshed tears. Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and stormed back to the truck, your hands trembling.

“Holy shit,” Cartman muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. “That was… wow. Do it again!”

“Cartman, shut the hell up!” Stan snapped, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

Kenny let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well, that explains the whole ‘crying with messed-up makeup’ thing.”

Stan sighed, running a hand down his face. “This is why I didn’t want to do this tonight.”

Kyle stood frozen, his chest heaving as his gaze lingered on you. He looked like he wanted to say something—to shout, to argue—but instead, he turned away, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Dude,” Stan said softly, his tone hesitant. “Maybe you should—”

“I need some space,” Kyle muttered, cutting him off before walking off into the opposite direction of you, his shoulders stiff with barely restrained emotion.

Your chest heaved as you turned around and glared at his retreating figure, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, raw and venomous.

“Good! Maybe some hobo will finally do the rest of us a favor and take you out, you selfish asshole!”

Kyle froze for a fraction of a second but didn’t turn around. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking, his silhouette disappearing under the glow of a distant streetlight.

You let out a shaky breath, the anger and humiliation coursing through you like wildfire. Without sparing a glance at the others, you yanked the door open and climbed in. The door slammed shut behind you with a loud bang that rattled the truck.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, and you slumped back against the seat, staring straight ahead. Your heart pounded in your ears, but the muffled voices outside were impossible to ignore.

“She didn’t mean that,” Stan said, his voice strained and uncertain. “Right? I mean, she couldn’t have.”

Cartman laughed, low and cruel. “Oh, she meant it. Did you see her face? She was ready to murder him.”

“Maybe she’s got a point,” Kenny muttered, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Not about the hobo thing, but… damn, Kyle really didn’t hold back.”

“Neither did she,” Stan snapped, his frustration evident. “This is a mess. How the hell did it even get this bad?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to tune them out, but your thoughts refused to quiet. This is all my fault.

It was the truth. You’d dragged Kyle upstairs. You’d pushed him when he’d clearly been uncomfortable. And when things spiraled out of control—when he kissed you, when everything became too much—you’d fallen apart. You’d run away.

And now you were mad at him. For what? For telling the truth? For being hurt? For showing you a part of himself you weren’t ready to see?

Your throat tightened, and you hugged your arms closer to your body, as if that could keep the flood of emotions from spilling out.

Outside, the voices continued, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on the words. All you could think about was Kyle’s expression—the anger, the pain, the disappointment that had flickered across his face before he turned away.

He hates me now.

The thought hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, and tried to steady your breathing.

I hate him too, you told yourself, though the words felt hollow.

The sound of muffled footsteps approached the truck, and you glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Kenny and Cartman making their way back. Cartman climbed in first, huffing as he shoved himself into the middle seat.

“Move over,” he grumbled, elbowing your side. “This isn’t the Cartman-crammed-in-the-corner show.”

You didn’t respond, shifting slightly to avoid his jabs but refusing to meet his gaze.

Kenny slid in next, shutting the door with a soft click. The truck dipped slightly under his weight as he sprawled back against the seat, sighing like he’d just run a marathon.

“Well,” Kenny said, breaking the silence, “that was awkward as hell. And by awkward, I mean absolutely insane.” He glanced at you, his blue eyes sharp despite the lazy smirk on his face. “You good, or should I call in a therapist?”

You stared straight ahead, your arms crossed so tightly it felt like you might snap in half. The last thing you wanted was to talk to Kenny, to Cartman, to anyone.

“Okay, cool,” Kenny said when you didn’t answer, leaning back like he wasn’t bothered. “Silent treatment it is.”

Cartman snorted, folding his arms. “What a shocker. She’s been pulling that act all night. Figures.”

You gritted your teeth but stayed quiet, focusing on the dashboard like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Hey, maybe she’s still thinking about that kiss,” Cartman said with a mocking grin, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “What do you think, Kenny? Think Kyle’s a good kisser? Or was it all, like, sloppy and sad?”

Kenny laughed softly. “Cartman, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” Cartman said, shrugging. “Somebody’s gotta keep things interesting. Not my fault she can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

You clenched your fists, the urge to snap at him nearly overpowering, but you bit your tongue.

“Oh, she’s pissed,” Kenny said, leaning toward you slightly, his grin widening. “Look at her. Bet she’s dying to tell us off right now.”

“Yeah,” Cartman added, chuckling. “But she won’t. Wanna know why?” He paused dramatically, his grin growing smug. “’Cause she knows she screwed up. She just can’t admit it.”

“Cartman,” you finally said, your voice cold and sharp, “if you don’t shut up, I swear to God—”

“Oh, here it comes!” Cartman interrupted, throwing his hands up in mock excitement. “Go on, [Y/N]. Say it. Tell me how I’m wrong. Tell me Kyle’s the bad guy, or better yet—tell me Damien’s still your knight in shining armor.”

The mention of Damien sent a fresh wave of guilt and frustration crashing through you. Your nails dug into your palms as you forced yourself to look out the window, refusing to let him see the way his words stung.

The memory of that night surfaced, as vivid as if it had just happened. When you had stormed down the stairs, your face streaked with tears and makeup, the entire party had seemed to pause. Conversations faltered, and heads turned. You could feel their eyes burning into you—judging, whispering. Your boots clunked against the floor as you rushed toward the door, Kyle’s voice calling after you, but you didn’t stop.

Damien had been standing near the corner, leaning against the wall with his usual detached confidence. His eyes locked on you as you approached, confusion flickering in his expression. “Hey,” he had said, stepping closer. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“I just… I need to get out of here,” you had mumbled, barely meeting his gaze.

Without missing a beat, he had tossed his cigarette into a nearby cup and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the house. The air outside was cold, but it did little to cool the fire in your chest. You barely registered the sensation of Damien’s hand resting against your arm as he led you to his car.

Once inside, the silence had stretched painfully thin, broken only by the soft hum of the engine as he drove. You stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying again. But it was no use.

“It might be better if we don’t see each other anymore,” you had whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the tires on asphalt.

Damien’s grip on the steering wheel had tightened, his jaw clenching. “What? Why?” he had asked, his tone sharp but not entirely surprised.

“I just…” You had trailed off, your voice cracking. “I can’t do this.”

Damien had scoffed softly, shaking his head. “Whatever. Do what you want,” he had muttered, his voice laced with irritation. He didn’t argue further, didn’t push. Instead, he dropped you off in front of your dorm without another word, and you had watched his car disappear into the night, feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt settle in your chest.

Back in the present, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the memory. The guilt gnawed at you, but so did the anger—anger at Kyle for pulling you into this mess, anger at Damien for not caring enough to fight, and anger at yourself for starting it all in the first place.

“Nothing?” Cartman taunted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Kenny sighed, his voice softer now. “Cartman, chill. Seriously.”

Cartman scoffed but didn’t say anything else, slumping back against the seat with a huff.

The truck door creaked open after what felt like an eternity. Stan climbed in first, looking visibly drained, his shoulders slumping as he slid into the driver’s seat. Kyle followed closely behind, his movements stiff, his face set in a grim mask. He didn’t look at you as he closed the door and buckled his seatbelt.

Neither of them said a word as Stan started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. The tires crunched over gravel as he turned back onto the road, heading toward South Park.

You didn’t need to look to know Kyle was probably glaring at the dashboard, his fists clenched tight. And deep down, you hated how much you cared.

The rest of the drive was quiet, tension sitting thick in the air like a fog. Nobody said a word—not even Cartman, who seemed unusually preoccupied with scrolling through his phone. Stan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, and Kyle sat stiffly, his face turned toward his window.

Finally, the truck rolled into Cartman’s driveway. The house loomed dark and quiet, the porch light flickering faintly. You noticed immediately that his mom’s car wasn’t there.

Cartman hopped out first, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Alright, losers, welcome to Casa de Cartman. My mom’s out of town for the weekend, so we’ve got the place to ourselves. Try not to break anything. Or steal anything. Looking at you, Kenny.”

Kenny snickered, nudging Cartman in the ribs. “Oh yeah? Bet she’s ‘out of town’ with one of her boyfriends again.”

Cartman’s face twisted with indignation, and he shoved Kenny hard. “Shut the hell up, poor kid! My mom has a social life, unlike your sad-ass family!”

“Social life?” Kenny said, laughing as he stumbled back. “That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“Go to hell!” Cartman snapped, shoving past him to unlock the door.

You ignored their bickering, climbing out of the truck without a word. Your chest still felt heavy, weighed down by the events of the night, and the last thing you wanted was to spend another second around any of them.

The second Cartman unlocked the front door, you brushed past him, heading straight for the stairs.

“Uh, where are you going?” Cartman called after you.

“Guest room,” you said curtly, not bothering to look back.

“Don’t touch my stuff!” Cartman yelled, but you barely heard him over the sound of your footsteps pounding up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to the guest room and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind you with enough force to make the walls rattle. The sound echoed in the quiet house, but you didn’t care.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon through the curtains. You leaned back against the door, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.

Your mind was a mess, the events of the night replaying over and over like a broken record. Kyle’s words, Cartman’s taunts, the looks on everyone’s faces—it all churned in your head, refusing to settle.

You closed your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms against them, and let out a shaky breath. For now, all you wanted was to shut everything out, even if only for a little while.

A couple of hours had passed, the house settling into an eerie quiet. The faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the occasional muffled sound of laughter—probably Kenny and Cartman—were the only reminders that you weren’t alone.

Curled up on the bed, you stared blankly at the moonlit wall, your knees tucked tightly to your chest. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, those memories came flooding back, sharp and unforgiving.

The faint creak of the door startled you. Your heart leapt, but you didn’t move, your gaze fixed ahead as the door opened wider. Soft footsteps padded across the carpet, and the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” Stan said quietly. His voice was tentative, almost hesitant, and you felt the mattress shift as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

You didn’t respond.

The weight of his hand on your shoulder was light but grounding. His grip was gentle, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt. “Kyle told me everything,” he said after a long pause, his voice low.

Your stomach churned, and you tightened your arms around your knees, your chest squeezing painfully. “Good for him,” you muttered, your voice muffled and heavy with bitterness.

Stan sighed, the sound full of something you couldn’t quite name—sympathy? Frustration? “He didn’t mean for it to blow up like this,” he said, his tone carefully measured. “He’s… messed up about it too. About everything.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound cracking in the stillness of the room. “Well, he’s not the only one.”

Stan’s hand lingered on your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly as if he thought it might keep you from falling apart. “Look, I’m not here to take sides, okay?” he said quietly. “I just… I think you both handled it wrong. But I also think he cares about you more than you realize.”

Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “If he cared, he wouldn’t have said all that shit. He wouldn’t have turned everyone against me.”

“[Y/N], he’s not trying to turn anyone against you,” Stan said, his voice soft but firm. “He’s angry. Hurt. And yeah, he’s not handling it well, but neither are you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching as you stared at the wall, refusing to look at him. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” Stan said gently. “And I think Kyle knows that too. He’s just… figuring it out. Like you are.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Stan’s hand stayed on your shoulder, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Come on,” Stan said softly, his tone encouraging. “You’ve been up here long enough. Kenny and Cartman are downstairs watching some dumb movie. Let’s go.”

You shook your head, burying your face in your arms. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Stan said, his voice firmer now. “Look, I’m not saying you have to talk to Kyle or… or fix everything tonight. Just come downstairs. You don’t have to sit up here alone.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you uncrossed your arms and sat up, your movements sluggish. Stan stood and held out a hand, waiting patiently.

Reluctantly, you took it, letting him help you to your feet.

The warmth of the living room greeted you as you followed Stan downstairs. The glow of the TV lit up the room, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Cartman and Kenny were sprawled across the couch, laughing at something on the screen.

“Hey, look who finally decided to join us,” Kenny said with a grin, glancing over his shoulder.

“You took long enough,” Cartman added, snickering. “We were placing bets on whether you’d cry yourself to sleep up there.”

Your stomach tightened as your gaze landed on Kyle, sitting at the far end of the couch. His jaw was clenched tightly, his posture rigid as his arms crossed over his chest. His brows were furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin, tense line. He glanced at you briefly, his eyes clouded with an uneasy mix of irritation and guilt, before snapping his focus back to the TV like he hadn’t seen you at all.

Stan nudged your shoulder gently. “Go on,” he said quietly.

You glanced around, hoping for another option, but of course, the only open seat was the small space right next to Kyle. Your chest tightened as you hesitated, but Kenny noticed immediately.

“Don’t just stand there looking awkward,” Kenny said, laughing as he gestured to the seat. “Unless you wanna sit on Cartman’s lap.”

“Like hell she will!” Cartman snapped, glaring at Kenny.

Swallowing hard, you shuffled toward the couch and sank into the spot next to Kyle, keeping as much distance between you as the cramped space would allow. The cushions dipped slightly under your weight, and you felt Kyle shift uncomfortably beside you. His fingers tapped against his arm, betraying his restlessness despite the stoic expression he was trying to maintain.

The tension between you and Kyle was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, but of course, nobody in the room cared. Cartman and Kenny were still snickering in the background, while Stan kept glancing between you and Kyle like he was waiting for one of you to explode.

You stared at the TV, pretending to focus on the movie, but every tiny movement Kyle made—every shift of his leg, every fidget of his hands—burned at the edge of your vision. His knee brushed yours at one point, and you stiffened, gripping your thighs like the contact had physically scorched you.

On the screen, Arthur and Lee stumbled through a chaotic sequence during a film screening. Lee, defiant and wild-eyed, started a fire, the flames spreading rapidly as the audience screamed and scrambled for safety. The tension in the room shifted as the two characters were caught, and Arthur was thrown into solitary confinement.

“Holy shit,” Cartman muttered, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Who’s this chick again? ‘Cause she’s got way more balls than this sad fuck.”

Kenny snorted, leaning back against the couch. “She’s his girlfriend, dumbass. Keep up.”

“His girlfriend?” Cartman scoffed, shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “She just set the building on fire. Are we supposed to root for her or what?”

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about rooting for anyone. Just watch the movie.”

The scene shifted again, this time to Lee visiting Arthur in his grim, sterile cell. Her face was unreadable as she told him she was leaving to avoid his influence, but the tension between them was palpable, nearly vibrating off the screen.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as Lee asked Arthur to stop taking his medication. Then, without warning, the two of them collided in a feverish kiss, their desperation spilling into something more physical. Clothes were shed, hands gripped at bare skin, and the camera lingered just long enough to make the moment painfully intimate.

Kenny was the first to snicker, though it wasn’t loud. “Alright, didn’t see that coming,” he muttered, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Cartman rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat. “Oh, yeah, this makes total sense. They’re banging in solitary confinement. That’s not psychotic or anything.”

Kyle stiffened beside you, his shoulders tightening as the flush on his face deepened. He muttered a quiet, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath and turned his head sharply, refusing to look at the screen. His hand dragged over his face, his lips tight in a straight line

You felt a strange mix of irritation and something sharper bubble up at the sight of him acting so stiff and uncomfortable. The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Of course you wouldn’t watch this,” you muttered, your tone low but cutting.

Kyle snapped his head toward you immediately, his green eyes narrowing. “And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze locked on the screen as Arthur crooned his haunting song to Lee. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Kyle wasn’t letting it go. “No, go ahead,” he said, his voice icy. “Say what you’re thinking. You’ve never had a problem before.”

Your jaw clenched as you turned to glare at him. “What’s the point? You’ll just act like you’re above it anyway.”

“Better than acting like a fucking expert on bad decisions,” Kyle shot back, his voice rising just enough to draw the others’ attention.

“Alright, can we not?” Stan cut in, sitting forward in his seat. His voice was tired, like he’d had enough of both of you. “This is starting to sound like one of my parents’ fights.”

“Seriously,” Cartman added, popping a kernel into his mouth. “If you two are gonna have a lovers’ spat, at least keep it quiet. Some of us are trying to watch this trainwreck.”

Kenny grinned faintly, glancing between you and Kyle. “I dunno. Kinda feels like part of the movie at this point.”

You ignored them, your fists clenching as you bit back the words that clawed at your throat. You refused to look at Kyle again, staring hard at the screen like it could somehow swallow you whole.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Kyle muttered beside you, his arms crossing tightly over his chest.

Your nails dug into your palms as the frustration and anger simmered under your skin. It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about the party. It was everything that had been building between you and Kyle for weeks—months even. And now, with Arthur singing to Lee through the TV screen, his voice dripping with heartbreak and longing, it all felt unbearable.

You gripped your knees tightly, the popcorn bowl in Cartman’s lap catching your eye. The longer you stared, the more the anger churned inside you, relentless and unrelenting. It wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t even just about the party.

It was Kyle’s stupid, infuriating sense of self-righteousness. The way he always had to be in the right, even when it meant twisting a knife into your side to make his point.

But beneath the anger, buried deep where you didn’t want to look, was something else. Guilt.

You clenched your fists as the memories resurfaced: his lips on your neck, leaving marks you couldn’t fully hide, his voice shaky and low as he’d asked, “Are you sure?” You’d said yes. And now here you were, sitting next to him, pretending like you weren’t the one who started it all.

You didn’t want to feel guilty. He deserved your anger—didn’t he?

You glanced at the bowl again, the idea forming in your mind before you could stop it.

“Cartman,” you barked, sharper than intended. “Gimme the popcorn.”

Cartman arched a brow, hugging the bowl protectively. “Oh, sure. Let me just hand over my personal stash so you can—what? Stress-eat your problems away?”

“Just give it to me, Cartman,” you snapped, holding out your hand.

“Fine,” he grumbled, shoving the bowl into your lap. “You’re more annoying than Kyle right now. And that’s saying something.”

You ignored him, grabbing a handful of popcorn and pretending to eat, crunching loudly as if the sound could drown out your thoughts. But your gaze kept drifting to Kyle. His jaw was clenched tight, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders stiff like he was trying to hold himself together.

The same shoulders you’d gripped as he kissed you, hesitant at first but quickly unraveling.

The heat in your chest flared again. You didn’t even know why you were so mad anymore—at Kyle, at yourself, at the entire fucking situation. But it was easier to be mad at him.

A kernel left your hand and bounced off his shoulder.

Kyle didn’t react.

Another kernel, harder this time, hit his arm.

Kyle let out a sharp exhale, his jaw ticking, but he kept his eyes locked on the screen.

That was the last straw.

You grabbed a handful of popcorn and pelted it at him, the kernels scattering across his lap and the couch.

“What the fuck, [Y/N]?” Kyle hissed, finally snapping his head toward you. His green eyes were alight with irritation, his brows furrowed in a deep scowl.

“What?” you said, your tone dripping with mock innocence as you grabbed another handful.

Kyle brushed the popcorn off his hoodie, his scowl deepening. “Are you seriously throwing popcorn at me right now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I hurting your feelings?” you shot back, throwing more.

“Cut it out,” Kyle growled, his tone low and warning.

“Or what?” you challenged, your anger bubbling over. “What are you gonna do, Kyle? Sit there and brood about it? You’re so fucking good at that.”

Cartman snorted from the other side of the couch. “This is getting good. Ten bucks says she’s gonna start throwing hands next.”

Stan groaned, standing abruptly and stepping between you and Kyle. “Alright, enough. Both of you, knock it the hell off.”

You grabbed another handful of popcorn, but before you could throw it, Stan caught your wrist, his grip firm.

“Seriously, [Y/N], stop,” he said, his voice low but sharp.

You stared at him for a moment, your chest heaving as your anger warred with something deeper—shame. Kyle didn’t deserve this. Not really.

But when Stan let go of your wrist, you couldn’t help yourself.

Grabbing the entire bowl, you hurled it at Kyle’s face with everything you had.

The bowl hit with a satisfying thunk, popcorn exploding everywhere as it bounced onto the floor.

Kyle stood abruptly, brushing popcorn off his hoodie with sharp, jerky movements. His face was flushed, his green eyes blazing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped, his voice rough with frustration.

