#you wouldn’t believe the laugh i just let out

[jupiterpilgrim]

Adding up

Nakamura Kazuha x Huh Yunjin x Male Reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

You push the door open, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders. The apartment smells faintly of jasmine—Kazuha’s favorite candle—and something savory, like she tried to cook but gave up halfway. You kick off your shoes, the floor cool under your socks, and glance over at her. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. No makeup, just her. Beautiful, even when she’s stressed.

You catch bits of the conversation as you head to the bathroom. “No, you can’t just—no, listen to me—” Kazuha’s voice is low, tense, the kind of tone she uses when she’s trying to be calm but is clearly pissed. You close the bathroom door behind you, the shower drowning out the rest. The hot water helps, washing away the sweat and the stale beer smell from the bar. You change into sweats and a t-shirt, your stomach growling as you head to the kitchen.

Kazuha’s off the phone by now, sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen like it owes her money. You grab a bag of chips from the cupboard, ripping it open with your teeth. “Who was that?” you ask, even though you already know.

“Yunjin,” she says, her voice flat. She picks at a loose thread on the couch cushion, not looking at you. “Her and that idiot got into it again. Big surprise.”

You lean against the counter, crunching on a chip. “They’ve been fighting a lot lately, huh?”

Kazuha nods, her brows furrowed. “It’s bad this time. Like, bad bad. She's talking about taking a break,” She trails off, shaking her head. “But you know how she is. She’ll say she’s done, then go right back to him like nothing happened.”

You do know. Yunjin’s always been like that—fiery, impulsive, but with a soft spot for people who don’t deserve her. Kazuha’s the opposite. Steady, grounded, the kind of person who’d give you the shirt off her back but wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit. It’s why they work as friends, even though Kazuha’s technically the younger one. She’s always been the one to pick up the pieces when Yunjin’s world falls apart.

You walk over to the couch, sitting down beside her. She leans into you automatically, her head resting on your shoulder. You wrap an arm around her, your fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm. “She’ll figure it out,” you say, even though you’re not sure if you believe it. “She’s tough. She just needs time.”

Kazuha sighs, her breath warm against your neck. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this. She deserves better, you know?”

You nod, kissing the top of her head. “She does. But hey, don’t let it ruin tomorrow, okay? We’ve got plans. Two years, babe. That’s a big deal.”

That gets a small smile out of her. She tilts her head up to look at you, her dark eyes softening. “Two years,” she repeats, like she’s testing the words. “You’re right. I’m not letting anything mess that up.”

You grin, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “Damn right you’re not. I’ve got reservations at that place you’ve been obsessing over. The one with the fancy sushi.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, the worry in her eyes fades. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” you say, laughing when she swats at your arm. You pull her closer, the two of you sitting there in comfortable silence.

For now, at least, everything feels okay.

—

The restaurant is one of those places that feels like it’s straight out of a magazine—dim lighting, sleek wooden tables, and a vibe that screams expensive. Kazuha’s eyes light up as soon as you walk in, her hand squeezing yours like she’s trying to contain her excitement. She’s been talking about this place for weeks, sending you Instagram posts of their sushi platters and rambling about how they source their fish directly from some market in Tokyo. You don’t really get it, but you love how passionate she gets about stuff like this. It’s one of the million things that make her, well, her.

The hostess leads you to your table, and Kazuha practically bounces into her seat. She’s wearing this dress you’ve never seen before—black, fitted, with these tiny silver details that catch the light every time she moves. Her hair’s down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she’s got just enough makeup to make her look like she’s glowing. You can’t help but stare a little. Two years in, and she still takes your breath away.

“You’re staring,” she says, smirking as she picks up the menu.

“Can’t help it,” you shoot back, grinning. “You look incredible.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she’s pleased. The waiter comes by, and Kazuha orders for both of you, her voice confident as she rattles off dish names you can’t even pronounce. You don’t mind. You trust her taste.

The food comes out in waves—sushi, sashimi, some kind of soup that smells like heaven. Kazuha’s in her element, explaining each dish to you like she’s a tour guide. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the way her face lights up when she talks. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.

But then her phone buzzes. Again. And again. Each time, she glances at it, her smile faltering for a second before she forces it back. You know it’s Yunjin. It’s always Yunjin. Part of you wants to say something, to tell her to put the damn phone away and just be here with you, but you bite your tongue. You know how much she worries about her. How much she cares. Deep down you feel the same way too. So you let it slide, even though it bugs you.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, reaching across the table to take your hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. Seriously. I’m so happy right now.”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you forget about the phone. “Of course,” you say, squeezing her hand. “You deserve it.”

She smiles, but there’s something off about it. Something tired.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” she says quickly, too quickly. “Just… a lot going on, you know? But I’m fine. Really.” She forces a laugh, changing the subject to some story about her college days. You let her, even though you know she’s deflecting. You’ve learned when to push and when to let her be.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, the two of you falling into easy conversation. By the time you leave, you’re both stuffed and satisfied, the kind of full that makes you want to curl up on the couch and do nothing for the rest of the night. The walk home is quiet, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Kazuha links her arm with yours, leaning into you as you walk. It’s moments like these that remind you why you fell for her in the first place. She’s your person. And no matter what’s going on with Yunjin, or work, or anything else, you know you’ll always have this.

—

The apartment feels different when you step inside, maybe it’s the wine buzzing in your veins, or the way Kazuha’s laughter spills out a little louder, a little freer, as you kick the door shut behind you. She toes off her heels by the entryway, wobbling slightly, and you catch her elbow. “Careful,” you say, grinning.

“Shut up,” she fires back, but there’s no heat in it. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is loose, unguarded. You follow her into the kitchen, where she hops up onto the counter, legs swinging. The bottle of red you’d been saving sits on the shelf, and you grab it, along with two mismatched glasses. “Classy,” she snorts, watching you pour.

“We’re cultured,” you deadpan, handing her a glass. She takes a sip, her lips staining darker, and you can’t look away.

The wine does its job fast. Kazuha gets chatty, her words slipping into each other as she talks about the restaurant, the way the chef plated the sashimi like it was art. You’re only half-listening, too busy noticing how her dress rides up her thighs, how the strap of her bra peeks out from under the fabric. She catches you staring and kicks your shin lightly. “Eyes up here, loser.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Can’t help it. You’re… distracting.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile curls at the edges. “Yeah? Distracting how?”

You step between her knees, hands settling on her hips. “Like this,” you say, leaning in to kiss her. She tastes like wine and soy sauce and something sweet, and her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you groan.

When you break apart, she’s breathless, her pupils blown. “Bedroom,” she says, not asking.

You follow her down the hall, watching the way her dress clings to her as she walks. The bedroom is dim, the streetlights outside cutting slants of gold through the blinds. She stops in front of the mirror, her back to you, and reaches for the zipper at her side. It slides down slowly, the fabric pooling at her feet.

The lingerie is black, lace, the kind that’s all straps and secrets. She turns to face you, one eyebrow arched. “You just gonna stand there?”

You swallow. “Maybe. It’s a good view.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and crosses the room. Her hands find the waistband of your jeans, popping the button with practiced ease. “Your turn,” she says, her breath hot against your ear.

You’re down to your boxers in seconds, but she’s still in that fucking lingerie, smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And she does. Always does. You reach for her, but she steps back, clicking her tongue. “Uh-uh. Let me look at you.”

The command hits you square in the chest. You stay still, letting her eyes rake over you, her gaze heavy. When she finally closes the distance, her nails dig into your shoulders as she kisses you—hard, hungry. You walk her backward until her knees hit the bed, and she falls onto the mattress, pulling you down with her.

“I love you,” you mutter against her neck.

“I love you too,” she gasps as your teeth graze her collarbone.

The rest is a blur—hands, mouths, the slide of skin on skin. She’s relentless, all sharp edges and whispered demands, and you let her take what she wants. Let her take you. When it’s over, she collapses beside you, her hair a wild halo on the pillow. You’re both sweating, breathless, the room smelling like sex and her perfume.

She turns her head to look at you, her smile lazy, satisfied. “Happy anniversary,” she says.

"Happy birthday, baby," you say before kissing her.

—

The morning light filters through the blinds, painting the bedroom in soft gold. Your body is heavy with satisfaction, limbs tangled with hers, warmth pressed into warmth. You don’t want to move. Not yet. Not when she’s here, her bare skin against yours, her slow, even breaths fanning against your collarbone.

You run your fingers lazily down her back, tracing the bumps of her spine. Kazuha sighs, nestling closer. “Mmm,” she hums, lips grazing your skin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” She shifts, stretching her long limbs like a cat, the sheets slipping just enough to reveal more of her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the marks you left along her skin. “Last night was… perfect.”

You smirk, tightening your grip around her waist. “Yeah?”

She giggles, soft and lazy. “Yeah.”

You feel like you could stay like this forever—just you and her, wrapped up in the sheets, nowhere to be, no one to interrupt—

Then Kazuha’s phone vibrates against the mattress.

She groans. “Ugh. No.”

You blindly reach for it, dragging it out from under the pillow and holding it up without looking. “Ignore it.”

She does, for all of five seconds. Then it buzzes again. And again.

She sighs, rolling over just enough to peek at the screen. You catch a glimpse of the name—Yunjin.

That hesitation. The way her lips press together. You already know she’s gonna answer.

“Zuha,” you groan, burying your face in the pillow.

“I have to,” she says, sounding apologetic as she swipes to pick up. “Hey, Yunjin. What’s up?”

You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that your lazy morning is officially ruined. You drag yourself out of bed, stretching before heading to the bathroom. As you brush your teeth, you catch pieces of Kazuha’s voice through the door. Her tone is careful, considerate. That soft, soothing voice she only uses when someone needs comfort.

You spit into the sink, rinsing your mouth. Something’s up.

When you step back into the room, Kazuha is sitting up now, the sheets pooled around her waist, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem. Her brows are slightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

She looks up at you, meeting your eyes with that gentle, searching gaze. “So…” she starts, drawing out the word.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting. “What’s up?”

Kazuha hesitates for a second, then sighs. “Yunjin’s moving out of the apartment she shared with her boyfriend. I think this time it's for real.”

Your brows lift. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “It’s… complicated, but yeah. She needs a place to stay while she figures things out. She asked if she could stay here for a little while.”

You blink. “Like… here?”

“Yeah.” Kazuha studies your face, watching for your reaction. “Only for a bit. Just until she finds a new place. I told her I’d ask you first.”

You exhale, rubbing the back of your neck. “Of course, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you nod, offering a small smile. “I mean, it’s Yunjin. I don’t mind.”

Kazuha visibly relaxes. “Thank you.” She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. “I really appreciate it. And so does she.”

You pause. “She okay?”

Kazuha’s face softens. “She says she is.” A beat. “But I don’t think she is. Not really.”

That makes sense. Moving out of a shared apartment? Whatever happened, it probably wasn’t pretty.

“She’ll be here later,” Kazuha continues. “She didn’t want to impose, but I told her it’s fine.”

“Of course,” you say again. Then, after a moment, “Do you know what happened?”

Kazuha shakes her head. “Not really. She didn’t say much. Just that things weren’t working anymore. She sounded… tired.”

You nod slowly.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. Then Kazuha tugs on your arm, pulling you back down onto the bed. “We have a few more hours before she gets here,” she murmurs, resting her head against your chest. “Can we just… stay like this for a bit?”

You wrap an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Yeah,” you murmur. “We can.”

And for a while, you do.

—

The hum of the vacuum fills the apartment, drowning out everything else. You push it back and forth across the living room rug, glancing around to make sure everything is in place. The couch cushions are fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, the candles on the shelf arranged just right. You and Kazuha have spent the last couple of hours making sure the place is as welcoming as possible.

Kazuha moves around the kitchen, setting out coffee mugs and snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Think she’ll like it?” she asks, turning to you.

“She’s not a hotel guest, Zuha,” you say with a smirk, shutting off the vacuum. “She’s crashing with friends. Pretty sure she’ll be happy just to have somewhere to land.”

Kazuha sighs, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I just want her to feel at home.”

“She will,” you reassure her.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings.

Kazuha immediately perks up. “She’s here.”

She rushes to the door while you move the vacuum out of the way. When she opens it, Yunjin steps inside, dragging a suitcase in one hand, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed comfortably—sweats, an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. No makeup, dark circles under her eyes. She looks… exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally drained.

Kazuha pulls her into a tight hug. “Hey,” she murmurs. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Yunjin replies, but there’s something about the way she says it—too automatic, too practiced.

You step forward, giving her a quick but firm hug. “Good to see you.”

She exhales, her shoulders sinking a little. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you say, waving it off.

“Yeah,” Kazuha agrees. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Yunjin nods, offering a tired smile. “Still, I appreciate it.”

Kazuha grabs one of her bags. “Come on, we set up a room for you.”

Yunjin’s lips twitch at that. “A whole room, huh? Fancy.”

Kazuha grins. “Only the best.”

They disappear down the hallway while you start cleaning up the last bits of clutter. A few minutes later, they return, Yunjin looking marginally more relaxed.

“Coffee?” you ask, holding up a steaming mug.

Yunjin takes it with both hands, like it’s the first bit of comfort she’s had all day. “God, yes.”

You sit across from her as she takes a sip, sighing into the warmth. “It’s not a huge place,” you say, gesturing around, “but it’s cozy.”

She glances around, taking in the soft lighting, the neatly arranged furniture, the framed pictures on the wall. “I've always loved your apartment. It’s perfect,” she says sincerely.

Kazuha settles next to her, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “So…” she starts, hesitant but gentle. “What happened?”

Yunjin exhales, staring into her coffee. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quietly, “It just got unbearable.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look.

Yunjin swirls the coffee in her mug, eyes distant. “I don’t even know when it started getting bad. It was like… little things at first. The way he talked to me, the way he never really listened.” She shakes her head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “I thought it was normal. Just rough patches, you know? But then rough patches turned into constant tension. Every conversation felt like walking on eggshells.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did he—”

“He wasn’t violent,” Yunjin cuts in quickly, sensing the question. “Nothing like that. But he was just… mean. Dismissive. Controlling, in subtle ways. Always making me feel like I was the problem, like I was lucky to have him, even when he barely put in any effort.” She sighs, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know why I stayed as long as I did.”

Kazuha places a hand on Yunjin’s knee. “Because you cared,” she says softly. “Because you wanted to believe it could get better.”

You lean back, scoffing. “Well, he was an asshole.”

Yunjin snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah. He was.”

There’s a beat of silence, then she looks up at both of you, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Thanks for this,” she says. “For letting me crash here. For not making me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Kazuha says immediately. “You did what you had to do. And I’m so glad you got out.”

You nod. “Seriously. You deserve better than that shit.”

Yunjin exhales again, but this time it feels lighter. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think so too.”

Kazuha squeezes her knee before standing. “Okay. Enough heavy shit. You need food, a movie, and a night of doing absolutely nothing.”

Yunjin smiles, small but real. “That actually sounds perfect.”

“Good,” you say, standing up too. “Then let’s get started.”

And just like that, the weight in the room shifts. The exhaustion in Yunjin’s face softens, the warmth of the apartment settling around her like a blanket. She’s not okay yet—not completely—but she’s here. She’s safe. And for now, that’s enough.

—

The first week with Yunjin in the apartment feels heavy. Not in an inconvenientway—more like the weight of someone carrying something too big, too raw, and not knowing how to set it down.

She moves through the apartment in an almost dreamlike state, always in pajamas—sweatpants, a hoodie, hair messy from sleep no matter what time of day it is. She doesn’t really do anything. She just exists. Sometimes she’ll scroll on her phone for hours, other times she’ll stare at the TV without really watching it.

You and Kazuha keep moving as usual. Work, errands, life. Kazuha teaches ballet—she's certainly the best you've encountered (not that you've met many). She's still hoping to open her own studio one day. You’ve got your own work inside an office, something stable, structured—enough to keep your mind occupied, but even still, you find yourself wondering about Yunjin throughout the day.

You don’t push her. Neither does Kazuha. You both just make sure she has space, warmth, and the quiet reassurance that she’s not alone.

Then, a week later, everything shifts.

You wake up to the smell of coffee and Kazuha humming softly in the kitchen. The TV murmurs in the background, some morning talk show playing on low volume. Yunjin is curled up in the corner of the couch, coffee in hand, wearing something other than her pajamas for the first time since she got here. Just leggings and a hoodie, but still—progress.

Kazuha looks up as you walk in, her face lighting up. “Morning, babe.”

You press a kiss to her temple before glancing at Yunjin. “Morning.”

She gives a little nod. “Morning.” There’s something different about her today.

Not fixed, not completely okay, but lighter.

Kazuha slides a plate of toast in front of you before nudging Yunjin with her elbow. “Tell him the news.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes but cracks a tiny smile. “I got a job.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “Yeah. Nothing fancy, just a front desk job at a gym. But, you know… something.”

You grin. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, I’ve been out of work since the breakup, so I figured it was time to do something before I started growing into the couch. It's something to keep me busy while I find another job in tourism, eventually I'll need to put my degree to some use again.”

Kazuha nudges her again, softer this time. “I’m really proud of you.”

Yunjin huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Kazuha insists. “You’re moving forward.”

Yunjin shrugs, but the way her lips twitch upward tells you she is a little proud of herself.

You glance at the time and sigh. “Alright, gotta head out.” You squeeze Kazuha’s shoulder and offer Yunjin another grin. “Congrats again.”

“Thanks,” she says, and for the first time in a while, she actually sounds like she means it.