Your chest heaved as you glared up at him. “What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you, Kyle? You act like you’re so above everyone else, like your shit doesn’t stink, but you’re just a fucking hypocrite!”

Kyle’s lips twisted into a bitter snarl. “And you’re just a spoiled little brat who can’t take responsibility for anything!”

Stan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys—”

“Stay out of it, Stan!” you and Kyle barked in unison.

Kyle’s shoulders rose and fell as he glared at you, his chest heaving. For a moment, it looked like he might say more, but instead, he grabbed a stray piece of popcorn from the floor and threw it back at you.

It hit you square in the forehead.

You froze for a split second before grabbing a pillow and launching it at him. “Fuck you, Kyle!”

Kyle caught the pillow midair, tossing it onto the couch with a huff. “You’re an annoyance,” he muttered, his voice quieter but no less sharp.

“Yeah? Well, I guess I learned from the best!” you shot back, crossing your arms as you slumped into the couch.

Kyle stood there for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching, before muttering something under his breath and storming upstairs.

The tension lingered long after he left, the silence broken only by the faint sounds of the movie.

Cartman rolled his eyes, picking up the now-empty popcorn bowl. “Great. Now what the hell are we supposed to eat?”

Stan slumped into the couch, rubbing his temples. “You guys are gonna kill me one day, I swear.”

You stayed silent, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The heat of your anger was still simmering, but somewhere deep down, you knew it wasn’t all Kyle’s fault. You just didn’t want to admit it.

The movie dragged on until the credits finally rolled, leaving the room in awkward quiet. The hum of the television filled the silence, the black screen casted the room into darkness.

Kenny shifted in his seat, turning halfway around to glance at you. His voice was soft but curious, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “Alright… what’s your problem?”

You stiffened, your jaw tightening as his words hit like a spark to a fuse.

Stan leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at you expectantly. He didn’t say anything, but his expression said enough—he was waiting, like Kenny, for you to explain yourself.

Cartman stayed where he was, slouched on the couch, scrolling through his phone with disinterest. His silence somehow felt louder than anything else.

It was too much. The tension boiled over, and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out, loud and raw.

“My problem?” you snapped, your voice cracking with anger. “My problem is that, of course, all of you are taking Kyle’s side! You always do!”

Stan flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “Nobody’s—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Don’t sit there and pretend like you haven’t been on his side this whole fucking time! It’s always about Kyle, isn’t it? I can’t do anything without it being compared to him!”

Kenny leaned back, his brows raised. “Whoa, okay, chill—”

“Don’t tell me to fucking chill!” you shouted, your chest heaving as your voice cracked again. “You all act like I’m the bad guy, like I’m the one who fucked everything up, but none of you even tried to understand!”

Stan started to say something, but you barreled on, your voice trembling with emotion. “I was happy with Damien, okay? I liked him! But none of you could let me have that. All you did was shit on him, like I wasn’t good enough to decide for myself!”

“Damien was—” Kenny began, but you cut him off again.

“Don’t even start. I never said a word when you guys got into your first relationships. I didn’t complain when Stan got all sappy over Wendy in middle school, and I didn’t laugh when Kenny was trying so hard to impress Tammy like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. And Cartman? God, you never told anyone anything, but we all knew what you were doing, sneaking off and hooking up with random people. Nobody judged you, least of all me!”

You paused, the weight of those memories hitting you. They never told you anything about their relationships. You had to piece it together from whispers, rumors, and the occasional slip in their conversations. You always acted like it didn’t bother you, but it did. You used to wonder if it was because you weren’t one of them, not really. Maybe they didn’t trust you enough to share. Or maybe they just didn’t think it mattered. But when you had someone—when you finally kissed someone, finally felt like you had something that was yours—they tore it apart like it was a fucking joke. Like you were a joke.

Your chest heaved as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill. “But me?” you continued, your voice cracking as the emotions swelled. “I finally kiss someone—finally feel something—and suddenly I’m the one who has to explain myself? Fuck all of you!”

The tears broke free then, streaming hot down your face as you buried your head in your hands. Sobs wracked your body, each one pulling more of the anger and frustration out of you, leaving behind an ache so deep it felt like it might swallow you whole.

The room fell into heavy silence, your ragged breaths and muffled sobs the only sound.

Stan shifted uncomfortably, his voice soft but uncertain. “Hey, it’s not… it’s not like that. We weren’t trying to—”

“Save it,” you mumbled through your hands, your voice muffled and thick with tears.

Kenny exhaled sharply, leaning back into the couch. He didn’t say anything, and Cartman quietly went back to his phone, though his scrolling was noticeably slower.

You sat there, your head buried in your hands, as the weight of your outburst settled over the room. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d regret this later. But right now, it didn’t matter.

The silence dragged on until Kenny finally broke it. His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but there was an edge to it that cut through the stillness.

“You’re so clueless, you know that?”

You froze, your hands slowly lowering from your face as your blood ran cold. “What?” you asked, your voice shaky.

Kenny leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms as he looked at you, his gaze uncharacteristically serious. “Kyle. You never saw him as anything more than your best friend. And now you’re acting like none of this makes sense. Like you didn’t notice how he—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your voice rising, the anger bubbling up again.

Kenny raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t stop. “How he’s looked at you all these years. How he never—”

“I said, shut up!” you shouted, cutting him off, your chest heaving. You shot to your feet, glaring at him. “How the fuck was I supposed to know, huh? He never said anything! He never—he never did anything! And what about all those girls? What about Heidi? And Rebecca? He dated them right in front of me!”

Kenny held up his hands defensively, but there was a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that only made your blood boil more.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you snapped, your voice cracking. “You’re such an asshole! How dare you even fucking joke about this!”

“Who said I was joking?” Kenny shot back, his voice calm but pointed.

Your breath caught, and you felt your fists clench at your sides. “You’re full of shit. That’s what you are. Just because you think you know everything doesn’t mean you do!”

Cartman looked up from his phone, glancing between you and Kenny with mild interest. “Well, this took a turn,” he muttered.

Stan sighed heavily, standing up and stepping toward you. “Alright, that’s enough. Both of you.”

You ignored him, your focus locked on Kenny. Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation as you continued, “You think you can just say shit like that and walk away? You don’t know what it’s like to be blindsided by something like this! You don’t know what it’s like to have someone drop a fucking bomb on you like that and then expect you to—”

“To what?” Kenny interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “To deal with it? To grow up? Yeah, maybe I don’t know what it’s like, but I can see what’s right in front of me, and so could you if you stopped being so goddamn stubborn.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes again. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to act like you understand.”

Kenny shrugged, leaning back against the couch again. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

The dismissive tone hit like a slap, and you turned away sharply, your arms crossing over your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.

Stan stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. “Hey. Let’s all just calm down, okay? This… this isn’t helping anything.”

You turned sharply, your glare snapping to him like a whip. “Do you agree with him?” you asked, your voice low, deadly quiet.

Stan blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to answer, but nothing came out. His silence spoke volumes.

Your chest tightened, and the knot in your stomach twisted painfully. “I fucking knew it,” you muttered, your voice shaking. “Of course you do. Of course, Stan would take Kyle’s side too.”

Stan reached a hand out, like he wanted to say something, but you jerked away, turning toward Cartman instead.

“And you?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing as you glared at him. “What about you, Cartman? You agree with Kenny too, right?”

Cartman didn’t even look up from his phone, his thumb lazily scrolling across the screen. “Yeah, obviously,” he said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Kyle’s been pining over you since middle school. Shit’s been pathetic to watch, honestly.”

The room felt like it tipped sideways, your balance faltering for a moment as his words sank in. You trembled, anger and humiliation coursing through your veins like fire.

“Fuck you, Cartman,” you hissed, your voice breaking.

“Join the club,” Cartman muttered, finally glancing up. His expression was as indifferent as ever. “But yeah, I agree. Kyle’s basically had a flashing neon sign above his head this whole time. You’re just too dense to see it.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, shaking as your vision blurred with tears. “You’re all full of shit,” you snapped, your voice cracking. 

Stan let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping toward you again. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s enough.”

“Don’t touch me—” you started, but before you could finish, Stan grabbed your wrists gently but firmly.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re going upstairs.”

“Stan, let go of me!” you shouted, struggling against his grip. But he didn’t relent, his grip steady as he started pulling you toward the stairs.

“You’re just gonna blow up again if you stay down here,” he said over his shoulder, his voice tired but resolute. “And I’m not dealing with another screaming match. Let’s go.”

Kenny watched the scene unfold silently, his arms crossed as his lips pressed into a thin line. Cartman let out an exaggerated sigh, muttering something under his breath about Stan being the “mom friend.”

You twisted in Stan’s grip, your cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. “Let me go, Stan! I’m not a fucking child!”

“Then stop acting like one,” he shot back, dragging you up the stairs with surprising ease. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me. But you’re not doing this tonight.”

By the time you reached the top of the stairs, your breathing was heavy, and your throat burned with unshed tears. Stan released your wrists once you were out of sight from the others, his gaze meeting yours with an exhausted but steady resolve.

“You’re angry. I get it,” he said softly, his voice low. “But maybe instead of blowing up at everyone, you should figure out what you’re actually angry about.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, your jaw set in defiance as you stared past him.

Stan exhaled heavily, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping closer. Before you could react, he grabbed your arms firmly, pulling them away from your chest.

“What the hell are you doing, Stan?” you snapped, struggling against his grip.

“You’ll see,” he replied flatly, dragging you toward the guest room at the end of the hall. His tone was calm, but there was a quiet determination in his movements that made your stomach twist.

“Let me go!” you shouted, yanking at your arms, but Stan didn’t falter. He opened the guest room door and practically shoved you inside.

“What the fuck, Stan—” you started, but your voice caught in your throat when your eyes landed on Kyle.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly. His head shot up as the door swung open, his eyes widening when he saw you.

“Stan, what the hell is this?” Kyle said sharply, standing up.

Stan ignored him, placing a hand on the doorframe as he turned to face you. “You two are gonna figure this shit out,” he said simply.

You glared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and panic. “Stan, don’t you dare—”

Before you could finish, Stan gave you a gentle but firm push further into the room and slammed the door shut.

You spun around, your heart racing as you grabbed the handle and twisted. The door didn’t budge. You yanked harder, but it was no use—Stan was holding it shut from the other side.

“Stan, open the fucking door!” you shouted, pounding on it with both fists.

From the hallway, you heard Stan’s muffled voice. “Kenny! Cartman! Bring me a chair!”

“You can’t be serious!” you screamed, banging on the door harder.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Stan replied, his voice calm but resolute through the door. “You two are staying in there until you talk. Or kill each other. Honestly, at this point, I don’t care which.”

You growled in frustration, twisting the handle again, but it was no use.

Behind you, Kyle let out a sharp breath, his voice laced with irritation. “What the hell, Stan?!”

“Figure it out,” Stan called back, his voice fading slightly as he presumably turned to wait for the chair.

You turned to Kyle, your hands still gripping the door handle. His face was a mixture of frustration and discomfort, his green eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours.

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Kyle crossed his arms, leaning back slightly against the bedframe. “Yeah? Well, neither am I.”

The air between you felt heavy, the silence only broken by the faint sound of Cartman and Kenny laughing, dragging what you presumed to be a chair.

You pounded on the door one more time. “Stan! Open the goddamn door!”

“Nope!” came his muffled reply. “You’re not getting out until you fix this.”

You let out a sharp exhale, your hands dropping to your sides as you turned to face Kyle fully. He was watching you, his expression guarded, his shoulders tense.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, your fingers clenching into fists.

Kyle let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

You glared at him briefly before turning back to the door, pounding on it again with both fists. “Stan, I swear to God, let me out!”

There was no response this time, just the faint sound of muffled conversation downstairs.

You slammed your palm against the door one last time before letting out a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. It was no use. They weren’t going to let you out.

With a huff, you sank to the floor, your legs folding beneath you in a criss-cross position as you leaned against the door. You buried your head in your hands, your elbows resting on your knees, and tried to steady your breathing.

You felt like crying again, the frustration and humiliation clawing at your chest like a vice. But you were so damn tired of crying. What good had it done so far? Your tears hadn’t solved anything, and they sure as hell weren’t going to get you out of this room.

Kyle shifted on the bed, the faint creak of the mattress grating against your nerves. “You can’t just sit there all night,” he said finally, his voice cautious but firm.

“Watch me,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your hands.

Kyle sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. “Look, I don’t want to be in here any more than you do, alright? But maybe if you stop acting like a goddamn brick wall, we can actually get out of here.”

You looked up sharply, your brows furrowing as you glared at him. “You think this is my fault? That I’m the reason we’re locked in here?”

“I didn’t say that,” Kyle replied quickly, his tone defensive. “But you’re not exactly helping, are you?”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snapped. “Not after everything.”

Kyle ran a hand through his curls, his eyes narrowing as he got up and paced a few steps forward. “You keep blowing up at everyone like it’s all our fault, but you never actually say what’s going on. You don’t talk, you just—” He gestured vaguely, his voice rising. “You just shut down.”

“Oh, and you’re so great at talking, right?” you shot back, standing abruptly to face him. “Because from where I’m standing, all you’ve done is sulk and blame me for everything!”

Kyle opened his mouth, and for a moment, you thought he might yell. But instead, he shook his head, exhaling sharply as he turned away. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Forget it?” you repeated, your voice cracking slightly. “That’s all you’ve got?”

He stopped, his back to you. “What do you want me to say, huh? That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean for things to go this way? Because I didn’t.” His voice was low, almost breaking, as he turned to look at you. “I didn’t want this. Any of it.”

You stared at him, anger bubbling to the surface again, hot and unrelenting, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“If you didn’t want any of this,” you said sharply, “then why did you agree to do it?”

His eyes widened slightly, the raw vulnerability in his expression giving way to shock. He froze, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out.

You pressed on, your voice rising with each word as the emotions you’d been bottling up spilled over. “You could’ve said no! You could’ve told me to fuck off, and none of this would’ve happened! But you didn’t, Kyle. You didn’t. You sat there, and you—you said yes. You touched me, and now you want to act like it didn’t mean anything?”

Kyle’s jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides. “I never said it didn’t mean anything,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“Then what the fuck did it mean?!” you shouted, stepping closer to him. “Because I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m the only one who’s carrying the weight of this. Like it was just some stupid mistake to you.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Kyle snapped, his voice louder now, his eyes blazing as they locked onto yours. “Do you think I don’t think about it? Do you think I don’t regret the way it all went down? Because I do! But you don’t get to stand there and act like it’s all on me. You begged me, [Y/N]. You begged me to help you, and I—” He stopped himself, his voice dropping. “I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do.”

His words cut deep, but your anger refused to waver. “You were supposed to stop me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You were supposed to tell me no. You’re Kyle fucking Broflovski—the moral compass of the group, right? You don’t fuck up. You don’t get caught in shit like this. So why the hell didn’t you stop me?”

Kyle laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “Maybe because I didn’t fucking want to,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

The confession hung between you like a thunderclap, the weight of it knocking the air from your lungs.

“I didn’t want to stop you,” Kyle repeated, softer this time, his voice raw. “And that’s the part that’s been eating me alive. Because I knew it was a bad idea, and I still went through with it. I didn’t stop, because…” He faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because I wanted to.”

Your heart felt like it had stopped, the room suddenly too quiet. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come.

Kyle looked up at you again, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. “So, yeah,” he muttered. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, go ahead. Blame me. I deserve it.”

You stood frozen for a moment, his words echoing in your mind, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else. Your stomach churned, and the air in the room felt heavier, suffocating.

Without saying a word, you turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, your legs feeling too weak to hold you up any longer. You buried your face in your hands, your fingers pressing tightly against your ears as if you could block out the storm of emotions swirling around you.

But it didn’t work.

Kyle’s voice kept playing in your head, overlapping with Kenny’s, Cartman’s, and even Stan’s. You’re clueless. Kyle’s been pining for you for years. You never saw it, did you?

You clutched your chest as it hit you like a brick to the chest—Kenny had been right. They all had.

Kyle wasn’t angry because of what happened at the party. Not entirely. He wasn’t lashing out because you’d asked him for something impossible or because you’d pushed him too far. He was angry because it had meant something to him, and you hadn’t even considered that possibility.

You’d been so focused on Damien—on proving to everyone that you could have something of your own—that you’d ignored everything right in front of you. Kyle. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he always tried to stay calm when you were upset, even when it wasn’t his fight to pick. The way his voice had softened when he’d asked, Are you sure? that night at the party.

And now here you were, sitting on the bed with your hands over your ears, trying to drown out the truth that had been staring you in the face all along.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” Kyle said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You lifted your head slowly, your hands slipping from your ears as you turned to look at him. He was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense but his eyes… his eyes looked different now. Softer. Sadder.

He didn’t say anything else, waiting for you to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

“I…” you started, but your voice cracked, and you looked down at your hands. “I didn’t know, Kyle. I didn’t know you felt this way.”

Kyle let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

His words stung, but you couldn’t blame him. He was right. You’d been so oblivious, so caught up in your own world, that you’d missed something so obvious.

Your chest ached as you looked up at him again, his expression guarded but vulnerable, like he was bracing himself for another blow.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kyle blinked, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” you repeated, your voice trembling as you stood up, meeting his gaze. “Why did you let me go through all of this—feeling unwanted, like I wasn’t enough? Why didn’t you stop me from dating Damien?”

Kyle flinched slightly at the sharp edge to your tone, but he didn’t look away. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t. Finally, he exhaled.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice tight.

“Then make it simple,” you shot back, fighting to keep your emotions from spilling over. “You knew how much I was struggling. You knew I didn’t feel good enough for anyone, and you—” You stopped yourself, your voice cracking. “You could’ve said something. You could’ve told me.”

Kyle’s nostrils flared, his fists tightening at his sides. “And what would I have said, huh? That I liked you? That I’ve liked you since we were kids? That I couldn’t stand seeing you with someone else because it fucking killed me? Would that have made it better, [Y/N]? Would that have stopped you from choosing him?”

“Kyle, I…” You faltered, your voice shaking as tears pricked at your eyes. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think I’d feel that way about you,” Kyle finished for you, his voice quieter now but no less raw. He looked down, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t tell you because I was scared. Scared you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now. Like I’m just… some guy who got it all wrong.”

Your hands trembled at your sides, your mind spinning as you tried to process everything he was saying. “You don’t know that,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

Kyle let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t I?” He looked up at you again, his eyes searching yours. “You wanted Damien. You chose him. And I didn’t stop you because I thought… maybe if I let you figure it out for yourself, you’d realize that he wasn’t good enough for you.”

You flinched as his words sank in. “You thought I’d come running back to you,” you said softly, the realization cutting deep.

“I thought you’d see me,” Kyle admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “But you didn’t. And by the time I realized I’d fucked up, it was too late.”

You stood there in stunned silence, his confession hanging heavy in the air. The raw vulnerability in his voice, the guilt etched into his features—it all made your chest ache even more.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whispered, your voice cracking as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.

Kyle took a hesitant step closer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Because I was scared,” he said again, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want to lose you, [Y/N]. Not as a friend. Not as anything. So, I kept quiet. And now…” He trailed off, looking away. “Now, I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then, Kyle moved, sitting down on the bed next to you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and he kept his gaze forward, staring at the wall like it held the answers to questions neither of you had figured out how to ask.

You hesitated, your hands twisting nervously in your lap as you stared at him. His shoulders were slumped, his usual sharp edges softened by something raw and uncertain. Finally, you turned to him, your voice quiet but steady.

“Kyle,” you started, your throat tightening as his name left your lips. He glanced at you briefly, his green eyes flicking to yours before darting away again.

“We’re supposed to be best friends,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything. Anything.”

Kyle let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, some things are harder to say than others.”

You swallowed hard, your throat constricting and your stomach twisting in guilt. “I would’ve listened,” you said, leaning closer, your voice breaking slightly. “If you’d just told me, Kyle—if you’d just said something—”

“Would you?” Kyle interrupted, his voice sharper now as he turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of frustration and sadness, his brows furrowed deeply. “Would you really have listened? Or would you have brushed it off like you always do, told me I was being dramatic or overthinking things?”

Your stomach churned, a cold knot forming deep inside as shame prickled at your skin. “I wouldn’t have done that,” you said softly, though the uncertainty in your own voice made you wince.

Kyle arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small, humorless smile. “Come on, [Y/N]. You’ve known me your whole life. You really think you wouldn’t have?”

His words stung because there was truth in them—truth you didn’t want to face. There had been moments, small ones, where Kyle had tried to say something, where his words had hinted at feelings deeper than friendship. And you’d missed them. Or worse, ignored them.

You dropped your gaze. “Maybe I would’ve,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have tried.”

Kyle sighed, his head dropping into his hands. “I didn’t know how,” he said, his voice muffled. “I thought… I thought if I just kept quiet, if I pushed it down, it would go away. That I could just be your friend and nothing more. But it didn’t work. It never worked.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your throat tighten, as though words would fail you if you tried to speak. And for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“Kyle,” you started softly. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy with emotion.

You sat there, your hands fidgeting in your lap, your thoughts spinning. This was Kyle—your best friend. The one who always had your back, who was honest with you even when you didn’t want to hear it. He never sugarcoated things, never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Kyle was blunt, infuriatingly so, but it came from a place of care, of wanting what was best for you. You knew, deep down, that he would do anything for you if you asked. He’d proven it a hundred times over, in ways you hadn’t even realized until now. Like how he’d taken you to prom when no one else asked, saying it was no big deal, but you remembered the way he smiled at you all night, like he was proud to be there with you. He’d always been protective—too much, at times—but it was part of who he was, and it made you feel safe in ways you couldn’t explain. And now, as you sat here, the truth of his feelings laid bare, a question you hadn’t dared to ask yourself lingered in the back of your mind. Would it really be so bad? Being with someone like Kyle—someone who knew you better than anyone, someone who had always been there? You’d spent so much time chasing things that didn’t last, people who didn’t care, and yet Kyle had been right in front of you the whole time. The thought made your chest tighten, a mix of fear and something that felt almost like hope stirring within you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “But I can’t… I don’t know how to fix this.”

Kyle didn’t say anything. His eyes searched yours, wide and uncertain, his jaw tight with tension. A faint crease formed between his brows, and his fingers traced restless patterns on his jeans. 

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper as you broke the quiet. “When did you know?”

Kyle blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. “Know what?”

“That you liked me,” you said, your gaze dropping to your lap. “When did you realize?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, and you thought he might avoid the question altogether. But then he exhaled softly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “Maybe I always did. Or maybe it was middle school, when you showed up to school in that stupid homemade shirt for Spirit Week, and everyone laughed at you. I wanted to punch every single one of them.” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Or maybe it was prom. Watching you dance, smiling like it didn’t matter that nobody else asked you to go. Like it didn’t matter that it was just me.”

His words caught you off guard, your throat constricting as your pulse quickened.

Kyle glanced at you briefly before looking away again, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I don’t know when exactly it happened. I just… I know that every time something good happened to you, it made me happy. And every time someone hurt you, it made me want to fucking kill them.” He paused, his voice lowering. “And then Damien came along, and I told myself it was fine. That if he made you happy, I could live with it. But watching you with him…” He hesitated, his voice catching slightly before continuing. “It wasn’t just jealousy. It was this stupid, gnawing feeling, like I wasn’t enough. Like everything I’d ever done for you didn’t matter, because someone else could make you smile the way I thought only I could. I thought I was unique.”

The admission hung between you, heavy and raw, as his voice dipped even lower. “And I told myself I was overreacting, but every time I saw him with you, it was like everything I’d tried to bury just came flooding back. And I couldn’t stop it.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes glimmering with a tenderness that sent a wave of warmth through you. “I guess I realized I liked you the moment I couldn’t pretend I didn’t anymore.”

You were quiet, his words settling over you like a weight you didn’t know how to carry. Your gaze drifted to the floor, your mind racing as you tried to process everything he’d just said. Slowly, you turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Without thinking, you reached for the neckline of your shirt, pulling it down just enough to expose the faint, fading marks on your skin—the hickeys he’d left at the party. They were barely there now, just faint shadows of what they had been, but the memory was vivid, etched into you like a scar that didn’t hurt but would never fade completely.

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips trembling slightly as you tried to lighten the moment. “I guess I should’ve known you liked me,” you said, your voice teasing but quiet. “You don’t leave marks like these for just anyone.”

Kyle’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze dropping to your neck. His face flushed, and he quickly looked away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, your voice softer now. Your own face felt impossibly hot, and you quickly pulled your shirt back into place, avoiding his gaze.

Neither of you spoke, the air dense and charged. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, and his presence beside you felt close and magnetic, the space between you humming like a live wire.

Finally, you took a shaky breath and spoke, your voice barely audible. “I… I liked it,” you admitted, your cheeks burning. “When you kissed me. I liked it.”

Kyle’s head snapped toward you, his eyes wide with surprise. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, unable to look at him as you continued. “And… I’m glad it was you. That you were my first real kiss.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t interrupt, his eyes locked on you as if he didn’t dare to move.

Your fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of your pants as you went on, the words tumbling out in a rush. “And I—when you… when you touched me, I liked that too. I mean, I really liked it.” Your face burned hotter with each word, and you felt like you might melt into the floor. But even through the embarrassment, there was a sense of relief in finally saying it—finally being honest.

Kyle stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips parted slightly, his voice soft and almost hesitant. “You… you did?”

You nodded, still not looking at him, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I really did.”

Your hands twitched at your sides, and before you could think too much about it, you reached out and grabbed his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. Kyle’s gaze snapped down to your joined hands. His fingers tensed for a moment, but then they relaxed, curling around yours like he’d been waiting for this all along.

“I was wrong,” you said quietly. “About the party. About everything. The way I acted… it wasn’t fair to you. None of it was.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to protest, but you squeezed his hands, stopping him.

“I didn’t mean any of the things I said,” you continued, your voice breaking. “You’re not a terrible best friend, Kyle. You’re not… you’re not a pathetic jealous asshole. I don’t know why I said that. I was just… angry. At myself. At the whole situation. And I took it out on you.”

Kyle’s expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as his thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles. “You had every right to be angry,” he said softly. “I should’ve handled things differently too.”

You shook your head, your grip on his hands tightening. “No, Kyle. You didn’t deserve any of that. You were just trying to help me, to make sure I was okay. And I wasn’t. But you—you were there. You showed me everything, even when you didn’t have to, and I…” You trailed off, your throat tightening as you tried to find the right words.

“I really do appreciate you,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “For everything. For putting up with me, for being there when I needed you, for… just being you.”

Kyle’s eyes glistened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You mean that?”

“I mean it,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “And I’m really proud that you’re my best friend. I don’t say it enough, but I am.”

Kyle’s lips quirked into a small, uncertain smile, his hands squeezing yours gently. “You know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar sarcasm, “you’re going to make me start crying, and we both know I’m already bad at hiding it.”

You laughed quietly, your chest feeling a little lighter for the first time all night. “Yeah, I know,” you admitted, your voice soft.

The laughter faded, but the warmth lingered as you looked at Kyle. Really looked at him. His eyes were fixed on you, soft and unsure, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were sitting here like this. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, dusting the bridge of his nose, standing out against the light freckles that dotted his skin. His unruly red curls framed his face, a little messier than usual, and his lips were curved into a small, hesitant smile.

Something inside you shifted as you took him in, your chest tightening—but not in a bad way. He looked… cute. Adorably so. You didn’t know how you’d never noticed it before, but it felt so obvious now, like the realization had been waiting for the right moment to hit you.

Your fingers were still intertwined with his, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your grip softened. The way he looked at you stirred something deep in your chest—a mix of familiarity and something new, something that had been quietly growing between you, unnoticed by you until now. You felt it in the way his fingers twitched slightly against yours, in the way his eyes flickered with both nervousness and longing, and in the faint quiver of his breath as he waited to see what you would do.

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the faint freckles across his cheeks, and the blush that was deepening with every passing second. He froze, his breath hitching as his lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Your heart pounded as you leaned closer, the air between you thick with anticipation, every breath feeling sharp and unsteady. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something raw crossing his face, and his body stilled, as though the moment might shatter if he moved.

Then, just as you were sure he might pull away, he moved too. Slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid to break whatever delicate thread was pulling the two of you together.

Your noses brushed, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips. For a moment, your eyes locked, searching his as your heart pounded in your chest. And then, finally, his eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned in fully.

Your lips met his, soft and warm, and your thoughts came to a screeching halt. You hadn’t expected him to feel like this—gentle, steady, but with a hesitant edge that made your chest tighten. He tasted good, the faint hint of peppermint chapstick mixing with something else, something distinctly Kyle. His scent filled your senses too, clean and sharp, like pine and something earthy, comforting in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

The kiss wasn’t frantic or rushed, but the closeness of him, the warmth radiating from his skin, made your stomach flutter. You felt hyper-aware of everything—the way his curls brushed lightly against your temple, the slight shift of his hand against yours, the soft sound of his breath mixing with yours.

And then, the thoughts hit you all at once, a flood of realizations that made your cheeks burn. He tasted good. He smelled good. He felt good.

You weren’t supposed to be thinking about your best friend like this.

Panic bubbled up in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you pulled back, breaking the kiss. You didn’t look at him immediately, your face hot with embarrassment as your thoughts spun out of control.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, your voice shaky. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Kyle blinked, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and concern. His lips parted slightly, still tinged with the faintest blush of your kiss, but he didn’t say anything at first.

You shook your head, stumbling over your words as you tried to explain. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I just—I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey,” Kyle interrupted softly, his voice steady despite the obvious flush on his face. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “Don’t… don’t apologize.”

You froze, your breath catching as his words registered. Hesitantly, you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. His expression was calmer now, the edges of his earlier nervousness softened by something deeper.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His hand squeezed yours gently, grounding you. “If anyone should apologize,” he added, his voice dipping slightly, “it’s probably me. I’ve been holding this back for so long, and I didn’t know if you’d… if you’d feel the same way.”

You were silent, his words settling over you like a weight. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it, and your palms felt clammy where they rested against his. You tried to look at him, but the intensity in his gaze made it impossible.

Finally, with a shaky breath, you murmured, “I do.”

Kyle froze, his eyes widening slightly.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You kept your gaze down, your face hot as the words left your lips. “I didn’t realize it before, but… I do.”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, a weight pressing down on you as you waited for him to respond. Then, slowly, Kyle’s hand slipped from yours, and you thought for a brief, terrible moment that he was pulling away. But instead, his hands came up to your face, his palms warm and steady against your cheeks.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin.

You hesitated, but the gentle insistence in his voice drew your eyes to his. The vulnerability in his gaze was gone now, replaced with something stronger, more certain.

And then he leaned in.

This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was deeper, more fervent, as though he was pouring everything he’d been holding back into this one moment. His lips moved against yours with a newfound confidence, his hands keeping your face tilted toward him.

Your hands instinctively came up, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as your body leaned closer to his. The warmth of him, the way his breath mingled with yours, sent your heart racing in a way that made your head spin.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading lightly through your hair. There was nothing awkward about it now, no hesitation—just him, fully and completely.

You tried to keep up with him, matching the movement of his lips, but Kyle was… really good at this. His confidence caught you off guard, and the way he kissed you—like he’d been waiting for this moment forever—made your head spin.

When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, your breath hitched, and you gasped softly. Kyle didn’t miss the opportunity. His tongue slipped into your mouth, hot and insistent, tangling with yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers gripped his hoodie tighter, twisting the fabric as your body leaned closer to his. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his steady hands holding you in place as if to anchor you. The sound of your shallow breathing mixed with his as you panted softly into his mouth, your chest brushing against his with every shaky inhale.

Kyle’s hands slid down slightly, his thumbs brushing the corners of your jaw, and the gentle pressure made your heart race even faster. His kiss was intoxicating—both tender and hungry at the same time, leaving you completely breathless. A quiet sound escaped your throat—a mix between a whimper and a sigh—and you felt Kyle respond immediately, his lips pressing harder against yours as he tilted your head back slightly.

Heat surged through you, sudden and overwhelming, like a fire had been lit under your skin. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your arms slipped up, wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling slightly in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

The kiss grew messier, less controlled, as your movements became more frantic. Your lips moved against his with a clumsy urgency, each kiss wetter and more uneven than the last. You could feel your inexperience showing in every hurried motion, the lack of rhythm, the way your breaths came in ragged gasps between each connection. You hoped Kyle didn’t notice, even as you felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. But if he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into you, his movements steady and sure, meeting your sloppy kisses with a patience that made your stomach flip.

The warmth of his chest brushed against yours, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel him fully, to close the space between you entirely. Acting on impulse, you tightened your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, pressing his chest firmly against yours.

The sudden closeness pulled a sharp inhale from Kyle, and you felt the sound vibrate against your lips. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist with surprising firmness as he steadied you, his thumbs brushing along your sides in a way that sent a shiver through you.

The room felt impossibly hot now, your body buzzing with sensations that were almost too much to process. You weren’t sure what you were doing, only that you didn’t want to stop.

Kyle pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes locking onto yours, his pupils blown wide. His lips were red and slightly swollen, glistening from your kisses, and his breathing was as uneven as yours.

“You’re…” He paused, his voice husky as he swallowed hard. “You’re killing me here.”

His words made your face burn even hotter, and you pressed your hands to your cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you dropped your gaze. “I suck at this.”

Kyle blinked, and then his lips curled into a soft, teasing smile. “You’re apologizing?” he asked, his tone incredulous but playful.

You nodded, still avoiding his eyes. “Yeah… I mean, I’ve never really done this before… besides at that party. I’m still probably so bad.”

Kyle let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and low as he leaned back slightly to look at you. “Bad?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say bad. Let’s call it… enthusiastic.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Kyle said, his voice light but steady. You peeked at him through your fingers and saw the way his eyes softened as he looked at you. “I’m just saying, if you’re worried about being bad, don’t be. We’ve got all night, and I’m a pretty good teacher.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the playful edge in his tone making your stomach flip. “All night?” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly.

Kyle leaned in closer, his hands resting on either side of your waist as his grin widened just a little. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice dipping as his eyes locked onto yours. “Stan’s not letting us out, remember? Might as well make the most of it.”

The teasing glint in his eyes made your cheeks burn even more, but there was something reassuring in his expression, something that made you feel safe despite how embarrassed you were.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t laugh at me.”

Kyle’s smile softened, and he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled back at him, your chest feeling lighter as the tension between you eased. But as his words lingered in your mind, a flicker of nervous energy surged through you. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers twitching slightly before you shrugged off your jacket and let it fall onto the bed.

Kyle’s brows raised slightly at the movement, his eyes following the fabric as it slipped from your shoulders. “Uh… okay,” he started, his voice tinged with curiosity, but you moved before he could finish.

You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him.

He drew in a sharp breath, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your waist. “Whoa,” he muttered, his voice teetering between surprise and amusement.

You felt your face heat up instantly, a mix of confidence and embarrassment warring inside you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks.

Kyle chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear. “Someone’s eager,” he teased, his fingers twitching lightly against your sides. “Didn’t you just say you were new to this?”

You groaned into his neck, your cheeks burning. “Shut up,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his skin.

His laugh deepened, the vibration of it sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m just saying,” he added playfully, “for someone who says they’re bad at this, you’re doing pretty good so far.”

You hummed softly against his neck, the sound more nervous than confident, as you pressed a light kiss to the curve of his shoulder. His warmth was comforting, and even though your heart raced with nerves, you didn’t pull away. Slowly, you tilted your head, letting your lips linger before sucking gently at his skin.

The faint taste of salt and the warmth of his pulse under your mouth made your chest flutter, but you hesitated, unsure if you were doing it right. You tried again, a little harder this time, your lips pressing more firmly as you sucked lightly.

Kyle stiffened beneath you, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested on your waist. For a moment, he seemed quiet, and you wondered if you’d done something wrong—until a low, quiet sound slipped from his throat.

It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to send a thrill through you. A subtle shudder ran through him, his hands settling more firmly against your sides as you continued, your lips brushing against his skin.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” Kyle murmured, his voice unsteady, almost shy. But he didn’t pull away.

You paused, your lips hovering just over his neck. “I just…” you whispered, your face burning. “I wanted to try.”

Kyle’s fingers flexed against your sides, his breathing uneven as he swallowed hard. “It feels… good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words sent a wave of nervous excitement through you, and you pressed another kiss to his skin, your inexperience making your movements clumsy but earnest. You tried to mimic what he’d done to you at the party, lightly sucking and grazing your teeth against his neck.

Another sound escaped him, rougher this time, and you felt his hands tighten around your waist as his head tilted back slightly.

You pulled back for a moment, your lips tingling, and glanced up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and hazy, and his lips were parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Your lips curled into a small, shy smile as you leaned back down, pressing another kiss to the faint mark you’d left on his neck. The quiet hum of satisfaction that came from him made your chest tighten, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you.

“You’re laughing at me now?” Kyle muttered, his voice thick with embarrassment, though his lips twitched upward.

“Not at you,” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. “I just… I’m glad you don’t hate it.”

Kyle let out a shaky laugh, his fingers pressing gently against your sides. “Yeah, no chance of that.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, your heart feeling lighter than it had all day. The tension and anger that had hung over you earlier now felt like a distant memory, almost impossible to believe it had been real. Just hours ago, you’d been yelling, hurling insults at each other, and now… now, things were different. Not completely back to normal—this was uncharted territory—but the warmth in Kyle’s touch and the soft, steady way he looked at you made you feel safe, like the foundation of your friendship was still there, just with something new layered over it.

You leaned in again, your lips finding his neck. The skin there was warm and soft, and you pressed a series of light kisses upwards, trailing toward his jaw. You heard him exhale softly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as you moved closer.

When you reached his jawline, you lingered, kissing the sharp edge of it before humming softly against his skin. The sound was quiet, but the way Kyle shivered beneath you told you it had an effect. His reaction sent a small thrill through you, and you kissed along his jaw until you reached the corner of his mouth.

You pressed a soft kiss there, your lips brushing his skin so lightly it was almost a tease. Kyle turned his head slightly, his green eyes meeting yours as a small, knowing smirk spread across his face.

The expression made your heart skip, and you giggled, the sound bubbling out of you as you leaned in again. “What’s that look for?” you murmured, your voice soft but playful.

Kyle didn’t answer, his smirk widening slightly as his hands shifted higher on your sides. His gaze was steady, amused, but there was warmth there too—something that made your chest feel tight in the best way. You pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips, your cheeks burning as you let yourself get caught up in the moment. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and even though it was brief, the kiss sent sparks shooting through you.

Kyle shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his position on the bed. The movement made you gasp softly, your breath catching in your throat as heat surged through your body.

Your eyes flicked downward, taking in the way you were straddling him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. The closeness, the weight of the moment, was almost tangible. Your hands pressed against his chest for balance, but it only made you more aware of his warmth beneath your palms.

Kyle noticed the slight furrow of your brow, his green eyes softening with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, his voice quiet but steady.

You shook your head quickly, the warmth in your cheeks spreading as you glanced up at him. “Nothing,” you murmured, though your voice came out shakier than you intended.

Kyle didn’t look convinced, tilting his head slightly as his hands rested lightly on your waist. “You sure?” he pressed, his tone careful but curious.

You hesitated, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the fabric of his hoodie. Your heart raced as you searched for the words, your throat tightening as the question formed. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke, your voice quiet but clear.

“Is it… okay if we go further tonight?”

Kyle froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as your words hung in the air. His lips parted, and a delicate shiver seemed to ripple through him, but he didn’t pull away or tense under you.