—

Later that day, on your way home, you pass by a flower shop you’ve never seen before. It’s small, tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, with bright sunflowers and roses spilling from baskets out front. Something about it pulls you in.

You step inside, inhaling the fresh floral scent. As you scan the rows of colorful arrangements, you immediately think of Kazuha. You haven’t gotten her flowers in a while. She always lights up when you do.

But then another thought crosses your mind—Yunjin.

You hesitate. Would it be weird? Seeing Kazuha get a bouquet from her boyfriend while she’s still processing everything? Would it make her feel out of place?

You decide on two bouquets. One for Kazuha, filled with soft pinks and whites, delicate and sweet. And one for Yunjin—something simple but vibrant, oranges and yellows, warm like a sunrise. Something that says you’re doing great, keep going.

When you walk through the door, both of them are lounging in the living room, laughing at something on TV. Kazuha looks up first, her eyes widening as she sees the flowers.

“Wait… for me?” she asks, sitting up.

“Of course,” you say, handing her the pink bouquet.

She beams, taking them with both hands. “They’re beautiful, babe. Thank you.”

Then you turn to Yunjin and offer her the second bouquet. “And these… for you.”

Her brows shoot up. “For me?”

You nod. “To congratulate you. And, you know… just because.”

She stares at the bouquet for a moment, then carefully takes it from your hands. “I—wow. I wasn’t expecting…” She trails off, blinking rapidly.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “Aww, you’re getting emotional.”

“I am not,” Yunjin grumbles, but the way she bites her lip, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet—it’s clear she’s feeling something.

You chuckle. “Well, glad you like them.”

Yunjin looks down at the flowers again, something unreadable in her expression. Then, in a quiet voice, she says, “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

Kazuha’s expression softens. “Then it’s about time.”

Yunjin exhales, shaking her head with a small, almost disbelieving smile. “You guys are too nice to me.”

“We’re just treating you how you deserve to be treated,” Kazuha says simply.

Yunjin swallows, like she’s pushing back more emotion than she expected. Then, in a voice lighter than before, she says, “Well… now we have to drink, right? To celebrate my new job, my first flowers, and the fact that I finally changed out of my pajamas?”

Kazuha claps her hands together. “Yes! I love this plan.”

You smirk. “Drinks it is.”

Yunjin shakes her head, still smiling as she looks between you and Kazuha. “You guys are gonna make me soft,” she mutters.

Kazuha grins. “Too late.”

—

The night stretches on, the three of you sprawled across the living room, surrounded by half-empty glasses, snack wrappers, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing under your skin. The apartment feels alive in a way it hasn’t since Yunjin moved in—like laughter is stitched into the air, like something weightless has settled over all of you.

Yunjin, who’s been quiet all week, is glowing now—cheeks flushed from the drinks, eyes bright as she throws her head back in laughter. Kazuha’s beside her, giggling as she recounts the time she almost got kicked out of ballet class for smuggling snacks into rehearsal.

“You snuck in an entire bag of chips,” Yunjin wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I was hungry!” Kazuha defends, throwing her hands up. “And I was smooth about it too, until somebody—” she shoots Yunjin a pointed look “—busted me out in front of the instructor.”

“I panicked!” Yunjin cackles. “She was looking right at you and you were just sitting there, mid-pirouette, crunching.”

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t picture Zuha getting in trouble.”

“Oh, she was a menace,” Yunjin says, nodding sagely. “A cute menace, but still.”

Kazuha beams, nudging Yunjin’s leg with her foot. “A menace you love.”

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

Kazuha gasps, placing a hand over her chest like she’s been blessed. “You love me?”

“You know I do,” Yunjin groans, rolling her eyes but smiling.

“That’s so cute,” Kazuha giggles, turning toward her. “You should give me a peck.”

Yunjin squints. “What?”

“A peck,” Kazuha repeats, leaning in and tapping her cheek. “Right here. Come on, best friends do it all the time.”

Yunjin huffs, but you can tell she’s too buzzed to actually refuse. With an exaggerated sigh, she leans in and presses a quick, light kiss to Kazuha’s cheek.

“There. Happy?”

Kazuha grins, but then tilts her head, eyes mischievous. “That was weak. Give me a real one.”

Yunjin blinks. “A real one?”

“Like, on the lips,” Kazuha says casually, like she’s asking for another drink. “Just a peck.”

Yunjin hesitates, suddenly looking a little too aware of your presence. Her gaze flickers to you. “Uh…”

Kazuha, already tipsy enough to not overthink, waves a dismissive hand. “Oh my god, he doesn’t care. Right, babe?”

You blink, then shrug. “She’s right. I don’t care.”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “It’s just a peck.”

She studies you for a second, then exhales. “Alright, fine. But you better not make it weird.”

Kazuha giggles, eyes sparkling. “I promise.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes, then leans in quickly, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to Kazuha’s lips before pulling back just as fast.

“There. Satisfied?” she mutters.

Kazuha smirks. “You’re so nervous,” she teases. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Yunjin groans, reaching for her drink. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me, remember?” Kazuha says smugly.

You shake your head, amused at the whole thing, until Kazuha suddenly turns to you.

“You should get one too,” she announces.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

“You’ve been so nice to Yunjin,” Kazuha says, grinning. “You totally deserve a peck.”

Yunjin nearly chokes on her drink. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Kazuha says, shrugging. “I’m not jealous. Are you?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

You pause. You hadn’t really thought about it, but no—there’s no weird jealousy here. Kazuha’s the one suggesting it, and Yunjin is looking at you like she’s not sure whether to laugh or run.

You smirk. “I mean, if she’s offering.”

Yunjin groans, rubbing her temples. “I hate you both.”

Kazuha just winks. “Go on.”

Yunjin sighs, then, before she can overthink it, leans in and presses a soft peck to your lips.

It’s brief. Nothing more than a moment of warm, plush softness against your mouth. But you still faintly taste the gloss she’s been wearing all night—something sweet, a little fruity. Then she’s gone, pulling back and clearing her throat like it was nothing.

Kazuha claps her hands together, absolutely delighted. “You two were so nervous,” she cackles.

You chuckle. “Zuha, you’re so drunk.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I am not drunk.”

“You definitely are,” Yunjin mutters, still slightly flustered.

Kazuha sticks her tongue out. “I am not drunk, I am happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Kazuha says dramatically, stretching out on the couch. “I’m living with my boyfriend and my best friend. How could life possibly be better?”

Yunjin groans, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a lightweight.”

Kazuha only grins wider, eyes sleepy but shining. “And I love you both.”

And for the first time, Yunjin doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Yeah. I love you guys too.”

—

Life shifts. Not suddenly, not in a way that feels jarring or unnatural, but in that slow, creeping way that things do when they settle into something new.

The three of you find a rhythm.

Yunjin starts working more hours at the gym, coming home with tired but satisfied smiles. Her energy is different now—lighter, more stable. The search for a new apartment is still ongoing, but it’s not urgent, not desperate. Every time she brings it up, Kazuha waves her off, tells her to take her time. You don’t mind either. It’s been almost two months, and you don’t even think twice about coming home to find her there.

Sometimes she’s laughing with Kazuha, the two of them curled up on the couch in one of their endless deep talks that range from absolute nonsense to surprisingly philosophical. Other times, you walk in to find them in the kitchen, Yunjin at the stove, Kazuha watching (because her own cooking skills are questionable at best).

Dinner used to be whatever takeout was easiest. Now, Yunjin experiments, tests out new recipes, sometimes dragging you or Kazuha into the process. The food is good, better than good, and even when it’s not, there’s something nice about the act of making it together.

And the nights—weekend drinking nights have become a ritual. The first one was a success, and now it’s a thing, something you all look forward to.

At first, the drinking was just drinking. Hanging out, getting tipsy, laughing over old stories. But little things have started shifting.

One time, Yunjin’s hand on your arm lingered just a second longer than necessary. Just a casual touch, fingers trailing absently as she laughed at something Kazuha said. But you noticed.

Then there was the night Kazuha ended up on Yunjin’s lap, her arms slung around her neck, laughing as she pressed a lazy kiss to her cheek. Yunjin had just rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move her.

It’s always just a little more, inching past whatever invisible line existed before. But the funny thing is, no one ever seems to regret it. The next morning, there’s never an awkward conversation. Maybe a little shyness, maybe a few too-long glances across the kitchen while making coffee. But no regrets.

And that’s the thing that surprises you most. How natural it all feels.

—

The apartment feels the same as always when you step in—warm, familiar, lived-in. The faint scent of something floral lingers in the air, mixing with whatever candle Kazuha lit earlier. But the second you set your bag down, you notice something different.

Kazuha is sprawled out on the couch, looking absolutely wrecked. Not in a drunk way, not yet, but in that long-ass-day-at-work kind of way. Her legs are stretched out, one arm draped dramatically over her eyes, her loose ballet tee hanging off one shoulder.

Yunjin is in the kitchen making a sandwich. She glances up when you walk in, smirking. "She’s been like this for an hour."

Kazuha groans. "Ballet kids are exhausting. And half of them have no rhythm." She lifts her head to look at you, eyes half-lidded. "All I wanna do is drink with my two favorite people and forget I spent eight hours trying to make a seven-year-old point her damn toes."

You chuckle, walking over and dropping onto the couch next to her. "Rough day, huh?"

She rolls onto her side, resting her head against your shoulder. "The roughest. Please tell me we have alcohol."

Yunjin holds up a bottle of soju on the counter, "We're covered."

And just like that, the night begins.

—

A few drinks in, Kazuha perks up. She’s got that buzzed but still functioning glow about her now, her limbs loose, her smile lazier. She sits up straight, looking between you and Yunjin with an expression that instantly makes you suspicious.

"What?" you ask.

She grins. "Let’s play a game."

You groan. "Zuha—"

"Truth or dare!" she announces, cutting you off.

Yunjin laughs. "Oh my God, are we fifteen?"

Kazuha pouts, nudging your leg. "Come on. It’ll be fun."

You sigh. "That’s what people always say before terrible ideas."

"But it’s me," she says, batting her lashes. "I only have good ideas."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Lies."

Kazuha flicks her with a coaster. "Shut up. We’re playing. You first."

Yunjin smirks, setting her drink down. "Fine. Truth."

Kazuha’s eyes gleam. "Okay. Have you ever had a crush on a girl while you were dating a guy?"

Yunjin snorts. "Obviously. Next."

You chuckle. "That was weak."

Kazuha glares. "Warming up, okay? Your turn."

"Truth," you say, leaning back.

Yunjin rests her chin on her hand, thinking for a second. Then she grins. "How many times a week do you and Kazuha have sex?"

Kazuha cackles, her cheeks already flushing pink.

You blink. "Jesus, straight to it, huh?"

Yunjin shrugs. "I’m curious."

Kazuha looks at you expectantly, biting back a giggle.

You take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to consider. "On a slow week? Three. If we’re not busy? Five, six, maybe."

Kazuha gasps dramatically, swatting your arm. "Why would you say that?"

"You wanted to play this game," you remind her.

Yunjin whistles, impressed. "Damn. No wonder she’s so happy all the time."

Kazuha groans, covering her face. "I hate you both."

You smirk, turning to Yunjin. "Okay, your turn. Have you ever seen Kazuha naked?"

Kazuha gasps again, this time more amused than scandalized.

Yunjin doesn’t even flinch. "Yep. Twice."

Your brows raise. "Really?"

Kazuha squints. "Wait—when?"

"The first time was that time we went to the beach house, and you forgot to lock the bathroom," Yunjin says, smirking. "And the second time, when you passed out drunk at my place, and I had to change you into pajamas."

Kazuha groans. "Oh my God."

You lean in slightly, curious. "So… what’d you think?"

Yunjin shrugs, sipping her drink. "Nice body. Very nice ass."

Kazuha buries her face in a pillow, but she’s laughing. "I regret this game."

You smirk, watching the way Kazuha’s ears turn pink. Then, before she can protest again, you say, "Alright, Zuha. Truth or dare?"

She peeks up from behind the pillow. "Truth."

You tilt your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like when I watch you kiss Yunjin?"

A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. "Yeah," she admits. "It’s pretty hot."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Just admitting that, huh?"

Kazuha shrugs. "Why not? We’re all friends here."

The air shifts. Not uncomfortably. But there’s something there now, humming under the surface.

The next few rounds feel different. The questions get bolder. Kazuha dares Yunjin to sit in your lap for a whole round. Yunjin dares Kazuha to take a shot off her collarbone. You find yourself watching closely as Kazuha presses her lips to Yunjin’s skin, her tongue flicking out briefly as she chases a stray drop of soju.

No one says it, but it’s there.

The tension. The curiosity.

The way Kazuha lingers when she leans into Yunjin’s space. The way Yunjin’s fingers sometimes brush yours when she’s gesturing mid-story.

By the time the bottle is nearly empty, you’re all stretched out lazily on the couch, warm from the alcohol, comfortable in the lingering haze.

Kazuha exhales, tilting her head back against the cushions. "Best game ever," she declares.

Yunjin snorts. "You just liked the part where you got to make out with me."

Kazuha hums, smirking. "Maybe."

You shake your head, grinning. "You’re both ridiculous."

Kazuha turns her head, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "But you love it."

You hold her gaze for a second, then glance at Yunjin. She meets your eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment before she looks away, smirking slightly.

Kazuha stretches, cat-like, arms above her head as she sighs. “I’m so tired,” she mumbles, her voice loose with the lazy weight of alcohol.

Yunjin groans in agreement, slumping deeper into the couch. “Yeah. Bedtime.”

She starts to push herself up, but Kazuha reaches out, fingers curling around her wrist. “Come with us.”

Yunjin pauses, blinking down at her. “Huh?”

“Come lie down with us,” Kazuha repeats, tugging lightly. “You’re always sleeping alone. It’s nothing serious. We’ve done worse things tonight than just… sleep together.”

Yunjin hesitates, glancing between the two of you, but there’s no real protest in her body language. She exhales, shaking her head with a small, amused smile. “You guys are weird,” she mutters, but there’s no resistance as Kazuha pulls her up.

The bedroom is dim, only the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. Kazuha flops onto the bed first, stretching out, and Yunjin hesitates only for a second before climbing in too, settling between the two of you.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The three of you lying there, staring at each other, giggling at nothing like teenagers at a sleepover.

Kazuha hums, shifting closer, her fingers grazing Yunjin’s wrist. “Why does this feel so nice?” she murmurs.

Yunjin tilts her head. “What?”

“This,” Kazuha says, gesturing vaguely. “The three of us. Why does it feel so good?”

Yunjin’s lips part slightly, and for a moment, she looks like she might deflect. But then she exhales, her expression softening. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time.”

Kazuha watches her for a second, then leans in and presses her lips to Yunjin’s. Not a teasing peck, not a playful dare—something deeper. Slow, warm, tongues sliding together in a way that makes Yunjin’s breath hitch.

When Kazuha pulls back, she shifts slightly, looking past Yunjin to you. “You kiss her too,” she murmurs.

Yunjin barely has time to register the words before you lean in, catching her lips in another kiss, just as deep, just as slow. She melts into it, her body pliant between the two of you.

Kazuha’s hand drifts down, fingers ghosting over Yunjin’s stomach before lightly tracing up, barely skimming over her small, sensitive breasts. Yunjin shivers, her breath stuttering, and Kazuha grins, eyes flicking between the two of you as you keep kissing her.

“Do you like this?” Kazuha whispers against her ear. “Having both of us like this with you?”

Yunjin barely manages a breathless “yes.”

She smirks. “Good.”

Kazuha’s lips press deeper into Yunjin’s, slow and teasing, a mix of playful and possessive, like she’s savoring every second. Yunjin’s hands find her waist, gripping tight, but you can tell she’s already getting lost in it—the way her body shifts, the way her breath stutters when Kazuha deepens the kiss.

You move in behind her, close enough that she can feel your breath ghosting against her neck before your lips even touch. You start slow, kissing just under her ear, letting the heat of your mouth spread down, tracing the delicate curve of her throat. Yunjin shudders instantly, leaning back against you with a soft gasp, her body melting between you both.

“God, you two are driving me crazy,” she breathes, her voice already unsteady, like she’s barely keeping it together.

Kazuha pulls back just enough to smirk. “Yeah?” Her eyes flick to you, dark and knowing. “And I bet this is making you hard, huh?”

You don’t even have to answer—she already knows. But still, you let your hand slide down, pressing against the bulge in your pants, the proof of exactly how much this is getting to you. “Fuck yes,” you murmur.

That’s all Kazuha needs to hear. She tugs you forward, switching positions, putting you between them now. Yunjin’s still catching her breath, lips swollen from Kazuha’s kiss, cheeks flushed with heat. But then both of them are on you, Kazuha kissing you deep, slow, her tongue teasing against yours while Yunjin’s lips find the edge of your jaw, then lower, her mouth warm and tentative against your skin.

Kazuha’s hand moves, sliding down your torso, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. She doesn’t tease, doesn’t hesitate—just hooks her fingers into both your pants and underwear and pulls them down in one smooth motion.

Yunjin makes a sound, not quite a gasp, but her eyes go wide, lips parting slightly.

Kazuha grins, nudging Yunjin’s chin with her fingers. “Go ahead,” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “Touch him.”

Yunjin hesitates for a second, like she’s still processing, but then—carefully, curiously—her fingers wrap around you. Her touch is light at first, testing, her thumb ghosting over the tip, feeling the heat, the weight of your cock in her hand.

Kazuha watches, her smirk turning into something hungrier. “Good girl,” she murmurs, tucking Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “Now, give him a little kiss.”

Yunjin glances at you, searching your face for any hesitation. But you just nod, exhaling a shaky breath as her lips brush against you—just a soft press at first, almost too gentle. Then another. And another. Testing. Experimenting.

Kazuha leans in close, her lips at your ear this time. “Fuck, doesn’t she look pretty like this?”

Your breath stutters, a groan slipping out before you can stop it. “Yeah,” you manage, voice rough.

Yunjin’s eyes flick up, something almost smug in her expression before she licks her lips and keeps going, her kisses getting a little bolder, her fingers moving just a little more confidently as she explores you.

Kazuha watches, her hand sliding down your stomach, nails dragging lightly over your skin, her breath hot against your jaw. “Mmm. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your hand tightens in Yunjin’s hair as you moan, hips twitching forward involuntarily. “Fuck. Yes.”

Yunjin hums against you, her lips dragging down lower, her grip getting firmer, her hesitations melting away.

Then Yunjin’s tongue flicks over the head of your cock, slow, hesitant, but there’s something hungry in the way she does it—like she’s testing the waters, trying to figure out just how far she wants to take this. Her fingers tighten around the base, and when she finally wraps her lips around you, sliding down just a little further, the heat of her mouth makes you groan, low and guttural.

Kazuha watches with a lazy smirk, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s it,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush Yunjin’s hair out of her face. “You’re doing so good.”

Yunjin hums, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your spine. Whatever nervousness she had before is slipping away, replaced by something else—curiosity, need. She bobs her head a little deeper, her lips slick and warm, getting used to the feeling, testing how much she can take.

Kazuha looks up at you, and the smirk on her lips makes your stomach clench. “This is so fucking dirty,” she giggles, shaking her head. “But it’s so hot.”

You exhale sharply, gripping the edge of the couch, trying to ground yourself. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening.”

Yunjin pulls off just enough to glance up at you, her lips wet, cheeks flushed. “We’re all drunk as fuck,” she mutters, laughing breathlessly.

Kazuha leans in, fingers trailing down Yunjin’s arm. “Need some help?”

Yunjin nods immediately, licking her lips before looking down at your cock, still glistening from her mouth. “Yeah,” she says, voice husky.

Kazuha moves in without hesitation, her hand wrapping around the base, her tongue flicking out to meet where Yunjin’s lips just were. She gives one slow, teasing lick along the underside, her eyes flicking up to yours to see your reaction. Then, she glances at Yunjin. “Come on. Let’s do this together.”

And just like that, they’re both on you.

Yunjin’s lips find the tip again, but this time, there’s no hesitation—she takes you deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing against the underside. Kazuha works alongside her, her mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your shaft, her tongue darting out to taste you, teasing wherever Yunjin isn’t.

“Fuck,” you groan, tilting your head back, the sensation overwhelming—two tongues, two mouths, the heat of them surrounding you, taking turns, working in tandem.

Kazuha pulls back slightly, her hand gripping you firmly as she turns to Yunjin. “Look at him,” she murmurs. “He likes eye contact.”

Yunjin hesitates for half a second before obeying, tilting her head up, her lips still wrapped around you. Her eyes meet yours, dark and half-lidded, and fuck, that sight alone nearly does you in.

You groan, your hips twitching forward slightly, and Yunjin smirks around your cock, her tongue swirling over the tip before she takes you even deeper.

Kazuha giggles, pressing a kiss to Yunjin’s shoulder. “God, that’s so hot.”

You can barely think, can barely breathe. All you know is that you never want this to end.

Yunjin’s lips are slick now, her strokes confident, her tongue working every inch of you while her hand pumps whatever she can’t take. The nervousness is gone—replaced by something hungry, something insatiable. Kazuha, meanwhile, slides lower, her breath hot against your skin as she takes one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently, rolling it over her tongue before moving to the other.

“Fuck—” Your voice is strained, a raw groan slipping out as your hand flies to Yunjin’s hair, gripping, not to force, just to hold on. “You two look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Yunjin moans around your cock at the praise, her grip tightening just slightly, her head bobbing a little faster. Kazuha hums, her tongue flicking over the sensitive skin before she pulls back, looking up at Yunjin with a wicked grin.

“He’s enjoying this way too much,” Kazuha teases, her fingers stroking the base of your cock, brushing against Yunjin’s as she does.

Yunjin pulls off for a second, her lips swollen, a thin string of saliva connecting her mouth to your tip. She smirks, eyes flicking up to yours. “Yeah? You like seeing us like this?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Fucking love it.”

Kazuha giggles, pressing a wet kiss against your thigh. “God, I can feel how hard you are.” Her fingers wrap around the base, tilting your cock towards Yunjin. “Come on, baby. Make him lose his mind.”

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She leans in again, taking you deep, her throat tightening just enough to make you curse under your breath. Her free hand strokes what her mouth can’t take, her rhythm perfectly in sync with Kazuha’s teasing kisses along your skin.

Kazuha watches for a moment, then leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yunjin’s mouth before her tongue flicks out, licking at the side of your cock where Yunjin’s lips are already working.

They look at each other again, a silent understanding passing between them, and the way they smile makes your stomach clench with pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you groan, your hips twitching forward. “You’re both so fucking perfect.”

Kazuha smirks, dragging her tongue along your balls before sucking one back into her mouth. “Mmm. I think we should make him beg, don’t you?”

Yunjin pulls off, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She tilts her head, eyes full of mischief. “I think you’re right.”

Yunjin’s mouth moves faster now, each stroke more confident, more determined, her tongue pressing against the vein running along your cock, dragging up and down with a rhythm that’s got you gripping the couch for dear life. Kazuha’s hands aren’t idle either—her soft, warm palms caressing your thighs, her nails scratching lightly, just enough to send tiny shocks through your system. And then she moves back down, taking your balls into her mouth again, rolling them gently, her tongue swirling around, making your hips jerk involuntarily.

You’re on the edge already, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your gut, every nerve alight with sensation. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out between heavy breaths. “Please, keep going. I’m almost there.”

Yunjin lets out a hum around you, the vibrations making you shudder, and then she speeds up, her head bobbing faster, taking you deeper. Her hand twists and strokes in time with her mouth, her grip just firm enough to make you see stars. Kazuha lifts her head, smirking as she watches Yunjin’s determination, then she moves back up, pressing her lips to the tip of your cock right alongside Yunjin’s, their mouths sandwiching the head, tongues flicking over the sensitive spot just under the tip.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hips bucking up into the warmth of their mouths, completely overwhelmed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Kazuha’s hand slides down, cupping your balls again, giving them a gentle squeeze, her thumb rubbing circles that have you clenching your fists, struggling to hold back.

The sensation is too much—two pairs of soft lips, warm tongues, the heat and wetness enveloping you. It’s like you’re being devoured, consumed, and you’re losing control fast.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warn, your voice breaking, a desperate edge to it.

They both pull back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and gleaming. “Do it,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your skin. “Cum for us.”

Yunjin nods, her lips brushing against the tip, eyes locked on yours. “Yeah. We want it. Give it to us.”

That’s all it takes. You can’t hold back anymore—the tension snaps, and you’re coming hard, your entire body tensing as thick, hot ropes spill out, splashing across Yunjin’s lips and cheeks. She gasps, eyes widening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she keeps stroking you, milking every last drop as you ride out the intense waves crashing through you.

Kazuha leans in, licking a stray bead off Yunjin’s chin, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Mmm,” she hums, then tilts Yunjin’s face toward hers, their lips meeting in a wet, messy kiss. You watch, breathless, as they share your cum between them, tongues sliding against each other, mixing the taste as they moan softly into each other’s mouths.

Your cock twitches, still overly sensitive, but Yunjin’s hand keeps working you, slow and gentle now, her thumb circling the head, spreading the remaining slickness around. You let your head fall back, eyes rolling, lost in the pleasure that’s still rippling through you, too spent to do anything but surrender to the sensations.

They finally pull apart, both of them grinning, faces flushed, lips glistening. Kazuha wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb, sucking it clean with a smirk. “God, that was hot,” she murmurs, looking at you with a gleam in her eyes.

Yunjin chuckles, leaning back on her heels, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. “I didn’t think… I mean, fuck, I didn’t know it could be like that.”

You manage a shaky laugh, still trying to regain control of your breathing. “You… both of you… that was unreal.”

Kazuha scoots closer, pressing a kiss to your jaw, her hand resting on your thigh. “We’re just getting started,” she whispers, her voice dripping with promise.

Yunjin bites her lip, watching you carefully, a playful glint in her eyes. “You think you can handle more?”

You chuckle. “With you two? I’ll try.”

You’re still catching your breath, body warm and thrumming with satisfaction, when Yunjin and Kazuha lean in at the same time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to either side of your face. It’s almost sweet—almost—except for the way Kazuha’s fingers are still lazily tracing patterns over your thigh, and the way Yunjin’s lips linger just a second too long before she pulls away, her breath still a little uneven.

You exhale deeply, wrapping an arm around both of them, pulling them in closer until they’re nestled against you. The warmth of their skin, the lingering scent of perfume and sweat and sex—it’s enough to make your head spin in the best way.

Yunjin sighs, her cheek resting against your shoulder, and then, out of nowhere, she starts giggling.

You tilt your head, amused. “What?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “I just… I did not expect this from Kazuha. I mean, you’re always so put together, so proper.” She pauses, then grins. “Little Miss Ballerina over here, full of surprises.”

Kazuha smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You think I’m proper?”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? You literally scold me when I leave dishes in the sink for too long.”

Kazuha shrugs, unbothered. “Being responsible and being proper aren’t the same thing. Besides…” She trails a finger down Yunjin’s arm, teasing, before grinning. “I told you I’m full of surprises.”

Yunjin hums, tilting her head slightly, then narrows her eyes playfully. “So… you really weren’t jealous? At all?”

Kazuha scoffs, leaning in closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Why would I be jealous when I loved watching you?”

Yunjin bites her lip, clearly caught off guard for a second, then laughs, shaking her head. “Shit, now I really don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha reaches for her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “Then don’t.” Her voice is softer now, less teasing, more honest. “We like having you here.”

Yunjin looks at you, as if waiting to see if you’ll echo that sentiment.

You squeeze her waist lightly, nodding. “She’s right. We want you here.”

Something shifts in Yunjin’s face—something almost vulnerable. She clears her throat, squeezing Kazuha’s hand back before offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence lingers, the three of you just… existing in this newfound warmth. But then Yunjin shifts slightly, biting her lip, and smirks. “Okay but… This whole thing has me sweating. It's fucking hot in here.”

Kazuha chuckles, shaking her head before she reaches for the hem of her top. “Then take off your clothes.”

Without hesitation, she tugs her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before standing to shimmy out of her pants, leaving her in nothing but a lacy bra and matching underwear. She stretches her arms above her head, smirking as she catches both you and Yunjin staring. “What?”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and stand up as well. “Nothing.” You match her, stripping down to just your boxers, sighing slightly at the relief of shedding your clothes.

Yunjin watches you both, eyes dark and curious, then rolls her eyes and mutters, “God, you two are bad influences.” But she still lifts her shirt off, then slides her jeans down her legs, standing in nothing but a thin, barely-there bralette and panties that cling to her hips.

The air is thick again, that lingering tension still simmering just below the surface. You could push things further right now, easily. But then Kazuha exhales, stretching lazily before collapsing back into bed, pulling Yunjin down with her. “Okay, okay,” she murmurs, yawning slightly. “We’ll stay like this, snuggled up, just for a little while. Then we’ll continue the fun.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay. Just a little while.”

Yunjin smirks, draping an arm over Kazuha’s waist. “Sure. Just a little.”

But within minutes, the alcohol, the warmth, the exhaustion—it all takes over. One by one, you all drift off, tangled together, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, breathing steady, slow.

And the fun? That can wait. For now.

—

Yunjin wakes up to a headache that feels like a freight train crashed into her skull. Her eyes are heavy, slow to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. Her body is warm under the sheets, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs, making it hard to move. She shifts slightly, stretching out—and then it hits her.

This… isn’t her room.

Her eyes snap open fully, her heart skipping a beat. The bed is too big, too comfortable. The sheets smell like something familiar—like you, like Kazuha. And then she notices—this isn’t just any room.

It’s your room.

Panic creeps up her spine.

The bed is empty. You and Kazuha are already up. The sheets are rumpled, the space beside her still faintly warm. But that’s not what makes her stomach twist. As her mind slowly unspools the events of last night, piece by piece, a million things start crashing into her all at once.

The drinking. The truth or dare game.

The teasing. The peeks, the touches, the way her body had moved on its own, drunk on more than just alcohol.

The way you had moaned when she took you into her mouth.

Fuck.

She groans softly, covering her face with her hands.

"I actually did that. I actually fucking did that."

Yunjin sits up too fast, the headache pulsing behind her eyes, making her regret it instantly. She blinks hard, rubbing her temples, and that’s when she notices—she’s only in her bra and panties.

Panic level: maximum.

Her clothes are scattered across the floor. Jeans crumpled, shirt halfway under the bed, socks in two completely different spots. Shit. She scrambles, grabbing them as fast as she can, shoving one leg into her jeans before realizing they’re inside out.

Then she freezes.

The apartment is quiet—except for the sound of voices.

From the kitchen.

She can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. You and Kazuha are talking about last night.

Talking about how this was a mistake.

About how to let her down easy.

About how to get her out of here without being assholes about it.

A cold wave of embarrassment crashes over her. She knew, deep down, that this was going to happen. The drunken jokes, the stolen glances, the playful teasing that had gone just a little too far—everyone was playing with fire. And now, she was the one left standing in the ashes, half-dressed and wishing she could rewind time.

She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together. "Okay. Don’t make this worse."

She needs to go. Now.

Yunjin sneaks down the hallway towards her room. She moves quickly, grabbing her backpack, throwing in the few things she has left in her room. The suitcase is heavier than she remembers, her hands fumbling with the zipper, her chest tight. She doesn’t even take a second to glance at the bed again—she just needs to get out before they say it first.

Yunjin sneaks into the hallway, dragging the suitcase behind her as quietly as she can. Almost there. Just a few more steps and she’ll be out the door—

“Wait—where are you going?”

She jumps.

Kazuha’s voice comes from the kitchen, sharp with surprise.

Yunjin turns, caught like a kid sneaking out after curfew. Kazuha’s standing there, spatula in one hand, brow furrowed, and you’re behind her, coffee mug halfway to your lips. Both of you are looking at her like she just announced she’s moving to Mars.

Yunjin forces out the biggest lie she can think of. “I, uh—I found another apartment.”

Silence.

Kazuha stares at her, expression unreadable. “…What?”

Yunjin clears her throat, gripping the suitcase handle tighter. “Yeah. I, uh, got a place. Last-minute thing. So, you know, I should probably just—” She gestures toward the door, already feeling her face heat up under Kazuha’s intense gaze.

You lower your mug, frowning slightly. “You never mentioned that.”

Kazuha tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “That’s funny. Because last night, you were saying you didn’t even start looking for apartments yet.”

Yunjin swallows. Shit. Think faster. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

Kazuha takes a step closer, arms crossing over her chest. “Are you lying to me?”

Yunjin opens her mouth—then closes it. She’s a terrible liar.

Kazuha sighs, and before Yunjin can react, she reaches forward and grabs the backpack off her shoulder.

“What—? Kazuha—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The authority in her voice makes Yunjin freeze. It’s not harsh, not angry—just firm. Like she’s laying down the law. Like she knows what’s going on in Yunjin’s head and she’s not letting it happen.

Kazuha gives her a look, one that makes it very clear this is not up for debate. Then she nods toward the kitchen. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Yunjin clenches her jaw, but something about Kazuha’s tone makes her comply. She exhales through her nose, dragging her feet as she follows her into the kitchen, suitcase still trailing behind.

You’re already sitting at the table, watching all of this unfold, the confusion on your face slowly shifting into understanding.

Kazuha gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Yunjin slumps into it, crossing her arms. “I already know what you’re gonna say,” she mutters, staring at the table. “We don’t need to waste time.”

Kazuha raises an eyebrow as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates. “Oh, really? And what exactly am I going to say?”

Yunjin shrugs stiffly. “That last night was a mistake. That it shouldn’t have happened. That you and him feel weird about it now, and you don’t want things to be awkward, so it’s probably better if I just… leave before it gets worse.”

A beat of silence.

Then Kazuha bursts out laughing.

Yunjin’s head snaps up. “The fuck is so funny?”

Kazuha shakes her head, still chuckling as she sets a plate in front of Yunjin. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yunjin blinks. “Excuse me?”

You set your coffee down, finally speaking. “We weren’t talking about how to kick you out, Yunjin. We were making breakfast.”

She stares. “But—I heard you—”

“You heard us talking,” Kazuha corrects. “And then you assumed the worst and spiraled.”

Yunjin opens her mouth to argue, but… yeah, okay, maybe that’s exactly what happened.

Kazuha slides into the seat next to her, nudging the plate closer. Eggs, toast, fresh fruit. “Eat.”

Yunjin stares at it. “Are you seriously feeding me right now?”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “You’re hungover. And you need to stop overthinking shit. So, yeah. I’m feeding you.”

Yunjin huffs, but her stomach betrays her by growling loud as fuck.

Kazuha smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Yunjin glares at her, but still picks up the fork.