You rushed to continue, your cheeks burning as you stumbled over your explanation. “I—I mean, if you’re okay with it. I want to, but I don’t want to make you feel like you have to or—”

“Hey,” Kyle interrupted softly, his thumbs brushing against your sides in a soothing motion. “Slow down.”

You stopped, your breath shaky as you looked at him nervously. His expression was calm now, a small smile tugging at his lips as he held your gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low but gentle. “You don’t have to do this just because you think I want it.”

You nodded quickly, a rush of heat flooding through you. “I’m sure,” you said firmly, though your voice was still a little shaky. “I want to, Kyle. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Kyle’s gaze softened, his fingers pressing gently into your sides. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and warm. His eyes searched yours for a moment longer, as if to make absolutely certain, before he leaned forward, his lips brushing softly against yours.

The warmth of his kiss sent a spark racing down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. A rush of excitement bubbled up inside you, and your lips parted eagerly against his. Without hesitation, you slid your tongue into his mouth, meeting his in a bold, messy kiss.

Kyle let out a soft, muffled sound of surprise, his initial hesitation melted quickly, and he began to kiss you back with a fervor that only fueled your eagerness.

Your body buzzed with energy, you wiggled slightly in his lap, trying to get closer. The movement earned a sharp inhale from Kyle, and you felt his fingers dig into your sides as he let out a low groan.

You couldn’t stop yourself; your hands slipped down, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The heat between you was overwhelming, and all you wanted was to feel more, to close the gap between you completely.

You tugged at your shirt, lifting it slightly, but you didn’t want to break the kiss. It was messy and frantic now, your lips clashing as your breathing grew heavier. Kyle seemed to notice what you were doing, and one of his hands slid up to your wrist, halting your movements gently.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he panted softly. “Wait—wait a second,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His eyes flicked down to your hands and back up to meet your gaze, his face flushed.

You froze, your cheeks burning as embarrassment crept up your neck. “I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kyle shook his head, a small, breathless smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his tone reassuring as his thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Just… let me help.”

You hummed excitedly, your smile widening as you looked at him. Your cheeks were hot, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears, but the thrill of the moment overwhelmed any lingering nerves.

Kyle’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes glinting with both amusement and something deeper. “You’re really not gonna make this easy for me, are you?” he teased, shaking his head slightly.

“Not my fault you’re slow,” you shot back, your tone playfully defiant despite the heat rushing to your face.

Kyle scoffed, the sound low and amused, as he leaned forward to kiss you briefly, his lips brushing yours before pulling back. “Alright, then,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly. “Guess I’ll pick up the pace.”

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he tugged it upward. The sensation sent a shiver through you, and you instinctively raised your arms, letting him pull the fabric over your head in one smooth motion.

The shirt landed somewhere on the floor, forgotten, as Kyle sat back slightly to take you in.

You suddenly felt hyper-aware of everything—the way his gaze lingered on you, the faint bow on your cutesy bra, the warmth of his hands still resting on your waist. Your arms twitched, almost moving to cover yourself, but when you glanced at him, the look in his eyes stopped you.

Kyle’s face was flushed, his lips slightly parted as his gaze traced over you with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. His expression wasn’t teasing now; it was soft, almost reverent.

“You look really good,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the red creeping up his neck.

The compliment made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t stop the shy smile that tugged at your lips. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now, but you didn’t look away.

Kyle’s lips curved into a small smile, his fingers gently toying with the straps of your bra. “Cute bra,” he added, his tone lighter, though there was an edge of playfulness to it.

You let out a soft laugh, your face heating even more. “Stop looking at it so much, perv,” you said, though your tone was teasing as you leaned closer, pressing a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Kyle chuckled softly, “Can’t help it,” he admitted quietly. “You’re kind of hard to look away from.”

You shook your head, a breathy laugh escaping your lips as warmth crept up your neck. “You’re so full of it,” you muttered.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he watched you fidget. “Am I?” he teased.

Still laughing lightly, you reached for the hem of his hoodie, your fingers brushing the soft fabric. “It’s your turn now,” you said, your voice quieter, laced with a mix of shyness and playfulness.

Kyle blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your boldness, but his surprise quickly shifted into curiosity. “My turn?” he repeated, tilting his head slightly.

You nodded, tugging gently at the hoodie, trying to pull it upward but hesitating as you glanced at him. “Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze flicking nervously to his before darting away. “I’m not going to be the only one sitting here half-naked.”

Kyle let out a low chuckle, leaning back slightly to give you more room. “Alright, alright,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll warn you now—I’m blindingly pale. It’s a hazard to look directly at me under good lighting.”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into a small smile. “Kyle, I’ve seen you shirtless before. I think I can handle it.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he reached for the hem of his hoodie. “You’ve got a point,” he muttered, lifting it over his head in one smooth motion.

The hoodie ruffled his curls as it came off, leaving his hair a little messy. He tossed it aside carelessly, leaning back again as his eyes met yours, his cheeks faintly pink.

Your eyes trailed over him, taking in the soft planes of his chest and the faint freckles dusted across his shoulders. He wasn’t overly muscular, but there was a subtle strength in the way his body moved, probably years from basketball.

“Well?” Kyle asked, his lips curving into a crooked smile as he noticed your lingering stare. “Do I pass the test?”

You felt your face heat even more, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice soft. “You pass.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure what to do next. A prickling heat rose in your neck and face, and as the stillness lingered, a nervous energy bubbled up. You rubbed your arms awkwardly, your gaze flicking between his face and the space between you. You wanted to say something, to ask him what to do, but the words stuck in your throat.

Kyle noticed your hesitation immediately, his eyes softening. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he tilted his head slightly, leaning closer. His hand brushed against your arm, steadying you, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“You’re overthinking,” he said softly, his tone low and reassuring.

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down, embarrassed. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Kyle interrupted, his voice calm but firm, as if he’d seen right through you. His hand moved to your waist, his touch deliberate yet careful. He guided you closer, closing the space between you effortlessly.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. “Just let me take care of it.”

A sharp inhale escaped you as he leaned in, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. When his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed or hurried. His kiss was soft and steady, each movement unhurried, like he was coaxing you out of your nervousness and silently telling you that everything was going to be okay.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to pull you closer without overwhelming you. The faintest hum came from him, a soft sound of encouragement that made your chest tighten in the best way.

When he pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over yours, his thumb brushed your cheek. His gaze was steady, his eyes warm and full of patience. “Better?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your face hot as you leaned back in, your lips catching his again, softer this time but filled with a growing confidence.

As the kiss deepened, you pressed yourself impossibly close to him, your body instinctively seeking more of the warmth and steadiness he offered. The soft fabric of your bra brushed against his bare chest, and the sensation sent a shiver through you. Your breath hitched slightly, the realization of how close you were making your heart race.

Your hands, clammy with nervous energy, moved from his shoulders to his hair, tangling lightly in his curls. The softness of them beneath your fingers was surprising, comforting, and you used the touch to steady yourself as you tilted your head, leaning further into him.

But as the kiss continued, the heat between you became almost unbearable. The denim of your jeans felt heavy, clinging too tightly to your skin, and the warmth pooling in your body made it impossible to sit still. You shifted in Kyle’s lap, adjusting yourself instinctively, and the motion caused you to gasp softly, your breath hitching against his lips. The sound seemed to break something in him because his hands pulled you just a little closer. His grip was steady but firm, grounding you even as everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

A flutter stirred deep in your stomach as you grinded again, this time more purposefully. The friction sent another jolt through you, and a quiet whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You froze for a second, embarrassed by the sound, but Kyle didn’t falter. If anything, he kissed you harder, his lips pressing into yours with a newfound urgency that left you breathless.

The heat between you was unbearable, your core throbbing with a desperate need that seemed to pulse through every inch of you. Your hips ground against his, the slick friction sending waves of pleasure that curled your toes and made your breaths hitch. Each roll of your body against his made you whimper softly, your panties soaked as you pressed closer, needing more, craving him entirely.

Kyle groaned against your lips, the sound low and rough, and his hands slid down to your hips. His grip tightened again, guiding you as your movements became more frantic.

But then, his hands moved lower.

Before you could register what was happening, his fingers curled into the flesh of your ass, squeezing firmly as he stilled your movements. The sudden shift made you gasp, your lips parting from his as you blinked down at him, dazed.

Kyle’s chest heaved, his face flushed, and his eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. But there was something else there too—something almost panicked.

You pulled back slightly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to process what had just happened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, his voice low but firm. His hands stayed on your hips, steadying you as he shook his head. “Don’t apologize.”

You blinked at him, confused. “But I—”

“It’s my fault,” he said quickly, his voice dropping as his gaze darted away for a moment. His cheeks flushed even darker, and he let out a shaky breath. “I… I was about to come.”

The bluntness of his confession hit you like a lightning bolt, your face growing impossibly hot as your body went still. “Oh,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Kyle’s grip on your hips loosened slightly, his thumbs brushing softly against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “I should’ve stopped sooner,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “I just… you felt so good, and I—” He cut himself off, his gaze flicking back to yours, raw and vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him, your face hot with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty. You hesitated for a moment, your lips parting as you tried to summon the courage to speak. The pounding of your heart in your ears was deafening, and when you finally forced the words out, your voice was soft, trembling. 

“Can I… suck you off?”

He froze.

The atmosphere shifted in an instant, his gaze locking onto yours with an unguarded intensity that sent a shiver through you. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to speak, but silence hung between you. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by an undeniable hunger—a mix of yearning and restraint that made your breath catch. His jaw clenched, his teeth pressing together as if he were holding himself back, and his fingers skimmed your sides with a touch so light it felt like a tease, leaving a trail of warmth that made your stomach flip.

“Did you…” He trailed off, his voice rough as he blinked, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Did you just ask—”

“Yes,” you interrupted, your cheeks flushing even darker as you avoided his gaze. “I mean it. I—I want to.”

Kyle exhaled sharply, his hands brushing over your sides before sliding away entirely, gripping the edge of the bed instead. His fingers dug into the fabric, knuckles paling as though anchoring himself. He leaned back slightly, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths as he processed your words.

“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but there was no teasing in his tone—only disbelief that made the air between you feel heavy.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing as you shifted slightly, your thighs brushing against his. “Yes,” you said again, barely above a whisper.

Kyle’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for any sign of hesitation. When he didn’t find any, his jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in his posture eased slightly as he sat up straighter, his knees brushing against yours.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice low and steady, though there was a faint tremor beneath it. His hands moved back to your thighs, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a jolt of warmth up your spine. “But… if you want to stop at any point—”

“I won’t,” you cut him off, your voice firm despite the heat rushing to your face.

Kyle’s lips curved ever so slightly, the fleeting expression gone as quickly as it appeared. He shifted back a touch, his hands drifting from your thighs to grip the edge of the bed. His green eyes lingered on you, his voice soft when he spoke. “Alright,” he murmured. “Go ahead.”

You smiled at him, the corners of your lips curling shyly as you reached out and squeezed his hand. The simple touch steadied you, and a soft giggle slipped from your lips, breaking some of the tension in the air.

Sliding off the bed, you settled onto the carpet between his knees, the plush fibers soft beneath you as you adjusted yourself. Your hands rested gently on his knees, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric of his sweatpants.

The position struck you immediately. The memory surged forward unbidden: Kyle on his knees, the way his fingers had curled against you, his sharp words biting into the tension-filled air.

“This is what you wanted, right?” his voice echoed in your mind, the sharp edge of his tone still vivid, as if he’d spoken those words only seconds ago. The way he’d mocked you, his lips curling into that bitter smirk, had made your chest ache even as it set every nerve in your body alight.

Your fingers flexed against his knees, grounding yourself in the present. You glanced up at Kyle now, his expression a stark contrast to that earlier moment. The mockery was gone; his eyes held only warmth and a cautious sort of curiosity. His chest rose and fell slowly, his hands resting on the edge of the bed, his grip tight but not aggressive.

“You okay down there?” Kyle asked, breaking through your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, your voice quiet but firm. You smiled again, the memory fading as you refocused on him.

His gaze softened, and he shifted slightly in his seat, his knees brushing against your hands as he adjusted his posture. The movement drew your attention back to the task at hand, the heat between you flaring up once more as you leaned forward slightly.

You hooked your fingers under the hemline of his pants, the motion deliberate despite the trembling in your hands. Slowly, you began to tug them down, your movements careful as if drawing out the moment would help ease the knot of nerves in your stomach. Kyle lifted his hips slightly, helping you, his breathing audible now in the charged silence.

As the waistband slid lower, your gaze dropped, and your breath hitched when you caught sight of him. The black fabric of his boxers strained against his bulge, a dark patch of precum near the tip drawing your attention immediately. The sight sent a wave of heat rushing through you, your cheeks burning as you blinked, struggling to process the image in front of you.

Kyle shifted slightly, the motion pulling your focus lower. The faint freckles that dotted his thighs caught your attention next, scattered across his pale skin like constellations. The juxtaposition of the delicate freckles against the strength in his legs made your throat tighten.

Your hands moved instinctively, steadying yourself on his thighs as you leaned closer. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the faint roughness of his hair brushing against your fingertips. You tried to focus on the texture, on the sensation of his skin under your hands, but your gaze kept darting back to the wet patch on his boxers.

Kyle’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his expression was palpable. His jaw tightened briefly, his lips pressing into a firm line, and the faint flush creeping up his neck deepened.

You offered him a nervous smile, your cheeks burning as your fingers twitched against his thighs. The freckled skin beneath your hands was warm and grounding, but the weight of the moment still made your palms clammy. You rubbed them lightly against his legs, as if trying to steady yourself.

Kyle’s  eyes softened slightly, and he gave you a weak, tentative smile in return, though the tension in his posture didn’t completely dissipate.

Rocking forward on your heels, you leaned up toward him, pressing the lightest of kisses to his lips. The contact was fleeting but enough to make his breath catch, his hands loosening their grip on the bed for a moment.

You hovered close to him, your lips brushing his as you murmured, “Is this really okay?” Your voice was soft, uncertain, and laced with the nervous energy buzzing through you.

Kyle’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze locked on yours. His eyes flicked between your face and the boxers you were tugging at, his breathing growing heavier. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rough and strained but clear. “It’s okay.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, a flicker of reassurance cutting through your nerves. You kissed him again, this time lingering a little longer, the faint taste of his breath mingling with yours as your fingers curled more firmly around the waistband of his boxers.

Kyle groaned softly against your lips, as his hands hovered by his sides, like he was resisting the urge to touch you. “Go ahead,” he murmured, the words half-whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

You nodded faintly, your lips brushing his once more before you pulled back just enough to focus on what came next. Your fingers tightened slightly against the waistband, and with one more glance up at Kyle, you slowly began to ease the fabric downward, a shiver running through you as you revealed him inch by inch. Kyle shifted slightly, lifting his hips to help you, a quiet exhale escaping him as the fabric slid lower. The soft cotton clung to him momentarily, and then, in a sudden, fluid motion, it slipped past his thighs and down to his ankles.

His cock sprang free, slapping lightly against his stomach with a faint, wet sound that sent a shiver through you. The movement left a smear of precum glistening on the pale skin above his navel, and the sight of it made your cheeks flush even hotter.

This was the first time you’d seen one in person, and you couldn’t help but stare. Kyle’s cock was long and thick, the shaft a shade darker than the rest of his pale, freckled skin, with faint veins running along its length. The head was flushed a deep pink, almost red, the slick sheen of precum making it glisten faintly in the dim light.

The faint curve of it toward his stomach gave it a graceful shape, and the sight struck you as unexpectedly… beautiful. His freckles continued down his thighs, faint and scattered, accentuating the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you took it all in. Your fingers rested on his thighs for balance, and your eyes flicked back up to his face. Kyle’s lips were parted, his breathing shallow, and his gaze burned into you with a focus that made your stomach twist in the best way.

“Hey,” Kyle said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but there was no teasing in his tone—just a steady reassurance that steadied your nerves. “You okay down there?”

You nodded quickly, your voice catching in your throat as you replied, “Yeah. I just… you’re really…” You trailed off, biting your lip as your cheeks burned brighter.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something closer to a genuine smile. “Really what?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Pretty,” you admitted quietly, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Kyle blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a moment, his confident demeanor cracked. His cheeks flushed a deeper red, and he let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I—thanks, I guess,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

You hummed softly in reply, your throat too tight to form proper words as you adjusted your position on your knees. Tentatively, you reached out, your hand hovering for a moment before carefully wrapping around him.

Your thumb brushed lightly against the silky head, the feeling unfamiliar, and your eyes caught the bead of precum pooling there, glistening faintly in the dim light. Then with a slow, shaky exhale, you swiped your thumb over the tip, gathering the slick wetness. Kyle’s breath hitched audibly at the motion, and you glanced up at him, your cheeks burning as you met his heavy-lidded gaze.

Taking his reaction as encouragement, you smeared the precum along the length of his cock, your fingers spreading it in slow, deliberate strokes. The slickness made your movements smoother, and you felt the tension in his thighs beneath your other hand as his breathing grew heavier.

The warmth of him, the way his cock twitched faintly under your touch, sent a strange mix of nerves and anticipation curling in your stomach. Once you’d coated him thoroughly, you glanced up at Kyle again, your voice trembling as you asked, “What do I do now?”

His eyes flicked down to meet yours, his brows furrowed slightly as he processed your words. For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips parting as if searching for the right thing to say.

“Just… move your hand,” he said finally, his voice rough and low. “Up and down, like this.” He made a small gesture with his hand, his cheeks flushing deeper as he tried to guide you.

You nodded quickly, your gaze dropping back to him as you wrapped your hand more firmly around his length. Slowly, you slid your hand down, the slickness making the movement easier, before gliding back up.

Kyle let out a sharp exhale, his fingers curling against the edge of the bed as his hips shifted slightly beneath you. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice tight. “Just like that.”

You adjusted your grip, your hand moving more fluidly as you grew accustomed to the motion. Each pass drew a faint reaction from him—a sharp inhale, the flex of his thighs under your touch—and you found yourself drawn to his every sound and movement.

“Good,” Kyle muttered, his voice strained but sincere. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his lips parting as if to say something else, but the words caught in his throat. “You’re doing… really good.”

The praise sent a thrill through you, a rush of anticipation flooding your senses as you glanced up at him. The sight of his flushed cheeks, his slightly parted lips, and the way his lashes fluttered when your hand moved just right made your pulse race even faster.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaking but determined as you continued, your movements growing steadier and more confident with each stroke.

Kyle let out a shaky breath, his head tipping back slightly. He bit down on his lower lip, clearly trying to stifle the sounds threatening to escape, but the faintest groan slipped past anyway. His hips shifted forward almost unconsciously, and his hands moved, one settling lightly on the back of your head, the other brushing against your hair as though steadying himself.

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sight. His green eyes were half-lidded, their sharp focus unwavering, tracing every subtle movement you made. A faint crease formed between his brows, as though he were concentrating too hard, and the flush on his cheeks deepened with every passing second, highlighting the freckles scattered across his skin. His jaw was tight, the muscle twitching slightly, and his lips pressed together in a way that suggested he was fighting to keep his composure. The intensity in his gaze, paired with the way his shoulders seemed locked with tension, told you everything he wasn’t saying aloud.

Your fingers tightened slightly around him, your breath catching as you hesitated. “Kyle,” you murmured softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of his uneven breathing.

His gaze dropped to meet yours immediately, his brows furrowing slightly as though worried he’d done something wrong. “Yeah?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you shifted your grip slightly. “Can I… put it in my mouth now?” you asked quietly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

Kyle’s eyes widened slightly, the tension in his expression flickering into something softer, though the flush on his face deepened. He exhaled sharply, his fingers brushing against your hair as though he couldn’t decide whether to guide you or give you space.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, barely above a whisper. “If you want to.”

Your lips curved into a small smile, the nervous energy in your chest giving way to something braver. You felt the wetness pooling in your mouth as you swallowed and leaned in closer. “Can you… guide me?” you whispered softly, your voice trembling.

Kyle’s chest rose subtly, his eyes locking onto yours as his hand shifted on the back of your head, his fingers brushing gently through your hair. He hummed softly, the sound low and quiet as it filled the space between you.

Tentatively, you stuck out your tongue, the slick sheen of your saliva catching the dim light as it pooled at the tip. A single bead dripped onto him, landing with a faint slick sound that made his thigh muscles flex beneath your hand.

Kyle let out a quiet, broken moan at the sensation, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as though anchoring himself. Encouraged by his reaction, you leaned in further, pressing the softest of kisses to the head of his cock.

The saltiness of his precum mingled with your saliva, and you felt a faint shiver run through you as the unfamiliarity of it gave way to curiosity. Each kiss grew a little bolder, a little firmer, until your lips parted slightly, brushing the tip in a tentative caress.

As you adjusted your position, your other hand, still wrapped around the base of his length, squeezed reflexively, the pressure firmer than you intended.

“Ah—fuck,” Kyle gasped sharply, his hips jolting forward instinctively. His grip on your hair tightened momentarily before loosening as he let out a shaky breath. “Not so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained but soft, his flushed face glancing down at you with a mixture of surprise and reassurance.

Your face burned as you quickly relaxed your grip, glancing up at him apologetically. “Sorry,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the tip as you spoke, earning another quiet groan from him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone slightly breathless. “Just keep going. You’re doing fine.”

His encouragement settled the nerves fluttering in your chest, and you leaned in once more, letting your tongue flick against him experimentally before pressing another kiss to his flushed tip. The soft sound he let out in response sent a thrill through you, bolstering your growing confidence.

Taking a steadying breath, you opened your mouth wider, your lips parting as you leaned in further. The warmth of him against your tongue was unfamiliar but not unpleasant, the faint saltiness mingling with the clean taste of his skin. You hummed softly at the sensation, the vibration making Kyle groan quietly above you.

You eased forward slowly, inch by inch, your lips stretching to accommodate him as the weight of his cock settled against your tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut briefly, the sensations overwhelming, but you forced them open again, wanting to see the way Kyle reacted. He bit his lip hard, his head tipping back slightly as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. His hand tightened in your hair, not to force you but as if grounding himself in the moment.

As you took more of him in, the stretch made your jaw ache slightly, but you pushed through it, adjusting your position to make it easier. The salty slickness on your tongue made the glide smoother, and you felt yourself relaxing into the rhythm, inching closer and closer to the base.

Your eyes began to sting faintly, the effort making your breath hitch through your nose, but you didn’t stop. The faint hum of arousal pooling in your stomach only grew stronger, the wetness between your thighs becoming impossible to ignore as you leaned forward further.

The tip of him nudged at the back of your mouth, the pressure making you pause briefly to steady your breathing. Your fingers gripped his thighs for support, your nails digging in slightly as you adjusted to the sensation.

“Shit,” Kyle muttered above you, his voice rough and strained as he looked down, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “Fuck, [Y/N]… you’re…” He trailed off, his words dissolving into a shaky groan as his hips twitched forward slightly.

You glanced up at him, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity in his expression sent a shiver through you. His lips were parted, his face flushed, and the sight only spurred you on. You hummed again, the sound vibrating against him as you inched forward just a little more, the tip pressing deeper against the back of your throat.

A thought flickered through your mind, shaky and uncertain but insistent: you should probably start moving now. Slowly, you pulled back, his cock sliding along your tongue, slick and warm as you adjusted your grip on him. Your hand, still resting at the base, tightened slightly as you began to mimic the motion of your mouth. Leaning forward again, you let your lips close around him once more, inching downward and then back up in a tentative rhythm. The motion was clumsy at first, your movements unsure, but the quiet groans spilling from Kyle’s lips told you you were doing something right.

Saliva gathered quickly, pooling around your tongue and spilling messily from the corners of your mouth as you continued. The wet, slick sounds filled the room, each motion drawing more saliva until it coated his length and dripped onto your hand, glistening in the dim light.

A need burned low in your chest—not just to please him but to see how far you could take him. You glanced up through your lashes, meeting Kyle’s wide, uncertain eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted slightly, and though he tried to stay quiet, his chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.

“K-Keep going,” he murmured, barely audible, his voice raw and strained. His hand hovered near your head, uncertain if he should touch you, but when you sank a little deeper, the tip brushing the back of your throat, his fingers curled into the sheets instead, gripping tightly.

Encouraged by his reaction, you pushed further, forcing yourself to relax as you took him deeper. The stretch made your throat tighten and your eyes water, but you didn’t pull back. You wanted him to lose control, even if you couldn’t say the words aloud. The wet, muffled sound of your gagging filled the room, and Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in his throat.

“Y-you don’t have to—” he whispered, his voice trembling as his other hand covered his mouth. His words dissolved into a soft, shaky groan when you hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch against your tongue. His hips jerked despite himself, and he immediately froze, his thighs tensing beneath your hands. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You pulled back just enough to shake your head, your lips brushing over his sensitive skin in the process. Then you moved down again, slower this time, taking him as deep as you could, letting him feel every inch. 

Kyle’s body stiffened, and he pressed his hand harder against his mouth to stifle a low, shaky moan. “Oh, God,” he mumbled, the words barely audible. His other hand hovered again, indecisive, before it finally settled on your cheek. His thumb brushed tentatively against your damp skin, trembling slightly. “I’m... I’m so close,” he whispered, his voice cracking as his eyes squeezed shut.

You didn’t pull back. If anything, you leaned in, silently urging him to let go. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you wanted more, needed to take all of him. Your hands tightened on his thighs, grounding him as you moved again, deeper, wetter, swallowing around him.

Kyle gasped softly, his hand leaving your cheek to clutch the bedpost for support. He muttered something too quiet to catch, his body trembling as he finally gave in. His release came in warm, heavy bursts, coating your tongue and sliding down your throat. You swallowed quickly, not letting a single drop escape, even as the taste lingered and his body shuddered beneath your touch.

When you finally pulled back, your lips red and swollen, Kyle was staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. His hand covered his mouth again, as if to hold in the sounds he hadn’t meant to make. His curls clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his face was impossibly flushed.

“You... you didn’t have to...” he started, his voice soft and breathless, but the words trailed off as he looked at you.

You swallowed the last traces of him, licking your lips, and ducked your head slightly, a shy heat creeping up your neck. “I wanted to,” you murmured, your voice quiet but steady.

Kyle’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you, his expression a mix of gratitude and awe. He didn’t speak, his words lost in the haze of the moment. Instead, his hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips with the gentlest touch, like he still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

You stayed on the floor, your knees pressing into the carpet as you gazed up at him. Your thighs pressed together subtly, the slick wetness between them making you shift slightly, your body humming with awareness.

Kyle’s hand didn’t move from your face, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth with an almost reverent touch. His other hand lifted, hesitant at first, before gently cradling the side of your head. His fingers slid through your hair, his touch so careful.

“You’re... amazing,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. His eyes searched yours, his gaze filled with something so pure. “I don’t even know how to... I mean, I—” He paused, his lips curving into a shy, nervous smile. “I just hope you know how much you mean to me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest feel impossibly tight, your breath catching as you stared up at him. Your lips parted, but no words came out. All you could do was lean into his hand, your skin warming under his touch, your pulse quickening with every second that passed.

“Kyle...” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He leaned forward slightly, his movements slow and unsure, as if afraid of scaring you off. “You’re okay, right?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek now. “I didn’t hurt you or—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head quickly. Your voice was steadier this time, though you still felt the nervousness coursing in your veins. “You didn’t hurt me. I just...”

Your words trailed off, your gaze flicking to his lips. They were so close, warm and inviting, and you couldn’t fight the pull any longer. Hesitantly, you leaned forward, your knees shifting against the floor as you moved closer.

Kyle’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand on your cheek moved to cradle your jaw, his touch as gentle as ever. “You can... if you want to,” he whispered, his voice trembling but impossibly sweet. “I’d like that.”

Encouraged by his words, you tilted your head and closed the gap, your lips meeting his in the softest, most tender kiss. His lips were warm and pliant, moving against yours with a hesitant sweetness that made your chest ache. He kissed you like you were fragile, like he wanted to savor every second, and it made your heart swell. You wondered if he could taste himself, and if he did, he didn’t seem to mind.

You kissed him again, your lips moving softly, savoring the warmth of his mouth. As your hand hesitated over the button of your jeans, your nerves mingled with the building heat between you. You fumbled slightly, the tiny metal button slipping against your fingers before finally popping free. The sound was quiet but loud in the stillness.

Kyle noticed the movement, his lips pausing against yours. He pulled back, his breath soft and warm as he spoke, “Wait... are you sure?” His eyes searched yours, not with hesitation, but with concern—like he wanted you to feel safe, to know you had all the time in the world.

You nodded, your face burning, your hands trembling as you pushed the denim down your thighs. “I... I want this,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached your own ears, let alone his.

Kyle exhaled a shaky breath, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something else, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, his hand moved to yours, his touch gentle as he steadied your fingers. “Okay,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Just... let me know if it’s too much, alright?”

The cold air hit your skin as the jeans slipped to your knees, the sharp contrast making you shiver. You couldn’t help but glance away, your cheeks hot as you became hyperaware of the damp fabric of your panties, the way they clung to you in ways you couldn’t hide.

Kyle’s gaze followed yours, but there was no teasing in his expression—only quiet reverence. His lips curved into a soft smile, and his hand returned to your cheek, tilting your face back toward his. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly but filled with sincerity. “You don’t have to be nervous with me.”

A soft hum escaped your lips, a sound of quiet acknowledgment. You pushed yourself upward, moving slowly onto his lap, your thighs settling on either side of his hips. The sudden closeness made your heart race, the warmth of his body grounding you even as your nerves buzzed.

Kyle’s hands shifted instinctively to your waist, his fingers flexing lightly against your skin. “Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to rush.”

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him closer as your other hand moved behind your back, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Then, you felt it: the firm press of his cock against your cunt, separated only by the thin fabric of your panties. The friction sent a jolt of heat through you, and you froze, your face flushing hotter. A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but the movement only made it worse. Your clit brushed against him, and you bit your lip, a small sound escaping before you could stop it.

Kyle’s hands tightened subtly on your waist, steadying you. His voice was low when he spoke, soft but steady. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He tilted his head, catching your gaze with his warm, steady eyes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You swallowed hard, your breath trembling as you tried to find your voice. “I just... it’s a lot,” you admitted quietly, glancing down as your fingers faltered on the clasp.

Kyle’s lips quirked into a gentle smile, and he leaned forward, brushing a featherlight kiss to your temple. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s a lot for me too.” His tone was sincere, devoid of teasing, but there was a quiet confidence in the way he held you—like he’d done this before and knew exactly how to make you feel safe.

With a small, reassuring hum, his hand slipped to your back, his fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra with practiced ease. “Here,” he murmured, his voice tinged with warmth as the fabric loosened. “Let me.”

You nodded, your cheeks burning as the bra slid down your arms. Kyle leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost reverent intensity. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted into a mischievous smirk, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. “You’re blushing,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in to press a warm kiss to your temple. “It’s cute.”

You shot him a quick glare, your embarrassment spiking, but before you could say anything, his hands slid to your hips, guiding you with an effortless strength until your back pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, cocooning you in his warmth, his breath brushing against your ear as he settled you comfortably against him.

“Relax,” he murmured softly, his voice impossibly tender but laced with just enough teasing to make your heart skip a beat. One hand trailed upward, cupping your tit before his fingers gently tugged at your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your thighs clamp together instinctively.

“K-Kyle,” you stammered, but your voice broke into a soft whimper as his other hand slid lower, brushing over your panties. His touch was slow, his fingers traced the damp fabric, pressing lightly against your clit and drawing slow circles. The friction made your breath hitch, and a high-pitched squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Your hands flew to your mouth, muffling the sound as your face burned hot with both pleasure and mortification. You twisted slightly in his hold, shooting him a sharp, pointed glare. “Stan, Cartman, and Kenny are downstairs!” you hissed under your breath, your voice urgent but breathy. 

Kyle’s smirk only deepened, his eyes glittering with mischief as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Then you’d better keep quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But I don’t think you can.”

His words made your stomach flip, and you bit down on your lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out as his hand continued its slow, maddening rhythm over your clit. His fingers on your nipple tugged gently again, and your resolve began to crumble.

You squirmed against him, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. His fingers pressed and circled over your clit making your head spin. You tried to steady your breathing, to regain even a shred of composure, but it was impossible. Every motion, every deliberate movement of his fingers, left you trembling.

Your head lolled to the side, exposing the curve of your neck, and his lips followed instinctively, brushing featherlight kisses against your skin. The warmth of his breath, the softness of his mouth, sent waves of heat rippling through you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured softly, his voice trembling slightly, as if the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

A quiet whimper escaped you, your cheeks burning at his praise. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice shaky and small, though your body betrayed you by leaning into his touch.

Kyle’s lips paused against your neck, and he pressed a firmer kiss there before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Why not?” he asked softly. His hand didn’t stop moving, his fingers still  brushing over your clit in slow circles. “It’s true.”

You wanted to argue, to push back against the intensity of his gaze, but the warmth in his expression made it impossible. Instead, you turned your head away, burying your face against his shoulder as if that could shield you from the weight of the moment.

“I can feel how much you’re shaking,” he murmured. His hand on your chest moved, fingers trailing lightly along your ribs before resting over your racing heart. “You’re so incredible.”

The sweetness in his words made your stomach twist in a way that was both unbearable and intoxicating. “Kyle,” you whined, your voice breaking as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers slid through your wetness, the first bare touch sending a jolt of pleasure so sharp you couldn’t hold back a gasp.

He stilled for a moment, his fingers hovering, and his other hand came to rest gently on your hip. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. “I mean it. Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him, your breaths shallow and uneven. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Kyle nodded, his thumb brushing a soothing circle against your hip. “Okay,” he murmured. The reassurance in his voice, the steady way he spoke, made your chest ache even as your body burned with need. His fingers teased at your entrance, brushing against your slit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. The sensation was maddening, like he was savoring every second of the moment. His other arm stayed wrapped around you, holding you close as though you were the only thing that existed.

The memory struck suddenly and sharply—the party. The way he had knelt between your thighs, his mouth hot and hungry, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that left you crying out. You could still feel the heat of his tongue, the wet, obscene sounds that filled the room, the overwhelming sensation as your body gave in completely. The way you’d lost control, squirting all over him, had left you reeling with equal parts pleasure and humiliation.

The thought burned through you now, leaving you overwhelmed. Your chest tightened, a hot flush spreading across your skin. “Kyle,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you pawed at his chest, pushing against him in a rush of embarrassment. “I can’t.”

Kyle froze immediately, his hands lifting from your body as you slid off the bed. “What happened?” he asked, his voice soft but tense, concern flickering in his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

You didn’t answer, your back to him as you crossed the room to the dresser. The drawer slid open with a creak, and you rifled through its cluttered contents, your fingers trembling slightly as you searched. “No, it’s not that,” you mumbled, your words rushed as you pushed past loose papers and random odds and ends. You knew Cartman’s mom kept condoms here somewhere—of course she did.

Kyle sat up straighter, his gaze following you as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “Then what is it?” he pressed, his voice firmer but still gentle, like he didn’t want to scare you off. “Talk to me.”

Your fingers finally brushed against the foil packet, and you pulled it free, the cool metal crinkling in your hand. You hesitated for a moment, staring down at it before turning back to him. “I just...” You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning. “I need to grab this first.”

Kyle’s eyes flicked to the packet, his expression softening as understanding dawned. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly, his gaze steady and warm. When you stepped closer, his lips curved into a faint smile, and he reached out, taking the packet from your hand.

“Okay,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He set it aside on the bed before sliding his hands to your waist. His touch was sure and steady, grounding you as his eyes met yours. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, his tone soft.

You nodded, the tension in your chest easing slightly at his response. “I’m sure,” you said.

Kyle smiled again, a small, almost shy curve of his lips as his hands brushed over your hips, pulling you closer. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers trailing along your sides.

You stayed standing, your body buzzing with heat and nerves, unable to make yourself sit down just yet. The house was quiet except for the faint creak of old floorboards and the occasional muffled sound of laughter from downstairs. 

Kyle removed his hands from you, causing you to look over and glance at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his brows furrowed in concentration as he rolled the condom on. He looked so sure, so steady, and yet you felt like you were barely keeping it together. The image of him there—your best friend, the boy who’d been with you through everything—made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t untangle.

Your chest tightened as you thought about the countless memories you’d shared. The hours spent talking, laughing, fighting, and making up. Every moment of your life seemed intertwined with his. And now, in this moment, you weren’t just best friends anymore.

Pressing your hands harder against your cheeks, you shook your head, trying to push away the thoughts threatening to overwhelm you. But they wouldn’t stop. You wanted him—not just now, not just like this. You wanted everything with him. The realization burned through you, leaving you trembling.

“Kyle,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking as you turned back to him.

He looked up, startled, his hands pausing mid-motion as his eyes met yours. Concern flickered across his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Your heart was pounding, your hands clenching at your sides as you blurted out, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

The room went still, the air thick and heavy as the question hung between you. Kyle stared at you, his expression frozen in shock. “What?” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as your cheeks burned. “I mean it,” your voice trembling. “I want you to be my boyfriend. I… I don’t want this to just be something we do. I want it to mean something. I want you.”

Kyle’s face softened, but his brows drew together, conflicted. He set the condom aside, his hands resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

You nodded quickly. “I’ve never been more serious about anything. You’re my best friend, but I… I don’t just want to be your best friend anymore. I don’t think I can be. Not after this.”

Kyle’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as he ran a hand through his curls. “This is… a lot,” he said quietly, his voice tight with emotion. “I don’t even know if I’d be good at that, at being your boyfriend.”

“You’re already good at it,” you said, stepping closer, your hands reaching for him. “You’ve always been good at it. You’ve always been there for me, Kyle. I trust you more than anyone. And this—this feels right. Doesn’t it feel right to you?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with so many emotions it made your chest ache. “It does,” he admitted softly. “But I’m scared. If I screw this up, I’m going to lose you, and I can’t—” He stopped, his words catching in his throat as he shook his head. “I can’t lose you.”

You squeezed his hands back, leaning closer, your forehead brushing against his. “You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, your voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. “You won’t.I trust you.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his breath coming shallow and uneven. Then, slowly, he nodded, his lips curving into a small, shaky smile. “Okay,” he said softly, the word carrying all the weight of his emotions. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

The seriousness of the moment lingered for a beat longer before you giggled, a nervous, joyful sound that you couldn’t hold back. “That’s it? No dramatic speech? Just… okay?” you teased, leaning forward and giving his shoulder a playful push.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a grimace as he flicked your forehead lightly. “What, you want me to write it out for you? Sign a contract or something?” he asked, his voice dry but warm.

Still holding his hand, you glanced down at the way your fingers were intertwined, your laughter trailing off into a soft hum. The sight of your hands together, so familiar yet somehow different now, sent a strange but comforting warmth through you. But as your gaze shifted, you noticed something else—his cock, still hard, the condom snugly in place. The absurdity of the moment hit you all at once, and a burst of laughter escaped before you could stop it.

Kyle blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What now?” he asked, his ears reddening as his eyes darted between you and where your gaze had landed.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped between giggles, doubling over slightly as the laughter spilled out of you. “I just—it’s so funny! You’re sitting there with a condom on, looking all serious, like we’re in some kind of romance movie, and I’m—” You couldn’t finish, dissolving into laughter again as you clutched your stomach.

Kyle groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wow,” he muttered, but there was no irritation in his tone, only the faintest hint of amused exasperation. “You have this gift for ruining the moment, you know that?”

“I’m not ruining it!” you protested, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just—it’s us. Look at us!” You gestured between the two of you, a grin still tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap as he stared at you with mock dismay. “I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea,” he said, though the soft smile breaking through his expression betrayed him.