You lean back in your chair, watching them with an amused glint in your eye. “So, you’re really not gonna leave now, right?”

Yunjin pauses mid-bite, then sighs dramatically. “I guess not.”

Kazuha grins, reaching out to steal a piece of Yunjin’s toast. “Good.”

Yunjin eats in silence, her fork scraping lightly against the plate. The food helps—the headache is still there, but the nausea is fading, replaced by something steadier. But the weight of the conversation that’s obviously coming? Yeah, that’s still pressing down on her chest.

But she doesn’t have to wait long.

Kazuha shifts in her chair, glancing at you first, then at Yunjin. She presses her lips together for a second, then exhales, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so…” she starts, her fingers tapping idly against the table. “I know what happened yesterday is… hard to explain.”

Yunjin tenses, her grip tightening on her fork. “Look, I—” she swallows, staring at her plate. “I didn’t mean to mess things up between you two.”

Kazuha blinks, then immediately shakes her head. “You didn’t mess anything up.” Her voice is firm, certain. “If anything, I’m the one who started pushing boundaries. So if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

Yunjin looks up at her, skeptical. “You?”

Kazuha gives a small shrug. “Yeah. I was the one who kept teasing, kept pushing things further. And I know it got intense, and maybe we—” she glances at you briefly before looking back at Yunjin, “—went too far. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Especially not after everything you’ve been through. We want you to feel safe here.”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, setting her fork down. “It’s okay,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

You lean in slightly, watching her carefully. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

You glance at Kazuha, then back at Yunjin. “We just… we liked what happened.”

Yunjin hesitates. “Wait—you liked it?”

Kazuha chuckles. “Well, yeah.”

You shrug, smirking slightly. “A lot.”

Yunjin clears her throat, her cheeks tinging pink. “Oh.”

Kazuha folds her arms on the table, tilting her head slightly. “We actually talked about an open relationship a few years ago,” she admits. “We never went any further with it. Mainly because we hadn’t found the right person.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait—so you guys were already thinking about this before last night?”

You nod. “Yeah. But this is different. We weren’t just thinking about hooking up with someone. We were wondering if…” You trail off for a second, exchanging another glance with Kazuha before turning back to Yunjin. “If you’d want to actually be in this with us. A threesome. Like, an actual relationship.”

Yunjin stares at you like you just told her the sky is green. Then she coughs, nearly choking on air. “A what?”

Kazuha bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I know, I know. It’s a lot. And you don’t have to say yes. I mean, you just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, so if this is weird or uncomfortable, I completely understand.”

Yunjin presses her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly. “So let me get this straight,” she says. “You two—the couple I’ve been third-wheeling for years—actually want to be in a relationship with me?”

Kazuha shrugs, grinning. “Basically.”

Yunjin shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh, more disbelieving than anything. But then she goes quiet for a moment, staring down at her plate.

“…This might actually work,” she murmurs after a moment.

You blink. “Wait. You’d want to try it?”

She hesitates, but then nods. “Yeah. I mean… I like you both. You’re amazing. And honestly, the only problem with last night was that I… liked it. A lot.”

Kazuha’s grin widens. “That’s kind of the opposite of a problem, Yunjin.”

Yunjin groans, covering her face with one hand. “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m getting into a relationship with my best friend and her boyfriend.”

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s 2025. Welcome to the future.”

Kazuha laughs, nudging Yunjin’s foot under the table. “This is actually so exciting.”

Yunjin peeks at her through her fingers, sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, it kinda is.”

And just like that, something new begins.

—

It’s strange, and at the same time, it’s not.

The routine doesn’t change much—Yunjin still wakes up late whenever she doesn’t have an early shift, Kazuha still scolds her for leaving dishes in the sink, and you still find yourself in the middle of their playful arguments over what to watch on TV. But there’s a shift, something subtle but undeniable. Yunjin’s presence in the apartment feels different now. She’s not just a guest, not just someone crashing here until she figures things out.

She’s part of it.

And the two of you—you and Kazuha—are working on making that real.

It’s new for both of you, uncharted territory. You’ve talked about it before, but actually living it, actually figuring it out in real time? It’s an entirely different thing. There’s no roadmap, no set rules. You’re just… trying things out. Seeing what works. Adapting.

Yunjin, though, she never takes the initiative. She never kisses you first. Never pulls Kazuha into her lap. It’s always you or Kazuha who leans in first, closing the space, pressing lips against hers until she melts into it. But the affection is still there, just in different ways.

When you’re all watching a movie, she always ends up curled up against one of you. Sometimes it’s Kazuha, her head on her lap while Kazuha absently plays with her hair. Other times, she burrows against your side, your arm naturally wrapping around her waist like it’s second nature.

And then there are the little things. The quiet, domestic moments that don’t scream romance but feel just as intimate.

Like how, after Kazuha spends hours teaching ballet, her feet sore and swollen, Yunjin is the one who pulls out the ice packs and gently rubs her arches, grumbling about how she should be taking better care of herself.

"You're not a machine, Zuha," Yunjin mutters, pressing her thumbs into the delicate curve of her foot, making her sigh in relief. "You gotta stop pushing yourself like this."

Kazuha grins, eyes closed, completely unbothered. "I like pushing myself."

"You like being a stubborn idiot," Yunjin counters, shaking her head, but she still massages carefully, knowing exactly where Kazuha's muscles are tight, where she needs the most pressure. She's been doing this since they were just friends.

And then, of course, there’s the other part.

Sex has somehow become the part of the day. Not just because it’s good—though, fuck, it is—but because it’s new and thrilling in a way none of you expected.

It started out slow, experimental, all of you feeling out the boundaries of what worked, what didn’t, what made Yunjin gasp and what made Kazuha moan. But it didn’t take long before you all started really learning each other. Before hands got bolder, before kisses turned filthier, before whispered fuck, I want you turned into breathless, desperate moans in the dark.

Kazuha, always the playful one, took to it like it was a game—learning what made Yunjin squirm, teasing you until you lost your composure completely. Yunjin, on the other hand, was different. She wasn’t used to being wanted like this. Wasn’t used to having hands on her, lips on her, people taking their time with her. But the way she responded, the way she learned? It drove you crazy.

And then there was the way Kazuha looked at you when Yunjin fell apart beneath your touch. That look of pure, raw enjoyment, of satisfaction that you were both making her feel this good.

You learned quickly—everything about them, the way their bodies moved, the things they liked, the things that made them gasp, moan, beg. Every night was a new lesson, a new way to push each other, to test limits, to find out just how far this could go.

It didn’t take long to notice the differences.

Kazuha loved control. She liked being on top, loved riding, loved having the power to set the pace, to tease and push and deny just to make you or Yunjin whine. She was playful about it, too, never taking things too seriously—grinning through every little challenge, pushing you until you lost your patience and took what you wanted from her.

Yunjin, though—she was different. She didn’t want control. She wanted to give in, to be told what to do, to be made to feel good. She melted under hands guiding her, shivered at being pinned down, craved the feeling of being wanted so badly it made her dizzy. And when you figured that out? When Kazuha figured that out?

It changed everything.

You learned that Yunjin liked getting her ass slapped. That the first time Kazuha did it, fingers digging into her skin afterward, whispering, you like that, don’t you?—she let out the most desperate, filthy moan you’d ever heard. That after that night, Kazuha started doing it all the time, every time Yunjin got too cocky, too bratty, just to hear that little gasp when her palm connected with skin.

And then there was Yunjin with Kazuha.

Yunjin had never gone down on a girl before. She’d never even thought about it, never felt the urge. But that first time—when Kazuha straddled her face, thighs strong and glistening, lowering herself slowly onto Yunjin’s eager, nervous mouth?

She was hooked.

She couldn’t get enough of it, the way Kazuha gasped, the way she rode Yunjin’s tongue, hips rolling, fingers tugging at her hair, her body demanding more, more, more.

It became a thing. Kazuha loved using Yunjin like that, making her earn her pleasure, grinding down on her face, moaning about how good she was getting at it. And Yunjin? She got fucking addicted to it.

One night, you’d been behind Yunjin, stretching her open, thrusting deep and slow, watching the way her body arched, the way her breath hitched every time you bottomed out. And in front of her, Kazuha was straddling her face again, rocking against her mouth, gasping every time Yunjin’s tongue flicked against her clit.

And fuck, the sounds. The wet, messy slurps of Yunjin eating Kazuha out like she needed it, the little moans Kazuha let out, hands tangled in Yunjin’s hair, guiding her, riding her face like she was made for it.

You leaned over, gripping Yunjin’s hips tight, thrusting into her just a little harder, a little rougher, groaning, you love this, don’t you? And she moaned against Kazuha’s cunt, her body trembling, her nails digging into Kazuha’s thighs, completely wrecked between the two of you.

And after? The after was always soft.

Bodies tangled together, warm and slick with sweat, lips pressing against bare skin, murmured words of fuck, that was so good and I love you and holy shit, we really did that.

Yunjin always ended up curled between you two, half-asleep but smiling, completely relaxed in a way she never used to be.

Kazuha would press a kiss to her temple, to your jaw, whispering, "best decision ever."

And yeah. It really, really was.

—

Yunjin’s birthday.

She’d told you both not to do anything. That she didn’t want a big deal made, that it was just another day, that birthdays were overrated. But neither you nor Kazuha were the type to let something like that slide.

So when she got scheduled for a late shift at the gym, it was perfect. It gave you and Kazuha the whole day to set things up, to buy a cake, to pick out gifts, to make sure the apartment felt warm when she walked in.

By the time night rolls around, everything’s in place. The lights are off, the apartment quiet, the cake in Kazuha’s hands, waiting.

Then the front door unlocks.

Yunjin steps inside, sighing as she drops her bag by the door, kicking off her shoes. She mutters something about how she swears people get needier when they know she’s about to clock out.

And then she flicks on the light.

“SURPRISE!”

Her whole body jumps, eyes going wide as she stares at you both. Kazuha is holding the cake, a mischievous grin on her face, while you stand beside her, watching Yunjin’s reaction with a growing smirk.

Yunjin presses a hand to her chest, catching her breath. “Jesus fuck, you guys scared the shit out of me.”

You chuckle, stepping forward as you flick a lighter, igniting the candles on the cake. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Kazuha beams, holding the cake out slightly. “Make a wish.”

Yunjin stares at the both of you, her expression softening, something warm flickering in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying not to get emotional, then shakes her head, laughing softly.

“You guys are so stupid,” she mutters, but she’s already setting her hands on Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her forward into a tight hug. She buries her face in the crook of Kazuha’s neck for a second, inhaling deeply before pulling you in too, wrapping her arms around both of you.

She presses a kiss to Kazuha’s lips, slow and grateful, then turns to you, doing the same. When she pulls back, her nose scrunches slightly. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “Of course we did.”

You smirk. “Besides, what kind of boyfriend and girlfriend would we be if we didn’t celebrate?”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, smiling as she glances at the flickering candles. “Fine, fine.” She closes her eyes for a second, murmuring something under her breath before blowing them out.

Kazuha cheers softly, clapping her hands. “Yay! Now, cake.”

You chuckle, grabbing some plates. “And presents.”

Yunjin groans. “Oh my God, you guys actually got me presents?”

“Duh.” Kazuha grins, already slicing the cake.

Yunjin shakes her head, laughing as she plops down at the table. “You two are unbelievable.”

But she’s happy. You can see it in the way she’s trying not to let the smile take over her whole face.

You all sit together, eating cake, talking, laughing—just being.

And then, when the plates are empty, you pull out the gifts.

The first one is a hoodie she’d been eyeing online but never actually bought for herself. The second is a small but meaningful charm for the bracelet she always wears, something that ties her to the both of you, something to say you belong here.

The second gift? A leather-bound journal. Deep burgundy, soft to the touch, the kind of book that begs to be filled. Inside, the first few pages are already written in—notes from both of you. Messages, little doodles, inside jokes. Words of encouragement, pages left blank for her to spill whatever she needs to, whenever she’s ready.

Yunjin flips through it slowly, her fingers ghosting over the ink, her lips parting like she’s trying to find something to say but can’t. Then she exhales, blinking fast. “You guys are so fucking unfair,” she mutters, but her voice is wobbly, her hands tightening around the journal like it means everything.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “You love it.”

Yunjin swallows, looking between the both of you. Then she nods, voice thick. “Yeah. I do.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look before turning back to her. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “We love having you here, Yunjin.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, resting her head against Yunjin’s shoulder. “We really do.”

Yunjin blinks again, then lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I swear, you two are gonna make me cry.”

Kazuha leans in, kissing her cheek softly. “That’s okay.”

You follow, pressing a kiss to her jaw, letting your fingers graze the inside of her wrist. Yunjin shudders slightly, exhaling against your skin.

She pulls back, her gaze darting between you both. “Promise me something.”

Kazuha tilts her head. “What?”

Yunjin’s voice drops, quieter now, more raw. “Promise me we never let this fall apart.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Never.”

Kazuha nods, tucking a strand of Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “You’re stuck with us now.”

Yunjin laughs softly, her fingers tracing over yours. “Good.”

Then Kazuha smirks, nudging Yunjin’s knee under the table. “You do know the night isn’t over yet, right?”

Yunjin’s eyes flick to her, slightly dazed from the weight of the conversation. “Huh?”

Kazuha leans in, lips brushing against her ear. “Come to bed.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Yunjin’s lips. She glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “You in?”

You grin, standing up, already reaching for her hand. “Always.”

Kazuha giggles, grabbing Yunjin’s other hand, tugging her toward the bedroom. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Her grin turns wicked as she drags you both into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with her heel. “One more gift,” she sing-songs, pulling a small black box from the dresser. Yunjin’s eyes light up, bouncing on her toes like a kid hyped on sugar. “What is it? What is it?”

“Patience, princess,” Kazuha teases, popping the lid open. Inside: satin blindfold, sleek silver handcuffs. Yunjin’s breath hitches. “Oh. Shit.”

Kazuha steps closer, trailing a finger down Yunjin’s arm. “You’re gonna let us ruin you today, yeah?” Her voice is syrup-sweet, dangerous. Before Yunjin can fire back, Kazuha kisses her—deep, hungry—and slides the blindfold over her eyes. Yunjin’s lips part in a gasp, her hands instinctively reaching out, but Kazuha catches her wrists. “Uh-uh. No peeking.”

You move in, fingers hooking under the hem of Yunjin’s shirt. She shivers as you peel it off, goosebumps rising where your knuckles graze her ribs. “Cold?” you murmur, lips brushing her ear. She shakes her head, biting her lip. “Just… fucking nervous.”

Kazuha laughs softly, unclasping Yunjin’s bra. “Don’t be. We got you.” The fabric falls, and Yunjin’s breath stutters as cool air hits her skin. You unbutton her jeans and slowly slide them down until they're off. You give her a kiss on the hip before taking off her panties. Now naked, you guide her toward the bed, her steps hesitant but trusting, until her knees hit the mattress. Kazuha pushes her down gently, straddling her hips while you strip off your own clothes.

Yunjin’s hands roam blindly, fingertips skating over your chest, down your stomach—then lower. She groans when her palm finds your cock, already hard. “Jesus,” she mutters, squeezing lightly. “Show-off.”

You chuckle, crawling over her. “I'm just excited.” Her retort dies as you kiss her, slow and filthy, her back arching off the bed. Then you take her wrists and put them together, handcuffing her. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her oversized shirt comes off in one fluid motion over her head. Underneath, she's bare. She leans in, nipping at Yunjin’s collarbone. “Feel good, Jen?”

“Too good,” Yunjin breathes, hips lifting as your tongue drags over her nipple. Kazuha hums, pinching the other one just to hear her whine.

“That’s the point.”

You settle between Yunjin’s thighs, spreading her knees wider. “Relax,” Kazuha whispers, kissing the corner of her mouth. “We’re just getting started.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, blindfold damp with sweat. “You two are evil.”

“Your evil,” you correct, dragging your tongue up her inner thigh.

She laughs, shaky and breathless. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.”

Above her, Kazuha smirks. “This will be your best birthday.”

You drag the head of your cock through her pussy, circling her clit just to hear her whine. “C’mon,” Yunjin grits out, hips jerking up, but you pull back, grinning.

“Nah. Not yet.”

Kazuha snorts, thumbs rolling Yunjin's nipples hard. “Look at her,” she purrs, leaning down to lick a stripe up Yunjin’s throat. “So fucking desperate.” Yunjin’s breath hitches as Kazuha pinches both peaks, twisting just shy of cruel. “Zuha—”

“You wanna beg?” you taunt, pressing the tip against her entrance again, not pushing in. Just there, teasing. “Say it.”

Yunjin’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, stubborn, but her hips rock helplessly, chasing friction. Kazuha slaps her tits lightly, the sound sharp. “Jen. Use your words.”

“Fuck—fine,” Yunjin snaps, blindfold slipping askew as she thrashes. “Put it in, you asshole—please.”

You click your tongue. “Tch. Rude.” But you give her an inch, just enough to make her gasp, her walls fluttering around the tip. Kazuha’s fingers slide into Yunjin’s hair, yanking her head back. “Again. Nicer.”

Yunjin whimpers, back arching. “Please—I need it. C’mon, please fuck me—”

You sink in slow, stretching her, relishing the way her mouth falls open. “There you go,” you murmur, grinding deep but not moving. Kazuha’s already kissing her, swallowing her moans, hands roaming her ribs. “Feel good, baby?” Kazuha breathes against her lips. “Look at you—taking him so good.”