“Too late,” you quipped, biting your lip to stifle another giggle as you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your panties. You began shimmying them down, the damp fabric sticking slightly to your skin as you wiggled your hips. The cool air against your thighs sent a shiver up your spine.

He sat up straighter, his eyes flicking between your face and your bare skin. “Wait—wait a second,” he said, holding up a hand like he was trying to slow the moment down. “Are you seriously laughing while…” He trailed off, his cheeks reddening as he gestured vaguely toward your legs.

You grinned, letting the panties drop to the floor as you stepped out of them. “What? It’s funny!” you said, your voice light and teasing, though your heart was racing in your chest. “This whole thing is—kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold back a smile. “Ridiculous?” he repeated, his tone laced with quiet disbelief. “You’re standing there, naked, laughing at me, and you think I’m the ridiculous one?”

You stepped closer, still grinning as you leaned into him, your hands resting on his shoulders. “Yup,” you said simply, popping the p.

Kyle’s hands found your waist instinctively, his touch grounding you as he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “You say that like you’ve got me all figured out,” he teased, his voice soft but laced with challenge. “Think you’re pretty clever, huh?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs, the weight of his hands grounding you as a nervous, giddy energy bubbled in your chest. You slid your hands over his shoulders, leaning into him with a playful smirk. “Not as clever as you, obviously,” you quipped, the sarcasm dripping from your tone as you climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips.

Kyle scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching as if to suppress a grin. “You’ve got jokes, huh?” he said, his hands settling on your waist, squeezing just enough to make your stomach flip. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he added, “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

You hummed weakly in reply, the sound barely audible as the movement brought you closer than ever before. The heat of him pressed against your entrance was immediate and overwhelming. His cock, thick and ready, nudged against you, separated only by the thin barrier of the condom. 

Kyle’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his brows knitting together as he drew in a shaky breath. His eyes searched yours, a mix of anticipation and disbelief flickering in the green depths. “You okay?” he asked softly, though his hands trembled faintly where they held you.

You nodded, the flush on your cheeks deepening as you bit your lip to stifle another whimper. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I just…” You trailed off, your chest rising and falling as the heat pooling in your stomach grew unbearable.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers threading into the soft curls at the nape of his neck as you leaned in closer. His breath ghosted over your lips, and the need to kiss him, to feel the softness of his lips against yours again, was overwhelming.

Kyle’s eyes flicked between yours, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before returning to your face. “You’re staring,” he murmured.

“So are you,” you shot back, the playful edge in your voice faltering as your hips shifted instinctively, the friction between you sending a jolt of heat through your core.

He exhaled sharply, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer as his lips brushed yours in the faintest tease of a kiss. “Can you blame me?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Closing the small gap between you, you pressed your lips to his in a kiss that was insistent, your fingers curling tighter into his hair as you melted into him. His lips parted against yours, and the warmth of his mouth sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Kyle broke apart from the kiss and shifted, guiding you carefully toward the center of the bed. The pillows cushioned your back as he hovered over you, the mattress dipping under his weight. One hand braced beside your head, his other resting on your hip, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment.

He paused, his eyes sweeping over your face, a poorly concerned smirk dawned on his face.

“What?” you asked, your voice quiet but edged with curiosity, your fingers brushing lightly against the curls falling over his forehead.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, his gaze holding yours as if he was savoring the moment. “I was just thinking,” he said, his tone  teasing, “this is a long way from ‘just one kiss for practice.’”

Your stomach flipped at the reminder, your cheeks immediately heating. “Are you seriously bringing that up right now?” you asked, though the slight crack in your voice betrayed your embarrassment.

“Why not?” His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing slow circles into your hip. “It’s where this all started, isn’t it? You were the one who wanted my help, remember?”

You groaned softly, covering your face with your hands for a moment before looking back at him. “God, you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Kyle laughed, tas he leaned closer. “You were so flustered back then,” he murmured, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Practically jumped out of your skin every time I got close.”

“That was your fault,” you shot back, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “You didn’t have to make it so… intense.”

“Intense?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something closer to a grin. “I was holding back.”

You let out a short, breathy laugh, your chest brushing against his as you moved beneath him. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly holding back now.”

Kyle’s eyes gleamed, his grip on your hip tightening slightly as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, and your hands slid up to cradle his face, pulling him back toward you. “Kyle,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as your lips hovered just a breath away from his.

His eyes softened, heavy-lidded as they locked onto yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice low, but the look on his face carried more than just desire—it was care, reassurance, and a question all at once.

The weight of him against you was grounding, his cock pressing against your entrance sending a pulse of heat through your body. But the texture of the condom felt strange against your slick skin, a reminder of the uncharted territory you were about to cross. Your fingers slid down to his shoulders, gripping tightly as your breath caught in your throat.

“Will it hurt?” you asked quietly, as you tilted your head slightly, unable to meet his gaze for a moment.

Kyle paused, his expression softened further, the tension in his body easing as he leaned closer. His forehead rested gently against yours, and his breath was warm as he spoke, his voice quiet and reassuring. “Maybe at first,” he admitted, his tone careful. “But I’ll go slow. You’ll tell me how it feels, yeah?”

The care in his words made something in your chest loosen, and you nodded slowly, your fingers tightening against his shoulders. “Okay,” you whispered meekly.

Kyle pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering for a moment before he tilted his head to catch your lips. The kiss was a silent promise he didn’t need to put into words. His hand moved from your cheek, sliding to your waist, holding you steady as he began to press his hips forward slightly.

The initial stretch made your breath stutter, your body instinctively tensing. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails pressing into his skin as you squeezed one eye shut, letting out a small, strained sound.

Kyle froze immediately, his forehead falling to your shoulder as his breath came out in a sharp exhale. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his hands tightening their hold on you. “You’re… fuck, you’re tight.”

The rough edge in his voice sent a jolt of raw arousal straight to your core, and though the stretch was uncomfortable, the way he reacted made you crave more. You shifted slightly beneath him, adjusting to the pressure, biting your lip to muffle a needy sound as the movement made him sink just a little deeper.

His hand slid up to your side, his thumb brushing over your ribs in slow, soothing circles. “You good?” he asked softly, though his voice was strained, his breathing uneven as he fought to stay still.

You nodded, your hands still gripping his shoulders tightly as you whispered, “Yeah. Just… keep going.”

Kyle let out another quiet curse, his lips brushing against your neck as he pulled back just slightly, giving you time to adjust before pressing forward again, his movements slow and careful. The stretch eased little by little, replaced by a growing heat that made your body arch against him, your breaths coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and hoarse. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise ignited a flicker of pride through the haze of overwhelming sensation. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer as you gasped softly, your body adjusting to the impossible fullness. Your nails bit into his shoulders, grounding you as you fought the urge to squirm.

A low groan rumbled from Kyle’s throat, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck. He stayed still, not thrusting yet, his cock buried deep inside you. The stretch was too much and exactly what you needed all at once, and your breaths came in uneven bursts.

“You’re tight as hell,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the words. A low chuckle followed, shaky but warm. “It’s fucking unreal.”

His mouth moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each press of his lips sent shivers racing through you, your body responding to every small movement he made. He dipped his head further, his breath hot against your chest before his mouth closed around one of your nipples.

“Fuck—Kyle,” you gasped, your back arching instinctively as his tongue flicked over the sensitive peak. He sucked gently, his hand sliding up to cup the other breast, his thumb brushing circles over the hardened bud.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but fervent. “Fucking perfect everywhere.”

A deep ache settled in your pussy, your walls gripping him tight where he stretched you. The pressure was maddening, and every shift sent a pulse straight to your clit. His lips on your chest only added to the tension, making your hips twitch as you craved more. He hadn’t even moved yet, and you were already on edge, desperate for relief.

“Kyle,” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to ground yourself. 

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark, the pupils blown wide with lust. The intensity in his gaze was enough to make your stomach flip. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” his voice rough. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he willed himself to not move.

Your chest heaved as you squirmed beneath him, the pressure building with every second he stayed buried inside you. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hands slid down to his shoulders. “Move.”

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as he murmured, “You sure?”

You nodded, your thighs tightening around his waist as you whispered, “I need it. I need you.”

Kyle groaned again, as he pulled back just enough for you to feel the slow drag of his cock against your walls. The stretch sent a sharp wave of sensation through you, your head falling back as your mouth opened in a breathless gasp.

Each thrust was deliberate, his movements measured as though he was testing how much you could take. The sensation built with every inch of him, the overwhelming fullness making your body feel alive in ways you’d never experienced. Your hands clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as soft, shaky whimpers escaped your lips.

“Kyle,” your voice trembling as his hips moved against yours, his cock pressing into you with every slow  thrust. “I can’t… it’s so much.”

“I know,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you. Just feel me.”

You did. Every inch of him, every press of his hips, every brush of his lips against your skin—it was all-consuming. Your body shaked beneath him, your breaths coming in short, uneven bursts as the pleasure built steadily.

His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles. The added sensation made your back arch, a choked whimper escaping your lips as you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and breathless. “You’re so damn beautiful like this.”

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw as you murmured, “Kiss me.”

Kyle didn’t hesitate, capturing your lips in a kiss that matched the steady rhythm of his thrusts. His tongue brushed against yours, the kiss deep and intimate, leaving you breathless.

When he pulled back, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes dark and piercing, sending a shiver down your spine. “Tell me how it feels,” he murmured.

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “It feels… it feels like you’re everywhere.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his pace never faltering. His hand stayed between your thighs, his thumb keeping up its maddening rhythm as his hips moved against yours.

The pleasure built steadily, every movement bringing you closer to the edge, but Kyle didn’t rush. His focus remained on you, his hands and lips and body working in perfect harmony to keep you teetering on the brink.

“Kyle,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you felt the tension coiling tighter in your stomach. “I can’t… I’m so close.”

He groaned softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “Not yet, baby. Hold on for me. I want to feel you fall apart.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, and you clung to him tighter, your body trembling as you fought to keep yourself together. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breaths, the quiet creak of the mattress, and the faint, wet sounds of his cock sliding into you, driving you both closer to the edge with every deliberate thrust.

Kyle’s lips found yours again, capturing your gasp as his hips stilled momentarily, keeping you on the edge of release but not letting you tip over just yet. “Not yet,” he repeated softly, his voice a gentle command that made your chest tighten and your walls clench around him.

Your walls tightened instinctively around him, and his breath hitched against your mouth, his eyes falling shut for a brief moment as if the feeling was almost too much. The corner of your mouth curved into a small smile, your fingers threading through his messy curls as you tilted your head to study him.

There was something endearing about the way Kyle managed to be so restrained even now, his touch careful despite the want thrumming between you. It was a stark contrast to how you’d seen him act when he argued with Cartman—sharp, aggressive, and unrelenting. Here, though, his intensity was softer, quieter, and it filled you with a warmth that made your chest ache.

You tilted your head further, your eyes catching on the way his freckles were dusted across his flushed skin. “You’re cute when you’re bossy,” you murmured teasingly, your tone light despite the heat blooming between you.

Kyle opened his eyes at that, a faint flush crept up his neck, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands smoothed over your sides, grounding you in his touch. “You think so?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with.amusement.

Before you could answer, your attention flicked to the faint sound of movement from downstairs—Stan’s laughter, Cartman’s loud complaints, and Kenny’s muffled response. Your face burned, and you bit your lip, turning your head slightly toward the door.

Kyle noticed the shift immediately, his hands pausing on your waist. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone soft but cautious.

“They’ll hear us.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

Kyle let out a quiet laugh, his lips brushing against your temple. “They’re not listening, trust me.”

You glanced at him, your face heating at how nonchalant he seemed about the possibility. “You don’t care?”

“I care about you,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “That’s all.”

His words sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, but the ease he exuded only made you acutely aware of everything—the wet, sticky sound of him buried inside you, the quiet creak of the mattress, the way his hands lingered on your bare skin. Your breaths mingled in the air between you, your legs tightening around his waist as you arched into him, desperate for him to continue.

Kyle moaned low in his throat,  as if your eagerness had undone whatever control he had left. His movements grew erratic, his hips losing rhythm as the tension between you both coiled tighter and tighter. His breaths were uneven, fanning hot against your neck, where his lips grazed your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands slid upward, fingers searching for yours until they intertwined. He squeezed them tightly, as his lips returned to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bit down gently, his tongue soothing the faint sting.

“God,” he rasped, his voice low and raw. “You’re perfect. Do you feel that? Do you feel how good this is?”

Your lungs stuttered for air, the knot in your stomach winding tighter as his words sent a jolt straight to your core. The ache of his cock pounding you, the weight of his body pinning you down, and the heat radiating between you—it was overwhelming. “Kyle,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your head fell back, exposing the curve of your neck to him like an offering.

His teeth dragged along the curve of your shoulder, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin in a rhythm that matched his increasingly desperate thrusts. He groaned against you, the sound deep and guttural, as he felt you clench around him.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone softer now but still tinged with urgency.

You nodded, the movement jerky as your thighs pressed firmly against his hips, your nails digging into his hands. “I can’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

“You can,” Kyle whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was steady, reassuring, even as his own breaths came in short, ragged bursts. “Let go. I’m right here.”

The gravelly edge in his voice pushed you past the breaking point, your back arching as a raw, unrestrained cry escaped your lips. Your walls fluttered and gripped him tightly, your entire body shaking as the release consumed you. The intensity crashed over you in relentless waves, leaving you clutching at him desperately, your breaths shallow and broken as you rode out the bliss.

Kyle moaned, the sound muffled against your neck as he buried himself deep inside you. His fingers squeezed yours tightly, his hips faltering as his release followed yours, filling the condom as his body shuddered against yours. His teeth grazed your shoulder again, followed by soft, lingering kisses as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your shared, uneven breathing. Kyle’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his fingers still tangled with yours. The weight of Kyle’s body pressed against yours, warm and grounding, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. His curls tickled your cheek, damp with sweat, and the faint scent of him—soap and salt and something wholly Kyle—filled the air between you.

You blinked at the ceiling, your vision blurry and unfocused, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything. The warm, sticky press of the condom against your walls reminded you of just how close you’d been, how real this was.

Kyle didn’t move, his body heavy and relaxed atop yours, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. His fingers twitched against yours, the faintest squeeze, as though he was reassuring himself you were still there.

Your lips parted, but no words came. What could you even say? The knot in your stomach hadn’t fully untangled, and your mind felt like static, replaying moments of his lips on your skin, the way he had moaned your name like it meant something sacred.

Kyle shifted slightly, his weight pressing more firmly into you before he seemed to catch himself. His head lifted just enough that his nose brushed your temple, and his voice came, low and hoarse. “Are you okay?”

His question was soft, almost hesitant, but there was no mistaking the concern in it. You nodded faintly, your fingers tightening around his. “Yeah,” you whispered.

Kyle’s  eyes softened, a flicker of relief crossing his features. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment before shifting his weight onto his forearms to ease the pressure on you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head quickly, your cheeks heating. “No,” you said quietly, glancing away. “Not at all.”

His lips lifted into a small, almost shy smile, and he tilted his head, studying your face. “Good,” he murmured. His hand disentangled from yours to brush a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch tender.

You squirmed slightly beneath him, your body still sensitive, the lingering fullness of him inside you making your stomach flip. Your mind reeled, looping the same realization over and over again: Kyle Broflovski is your boyfriend. You just had sex. You just had sex with your childhood best friend.

The thought was dizzying, almost surreal, and the weight of it had your cheeks burning. You tried to shift your gaze away from him, hoping to clear your head, but Kyle caught the movement, his brows furrowing slightly.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. “I… I just…” You paused, your hands nervously smoothing over his shoulders before dropping to the sheets. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this.”

Kyle tilted his head, his green eyes searching yours. “Wrap your head around what?”

“That this happened,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as your eyes flickered back to him. “That we happened. That you’re…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

“That I’m your boyfriend?” he finished, his lips quirking into a soft smile.

You nodded quickly, your heart pounding as his words echoed in your mind. Boyfriend. Kyle Broflovski is your boyfriend.

Kyle’s smile widened slightly, and he leaned down, his curls brushing against your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “It’s not that weird, is it?” he teased gently, though there was a faint nervousness in his voice.

“It’s insane,” you blurted, your words rushing out before you could stop them. You quickly shook your head, your hands flying up to cover your face. “No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—”

Kyle chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he shifted to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. “Relax,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “I know what you mean.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, your face still burning. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it too. This is… it’s a lot. But it’s good. Right?”

His question hung in the air, and a lump rose in your throat as you thought about it. It was a lot—more than you’d ever expected or imagined—but as you looked at him, the way his green eyes softened when he met your gaze, the way his touch grounded you, you realized there was no hesitation in your answer.

“It’s good,” you whispered, your voice steadying as you spoke. “It’s really good.”

Kyle’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a soft breath, almost as if he’d been holding it. His hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your cheeks. When he leaned down to kiss you, his lips were soft and unhurried, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—every brush of his lips spoke of care, of longing, and of a quiet vulnerability that words could never convey.

As he pulled back, his gaze softened, and he shifted slightly as if to pull out of you. But before he could move far, you tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Can we just… stay like this for a while?” your voice barely audible, your cheeks warming as you avoided his eyes.

Kyle’s eyes flicked to yours, surprise flashing across his face before it melted into something gentler. He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah,” he said simply. Slowly, he leaned forward, his forehead brushing against your shoulder before he let himself rest against you, his breath warm against the curve of your neck. “We can stay.”

A sense of calm settled over you, like the weight of the moment had finally lifted. His presence beside you felt steady and familiar, the quiet filling the space with an ease you hadn’t realized you needed. The gentle sound of his breathing created a soothing rhythm, anchoring you in the here and now.

Time seemed to stretch, the two of you existing in a bubble of shared warmth and quiet understanding. But the peace was short-lived.

Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs, the unmistakable sound of someone stomping on purpose—a Cartman classic. Your stomach dropped, panic flashing through you as you remembered where you were.

Cartman’s house.

You barely had time to process the thought before it hit.

A loud, exaggerated moan pierced through the silence, high-pitched and theatrical. “Oh, Kyle!” came Kenny’s voice, dragging out the name in a dramatic, singsong wail that reverberated through the house.

Your body went rigid, your face heating instantly as you clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle a groan of embarrassment.

It didn’t stop there.

“God, you’re so—ah! Fuck, baby!” Cartman’s voice followed, mimicking Kyle with mock desperation and over-the-top grunts that had you wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Slapping noises echoed next, likely Kenny or Stan clapping their hands together to make it worse. “Do you like that, [Y/N]? Huh?!” Cartman cackled, his voice devolving into laughter that was quickly joined by the others.

Kyle froze, his head lifting from your neck as his entire body tensed. His face flushed bright red, a mix of mortification and anger flashing in his eyes as he muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice muffled by your hands.

Kenny’s voice came again, high and mocking. “Don’t stop, Kyle! You’re so amazing—fuck, I’m cumming!”

The wheezing cackle that followed could only be Stan, his laughter so loud and uncontrolled that it shook the walls.

Kyle sat up slightly, his jaw tightening as he glared toward the door. “They’re dead,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m going to kill them.”

You quickly grabbed his wrist, your legs clamping around him as you hissed, “Kyle, don’t! You’ll just make it worse!”

“How could it possibly get worse?” Kyle snapped, his voice low but edged with frustration.

As if on cue, Cartman’s voice boomed through the house again. “Oh, [Y/N],” he mocked in an exaggerated falsetto. “We’ll figure it out together, baby. I promise.”

Your hands flew up to cover your face again, a groan of sheer humiliation escaping your lips as Cartman and Kenny’s laughter rang out.

“They’re such assholes,” you muttered, your voice muffled.

Kyle didn’t respond immediately. His jaw was set, his green eyes burning with frustration as he shifted slightly, clearly torn between staying and storming out to confront them.