Yunjin nods frantically. “More—”

You pull out almost all the way, dragging a broken noise from her throat. “Nuh-uh. Slow.” You thrust shallow, lazy, keeping her on the edge. Kazuha’s fingers tweak her nipples again, and Yunjin sobs, her legs shaking. “You’re evil,” she chokes out, but her hips roll, greedy.

Kazuha laughs, low and warm. “And you’re obsessed.” She licks into Yunjin’s mouth, messy and wet. “Bet you’d let us do this all night, huh? Just… take it. Be our good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered moan as you finally give her a full stroke, deep and slow. “There,” Kazuha coos, palming her tits. “See? We’ll take care of you.”

Your hips snap forward, pace shifting from lazy rolls to something hungrier, deeper. Yunjin’s nails claw at the sheets, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “Fuck—fuck—”

Kazuha leans over her, nipping at her earlobe. “That’s it, baby. Take it,” she murmurs, thumbs circling Yunjin’s nipples, red and swollen from attention. “Look at you—so fucking pretty when you’re wrecked.”

Yunjin’s head thrashes side to side, blindfold damp and crooked. “Shut up—”

“Nah,” you grunt, slamming into her harder, the bedframe creaking. “We’re gonna talk about how good you feel all damn night.” Your hand grips her hip, fingers bruising, as you drive into her. “Love how you squeeze me—Christ—like you’re scared I’ll leave.”

Kazuha laughs, low and warm, her lips trailing down Yunjin’s jaw. “She’s greedy,” she teases, pinching a nipple just to watch Yunjin jolt. “Wants us both to ruin her.”

Yunjin’s moan cracks into a whine, her legs hooking around your waist, pulling you deeper. “Yes—yes, keep—ah—”

“Keep what, princess?” Kazuha purrs, her palm sliding down Yunjin’s stomach, fingertips grazing her clit. “Use your words.”

“Keep—fucking me,” Yunjin gasps, back arching off the mattress. “Harder—please—”

You oblige, slamming into her with a force that knocks the breath out of her. Kazuha’s fingers circle her clit, relentless, as she whispers filth into Yunjin’s ear. “Bet you’d let him break you if I asked, huh? My good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered cry, her hips bucking wildly, torn between your thrusts and Kazuha’s touch. “Zuha—fuck—”

“We got you,” you growl. “Not gonna stop ’til you’re screaming.”

Kazuha’s grin is all teeth as she watches Yunjin unravel. “Best birthday present ever,” she hums, licking the shell of Yunjin’s ear. “And we’re just starting.”

Yunjin’s voice cracks, raw and desperate, as you pound into her, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “Zuha—please—” she gasps, her head thrashing against the pillow. “I wanna—fuck—I wanna taste you.”

Kazuha freezes, her fingers stilling on Yunjin’s clit. “What?” she breathes, her eyes wide, lips curling into a wicked grin. “You’re begging for it now?”

“Yes,” Yunjin whines, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. “I’m—fuck—I’m addicted, okay? I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s laugh is low, throaty, as she leans down, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “God, you’re insatiable,” she murmurs, her breath hot. “But who am I to say no?”

She kisses her way down Yunjin’s body—her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts—nipping and sucking until Yunjin’s trembling beneath her. “You’re so fucking needy,” Kazuha teases, her tongue flicking over a nipple. “But I love it.”

Yunjin’s hips buck wildly, her moans turning into desperate pleas. “Zuha—please—I can’t—fuck—I can’t wait—”

Kazuha smirks, crawling up Yunjin’s body until she’s straddling her chest. “You sure you can handle me?” she purrs, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re already so wrecked.”

“Yes,” Yunjin gasps, her lips parting, tongue darting out like she can already taste her. “I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s grin widens as she shifts forward, her thighs framing Yunjin’s face. She's facing you, and her eyes meet yours before she finally says: “Then earn it,” lowering herself slowly, her wetness brushing Yunjin’s lips.

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. Her tongue flicks out, lapping at Kazuha’s pussy, hungry and eager. Kazuha’s breath hitches, her hips rolling instinctively, grinding against Yunjin’s mouth. “Fuck,” she moans, her head falling back. “You’re so good at this.”

You don’t let up, your thrusts relentless, driving Yunjin deeper into the mattress. Her moans are muffled against Kazuha, her tongue working in frantic, messy strokes. Kazuha’s hands grip the headboard, her thighs trembling as she rides Yunjin’s face. “God—you’re obsessed with me,” she gasps, her voice shaking. “Aren’t you?”

Yunjin’s response is a muffled whimper, her tongue plunging deeper, her lips sucking hungrily. Kazuha’s nails dig into the headboard, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—”

The room is a symphony of moans, the wet sounds of Yunjin’s mouth on Kazuha, the slap of your balls against Yunjin’s ass. Kazuha’s thighs tighten around Yunjin’s head, her movements growing more erratic. “You’re ruining me,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Fuck—I can’t—”

Yunjin’s hands, still cuffed, twitch like she wants to grab Kazuha’s hips, but she can’t. All she can do is take it, her tongue working in desperate, hungry strokes. Kazuha’s moans grow louder, her hips grinding harder, her thighs squeezing Yunjin’s head like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—” Kazuha chants, her voice high and desperate. “You’re so—God—you’re so good—”

You lean over Yunjin, your thrusts never slowing, your lips brushing Kazuha’s ear. “Look at her,” you growl, your voice rough. “She’s yours.”

Kazuha’s eyes meet yours, dark and wild, as she grinds down on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mine,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Fuck—she’s mine—”

Yunjin’s moans are muffled, her body writhing beneath you both, completely at your mercy. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Your hips slam into Yunjin, relentless, the slap of skin echoing as she arches off the bed, muffled moans vibrating against Kazuha’s pussy. Kazuha’s thighs quiver where she’s perched on Yunjin’s face, her fingers clawing at the headboard. “Fuck—you like fucking her like this, don’t you?” she pants, her voice shaky but smug. “Tell me—tell me how good she feels—”

“God—yes,” you grit out, your hands digging into Yunjin’s hips, holding her still as you drive deeper. “So fucking tight—squeezin’ me like she’s scared I’ll leave—”

Kazuha moans, grinding down harder on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mmm—knew you’d love it,” she purrs, her nails scraping Yunjin’s scalp. “Our greedy little princess—right, baby? You wanna be his favorite?”

Yunjin whimpers, her tongue lashing faster against Kazuha’s clit like a plea. Kazuha throws her head back, gasping. “Shit—she’s begging for it—fuck—tell her,” she demands, her eyes locking with yours. “Tell her she’s yours.”

You lean down as you fuck into her, slow and deep. “You’re mine,” you growl, voice rough. “Every fucking inch—Christ—you take me so good.”

Yunjin’s moan is desperate, broken, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her hips rolling in filthy circles. “Bet you wanna keep her like this forever, huh?” she taunts, her breath hitching as Yunjin’s tongue flicks faster. “handcuffed—blindfolded—just your pretty little fucktoy—”

“Zuha—” Yunjin chokes out, her voice muffled, strained.

Kazuha grins, dragging her fingers through Yunjin’s sweat-damp hair. “Aw, baby—you love it,” she coos, her tone saccharine. “You live for this—being used by us.” She glances at you, her smirk turning wicked. “Harder. She can take it.”

You obey, slamming into Yunjin with a force that makes the bedframe screech. Yunjin’s cry is swallowed by Kazuha’s pussy, her thighs trembling as she struggles to keep up, licking and sucking like her life depends on it. Kazuha’s moans pitch higher, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—ruin her—”

Yunjin’s cuffed hands twist, her knuckles white, her body strung taut between your thrusts and Kazuha’s weight. “Good girl,” you snarl, your hand sliding up to squeeze her throat gently. “Take it—all of it—”

Kazuha’s laughter is breathless, uneven. “Look at her,” she gasps, her hips stuttering. “Blindfold’s soaked—God—she’s drowning in us—”

You don’t let up, your pace brutal, your thumb brushing Yunjin’s clit in rough circles. She screams around Kazuha, her body bowing off the bed, but you pin her down, relentless. “That’s it,” Kazuha moans, her thighs clamping around Yunjin’s head. “Break her—fuck—I wanna watch her shatter—”

Yunjin’s sobs are muffled, messy, her hips pistoning wildly as she chases her peak—but you don’t let her. Not yet.

Kazuha’s thighs lock like a vice around Yunjin’s head, her back arching as her hips stutter. “Fuck—Jen—don’t stop—” she gasps, her hands clawing at her own tits, nails digging into pale skin. Her abs flex, taut and trembling, as she grinds down harder, riding Yunjin’s tongue like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Yes—right there—fuck!”

Yunjin moans, the sound muffled and wet, her nose buried in Kazuha’s pussy as she sucks and licks like she’s starving. You lean over her, your thrusts never slowing, sweat dripping onto her heaving chest. “Make her cum,” you growl, your voice ragged. “Choke on it.”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, her thighs shaking violently. “Close—so close—” Her head snaps back, a broken scream tearing from her throat as she cums, her hips jerking wildly, soaking Yunjin’s mouth, chin, the blindfold. “Fuck—fuck—Jen!”

Yunjin keeps licking, greedy, even as Kazuha collapses, her hands braced on the headboard, gasping. “Shit,” Kazuha pants, her voice wrecked, staring down at Yunjin’s glistening face. “Look at you—covered in me.” She swipes a thumb through the mess on Yunjin’s lips, then sucks it clean, moaning. “God, you’re good at that.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, her lips swollen, chin slick. “Zuha—” she whimpers, hips rolling desperately against your cock. “Please—I need—”

Kazuha crawls off her, knees wobbly, and crashes her mouth onto Yunjin’s, licking her own taste off her lips. “Patience, princess,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing down Yunjin’s stomach. “Your turn.” She glances at you, her eyes dark, hungry. “Wanna watch her break?”

You grip Yunjin’s hips, slamming into her once, hard, just to hear her scream. “Fuck yes.”

Kazuha grins, her hand sliding between Yunjin’s legs, thumb circling her clit. “You hear that, baby?” she purrs, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “He’s gonna fuck you stupid while I play with this pretty little pussy.” Her fingers dip lower, teasing her entrance, already stretched around your cock. “Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name.”

Yunjin sobs. “Please—please—”

“Begging already?” Kazuha taunts, her thumb pressing harder. “You’re pathetic.” She nips Yunjin’s earlobe. “Love it.”

You lean down, your breath hot against Yunjin’s throat. “Gonna ruin you,” you growl, your pace turning brutal, erratic. “Our good girl.”

Kazuha’s fingers fly over Yunjin’s clit, relentless, her other hand pinning Yunjin’s hips down as you fuck into her, hard and fast. “There—right there—” Yunjin gasps, her voice cracking, thighs shaking like she’s about to snap. “Fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—oh God—”

Kazuha leans in, her lips brushing yours mid-thrust, her tongue sliding against your mouth, hungry. “Make her scream,” she murmurs against your lips, her breath hot. You groan, slamming into Yunjin harder, the bed creaking like it’s about to split.

“Cum,” Kazuha demands, her thumb jamming relentless, sloppy circles over Yunjin’s clit so fast it’s like she’s trying to start a damn fire. Yunjin’s whole body convulses—legs kicking out, stomach clenching, her ass lifting clean off the bed like she’s possessed. “Do it, baby—let it rip, come on—”

Yunjin’s head thrashes against the pillow, her blindfold already slipping damp with sweat. “Wait—wait—fuck—I—I think I’m gonna—oh God, I’m gonna pee—” Her voice cracks, high and frantic, her cuffed hands yanking uselessly against the headboard as her hips squirm to escape. But Kazuha’s got her pinned, one hand digging into her thigh, laughing like a maniac, all breathless and unhinged.

“No you’re not, dumbass,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes darting to yours—dark, wild, practically glowing with how fucking turned on she is. “Trust us, princess. You’re about to lose your mind.”

You don’t let up either, your grip on her hips bruising as you slam into her, relentless, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room. “Cum,” you growl, voice scraped raw from how hard you’re holding back. “Right fucking now.”

Yunjin’s scream rips out—half terror, half pure, unfiltered ecstasy—as her body locks up tight. Her back bows so hard you think she might snap, and then—fuck—it happens. A hot, explosive gush blasts out of her, soaking your thighs, splashing up your stomach, drenching the sheets in a messy, glorious flood. She’s squirting like a busted faucet, pulsing waves of it, each one harder than the last, and it’s loud—obscenely wet, splattering against your skin, dripping off Kazuha’s wrist as she keeps rubbing Yunjin’s clit.

“Holy shit—yes—look at you!” Kazuha howls, cackling through it, her fingers a blur as she milks Yunjin for more. The gushes keep coming—another sharp spurt hits your chest, warm and slick, then another soaks Kazuha’s arm up to her elbow. Yunjin’s thrashing now, her thighs trembling uncontrollably, the cuffs jingling against each other. “What—what’s happening—I can’t—I can’t stop—”

You’re soaked, cock still buried deep in her, and her pussy’s clenching around you like a vice, fluttering wild as she keeps cumming, keeps squirting, the mess spreading wider. The sheets are a goddamn swamp, dark patches blooming under her ass, and still, she’s not done—another desperate, shuddering wave shoots out, hitting your hips again, trickling down to pool under you. “Fuck,” you grunt, hips stuttering as you try to keep up, sliding in her slick heat. “Never seen anything this hot—shit, Yunjin—”

Kazuha flops forward, her chest heaving as she licks a slow, filthy stripe up Yunjin’s throat, tasting the sweat there. “You’re squirting, baby,” she murmurs, voice thick with smug pride, like she’s just won the lottery. “Ruining everything—our sheets, us, the whole damn bed. Look at this fucking mess—God, it’s perfect.” She’s grinning, feral, her soaked hand still moving, coaxing out more—a smaller spurt this time, but it still splashes against her palm, dripping between her fingers.

Yunjin’s a wreck—gasping, whimpering, her blindfold completely drenched now, sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her chest heaves like she’s run a marathon, her voice breaking as she stammers, “I—I can’t—it’s too much—fuck—” Another weak gush leaks out, slower now but still enough to make her twitch, her oversensitive body jerking under Kazuha’s touch like she’s been electrocuted.

You keep fucking her through it, slower now but deep, feeling her walls pulse and flutter around you, her slick mixing with the absolute lake she’s turned the bed into. “So fucking gorgeous,” you mutter, voice rough, losing your rhythm as your own edge creeps closer. “You’re a goddamn waterfall, Yunjin—holy shit.”

Kazuha’s fingers finally ease up, turning soft and careful as she rubs gentle circles over Yunjin’s clit, drawing out the last little trickles. Yunjin whimpers, her hips jolting with every touch, her body strung out and twitching. “Shh—there you go, good girl,” Kazuha coos, leaning down to kiss her jaw, her lips brushing soft against the trembling skin. “You did so fucking good, baby. Drenched us—look at this disaster.”

Yunjin’s head lolls to the side, her breaths ragged, voice a wrecked whisper. “Did I—did I really just—?”

“Hell yeah, you did,” Kazuha cuts in, smirking wide as she lifts her dripping hand to her mouth, licking her fingers clean with a low, dramatic moan. “Goddamn, you taste so good—like victory or some shit.” She savors it, sucking her knuckles, eyes half-lidded as she watches Yunjin squirm. “Welcome to the club, princess. You’re a fucking legend now.”

You finally pull out, cock throbbing and slick, collapsing onto the soaked sheets next to them with a groan. The bed’s a warzone—puddles of Yunjin’s mess everywhere, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. Kazuha swings a leg over Yunjin’s hips, straddling her, her fingers trailing through the sticky chaos between Yunjin’s thighs. “Look at you,” she teases, pressing two fingers back into Yunjin’s swollen, oversensitive pussy just to hear her gasp and jolt again. “Our little fountain—still leaking, huh?”

Another tiny spurt escapes Yunjin at the intrusion, feeble but enough to make Kazuha giggle darkly. Yunjin groans, her face burning red under the blindfold, her voice hoarse. “Shut up—fuck, stop it—”

Kazuha just laughs, pulling her fingers out and smearing the wetness across Yunjin’s stomach, leaving a glistening trail. “Nah, you love it. Look at you, still shaking. You’re gonna remember this one forever, princess.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, grinning at the sight—both of them wrecked, the bed ruined, Yunjin’s thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. “She’s right,” you say, voice low and rough. “You’re a fucking mess, Yunjin. Hottest mess I’ve ever seen.”

Yunjin just groans again, turning her face into the pillow like she can hide from the embarrassment, but Kazuha’s already leaning down, kissing her neck, whispering something filthy that makes Yunjin shiver all over again.

“On your knees,” you say, your voice low, rough, and Kazuha’s eyes light up like she just won the damn lottery. She’s already moving, her hands sliding under Yunjin’s arms, helping her sit up even though Yunjin’s still a little shaky.

“C’mon, princess,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice all sugar and sin as she undoes the handcuffs, letting them clatter to the floor. Yunjin’s wrists are red, marked, and Kazuha kisses one of them softly, like she’s apologizing but also not really sorry at all. “You’re doing so good for us, baby. Just a little more, okay?”

Yunjin nods, her lips parted, her breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. She’s blindfolded, completely at your mercy, and fuck if that doesn’t make your cock twitch. Kazuha guides her off the bed, her hands gentle but firm, and Yunjin stumbles a little, her legs still weak from cumming so hard.

“Easy, Jen,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing. “Don’t wanna fall before you get to taste him, right?”