“Kyle, please,” you begged, tugging lightly at his wrist. “Don’t. Just ignore them. They’re being stupid.”

Kyle exhaled sharply, his hands running through his messy curls as he muttered, “They’re always stupid.”

Another loud, exaggerated moan echoed, followed by Kenny’s voice shouting, “Oh my God, Kyle, don’t stop!”

Kyle buried his face in his hands, letting out a groan of frustration. “I hate them,” he muttered. “I seriously hate them.”

Despite your mortification, a small, nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “You’re not the only one,” you said, your voice still shaky.

Kyle glanced at you, his lips twitching despite himself. “You’re laughing?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” you shot back, your face still red as you tried to smother another laugh. “You had to know this was coming.”

Kyle groaned again, but this time it was tinged with reluctant amusement. He shook his head, leaning back down to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing through his damp curls as you whispered, “Yeah. I guess I am.”

this was super fun to write hehe | part one

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi :) Before I ask my question I just wanted to say that I love how you characterize the twst boys in your writing and always take the effort of digging deep into these extremely (sometimes almost mind blowingly) complicated characters.  

So I am one of those people who loves making and seeing art of the twst boys genderbent. As I sometimes do admittedly lament twisted wonderlands lack of female cast members at times (though I do understand that having an all male cast is part of the games genre!) 

Anyway I was just wondering if the twst cast members were girls, would that in any way change the character development and dynamic of Epel and Vil in book 5? Because a large part of Epel's character development centres around his narrow, traditional ideas of gender roles and his internal need to feel “tough and manly”. Then Vil teaches him that femininity does not necessarily mean weakness and blah blah we know the story. Long story short, if Epel was a girl would that change her views on strength in any way? Would she feel the same need to be super tough and manly like her male counterpart? Would this change rewrite Epel's character arc entirely? Just wanted to know what you think. 

Hello and thank you for the compliment ^^ I work hard on my posts but especially on the analysis ones so I'm always really happy to see such positive reception to those efforts!

I love seeing Twst genderbend AUs too :DD My favorite interpretations have to be by tribbutribby (aka bunnyshadeow), who has made a few zines (Twisted Bimboland) with that theme in mind. I love how they don't just draw "the Twst boys, but with boobs"; they thought through every character and how they would actually be as a woman, from the designs to the personalities. For example, their fem!Leona has short hair because female lions don't have manes and their fem!Jamil is described as a cool onee-san type, which totally fits with what we know about Jamil. I also love that they actually have a variety in body types! Fem!Riddle is short and flat, fem!Floyd is tall and lanky, fem! Azul is more plump, fem!Jack has thunder thighs, etc. Highly recommend their works, CANNOT RECOMMEND THEIR WORKS ENOUGH!!!

If NRC were an all-girls school, I think the conflict between Epel and Vil in book 5 would have to be considerably rewritten. We could still explore gender identity and expression, but it would have to be framed differently because of Epel and Vil, the main players, being women and not men. I guess it would still be possible to have Epel have outdated views on gender roles (tradwife!Epel?????????), but it doesn't make much sense since... Epel's technically at an elite school instead of preparing to be a wife or something. That might also lead to a very stereotypical message with Vil coming in and telling Epel "actually, you can girlboss too".

It might be interesting to see an interpretation in which Epel is forced to live by gender roles, but then she tries to rebel against it + disparages femininity by being a tomboy?? And then the lesson Vil ends up instilling in her is that femininity shouldn't be underestimated, it can be a strength too. That would be similar to the original message imparted onto Epel, and I think it would be more nuanced and less predictable than the girl power version.

[omagpies]

Was roleswap!Jimmy friends with Curly like in canon? Idk if it's just the hairstyle but intern!Jimmy looks younger than Curly, so I wonder what exactly their dynamic is before the events of that au's tragedy on the Tulpar?

they are friends like in canon, and of similar age! i'm afraid you got deceived by my inability to draw people in any consistent way lmao

i talk here about curly's path to PE, and i think jimmy is kind of stuck doing odd jobs and not having a clear goal in life, so curly cajoles him into joining them for a trip and seeing if either space or healthcare could spark joy in him :) :) :)

(more roleswap au)

[duckieduccss]

Kaiju Baseball AU!!!

Hey, i think i do actually wanna go deeper into this potential au. It’s not anything big really. It’s just a supposed scenario of what if as an excuse to constantly see his adoptive meantime (by then) daughter in some way, he decides to still try to teach her more baseball. But then later turns into teaching her & her friends (the younger kaiju she met when returning to Kaiju Island; i tried to think of other existing kaiju she could easily be friends with) the sport leading to the idea of creating some sort of small team dedicated to just his daughter Emi & him being the coach. That & somehow convincing the more adult kaiju about it (which wasnt easy). In the end, they all have fun & become this sorta big friend group. (Mostly meant as some sorta wholesome concept & easy idea to go off of; the only challenging thing is that idk much about baseball)

Oh & i did add a lil special guest as part of the team (Rodan’s own kid inspired by @quazies own animation)

[i’ll add more to this & hopefully i can do art that somehow shows all the fun baseball stuff they do :) ]

(Best to leave them to deal with their problems seems like)

(**anyone else you guys suggest i should add to the team??? Lemme know ^^**)

[ruined-eclipse]

Great news! Sammi and Thistle made it to Cantha!

[xaymak]

i think about asian link all the time. theyre asian to me like... "oh its not realistic theyre pale and blue eyed and blond" do u wanna know whats unrealistic. in the legend of zelda series thats fantasy/adventure. the way no ones just moved out of hyrule already just make a bridge and leave!!!! place keeps getting overrun!!! leave!!!!!!!!

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[yuukirita]

Here we have the BOARD ALLMIGHTY! Which regroups all of the delicious AUs you may encounter on this blog C:

Some of them have fics in the works by me. Some don't. The ones above do. Those bellow don't

Some of these aren't original- none of them are actually. But at least you have a guide to look to when I post something and you wonder 'what is this about?'

It's mostly cute stuff- and kind of headcanons. Theres a few people that have started their own versions of these AUs inspired by my art/headcanons... And that kind of things is encouraged! Create away! (just pin me if it is inspired by me- I wanna see all of it)

There are other variations of Bee you might see on this blog- But they aren't really AUs- at least not like the ones on this post. It could be art for a fic i'm writing or fanart of someone Else's AU like the examples bellow.

Fic art for "A Bee See Dee" and "A Bee's Last Sound" on AO3

Bee's design varies according to the story he's in- If it's not from an au then it'll be in the tags! I try to tag the fic name if I want to draw a lot of art for it.

Oh and- example of art from someone else's Au. The Bodyguard!B-127 Au from @whalemleck that I LOVE. (someday I'll write something with it...)

Of course I don't draw JUST B-127. You'll find a lot more other Cybertronians here. And my art style changes depending on the days... But I hope this post will Help some of you keep up with the AUs :D I'll update this post when needed.

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 1:

----

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

Dark pupils watched from the ceiling, their gaze affixed upon you. You sighed, deciding to ignore its presence.

An aggravated chitter interrupted you. Pausing, you watched as a little green bird jumped out of the bat’s shadow. It paced towards you, making a small leap to land on your outstretched finger. You smiled, extending your hand to pet the top of its head. The bird took a moment to consider the moment, head tilting with its beak outstretched as if it intended to bite you. It seemed to decide on sparing your finger, allowing you to give the bird some pets on the head.

However, it was time to resume your work. You turned back to your computer, a dismissal. The bird didn't like that. A quick flash, and the bird tittered about on your keyboard, messing up your setup.

“Robin!” You snap, reaching out as if to push the bird away.

You sighed. You disliked calling the bird Robin. It was the correct species, despite the bird being green, so it made sense to use the name. But.. you hated the connection it created between your soul bonded animals and the vigilantes of the city. Unfortunately, the bird didn't answer to any other name. You've tried.

The other robins were so much more agreeable than this newer one. Well, not that you could even call those three robin anymore. The newer robin was very possessive of the name, and you'd rather not have to search your room for more stray feathers that flew off in their next fight. Your soul animals were such a pain.

The flutter of wings distracts you from your musings. You look up, finding the very bat you had been so cautiously avoiding earlier descend onto your desk. The bat chirped a little, with the robin occasionally replying back with chirps of its own. They were having their own conversation.

You decided you were owed a break already, so you gave up on your dreams of getting work done in lieu of watching the ongoing conversation. It was rare for soul animals to talk. They didn't need to. Due to the nature of a soul bond, soul animals act on the innermost feelings of the soul they represent. The bond connects souls, so soul animals, which are a manifestation of the bond, are already intune with their soulmates.

The only instance in which soul animals did tend to talk, was if the soulmates themselves were talking.

Robin chittured with a snap, the bat in return giving a controlled chirr.

Oooh. You thought to yourself. This sounds like an argument. You wondered what it was about. Maybe Robin pecked one too many victims, or caused a mess again.

Ah. You were thinking of your bonded as just animals again. To be fair, it was fairly easy. The only things you knew of your soulmates were because of how the animals acted. Anything else, and you were in the dark. That's how you wanted to think, anyway.

Maybe while they were distracted… You scoot back a little in your chair, until you figure you’re out of their line of sight. You make for the door, tipping out of your seat as quietly as you can. You're almost out the door when a weight settles itself on your head.

You sigh.

“Robin. Get off me, please.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the presence doesn't budge. Obliging, you reach up to your head, feeling the bird’s little feet jump onto your hand. Bringing Robin to eye level, you stare at it, unimpressed.

A nearby bat of wings draws you out of your faceoff. Guess sneaking out on your own was too much to ask for, as always.

“Ughhh.” You whine. Your soulmates were going to push you into complete isolation at this rate.

“Fine. You two already know the drill.”

You point at the Bat. “You can never follow me, I mean it. A bat is way too ominous of a soul animal to be flying around. It's just asking for trouble.”

The Bat remains silent, watching. Always, watching. You really hated it sometimes.

In all honesty, a robin wasn't too great of a soul animal to have with you in Gotham either. But your robins came in odd colours, so people didn't always clock that the bird was actually a robin. Sometimes you said that your soul animal was a greenfinch or a swallow. It tended to work, as long as no one looked twice.

A bat was much harder to hide.

“So..”. You give up, gesturing to your bag. “Just get in already, I'll make the trip quick.” You always had to make any outings short with this particular robin. If you spent too long with someone it got snippy. Very, snippy.

The other three robins tended to be a bit more accommodating. Well, not by much.

Robin glides into your bag, a movement of precision and grace. Not for the first time, you wonder what your bonded was like in person.

Deciding to dismiss the thought, you unlatch your door, heading out.

Just another day, with your soulmates.

~ ~ ~ ~

Your parents told you about your birth. You were born to a bat watching your window. It wasn't such a red flag, at first. The maternity ward was flush with newborn babes, so your parents figured that the bat was bound to another child. It was what they had hoped for, anyway.

Plenty of children weren't born with soulbonds. It wasn't a concern. They could be the elder of a bond. Or, they could have a delayed bond. They weren't concerned.

But… then it followed you home. Your parents settled you down, snug in your crib. When they next came to check up upon you, it was there. Perched upon the crib, watching you. When they next blinked, it was gone.

The very next day, your parents awoke to the Bat watching you again. But this time, a smaller bird was snuggled to your sleeping face. It clung to you all day, refusing to disappear when they appeared like the Bat did. It was… very mouthy.

They had assumed this to be a good development, everyone knew The Night worked alone. They were happy.

They were happy, even when another robin appeared the subsequent day. A scruffy one, snappy. Its feathers were still growing out. Young.

Perhaps they should have expected then, that the dawn the next new day would bring another little bird to your crib. The youngest one, a nestling still developing pin feathers. Despite its age, it held a keen gaze at them.

There weren't any more animals that appeared after that. So they hid any evidence of the Bat, and instead allowed you to grow up freely with your three birds.

The Bat was evidently the oldest in your soulbond. It was protective, almost parental, in its movements. It had a sixth sense for when you were in any danger, always emerging from the shadows with perfect timing. If a bat wasn't such a symbolic image in Gotham, you'd probably be more appreciative of its efforts.

The eldest bird was silly, performing aerial tricks and jumps that always brightened your day. It was keen, focusing on you whenever you felt down. It had the uncanny ability to appear whenever you were under the weather. When you said the word robin, it snapped to attention.

You decided to call it Robin.

The second bird was protective. It wasn't as loud as the eldest, but there was a spark of kindness in its gaze. Originally the bird was a lot rougher, but it started to calm down a few years in. Became stable. It always seemed to find you when you got stuck on homework, or landed on your shoulder whenever you flipped through a book.

The third bird was small. You assumed it was only a year or two older than you, due to how the bird’s feathers grew in. It wasn't as affectionate as the other two. Solitary, it often lingered in the shade. It watched you. It watched your other soul animals too, when they appeared. It seemed a little tired. It took you a bit, but eventually you realised it was lonely. After that, you always had a comforting word.

That is… until the Batman gained a partner. A boy decked out in green and yellow, the same feathers on your eldest bird. The vigilante called itself Robin.

As the duo gained notoriety, you were hidden more and more. There was danger in soulbonds, and nothing was more dangerous than vigilantes.

Robin became Nightwing. Your eldest bird grew in blue feathers. The bird stopped responding to its name. A new boy became Robin. You spotted green and yellow feathers growing in on your second bird. It started answering to Robin.

You knew who your soulmates were. After that, it was no secret. Not to you, not to your parents.

Your parents weren't happy anymore. But you were safe. They could be content with that. They considered reaching out. The evidence was obvious, they knew it, and you knew it. Maybe you could be even safer, if the Batman knew where you were.

And then you watched your Robin die.

The little bird had been stuck to you recently, seeming to be in an argument with the Bat. When in conflict, soul animals gravitated to those they weren't in disparity with, and this was nothing unfamiliar to you.

You had been stroking the little bird, as it rested on your lap. But then it jumped. It started shaking. It started crying. Bleeding.

You panicked. You tried to comfort it, to whisper caring words, to give a reassuring touch. You were young, you didn't know what to do. There was nothing you could do.

When a soulmate dies, the soul animal dies too.

The little Robin died, crying in your lap.

You had never looked at vigilantes the same way again.

There was no point in denial, not after that. Your bat became the Bat, the eldest robin named Wing. A few days later, your youngest soul animal developed new feathers. Green… and red. You didn't have a name for the bird, but you suspected you would soon.

You took a week off school.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Please be quiet, this time.” You muttered down to the green bird resting in your bag. It started at you with a condescending gaze. Ugh. Younger soulmates.

You'd sigh, but you've been doing that far too much lately as is.

Time to get this over with.

You enter the supermarket, one of your very few weekly outings. You start perusing the shelves, picking out what was in your list. As you're walking though, you hear a frustrated bark. You peak out from the shelves, spotting a lone woman tugging a leashed dog along.

Ah. You knew what this was. Everyone did. The other shoppers in the store paused too, staring at what was going on.

It was a rejected bond. When feelings between single soulbonded individuals become too bitter, the soul animal dissipates. Well, it was supposed to, and then reappear when feelings improve. But if the animal was constrained in some manner, then the animal can't disappear and is forced to remain in a physical form.

Judging from the leash on the dog’s neck, this was that same scenario. It was rather bold of the woman to bring the soul animal out in public if it was rejecting her like this. Almost brave.

Gothamites rarely helped each other, but things became a little sensitive with soul animals. You wouldn't be too surprised if there wasn't at least one attempt to free the dog today. It certainly caught attention. It could even catch.. vigilante attention.

You frowned. It was a shame to cut one of your few outings short. Sometimes there was no alternative though. You certainly wouldn't be sticking around.

You jumped at the sound of a shriek, eyes darting down to your bag where Robin rested. Robin glared venomously at your shoulder, and you glanced at it.

Your shoulder where… Ah. That would do it. Your shoulder where Red rested. Your third robin. You felt like crying. Why, why this pair?

You didn't even feel the bird as it appeared. Was that a testament to Red's stealth or your lacking observational skills?

Robin glared daggers at Red, practically hissing. You didn't even know birds could hiss. Red paid him no mind, instead looking very settled on your shoulder. The bird even snuggled your face a little. What a smug guy.

Another bark caught your attention. You glanced forward, remembering the scene. Your soul animal’s squabbling would draw too much attention. If any of the vigilantes were watching, you'd be in trouble. One robin soul animal was potentially excusable. But two? That would get you caught.

You tried to shush the two, a small signal for them to knock it off. Naturally, because it was these two, they ignored you. You groaned. This was far too public.

You grabbed Red, snatching him off your shoulder as gently as you could. Placing him gently into your shoulder bag, you tried your best to pretend the resulting screech from Robin wasn’t noticeable. The flap of your bag was closed, so no one could spot them… They could certainly hear if they came close enough though.

Time to leave. You paid for what you picked up and dashed out. The sight of rejected soulmates was generally considered disturbing, so anyone watching could just attribute your rush to that.

Were you paranoid?

Mayhaps a little.

You've justified it by the fact that you're probably soulmates with Batman and 4 robins, so paranoia is practically a requirement for your soul.

____

Hello ^ ^ welcome to my soulmate au! I do hope you enjoyed.

If you have any questions about the au, please feel free to reach out :D

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg god can you please do a forced marriage au. Where reader is being weirdly clingy(Ik it doesn’t really fit her vibe) and rafe’s weirded out. And she kisses him unexpectedly and he’s so confused.

Drunk kisses || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: fluffy fic which ik all of you have been wanting in this au so u are welcome ;)

Warnings: none really just fluff

Word count: 2,380

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe barely glanced up from his laptop when the front doorbell rang. The sharp sound cut through the quiet of the house, but he quickly resumed typing, thinking nothing of it at first. It rang again, more insistently this time, drawing his attention. He frowned, closing his laptop and glancing toward the hallway.

"Anita?" he called out, expecting the familiar shuffle of the housekeeper’s footsteps. But silence greeted him in return. He checked his watch—it was past midnight. Of course, everyone had gone home by now.

With a frustrated sigh, Rafe stood and headed toward the foyer, the steady ringing making him wonder who could possibly be at their door at such an ungodly hour. He glanced at the small display screen by the entrance, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. You were slumped against your sister, who looked like she was struggling to hold you upright. Rafe’s confusion deepened as he swung open the door.

Before he could say anything, you staggered forward, collapsing right into his arms. Charlotte let out a startled gasp, covering her mouth in shock as Rafe instinctively caught you, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, trying to process what was happening. You looked up at him with a lazy, drunken smile, the scent of alcohol heavy on your breath.

The sight of you—usually so composed and poised—now giggling like a carefree girl was jarring. “Oh, look, Lottie! It’s my husband. My gorgeous husb—” you slurred, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you tried to blow a strand of hair away from your face. But before you could finish, Rafe cut you off, his annoyance already simmering beneath the surface.

"How much did you let her drink?" he snapped, turning his icy blue gaze toward Charlotte. There was disbelief in his voice, a hint of something protective and yet frustrated. You had been out of control before, but never like this. “I—I tried,” Charlotte stammered, her face flushed with guilt. “I gave her something else—”

“What? More alcohol?” Rafe’s tone was sharp, and Charlotte flinched under his harsh words. He couldn’t believe it. You were usually guarded, careful—this wasn’t like you at all. Rafe glanced down at you again, a mixture of irritation and concern flashing across his face as you leaned further into him, still smiling like the world was spinning too slowly for you.

"We're supposed to have breakfast with your parents tomorrow," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw clenched, the thought of having to face them with you like this filling him with dread. As much as he loathed the idea of those formal meals, they mattered in your world—the perfect image you were both supposed to maintain.

Rafe struggled to keep you upright, your legs barely cooperating as you leaned heavily against him, still giggling softly. His frustration flared again, and he shot a sharp glance at Charlotte, who stood frozen in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. “How the hell did this even happen?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

Charlotte hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “She… she just kept ordering more drinks. I tried to stop her, I swear, but she insisted. And, well, you know how stubborn she can get.” Rafe let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I know." He looked down at you as you murmured something incoherent, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

"And you didn’t think to call me? Or at least cut her off?” “I—” Charlotte started but quickly swallowed her words when Rafe’s icy gaze met hers again. "I thought she'd sober up. I didn’t want to make a scene… and she kept saying she was fine." "Clearly, she’s not fine," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp as he adjusted his grip on you, trying to stop you from slipping further down his side.

“You should’ve stopped her. God, Charlotte, you know we have that damn breakfast tomorrow.” Charlotte’s eyes widened as if realising the gravity of the situation all over again. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand…” Rafe clenched his jaw, his patience thinning with each passing second. “Well, it did. And now I have to deal with this.” He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he hoisted you up a little higher.

“Mmm… Rafe," you mumbled softly, your head lolling against his chest. “You're always so serious.” Your words slurred together, and you let out another soft laugh, as if this entire situation was some kind of joke. Rafe's brow furrowed, his annoyance tempered for a moment by the sight of you so completely out of character. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this—carefree, uninhibited, and honestly, it unnerved him.

“You should go home, Charlotte,” Rafe finally said, his voice quieter now but still holding that authoritative edge. “I’ll take care of her.” Your sister looked hesitant, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. "Are you sure? I can help—" "No, just go. You've done enough." His tone left no room for argument, and Charlotte sighed in defeat, giving him a small nod before stepping back toward the door.

“I really am sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice laced with guilt. She cast one last glance at you, who was now resting your head against Rafe’s chest, your arms loosely draped around his neck. Rafe didn’t respond, his attention now fully on you as Charlotte finally made her exit.

The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly lit foyer. You stirred in his arms, blinking up at him with bleary eyes, the remnants of your smile still lingering. “You always look so serious, Rafe,” you whispered, your words thick with exhaustion. “Why can’t you just… relax?” Rafe sighed deeply, his frustration mixing with an odd sense of helplessness.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this—torn between annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Because someone has to be," he muttered, more to himself than to you. You giggled again, leaning your forehead against his chest. “Maybe I should be serious too, then. Like you. So we can both be… boring together.” You laughed softly at your own words, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest.

Rafe’s lips twitched again, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usually stoic expression. You were a mess, slurring your words and giggling like a child, but in the soft, dim glow of the foyer, you looked undeniably beautiful. Strands of hair framed your face in a way that made you seem even more delicate, your skin glowing faintly under the soft lighting.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself captivated by how vulnerable and unguarded you appeared—so different from the strong-willed woman he was used to. But he quickly shook the thought away, forcing himself to stay focused. This was not the time to get caught up in sentiment. “You’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, though still touched with that same gentleness that had snuck in earlier.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed before you say something else you’ll regret.” His eyes lingered on your face, watching as your expression shifted from amusement to a peaceful kind of daze. The way you leaned further into him, trusting him completely in your intoxicated state, stirred something unexpected within him—an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and tenderness.

It unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, convincing himself it was just the responsibility of the moment. You hummed softly, your eyes fluttering closed, a contented sigh slipping past your lips. “Mmm… my gorgeous husband, taking care of me,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying a playful edge that made Rafe’s heart beat a little faster.

Even drunk, you were still testing him, still finding a way to get under his skin. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real malice behind it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m your gorgeous husband,” he muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused as he tightened his grip on you, making sure you were secure in his arms. “Let’s just focus on getting you upstairs in one piece.”

You chuckled softly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest, your breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. “Always so serious…” you mumbled, your voice trailing off as sleep began to claim you. Rafe glanced down at you again, shaking his head slightly. Even in this state, you still managed to get to him. He started moving toward the stairs, his steps careful as he balanced your weight against his own.

Rafe opened the door to your shared room, his movements steady as he guided you into the closet. “Here, you should get changed into something more comfortable,” he murmured, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized one you often stole when you didn’t want to bother with your own clothes. He handed it to you, watching as your tired gaze shifted toward the shirt before flickering back to him.

“Can… can you help me take my dress off?” you muttered, barely audible, your voice tinged with exhaustion and the alcohol that still clouded your thoughts. You gave him those wide, pleading doe eyes that always managed to catch him off guard. Rafe inhaled sharply but quickly nodded. He’d seen you like this before—unguarded, your skin bare, but it never failed to stir something in him.

It wasn’t the sight of your skin that unsettled him; he was used to that. Over time, in this strange forced marriage, he’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of shared space, of your body in close proximity. It was the trust you displayed, the way you asked for his help now, that threw him off balance. You turned around, shifting your hair to one side, exposing the zipper of your dress.

Rafe reached for it, fingers grazing your back as he slowly pulled the zipper down, the fabric sliding easily off your shoulders. His eyes briefly flickered to the dress, a slight frown on his face—it was shorter than he liked, something he wasn’t thrilled about you wearing out. But now, as you stepped out of it, all he could think about was how fragile you looked.

You grabbed the shirt from his hands and pulled it over your head, the soft cotton falling past your thighs as you kicked off your heels with a relieved sigh. Rafe watched you for a moment longer before quietly guiding you toward the bathroom. He rummaged through the drawer, pulling out your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it before handing it to you. You brushed your teeth lazily, your movements growing slower as your eyelids drooped, exhaustion settling in.

Rafe stood by, waiting until you were done before helping you back to the bed. Just as your body sank into the soft sheets, ready to drift off into sleep, he lightly patted your cheek, keeping you from completely fading. "Uh-uh, gotta get that makeup off, or you'll throw a fit tomorrow morning," Rafe teased, reaching for the wipes on your vanity. You groaned in protest, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Rafe retorted, walking back over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He began gently wiping the makeup from your face, his touch careful and methodical. He had done this before, knew the routine, and though the task was mundane, there was an unspoken closeness in these moments that neither of you ever acknowledged.

He returned to the bed, sitting beside you as he carefully wiped away the layers of makeup. His touch was gentle, more considerate than you expected, his brow furrowed in concentration as he made sure to remove every trace. You gazed up at him through heavy lids, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin and the softness of his gestures.

When he was done, he moved to pull away, but your fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him. Rafe looked at you, confusion briefly crossing his face, but the intensity in your gaze softened him. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice tender, vulnerable in a way it rarely was. Your eyes drifted to his lips, your heart picking up speed as the moment stretched between you.

Rafe swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he nodded, his voice hushed. “Of course.” Without another word, you gently pulled him closer, closing the space between you. Your lips met his in a slow, tentative kiss—an action that felt more like a quiet confession than anything else. Rafe stiffened at first, but then his lips moved against yours, soft yet firm, as though the weight of the night had brought you both to this point.

But he pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he wasn’t even sure of. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, pulling the sheets up to tuck you in. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a second longer than usual before he stood, leaving the room without another glance.

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as you slowly lifted your head from the pillow, a dull throb of pain radiating through your temples. You winced, squinting against the brightness as the events of the previous night came flooding back—Charlotte, the drinks, Rafe helping you to bed, and… the kiss.

You stirred slightly, feeling the sheets move beside you. Glancing over, you saw Rafe’s sleeping form, his features relaxed. He lay facing you, still half-asleep, though he must have sensed your movement because he mumbled groggily, “On your bedside table.”

You turned, spotting the glass of water and the medicine waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pounding in your head. Even when his words were rough, his actions showed a softness you were beginning to see more often.

You reached for the water and pills, the gesture not lost on you. As you downed the water, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, wondering if, beneath all the tension and complications between you, something deeper had started to bloom.

[fushitoru]

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers, 

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

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@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ I WANNA SHOW YOU OFF ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: some other streamer's been buying you gifts, but satoru knows he can spoil you better.

contents: fem!reader. kinda sorta clingy!gojo. more toji slander hehe. inumaki and megumi gang up on gojo. like always. oh also you guys kiss on camera! tagging @sutorus and @yunymphs ꨄ︎

author's note: ughhh he's such a pretty pathetic loser i wanna shake him silly :(

"oh, satoru, someone sent me another gift!" you say with a smile, beckoning him over to look. satoru hops off his chair and looks over at your computer screen, resting his chin on the top of your head. "look, it's the skin i said i wanted! i wonder who sent it to me, huh..."

satoru shrugs and dips his head to kiss the side of your face. "coulda just asked me for it, y'know," he mutters, eyeing the username that had apparently sent you the gift.

you ignore him and gesture at the time on the top-right corner of your screen. "isn't your stream starting in a couple minutes?" you ask, tilting your head. satoru nods and pulls away, shaking his white hair out of his eyes before walking back over to his monitor. and just a minute or two later, he's live and chatting with his early viewers.

"hey, suguru," he says with a grin, waving at the screen when his close friend joins. "you wanna join my team for today? the match's gonna start in a couple minutes."

suguru-geto: yea sure one sec

satoru spins around in his chair a couple times, and he blows a kiss at you every time his chair faces your direction. and every time, you humor him and catch his kisses. eventually, he stops spinning around in circles and starts actually interacting with his viewers.

inumaki: i hate gojo's streams

inumaki: you just stare at your gf for half of them

inumaki has been kicked from the stream by satoru-gojo.

"anyways. suguru, you ready yet?" satoru says with a grin. suguru replies with a thumbs-down in the chat, and satoru groans impatiently. "what are you even doing that's takin' you so long?"

suguru-geto: taking care of something

"whatever," satoru grumbles, slouching down in his chair and spinning around one more time. "hey, chat, y'wanna know a funny story? i could use your help on it too."

the comments explode with various forms of affirmation, and satoru turns his head and winks at you. "so, lately, some random account's been sending my girlfriend everythin' she could ever want. skins, coins, you name it. what does that mean?"

he ruffles his hair with one hand and drums his fingertips on his desk with the other, surveying the replies from underneath his long, white eyelashes.

sho-ko: some guy wants her sooo bad

yuuji-itadori: maybe the person's just being nice! :)

satoru makes a face at shoko's comments and scowls, sitting up and leaning closer to the screen. "i dunno if the guy who's sending my girlfriend gifts is here right now, but if you are, you better not think that you have a chance with her. 'cause you don't!"

you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your face at satoru's indignant words, and when he turns to you, you just can't help but laugh. he's so sweet, even and especially when he does his best to gatekeep you. but ever since he brought you onto his stream for the first time, you've been an instant fan-favorite, so he can only hide you for so long.

satoru scrunches up his face at you childishly, and you draw a heart in the air right back at him. it makes him smile ruefully, and his eyes light up when you blow a kiss at him. he turns back to his screen determinedly and raises an eyebrow at the latest comment.

sho-ko: do u have the guy's username? cus you can find out who it is that way

"oh, it's... hard to say. rio-zuku?" satoru tries, squinting his eyes. "i don't know, whatever. you guys know him?"

megumi-fushiguro: dyou mean ryosuku? i hate him

yuuji-itadori: oh i don't like him either :( hes mean

satoru scoffs and puts his feet up on his desk, rolling his cerulean eyes. "he can't be more famous than me, so whatever."

megumi-fushiguro: he gets 100k views per stream

"well, he can't be a better gamer than me," satoru replies dismissively, waving his hand.

kugi-saki: didn't he win the val championship last year?

"but i bet i'm hotter!"

toji-fushiguro: you wish

"fuck you, toji," satoru huffs indignantly. "well, how haven't i heard of this guy? if he's so famous and so hot, huh?" ignoring your snickers, satoru switches to another tab and types in the username. but when he clicks on the first link, nothing shows up. it's a blank profile, and satoru's jaw dropped.

"how the fuck am i blocked?!" he whines, flopping his head back on the headrest of his seat and pretending to faint. the chat floods with a thousand expressions of laughter, and you hop off your seat to go sit on the desk of satoru's desk, taking care to stay out of sight of his camera.

satoru opens one eye and squints it at you, lips forming a childish pout. he reaches out and twines his fingers with yours, completely ignoring his exploding comment section. you squeeze his hand gently and reach over his keyboard, hitting a key to mute his microphone.

"i can block him if you want," you offer, wrapping your other hand around satoru's. "and, for what it's worth, i think you're prettier than him."

satoru grins smugly at that, eyes softening more and more the longer they focus on you. "m'kay, thanks... wait, how do you know what he looks like?" he asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes playfully.

"'cause i looked him up this morning."

your boyfriend sighs dramatically and pretends to faint again. when he reopens his eyes, there's a slightly new look in his eyes as he mumbles, "i wish people would stop hitting on you."

you reach out and touch his chin, forgetting that people on his stream could probably see your hand even if you two were on mute. "oh, i get that a lot," you tease, pinching his cheek affectionately. "but, honestly, you're the only one i wanna be with. even if that other guy buys me everything i could ever want, he's still not you."

satoru kisses the inside of your hand, eyes still fixed on you. "you do know that i'd buy you all of that and more if you asked, right?"

"i know. and i'd love you even if you were as broke as toji."

your side comment makes satoru throw his head back in laughter, and he shakes his head as a wide smile grows across his face. he pushes his chair closer to the desk and tilts his head up, minty taste fresh on his mouth as he smiles against your lips.

a bashful giggle slips past your lips as satoru kisses you again and again. from the corner of your eye, you can see that the two of you are just barely off-camera—in fact, anyone who's watching the stream can tell that the two of you are kissing, but you're still just out of sight.

"d'you want the new battle pass?" satoru mumbles against your lips, caressing the side of your face. you nod and grin, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"only you would talk about a battle pass while you're kissi—" satoru cuts you off with another kiss, stopping you from finishing your sentence.

"uh uh, shut up and let me kiss you. you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen n' i wanna enjoy you," satoru says plainly, gripping your chin in between his thumb and index finger. he tugs your lips on his again, and when he finally pulls away, he turns back to his screen and sticks out his tongue.

satoru unmutes himself and smiles smugly at the camera, face flushed pink from the way you had kissed him back. "well, at least that asshole doesn't have my pretty girlfriend, and he never fuckin' will."

yuuji-itadori: aw you two are so cute :)

megumi-fushiguro: i miss the single gojo

inumaki: im back whatd i miss???

inumaki: oh nvm im leaving again

[moonstruckme]

hi lovie!! i was wondering if i could request a poly marauders band au x reader smut (preferably fem, but gn is also fine!!) where james, sirius, and remus are rockstars and they have a gf who is very girly with like the pinks and mini skirts and bows y’know. i literally have no plot, just cute gf and poly marauders band au smut LOL. sorry if this sucks, but i am CRAVING more poly marauders band au fics on here so bad. thank so much if u do write it!! xoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: smut mdni, fingering, praise, some voyerism

rockstar!marauders x coquette!reader ♡ 894 words

There aren’t very many doors that lock backstage. So while a lot of the time dating rockstars means fancy restaurants and first class flights and giant, plush hotel beds, sometimes it means being finger-fucked in a bathroom stall for lack of better options. 

“Angel,” James laughs, nose smushed against your cheek, “you know I love your sounds, but you’re going to have to be quieter than that.” 

You stifle a moan that turns into a whine. You’re honestly not sure how much of the work of keeping you upright is being done by your legs at this point, and how much is being done by James’ fingers buried in your cunt. You’re tugging anxiously on the curls at his nape, your own neck arching as you’re razed from within. 

James always has an excess of energy before shows. Lately, he’s found a new favorite way of working it off. Last week he’d dragged Remus into a storage closet, then last night Sirius had emerged from the boys’ dressing room looking even more rock-and-roll than usual, and tonight he’d plied you with kisses until the next thing you knew a stall door was being locked behind you and your panties were being pushed aside under your skirt. 

You suppress a moan as his thick fingers plunge deeper into your cunt, biting down on your bottom lip. Your fingers drive into his shoulders. 

James pushes your cardigan off your shoulder with his free hand, drawing the strap of your tank top down with it. “What do you need this for, hm?” 

“It’s always cold in here,” you manage. His hand finds your breast, squeezing the way he knows how. You push your forehead into his, and James smiles, giving you a conciliatory kiss. 

“Are you cold now?” 

You shake your head against his. He laughs, kissing you again. 

“Good.” You’re sure he’s the only thing keeping you up now, his hand under your skirt and your back propped against the wall. “Least I’m good for something, huh? I can keep my girl warm.” 

You have every intention of telling him he’s good for much more than that, as soon as you can find the words. You hear the bathroom door open before you get the chance. 

You go instantly quiet, covering your mouth with a hand and trying to steady your breathing, but James’ fingers keep moving in and out of you all the same. 

“James?” Remus calls. “You in here?” 

You sag with relief. 

“Yeah,” James says back. “S’it just you?” 

“Why?” Sirius’ voice rings with faux hurt. “Do you not want to see me?” 

“Just making sure.” James reaches over, unlocking your stall. 

“The stage manager’s got his knickers in a twist,” Sirius says as he opens the door. “He thinks you’ve run—oh. Hi, gorgeous.” 

You hide your face in James’ neck. You hear Remus chuckle as James rubs your back, half soothing you and half wrecking you as his fingers spread inside you. You make a stymied keening sound. 

“Do I need to go find him?” James asks. 

“No, probably not.” Sirius’ interest is palpable. You open your eyes to peek over James’ shoulder, and a wicked grin tilts his lips. “He seems like he’s just uptight. Having a good time, babydoll?” 

You imagine it’s a rhetorical question, but James’ fingers work another pleady whimper out of you anyway. Sirius’ eyes light, and Remus comes closer, kissing your bare shoulder. 

“Are you helping Jamie out, lovely girl?” 

“Think it’s the other way around,” you pant. James laughs. 

“No, make no mistake,” Sirius shoots you a wink, “this is one hundred percent selfish of him.” 

“‘nd I appreciate it.” James smears a kiss over your lips. “I would’ve liked to eat her out, but there wasn’t anywhere to put her down.” 

“I am not lying on the bathroom floor,” you say again, just in case he’s getting any ideas. It doesn’t sound very authoritative when your voice wobbles at the end of it, your orgasm looming. 

Remus coos, sensing your ascent. “You’ve got it,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again. “You look so pretty all worked open like this. Doesn’t she look pretty, Sirius?” 

Sirius hums, giving you an appreciative up-down. “Yeah, you really ought to have known this would happen when you put on that skirt, sweet thing.” 

James grunts his agreement, and then you’re tipping over the edge. Remus helps keep you from slipping down to the bathroom floor as James brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. 

“There you are, good girl. That felt good, didn’t it, dove? Jamie?” 

“Fuck yeah,” James confirms. When your focus comes back to you, you can see the large, insistent bulge in his pants. 

“Here,” you mumble, reaching for his zipper. You start to drop to your knees, but Remus catches you, urging you back up. 

“I’ve got it, lovely,” he assures you. “So long as you don’t mind. That way Sirius can fix your hair before we have to go out.” 

You frown. “My hair?” You touch the back. It appears you’d lost track of things while you were being driven into the bathroom wall. Your bow is crumpled, your hair tangled around it. “Shit, how bad is it?” 

James offers you a half-sheepish grin. 

“It’s fine, baby.” Sirius takes you by the hand, leading you towards the mirror. “It’s rock and roll.”

[erinwantstowrite]

i never posted these Ben AU drawings here and i've seen a few asks wondering about it so... here's a little synopsis i wrote for myself as a potential description later when I post it (because i don't wanna spoil it):

"There's a new boy in Damian's class. He's charming, if it bit awkward. He's just as clever as he is smart mouthed, and he's popular with their classmates. What's worse is that Benjamin Fitzpatrick lives next door in the old Drake Manor and Damian's family are convinced that Ben could be a good friend of his one day. Like that would ever happen.

Luckily for Damian, they're all more focused on the fact that there are two new vigilantes in Gotham acting like they own the place.

Unluckily, everything goes to shit when Ben starts acting strange and sickly, Spider-Man disappears just when they were getting close to him, and Damian learns that Ben's real name might not actually be Ben. Did he mention that Ben might be his older brother's clone?"

[soapcloth]

Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint

not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.

You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?

Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.

“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”

“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”

The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”

“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.

“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.

Wrong move.

Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”

You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.

John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”

You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“

“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.

He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”