Yunjin’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. She lets Kazuha guide her to her knees on the floor, the cool wood against her skin making her shiver. Kazuha kneels beside her, her hand brushing Yunjin’s hair back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

“You ready, baby?” Kazuha asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

Yunjin nods again, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and fuck, the sight of her like this—blindfolded, on her knees, still trembling from her orgasm—has you so hard it’s almost painful.

You step closer, your cock brushing against Yunjin’s lips, and she opens her mouth instinctively, her tongue flicking out to taste you. Kazuha’s right there, her hand on Yunjin’s shoulder, her other hand reaching up to wrap around the base of your cock, guiding it into Yunjin’s mouth.

“That’s it,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes locked on yours as Yunjin takes you deeper, her lips wrapping around you, her tongue swirling against the underside. “Look at her, babe. She’s so fucking good at this.”

Yunjin moans around you, the vibration making you groan, and Kazuha smirks, leaning in to kiss Yunjin’s cheek. “You hear that, Jen? He loves it when you suck him like this.”

Yunjin’s hands find your thighs, her fingers digging in as she takes you deeper, her throat working around you. Kazuha’s not content to just watch, though. She leans in, her lips brushing against the tip of your cock, her tongue flicking out to taste you right alongside Yunjin.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your hand tangling in Kazuha’s hair as she takes over, her mouth sliding down your cock, her tongue teasing the sensitive spot just under the head. Yunjin’s still there, her lips pressed against the base, her tongue licking and sucking like she’s trying to prove something.

“You two—” you start, but your voice cracks, your hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

Kazuha pulls off just enough to smirk up at you, her lips glistening. “Yeah? You gonna paint our faces, baby? Make us your pretty little canvas?”

Yunjin moans again, her tongue swirling around you, and Kazuha laughs, low and throaty. “Look at her,” she says, her fingers brushing Yunjin’s cheek. “She’s already begging for it.”

“Keep going,” you growl, your hand tightening in Kazuha’s hair as she takes you deep again, her tongue working in tandem with Yunjin’s. “Fuck, just like that.”

Kazuha hums around you, the sound vibrating through your cock, and Yunjin’s fingers dig into your thighs harder, like she’s trying to hold on. They’re both so fucking good at this, so eager, so desperate to please you, and it’s taking everything in you not to lose it right then and there.

Kazuha passes the turn to Yunjin and, fuck, her mouth is so warm, wet, and so fucking tight around you, her throat working as she takes you deeper, her lips stretched around your cock. You can’t help it—your hips start moving, fucking her throat like it’s her pussy, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moans, the sound vibrating through you, her hands gripping your thighs like she’s holding on for dear life.

“That’s it,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice low and husky as she kneels beside Yunjin, her lips brushing against your thigh. Her hand slides up, cupping your balls, squeezing gently, and you groan, your hips jerking forward again. “Fuck her throat, baby. She can take it.”

Yunjin’s blindfold is soaked, her makeup smudged, drool running down her chin, but, fuck, she looks beautiful like this—wrecked, messy, and completely yours. Her throat tightens around you, and you can feel her gag reflex kicking in, but she doesn’t stop. She just takes it, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her face.

“God, I love you both so much,” you mutter, your voice rough, your hand tangling in Yunjin’s hair as you thrust deeper. Kazuha’s lips trail up your abdomen, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and her free hand slides up to squeeze your ass, urging you on.

“We love you too,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your stomach. “Now cum for us, baby. Paint our faces. Make us yours.”

You’re so close—your balls tightening, your cock throbbing—and you can’t hold back anymore. You pull out of Yunjin’s throat with a wet pop, her lips swollen, her chin glistening with spit. She gasps for air, her chest heaving, but she doesn’t move. She stays on her knees, waiting, her blindfold still in place.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you growl, your hand stroking your cock as Kazuha leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip.

“Do it,” Kazuha whispers, her eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “Cum for us.”

The first shot hits Kazuha’s cheek, thick and hot, and she moans, her tongue darting out to catch the next one as it lands on her lips. Yunjin’s head tilts up, her mouth open, and you aim for her next, painting her face with your cum. She gasps, the sensation of it hitting her skin making her moan, her lips parting as another streak lands on her tongue.

“Fuck, yes,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers brushing through the mess on Yunjin’s face, smearing it across her cheeks. “Look at her, baby. She’s so fucking pretty like this.”

You’re still cumming, your cock twitching in your hand as you shoot the last few ropes across Kazuha’s forehead, her eyelashes fluttering as it drips down her face. She laughs, low and throaty, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop.

“God, you two,” you mutter, your chest heaving as you finally finish, your cock still throbbing. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Kazuha grins, her face glistening, and she leans in, her tongue dragging across Yunjin’s cheek, cleaning the cum off her skin. Yunjin shivers, her lips parting as Kazuha licks her way up to her forehead, her movements slow and deliberate.

“You taste so good, Jen,” Kazuha murmurs, her lips brushing against Yunjin’s as she kisses her, deep and filthy. Yunjin moans into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in Kazuha’s hair, pulling her closer.

You watch them, your cock still hard, your breath still uneven, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Kazuha pulls back, her fingers brushing against Yunjin’s blindfold, and she tugs it off gently, revealing Yunjin’s dark, glazed eyes.

“Your turn,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing, and Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against Kazuha’s face, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to clean the cum off Kazuha’s skin.

Kazuha moans, her head tilting back as Yunjin licks her way across her cheek, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Fuck, Jen,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re so good at this.”

Yunjin smirks, her lips brushing against Kazuha’s as she pulls back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters, her voice hoarse but playful.

You laugh, your hand brushing through Yunjin’s hair as she leans against your leg, her face still a mess but her eyes bright, her smile soft. Kazuha’s grinning too, her fingers tracing patterns on Yunjin’s shoulder, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you—wrecked, messy, and completely, utterly in love.

“Best fucking birthday ever,” Yunjin mutters, her head resting against your thigh, and you can’t help but agree.

—

The ocean breathes against the shore, rhythmic and steady, a pulse beneath your feet. Warm sand shifts between your toes as the salty breeze kisses your skin, carrying the laughter of the few close friends who’ve gathered. The sun, melting low on the horizon, paints everything in gold—your skin, the waves, the three of you standing at the edge of something new, something bigger than words or law could define.

You glance at Kazuha and Yunjin, your soon-to-be wives in every way that matters. The sight of them knocks the breath from your lungs.

Kazuha, always the picture of effortless grace, is wrapped in something soft and flowing—silk, maybe, or something close to it. A pale shade of champagne that clings just right, the fabric rippling with every step she takes, like liquid light moving over her body. The neckline dips just enough to be elegant, teasing the sharp angles of her collarbones. Her long, dark hair is twisted up into an intricate braid, woven with tiny pearls that catch the sunlight. Barefoot, she looks like she belongs here, like she’s always been part of the ocean and the wind.

Yunjin, standing beside her, is in contrast—bold, striking, alive. Her dress is deep, rich red, the kind that demands attention without ever needing to try. It’s fitted at the top, cinched at her waist, then spills out just a little, giving her enough room to move, to dance, to throw her arms around you both without restriction. There’s a slit high on her thigh, because of course there is, and her hair is loose, wild, catching in the wind. A thin gold chain drapes across her bare back, subtle but decadent. She’s glowing.

And then there’s you. Keeping it simple, because it’s not about the clothes for you—it’s about them. A crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to be casual, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Black slacks, fitted but easy. A leather band around your wrist that Kazuha tied there earlier, murmuring something about how it made you look even better. Barefoot, just like them. Standing here, in the middle of everything you’ve ever wanted, with salt on your lips and warmth in your chest.

The ceremony isn’t formal. It’s barely structured at all—because what is there to structure? There’s no officiant, no legalities, no paperwork to sign. Just a promise, spoken into the open air, carried by the wind and sealed in the laughter shared between the three of you.

A friend reads something—something sentimental, maybe a poem, maybe just words strung together in a way that makes your throat tighten. You don’t remember half of it, too caught up in the way Kazuha keeps glancing at you with that soft, knowing smile, or the way Yunjin keeps shifting like she might just grab you both and run straight into the ocean.

And then it’s time for the vows.

Kazuha goes first, her voice light, almost teasing, but steady.

"I don’t know if I believe in fate," she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But I do believe in you. Both of you. And I know that wherever we go, whatever happens next, as long as I have you, I have everything."

Yunjin snorts. "That’s so unfair. You’re making me look bad."

Kazuha grins, tilting her head. "Not my fault you didn’t prepare."

Yunjin groans, dragging a hand down her face. "Okay, fine, fine. Here’s my vow: I promise to always be a pain in your ass. And I promise to love you while I’m doing it. I promise to keep things interesting, to make you laugh when you don’t want to, and to be there, no matter what. Always."

And then it’s your turn. You exhale, looking between them, feeling the weight of everything pressing against your ribs.

"You already know," you say, voice quieter than you expected. "I’d follow you anywhere. Because home isn’t a place, it’s this. Us. Wherever we go, whatever comes next—I’m in."

Yunjin makes a noise, something choked and half-laughing, before grabbing both of you and pulling you into a crushing hug. Kazuha follows, arms looping around you both, and suddenly there’s no space left between you, just tangled limbs and racing heartbeats and something bigger than words pressing against your chest.

There’s no ‘you may now kiss’ moment. No need for permission. You just do. Kazuha’s lips are the first you find, soft and slow, tasting like the faintest hint of the champagne you all shared earlier. Then Yunjin’s, warm and insistent, her fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you closer. The cheers from your friends in the background barely register.

And then comes the final rite of the ceremony.

The three of you walk down to the water’s edge, where the waves stretch out, endless and waiting. The sand is cool beneath your feet as you each kneel, tracing words into the damp shore. Wishes. Promises. Sent off to the sea, to be carried into the unknown.

Kazuha writes hers in delicate, looping script: "That we never stop dancing, together."

Yunjin, ever the contrast, scrawls hers in bold, uneven letters: "That we never get fucking boring."

And you? Yours is simple. Yours is true. "That we always have each other."

You sit back, watching as the waves creep forward, swallowing the words, carrying them out into the tide.

Kazuha slips her hand into yours. Yunjin rests her head on your shoulder.

The sun dips lower, the sky turning violet, the wind brushing against your skin like a whispered promise.

And just like that, you’re married.

—

The sun’s already high when you wake up, slanting golden through the sheer white curtains, throwing shifting patterns across the tangled mess of limbs and sheets on the bed. The air is thick—salt, sweat, the faintest lingering scent of sex. Your body feels wrecked, but in the best possible way, that slow, heavy ache of complete satisfaction.

Kazuha is sprawled half on top of you, one leg draped lazily over your waist, her bare skin impossibly warm against yours. Her hair is a wild mess, dark strands sticking to her forehead, her lips still slightly swollen from all the kissing, all the biting. She’s out cold, her breathing slow and steady, the kind of sleep that only comes after getting thoroughly ruined.

Yunjin is curled up on your other side, face buried in the pillow, her back rising and falling in soft, even breaths. Her arm is still hooked over your stomach, fingers curled slightly, like even in sleep she doesn’t want to let go. There’s a faint red mark trailing down her shoulder—your teeth, probably.

The night is a blur of heat and tangled sheets, of desperate hands and hungry mouths, of bodies pressed so tight together that it felt impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You still remember the way Kazuha rode you slow and deep, the way Yunjin had moaned against your neck when you fucked her from behind, the way they had taken turns kissing each other, their bodies moving in sync, breathless and slick with sweat.

Jesus.

You exhale, running a hand over your face, blinking up at the ceiling. Your whole body feels like it’s been through a war, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The sheets rustle as Kazuha stirs, stretching out with a little sigh, her toned arms reaching above her head. Her eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded with sleep, and when she sees you looking at her, she smiles—slow and lazy, her lips curling like she’s remembering exactly what went down last night.

“Morning, husband,” she murmurs, voice husky.

You snort. “That’s symbolic husband to you.”

Yunjin groans into the pillow, her voice muffled. “Too early for words. Shut up.”

Kazuha grins, shifting so she can press a kiss to your shoulder. “What time is it?”

You glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Almost noon.”

That makes Yunjin lift her head slightly, squinting. Her hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and she’s got the kind of dazed, post-sex look that makes you want to drag her right back under the sheets. “Shit. Did we miss breakfast?”

“I think it goes until one,” you say, running a hand down her back, feeling the way she shivers slightly at the touch.

“Good,” she mutters, letting her head drop again. “Because I need food. I feel like I lost half my body weight last night.”

Kazuha giggles, stretching again before finally rolling off you, sitting up, her back a perfect curve, muscles shifting beneath her bare skin. “Yeah, you were kind of insatiable.”

Yunjin groans. “Don’t start. I’m too hungover for your judgment.”

“Who’s judging?” Kazuha smirks, standing and padding over to grab one of the hotel robes from the chair. She tosses one to Yunjin, then grabs yours, throwing it at your face. “Come on, we should probably eat before we just pass out again.”

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before throwing the robe on. The three of you are a mess—hair wild, bodies covered in faint marks from the night before, Kazuha sporting a few love bites on her collarbone that she doesn’t even bother to hide. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and shake your head.

The poor hotel staff must have heard everything.

And speaking of the staff—

You remember the look on the receptionist’s face last night when you asked for a room, explaining (for some reason) that you were a married man now. The way she had blinked, clearly trying to figure out which of the two stunning women beside you was your wife. And then the way her confusion had only deepened when you casually mentioned that you had married both of them.

Pure comedy.

By the time you make it downstairs, the little beachside hotel’s dining area is mostly empty, save for a few other guests nursing coffee and looking half-asleep. The three of you slide into a corner booth, ordering a full spread—pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, the works.

Yunjin leans back in her seat, sighing as she stretches her arms above her head. “Man, I don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, stirring sugar into her coffee. “We really don’t have to, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I mean… we could stay. Move here. For real.”

You blink. You hadn’t actually thought about it—not seriously, at least. “You wanna live here?”

Yunjin sits up, suddenly interested. “Actually… yeah. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Kazuha glances between the two of you, tilting her head. “Think about it. You know I’ve been wanting to start my own studio. I could do it here. A ballet school by the beach? That’s kind of a dream, isn’t it?”

You consider that. It does sound like something Kazuha would thrive in. A beautiful, sunlit studio, kids in tutus, the sound of waves just beyond the windows.

Yunjin leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. “And I could finally use my damn degree. You know, I actually like tourism. I just never thought I’d get another chance at it after all the shit I went through.”

You frown slightly. “Do you think you're ready to come back?”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah. I do. I wanna help people experience places. I wanna be part of that.”

You let that sink in. Kazuha, finally running her own place. Yunjin, doing something she actually loves.

And you?

You don’t care where you live. You’ve always been like that—rootless, adaptable. As long as you have them, you’re good.

You exhale, leaning back. “Alright,” you say slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Kazuha’s eyes light up. “Wait, really?”

Yunjin grins. “You’re just gonna agree, just like that?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Why not? You two are my family now. I’ll go wherever you want.”

They exchange a look—one of those silent, loaded glances that means something big is happening.

Then, before you can react, they’re both launching themselves at you, Yunjin practically climbing into your lap, Kazuha wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

Yunjin laughs against your cheek, breath warm. “God, I love you.”

Kazuha presses a kiss to your jaw. “Me too.”

And yeah. You love them too.

So why not start something new?

[urmum-lovesme]

Ok but toxic!dad!rafe where this don’t effect the children’s life but when it come to the mother of his kids he’s still very overprotective. I mean she is a MILF.

This is the best thing I've ever heard anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Toxic!Rafe as a dad?

Surprisingly present. 

His kid adores him, and in their eyes, he’s just their cool, protective father. He spoils them, takes them out on the yacht all the time, and he makes sure they have everything they could ever want. He told himself he would never be like Ward if he ever became a father, and he- for a change- was living up to his word.

But when it comes to their mom? That’s where the real problem is.

Because Rafe does not change when it comes to Y/N.

Y/N falling pregnant, certainly wasn't planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She was young, she had a future and more than anything, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to stay with Rafe, let alone have a baby with him. She didn't tell Rafe right away. Not because she was hiding it, but because she knew- deep in her gut- that he wouldn’t react like a normal person. She needed time to think, to weigh her options, to figure out what she wanted before he got involved.

But Rafe found out anyway.

Y/N had been so incredibly careful, she didn't leave any trace of the positive pregnancy test in Tannyhill; but he just knew her too well, sensed that something was off when she stopped drinking.

“What?”

His voice was quiet at first, his brows furrowed, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But then the realisation hit. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, the room suddenly feeling too small. His voice was calm, but there was something dangerous underneath it.

“You were gonna tell me, right?”

“Rafe, I—I don’t know what I’m going to do yet—”

Wrong answer. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“The fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” His breath was hot against her face, his fingers digging into her skin.

“That’s my kid, Y/N.”

Her stomach churned, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“I just- Rafe, I need time to think—”

“No, you don’t.”

He cut her off, shaking his head like the idea itself was ridiculous, angrily running a hand through his messed up hair.

“You don’t need to think. It’s already decided.”

She tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened, his other hand settling on her waist, firmly keeping her closer to him.

“We’re having this baby.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the words passed his lips, tears stinging her eyes before she could stop the feeling.

“I don’t- Rafe, this is my choice—”

His fingers pressed harder, his face inches from hers.

“No, it’s ours.”

Even now when they have a child together, he still watches her like a hawk. Still gets unreasonably possessive when she dresses a certain way, still makes a scene when he catches another man looking at her for a second too long. And she knows better than to fight him on it- most of the time.

It’s a summer afternoon, and she’s lounging by the pool, drink in hand, wearing a bikini that makes Rafe’s jaw clench. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over her as she adjusted the thin strap of her bikini top. It was tiny- too fucking tiny. The black fabric barely covered her tits, which, thanks to breastfeeding, were even fuller now, spilling slightly over the edges. His jaw clenched as his gaze dragged down, taking in the way the strings hugged her hips, digging into soft, newly gained curves that had him gripping the bottle in his hand just a little harder.

His friends are over, and while they’re talking, his eyes keep flicking toward her, watching the way the fabric clings to her curves. And then- Topper nudges him, nodding toward one of the new neighbours talking to her.

Rafe’s face goes dark.

She’s laughing at something the guy said, totally unaware of the way Rafe’s grip tightens around his beer bottle. He doesn’t make a scene- not yet- but when the guy finally walks away, Rafe strides over, towering over her as she peers up from her sun bed. His voice is deceptively smooth, but she knows that tone.

"Having fun, baby?"

"Yes."

His fingers skim her thigh, tracing the edge of her bikini bottoms.

"You looked like you were having a little too much fun."

She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on her head, she had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going.

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious." He leans down, voice dropping.

"Go inside and cover up."

She scoffs, shifting to sit up, the towel underneath her crumpling slightly as she moved,

"It’s our backyard and it's a pool party-."

"-I don’t give a fuck."

"Rafe, you’re being ridiculous."

"Yeah?" His grip tightens on her thigh.

"Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to fuck you?"

Her stomach flips.

"Stop," she hisses, even as heat creeps up her neck. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in so only she can hear.

"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to, huh?"

Her breath catches.

And the way he says it? The way his hand tightens on her thigh, just enough to send a warning? It sends a shiver down her spine, even as she glares at him. Because she knows- if she doesn’t listen now, he’ll make her.

Somehow, their kid never see this side of Rafe, he makes sure of it.

To them, their dad is just protective, he just 'cares about mommy so much!'. They never see the way their mother bites her lip in frustration when Rafe pulls her away from conversations. They never see the bruises he leaves- not always from violence, but from gripping her too tight, kissing her too hard. They don’t hear the way she argues in hushed tones behind closed doors, or the way she eventually gives in and melts into him anyway.

Because as much as she hates his jealousy and his control, she loves him too much to walk away.

He is the father of her child after all

[rafesangelita]

♡ when pope doesn’t want to hit you during sex..

warnings: oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, slight dirty talk, angst, finger sucking, mentions of past sexual encounters, reassurance and comfort, brief description of reader being treated poorly, overstimulation, soft sex, praise, reader cries, pope is so gentle and sweet ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

a/n: highly recommend reading bitchy!pogue!reader’s lore if you haven’t already so you could get a better understanding of her <3 this was slightly inspired by the ending of ‘anora’

wc: 1.3k

“pope, pope, pope—” you sounded like a broken record, the man’s name falling off of your lips like a mantra. working his tongue in skillful cirlces around your clit, you shuddered as his grip around your thighs tightened, arching your back off of his sheets with a cry. you didn’t think he had it in him. pope had effortlessly made you scream and cry in overstimulation for the past twenty minutes, your brain fuzzy and vision hazy as he pushed you over the edge time and time again.

“how are you so good at that?” you couldn’t help but ask as pope licked the remnants of you off of his lips, your eyes running down his shirtless form. “well i took a lot of anatomy classes for science and stuff, you know? bodily functions are kinda my thing. jj also might’ve given me some pointers..” you laughed, your chest rising and falling as you basked in your post-orgasm bliss. pope looked up at you sheepishly, sorta in disbelief that he had you of all people here in his room.

deciding to put his shirt back on, pope froze once you pulled at his arm. “what are you doing?” your brows knitted together in confusion when you saw him looking around like you two were finished. “i uhm— i didn’t want to assume that you wanted to have like full on sex, so i was just gonna let you get dressed whenever you felt ready.” you laid there dumbfounded. no guy has ever been this considerate. “are you kidding? i’m not leaving you high and dry..”

pope swallowed thickly when your hand trailed down his frontside, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you palmed him through his shorts. “did jj give also give you pointers on how to fuck?” pope shook his head, allowing you to pull him down between your legs. he was rock hard in his boxers and he was still making it all about you. “you got this hard just by tasting me?” your voice was sugary sweet and pope swore he could blow his load right then and there when he felt your fingers working him out of the restraints of his underwear.

“yes,” he nodded, deciding to help you out when one of the charms from your nails got caught in his zipper, “you tasted so good, and you’re also just really, really pretty.” he stammered, the nervous look on his face making you giggle. ‘pretty’ the word was so wholesome, you hadn’t been called that in ages. you were so used to the terms ‘hot’, ‘sexy’, even ‘sinful’, but pretty? you couldn’t decide if you liked the way your heart fluttered in your chest when you heard it.

you shook off the weird feeling that came over you, instead distracting yourself by taking pope’s hand and wrapping your lips around his thumb. “oh, wow! that’s—” pope had never seen such an erotic sight before in his life. not even in the weird porn jj would flash him out of no where. pope could sense a slight energy shift, but ultimately decided that he was just mentally psyching himself out cause he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

once he was prodding at your entrance, you and pope shared a knowing look before he pushed into you, a muffled moan tumbling from your mouth as he groaned, screwing his eyes shut at the sheer feeling of you being wrapped around him. you felt better than what he could’ve ever imagined. warm, wet, and gripping him like a fucking vice. he cursed to himself, hoping, pleading, that he wouldn’t finish quick and make a fool out of himself.

you were already a mess when his head was between your thighs, but feeling him inside you was a totally different thing. he knew exactly how to angle his hips so he could hit that spot that made you see stars behind closed eyes. he was slow and calculated, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. the realization had you feeling exposed and slightly embarrassed.

why wasn’t he being rough?

why wasn’t he being selfish?

why wasn’t he using you purely for his own pleasure?

pope leaned down and started leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck, taking his hand and intertwining his fingers with your own. “you feel amazing,” he praised, “just perfect.” you blinked, your breath quickening as his lips found their way to yours. your brain wanted you to push him away and tell him that kissing on the lips was too intimate, but your heart had you giving in and kissing him back.

it wasn’t until you and pope were lost in each other’s orbit and his nose was nudging yours ever so gently that you panicked and turned your head away from him. you were losing control, and you needed to get behind the steering wheel fast. ripping your hand from his, you grabbed his shoulders and flipped you two over so you were on top. pope looked surprised, the sudden change in position throwing him for a loop. you reached back, lining him up with your entrance before sinking back down onto his length.

pope let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his hands flying out to rest in the curve where your thighs and your hips met. you started up a steady pace, the man underneath you shamelessly grunting and moaning as you rode him with ease. you refused to look at him or meet his eyes, partly because you were terrified of seeing what you couldn’t handle right now; and that was the gaze of a man who wasn’t viewing you as some kind of sex object, but as an actual living being with emotions and thoughts and aspirations of your own.

pope knew what you did for work but it didn’t bother him. he was concerned about your safety more than anything. your fears came true when pope ran his fingers across your flesh, the look on his face saying it all. he wasn’t just admiring your body, he was cherishing it. every curve, every detail, he was engraving every single thing into his brain in hopes that he wouldn’t have to rely on his memory of you to be the only time he’ll ever see you like this.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed to prove that pope was exactly like everyone else. “hit me,” you moaned, grabbing his hand and placing it on your cheek, “please, i want you to do it.” pope felt his heart drop to his stomach, his face twisting in confusion. “hit you? why would i do that?” he stopped you, sitting up against the headboard while you avoided his heated stare. “why wouldn’t you?” you scoffed, “it’s like every guy’s wet dream.”

“it’s not mine.”

that’s exactly what you were afraid to hear. of course pope wasn’t some sick individual who got off on hitting girls and inflicting pain on them— words included. “please, just do it. choke me, pull my hair, anything— i want it.” with his palm still on your cheek, he cradled your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “no, you don’t.” he whispered, stroking your skin with the utmost care.

him being gentle hurt you more than any man who threw you around with no regard ever did. you didn’t know no other way, you didn’t know what it was like to be put first. nor did you know how to outwardly express your appreciation or vulnerability without having to give something away. you stared at him, your resolve crumbling as you cried into his chest, his arms enveloping you immediately. you cried until you couldn’t anymore, all while pope was still nestled inside of you.

he didn’t say a word as he held you tightly, your tears dripping down onto his skin as he rubbed soothing circles into your back. pope already knew what was wrong, his ability to read you and see right through you was uncanny. “no one can hurt you anymore,” he stated, “not in here. not when you’re with me.”

[kazrz]

TEN YEARS TOO LATE ⛥ sirius black

ten years ago, bellatrix lestrange’s child was thrown onto your doorstep without warning. ten years later, you’re not sure if you’re living the life you’d wanted — but you do know that mattheo is your son, and no one else’s. [1.6k words]

TAGS: sirius is harry’s godfather, reader is a single mum to mattheo riddle, hurt/no comfort, angst, lovers to strangers/borderline enemies ngl, voldemort died after the first war, reader and sirius are both meanies

🐦‍⬛ — everyone say hi to my baby mattheo! I wrote this fic smiling and all but best believe I’ll never have a child in the future. too much work.

p.s. this fic is inspired by ‘he looks like his father’ by @/marauder-misprint! that fic changed lives and one of them was mine.

“He’s not your kid.”

You’ve endured many offensive questions about Mattheo’s parentage ever since you took him in. They sent you spiralling downward into the deepest depths of your mind, wondering why everyone needed to have their noses in your business. They made you second guess your parenting skills, doubting how you raised Mattheo and whether he truly is the boy you nurtured him to be.

While you weren’t normally so tongue-tied in these situations, it didn’t help that your old, repulsive Hogwarts fling was standing right before you — closer than he’d ever been in more than a decade — confidently claiming that your son wasn’t yours.

It was a huge, fucking relief that the kid had inherited his biological mother’s shamelessness.

Mattheo pushed past only a few irritated students and parents on his way to you. Sirius’ words were as clear as day to him. They ignited a flame that wasn’t known for its swift ceasing.

“Who are you to be the judge of that?” he gritted out, fingers clinging onto yours by habit. You smiled down at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “Last I remembered Mum telling me, you ditched her after graduation and never reached out. You have no right to even be speaking to her.”

Your son’s words sizzled a hole into your heart. You hadn’t expected him to remember the measly details about a man who was irrelevant in his life. The last time you’d mentioned Sirius, Mattheo was merely five. He’d asked, “Mama, why don’t I have a dad?”

How could you not answer him?

Eighteen years ago, you would have laughed if someone said you’d be a single mother. Sixteen years ago, you would have laughed, along with Sirius, at the prospect of being parents.

Ten years ago, you held in your distaste for children and took in a three-year-old.

And you wouldn’t let the man who’d left your heart in pieces disregard the hard work you’d put in.

Sirius’ dry laugh left you clenching your teeth, hands itching to curl into fists and punch him square in the face. “Stay out of this, kid,” he snapped, not even bothering to glance at Mattheo.

You sent him a right hook straight to his chiseled jaw, hearing a soft crack sound at the impact.

Silence fell over the courtyard like a thick, suffocating blanket, but not before gasps echoed from every corner of the open space. Sirius held trembling fingers to his left jawbone, lips parted in absolute bewilderment. He stared off into the empty space beside Mattheo.

A few rustles sounded as someone shoved past students clad in their black robes. Harry froze, halting just before he ended up in the middle of the ongoing catfight.

A dazed Remus materialised from behind him, eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“YN,” the lanky man rasped, eyes flitting between you and his best mate. Sirius still had his hand pressed to the side of his insolent-looking face, but now he was glaring you down, brows virtually stitched together. “YN, you’re here.”

Mattheo tugged on your arm and you stepped back, the greater distance between you and your ex clearing the haze from your mind. You tried not to roll your eyes at Remus’ quite apparent observation.

“Yes, I am, Lupin.” The edge in your voice gave way to pure rancour, eyes hardening when Sirius righted himself with a groan. You had half the heart not to utter the next few words. “You’re not the only one with a child.”

By now, the prying eyes of passers-by had redirected somewhere else, no longer interested in your dispute with two of the Marauders.

Remus’ gaze lingered on Mattheo — his dark curls, his defined brows, his nose, the scar that marred his cheek intimidatingly. He looked close to nothing like you, save for his body language, graceful yet sharp, and his clothing choices, casual yet sophisticated.

Even if the kid wasn’t your blood, it was painfully blatant that he was raised by you.

The professor swallowed the lump in his throat. “Riddle’s yours?” The question was stupid, but he was too dumbfounded to think of another one.

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. You relished in seeing him wince at the pain that struck his jaw. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to rip him apart.

“You might wanna stop there, Moony, or she’ll have you puking out your guts,” Sirius sneered, the unfamiliar sound sending a tremble down Harry’s spine. His godfather had never been so agitated before. It might’ve just been your presence that irked him, given the woeful tone Sirius would adopt whenever he shared stories about your relationship back then.

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone claim your son isn’t really yours, would you? Because Harry isn’t your son. He’s your dead best friend’s son.”

A brief flicker of hurt crossed Sirius’ grey eyes. It tugged at your heartstrings, but you shoved the feeling aside. You had no compassion for him. He’d shattered you — how could you possibly go back to him?

Mattheo turned to you with a plea in his eyes. While he normally would contribute with some snarky comments of his own, he didn’t want you getting into a brawl. Especially when this was the topic at hand.

“Mum,” he tried, voice firm but holding a semblance of vulnerability he’d only ever show around you. “Don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

At that, Sirius whipped out his wand and jabbed at your chest with the tip. Mattheo almost broke the man’s ribs, but you pushed him aside before he could get caught in the altercation.

The former Gryffindor looked nearly like a rabid dog with the way he snarled and growled, wand tip digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Not worth it? That’s what I was to you? What you told your son I was?” His voice sank deeper than the depths of the ocean. Harry didn’t recognise the man who looked like his godfather.

You gripped his wand tight, nearly snapping it in two if Sirius hadn’t yanked it away harshly. “The moment you abandoned me on my own doorstep, you became a stranger!” you raged, keeping your volume in check before another crowd formed. “When you didn’t call, or even send a bloody letter, I gave up waiting on you. What could I do? Cry all night because you weren’t there to hug me? Trudge around my house blindfolded because everything reminded me of you? I knew better than that. I moved away, and you weren’t there to stop me. So why are you here now, claiming my kid isn’t mine and acting offended that he thinks you’re of no worth to me?”

Mattheo held his breath when you spat the words you’d been holding in for years. He knew you were tenacious and resolute in all your glory, but he’d never witnessed you so livid. He had little to no knowledge of how Sirius had left you so wounded and exposed, though now, your words began assembling the puzzle pieces he’d collected over the years.

He noticed whenever you stopped for a moment, looking longingly at an object that meant nothing to him, but a lot more to you. You would sometimes, subconsciously, style his hair differently when it grew too long. Right now, as he glanced between you and Sirius with his waves, he realised why.

“Seriously, Sirius?” He heard the crack in your voice when your ex didn’t respond. Out of guilt or fury, he didn’t know. “You made your decision, and I have made mine.”

You shoved the dark-haired man off of you, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing. Remus darted forwards, barely managing to catch Sirius in his arms, sparing him from the unforgiving impact of the ground. Hushed whispers were exchanged as the latter righted himself, sending you a glare while holding his injured jaw.

It was only after a quiet, indignant huff that you turned to your son and placed benign hands on his shoulders.

Leaning down slightly, you brushed a stray hair away from Mattheo’s forehead, smiling as tenderly as you could. “Are you ready to leave, Theo?” you murmured sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous bite. The sudden shift in tone induced whiplash.

Mattheo flashed a charming grin that reminded Remus of your own. Whatever Sirius had said about the Slytherin boy not being your son was possibly the most erroneous statement ever uttered.

You mirrored his expression, though yours was gentler and didn’t reach your eyes. Your son’s enthusiasm flickered for a moment, but when you stood to your full height and led him away, Mattheo began cheerfully rambling about the recent happenings at Hogwarts and his own escapades.

Sirius couldn’t believe that he’d just seen you for the first time in more than a decade. He especially couldn’t fathom the fact that it had gone terribly.

He shouldn’t have said Mattheo wasn’t your kid. That isn’t something you say to your ex you’ve been thinking about for sixteen years after you ditched her. Now that he’d put it that way, he realised how horribly he had acted towards you and your son.

Your son. It was a foreign term to him, principally when it came to you. The you he’d known in Hogwarts had an unyielding repugnance for children. But, he figured, you were really only averse to the toddlers who didn’t listen. You must have raised Mattheo well.

“That was awful,” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow at his godfather. Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face and wincing when his jaw decided it was too much.

He sighed, brows stitched together. “I know.” But what did it matter?

Remus patted him on the back. “If you’re lucky, you might see her again,” he reassured his friend, though skepticism snuck between his words.

“If she even wants to see me again.”

Harry had a feeling that you didn’t.

navigation ⛥ sirius black

[jacquitries]

In This Life and The Next Pt. 2 | J.P.

You have finally found each other again—after time was rewritten, after fate tore you apart and left only memories in its wake. But the world does not make it easy. You are twenty years younger than James. His friends do not understand. And worse—he does not know the truth of what you have become.

(Ask and ye shall receive!!! Part 2 of In This Life and The Next. You can read the first part here)

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You are twenty years younger than him. The world does not let you forget it.

The ones who love James do not let him forget it, either.

Sirius is the first to confront him. "This is a joke, right?" he says, but there’s no humor in his voice. "You? In love? Since when?"

James’ jaw tightens. "Since now."

Sirius scoffs, shaking his head. "No. No, you don’t get to say that like it makes sense. You—James Potter—have never truly been in love. Never. Not once. And now you expect me to believe that after all these years, after everything, you suddenly are? And with her?" He gestures sharply. "She’s a kid, James. A friend of Harry’s. You’re supposed to be an Auror, not some lovesick fool chasing after something that shouldn’t even be a thought."

James exhales sharply, his patience thinning. If only they knew. If only they could remember. He has spent years, a lifetime, wandering through a world without you. He remembers what it felt like to live with the absence of you, to search for something that no longer existed. And now, now that he has you again, they expect him to simply let it go?

"She’s not a kid. She’s a grown woman who knows what she wants. And so do I."

Remus folds his arms, his expression unreadable but his words measured. "It’s not just the age gap, James. It’s you. You’ve never done this before. You’ve never cared like this. How do you know it’s real? How do you know you’re not just grasping at something because it’s there? Because she looks at you like you matter?"

James clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. They don’t understand. How could they? In their minds, he has always been the same James Potter—the reckless one, the unshakable one, the man who never let his heart rule him. They have no memory of the weight he has carried, the loss that haunted him in another life. If they did, they would not question him now.

James swallows down the words that threaten to spill, the truth clawing at his throat. If only they knew. If only they could remember. He has spent a lifetime without you already—a life that felt hollow, incomplete. And now, faced with their skepticism, he cannot tell them. He cannot let them know the weight he carries, the second chance he has been given. So instead, he clenches his fists and exhales sharply. "I know exactly what this means. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

Lily’s voice is calm, but there’s something sharp in her eyes. "James, I believe that you believe that. But you’ve never had to navigate love before. You don’t know what it’s like to build something with another person, to make compromises, to think about what the future actually looks like with them. She’s still figuring herself out. And whether or not you mean to, you have all the power in this. That’s what scares us."

Power. James swallows. He knows it’s true. He is older, more experienced, established in his life while yours is just beginning. But it does not change the fact that he knows you. That he has known you beyond what time would allow them to comprehend. If only they remembered—if only they could recall what it had been like when you were all equals, standing together in a life now lost.

Sirius lets out a hollow laugh. "And what? You think you’re going to settle down? Get married? Have kids? Since when have you ever wanted that, James? You’ve never cared about things like this before. And now you expect us to believe that’s changed? That you even know what you're doing?"

James stares at them, heart pounding. He has never known love like this before, true, but not because he was incapable of it. It had simply never found him—until you. Until fate twisted its cruel hand and gave him a second chance that no one else in this room could begin to fathom.

Then, Harry speaks. "It’s weird," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really weird." He looks James in the eye. "But I trust you. And I trust her. And if this is what you both want, then I won’t stand in your way."

Sirius throws up his hands in frustration, but Remus only sighs. The argument does not end cleanly. It lingers, unspoken, in the spaces between their words, in the way James feels their stares long after they leave the room.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Time passes in stolen moments.

James doesn’t talk about the argument, but he feels its weight in the way his friends look at him, in the silence that lingers whenever your name comes up. He should care more. Maybe, once, he would have. But then you arrive at his doorstep, eyes alight with something he can’t name, and none of it matters.

You fill his space with laughter, with warmth, with something he’s never had before. The best days are the ones where you curl up beside him on his sofa, your presence so natural it’s as if you’ve always belonged there. He memorizes every detail—the way your fingers trace patterns against his wrist, the way your smile softens when you think no one is looking. But there is something else, too. A shadow behind your gaze, a hesitation when you think he isn’t paying attention.

James notices.

He tells himself he won’t push, that you’ll tell him when you’re ready. But the unease festers. It builds in the quiet spaces between your visits, in the way you linger at the door as if there’s something you want to say but can’t. He wants to believe that whatever is haunting you will pass, that you will let him in.

But the days slip through his fingers like sand, and James cannot shake the feeling that something is slipping away before he’s even had the chance to hold it.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The room is suffocating.

The air is thick with the scent of burning wax and damp stone, the flickering torch light casting shadows that stretch unnaturally across the walls. Hooded figures stand in a circle, their silent presence more terrifying than words could ever be. You kneel at the center of it all, the cold seeping into your bones, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your chest.

And then, the searing pain.

It spreads like fire, like something crawling beneath your skin, binding itself to you in ways you cannot undo. Your breath catches, but you do not scream. You will not give them the satisfaction. This was forced upon you, but you will not break. You refuse.

When it is done, when the brand is settled and the pain turns from burning to aching, you dare to lift your gaze. And that’s when you see him.

Evan Rosier.

His grip tightens around your wrist—not harsh, but firm, grounding. His eyes, sharp and searching, flicker with something close to disbelief. "I didn’t think you’d go this way," he murmurs, his voice low, controlled, but you can hear the crack beneath it. This isn’t just surprise—it’s something deeper, something dangerously close to betrayal.

You search his face, the one so familiar and yet so different from the boy you once knew in another lifetime. He doesn’t remember. He never could. And yet—

"Neither did I," you say, and the words are both a lie and the closest thing to the truth.

A moment passes, stretched thin between you. The ceremony moves on without pause, the murmurs of approval from the surrounding figures fading into the background. But Evan does not move. His fingers tighten for just a second before loosening, before glancing over his shoulder as if ensuring no one is listening.

He exhales sharply. "Then I’ll protect you." A pause. A breath. "As much as I can."

It is not a promise, but it feels like one.

He knows as well as you do—safety is a fleeting thing in times like these. But in this moment, it is enough to believe in the lie.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You stand before Dumbledore, hands clasped tightly at your sides, the weight of what you are about to say pressing down on you like lead. You have rehearsed this moment, crafted every word with precision, but under his gaze, they threaten to crumble.

"I want to work for you," you say, voice steady despite the storm inside you. "As a spy."

Dumbledore does not move, does not react. His office, usually brimming with quiet magic, is unbearably still. The ticking of an ancient clock fills the silence between you.

"I was inducted tonight," you continue, forcing your voice to remain even. "The Dark Lord believes I am his. I can make use of that. I can get you information, give you insight no one else can."

Still, he says nothing. His silence is not judgment—it is something worse. Consideration.

"I know what this will take," you press on. "I know what will be asked of me, and I accept it. But if I do this, I need to know that you will use what I give you. That it won’t be wasted."

Finally, Dumbledore leans forward, interlacing his fingers. "Do you understand what you are offering?" His voice is quiet, measured, but there is something heavy beneath it. "What this will cost you?"

You exhale slowly. "I do. And I am still here."

For a long moment, he only watches you. Then, at last, he nods. It is not approval, nor is it relief. It is inevitable.

You close your eyes for just a second, the weight of his actions settling over you like a heavy cloak. And then, before you can stop yourself, you speak again. "Severus."

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpens slightly, though his expression remains unreadable.

"I know he walks the same path I do," you continue, your voice quieter now. "He may not say it, but I see it in the way he looks at me. He knows what I am doing. What I have to do. Because he’s doing it too, isn’t he?"

Dumbledore does not confirm. But he does not deny it either. And that is answer enough.

You exhale slowly. "He doesn’t want me there," you say, half to yourself. "He thinks I’ll make a mistake, that I don’t understand what I’ve gotten myself into. But I do. I know what this means. I know the cost." And that is answer enough.

"Severus is a man of many loyalties," he says at last. "As are you. It is best to remember that."

A beat of silence. Then another.

At last, Dumbledore exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opens them again, there is no warmth, no reassurance. Only quiet resignation. "If you must walk this path," he says, voice laced with something almost sorrowful, "then walk it carefully."

The words settle over you like a heavy cloak, suffocating in their finality. He does not question. He does not argue. He accepts.

And somehow, that is worse.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James does not know. He cannot know.

You live two lives, separate yet inescapably intertwined. In Hogsmeade, you let James hold you, let his hands linger as if they can keep you here, grounded in the warmth of The Three Broomsticks and stolen moments. But you are never truly present. Because when you are not with him, you are somewhere else entirely.

Hogwarts is your sanctuary. The Vanishing Cabinet is your escape.

In the dead of night, you slip through its doors, stepping from the stone corridors of the castle into the heart of a war no one suspects you fight. On the other side, Evan is waiting. The others are waiting. And you play your role as if it is the only thing keeping you alive.

Evan Rosier is your tether to yourself, though neither of you speak of it. He walks beside you in the dark, his wand always the first to strike, his magic landing before yours can hesitate. He makes sure your hands remain clean, though you both know that blood clings to you anyway.

Snape sees it too. He watches you from the edges, his dark gaze knowing, waiting.

"Rosier cannot protect you forever," he murmurs one evening, his words measured, precise. "The Dark Lord will want proof. And when that moment comes, no one else will be able to take your place."

You say nothing, but Snape does not need your answer. He already knows the truth. So do you.

And yet, Evan does not falter. When a man kneels before you, pleading, it is Evan who moves first. When the Dark Lord calls your name, it is Evan who steps forward, ensuring his curse lands before yours can. He does not speak of it later. He does not need to. You both understand what is left unsaid.

One night, after another mission where he has taken the worst of it, Evan exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You need to start playing the part," he murmurs. "I can’t keep doing this forever."

You meet his gaze, searching. "Then why do you?"

He hesitates, something unspoken lingering between you. Then, slowly, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is careful, deliberate.

"Because someone has to."

The lie between you is thin, stretched too tight. One day, it will snap.

James is beginning to notice the cracks. His hands linger just a little too long when he holds yours. His fingers brush against your wrist absentmindedly, so close to the mark hidden beneath your sleeve. His eyes linger when you speak, as if memorizing, as if searching for something he can no longer name.

"Are you happy?" he asks once, quiet, uncertain.

You smile, effortless and hollow. "Of course I am."

James presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. But even he cannot protect you from this.

The war is closing in. And you are running out of time.

Your life is an illusion, carefully constructed and meticulously upheld. The Dark Mark still burns on your skin, a phantom weight, a silent promise. You tell yourself it is necessary. That deception is survival. But Evan knows better.

He watches you, always. His eyes find you in the firelight, filled with something unspoken. Not pity. Not quite. Something heavier. Protective.

One evening, when the weight of it presses too hard against your ribs, you find yourself standing before Dumbledore, Snape at his side. The room is dim, candlelight flickering over stacks of parchment and maps of battle lines drawn in ink. You do not sit. You do not need to.

"They’re moving against the Ministry," you say, voice quieter than it should be. "Not now, but soon. It will be sudden. They expect the Aurors to be too scattered to react."

Dumbledore steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable. "Do you know when?"

You shake your head. "Not yet. But we'll find out."

Snape exhales through his nose, his gaze sharp as he studies you. "You risk too much."

"So do you."

A pause stretches between you, weighted with something neither of you will name.

Dumbledore nods, his voice softer now. "You have done well. But be careful. If they begin to suspect..."

"They won’t." You force the words out. "They can’t."

And then, because you cannot linger, because you cannot allow yourself to feel safe, you turn and leave, the door closing behind you like the snap of a trap.

Later that night, Evan finds you by the fire. He doesn’t speak when you sit beside him, doesn’t ask you to explain the tension in your shoulders or the way your hands shake. He only leans back, silent, waiting.

"The Dark Lord won’t look away forever," Evan finally says. "I can’t keep stepping in. Sooner or later, you’ll have to do it yourself."

You swallow hard. "I know."

Evan studies you for a long moment, then exhales. "You’re not ready."

It isn’t an accusation. It’s the truth.

For a fleeting second, you think of another life, another Evan—one who did not survive the first war. You wonder if, somehow, some part of him remembers. If that is why he looks at you this way. Why he refuses to let you fall.

"I’ll be ready when I have to be," you say, though the words taste like ash.

Evan exhales. "I’ll make sure of it."

The promise is unspoken, but it is there.

You step through the Vanishing Cabinet in the dead of night, slipping between realities, moving from student to soldier, from Hogwarts to the Dark Lord’s side, from safety to war.

And then, you return. Your uniform crisp, your books neatly stacked, your hands steady as they turn pages in the library. No one suspects.

No one except James.

He does not know what, not yet, but he knows something is wrong. And James Potter has never been one to ignore a mystery.

"You disappear sometimes," he says one day, fingers brushing yours over the table in The Three Broomsticks. "I send letters, and you don’t answer. Where do you go?"

You smile, tilting your head in playful amusement. "You make me sound far more interesting than I actually am."

But James only watches you, gaze unwavering. "You’ve always been interesting. But now, you’re hiding something."

You lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, as if that will be enough to make him forget. "Don’t be silly, James. I’m exactly where I should be."

For now.

But even the best illusions eventually unravel. And James has always been too sharp not to see the cracks.

The war does not wait for love. And soon, there will be nothing left to hide behind.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James Potter has been hunting them for weeks.

A high-profile case—one that has consumed his every waking moment, led by whispers and half-truths, tracking the movements of Death Eaters embedded deep within the Dark Lord’s ranks. It has been long hours, sleepless nights, strategy meetings with the Order, every piece of information bringing him closer to tonight.

This was meant to be a takedown. A decisive blow.

Instead, it becomes something else entirely.

The battle is chaos.

Spells collide midair, flashes of green and red illuminating the vast, shadowed hall. The sounds of dueling wizards, the crackling energy of magic tearing through walls, the heavy weight of destruction—it is almost too much. The air is thick with smoke, dust rising from shattered stone, the metallic scent of blood lingering at the edges of his senses.

And then, he sees you.

It is a moment frozen in time.

His expression is unreadable at first—shock, disbelief, a refusal to accept what he is seeing. Your mask does not hide you from him. Nothing ever could.

You do not falter. You do not stop. You throw yourself into the fray, fighting with the others, knowing you must play your part. But James does not look away. He weaves through the battlefield, ignoring the shouts of his allies, dodging spells with reckless abandon, eyes locked onto you.

“James! Focus!” someone shouts, but he doesn’t hear them.

He is coming toward you, wand raised—not to kill, but to reach you. And you cannot let that happen.

You twist away, hurling spells in every direction, striking down just enough enemies to maintain your cover while ensuring the Order is not overwhelmed. You aim just off-center, just wide enough to miss vital points, just close enough that no one questions your loyalty.

But James—James does not stop. He pushes forward, breaking through the fight as if nothing else matters. His allies call his name, but he is deaf to them. He is moving toward you with single-minded determination, and in his distraction, he does not see it.

The spell streaks toward him, bright and deadly.

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

A curse leaves your wand, striking him—hard enough to throw him to the ground, hard enough to make it seem real, but just enough to keep him alive.

Pain flickers across his face as he crumples, his hand instinctively clutching at the wound. His eyes find yours, searching, questioning, but you do not let yourself linger.

Evan is there in an instant. A flick of his wrist. A flash of green. The only other witness collapses lifeless to the floor.

“You have to leave,” Evan says, his voice low but firm. “Now. Before they suspect.”

You hesitate, just for a second, but James is still watching you, dazed, confused, betrayed.

You turn away.

You disappear with the others, leaving James behind, wounded but alive.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Later, in the quiet of the safe house, Evan finds you.

He does not speak at first. He watches you, eyes darker than usual, his usual smirk absent.

“You saved him.”

It is not a question. It is not an accusation.

You exhale. “I had to.”

He nods slowly, the weight of understanding settling between you. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Relief floods through you. Evan has always been pragmatic, but this—this is trust. Not blind, not naive, but deliberate.

“I don’t care what side you’re on,” he continues. “But you need to be more careful. There are too many eyes watching.”

You know he is right. You have made your choice, and there is no returning to Hogwarts now. The illusion is shattered.

You step forward, hesitating only a moment before wrapping your arms around him. It is not desperate, not a plea—just gratitude. He stiffens for half a second before exhaling, his hands settling lightly against your back. It is almost familiar, almost like before, almost like the past life he does not remember.

Almost.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James wakes to whispers.

He is recovering, the ache of the battle still fresh in his bones, but the worst wound is not the one left by your spell. It is the one in his chest, the one carved by the sight of you standing among them.

“She made her choice,” they tell him. “You have to let her go.”

The words scrape against something raw inside him. He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t argue. He simply stares at the ceiling, replaying it over and over—the way you moved, the way you fought, the moment your wand turned against him.

He should let you go.

He should. He knows he should.

But then Harry steps forward, quiet and sure, and says, “She’s never loved anyone like she loves you. There must be a reason.”

James turns his head, studies his godson, the quiet confidence in his stance. There is no hesitation in Harry’s voice. No doubt. Just conviction, clear as day.

James exhales, the weight in his chest unbearable. “She—” His voice falters, cracks under the weight of it. “She looked at me, Harry. And then she still walked away.”

Harry’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Maybe she had to.”

James closes his eyes. There is a war in his head, clashing between logic and feeling, between what he knows and what he refuses to accept. The others have already made up their minds. Sirius, Remus, Lily—they tell him it’s over. That she has made her choice. That he has to move forward.

James is not sure he knows how.

“She wouldn’t have done it unless she had no other choice,” Harry says. “You know that. You know her.”

James presses his hands to his face, inhaling shakily. It should be simple. Black and white. Enemy and ally. Betrayal and loyalty. But nothing about this has ever been simple.

When he speaks again, his voice is raw, a quiet promise forged in something far stronger than certainty.

“We must find her.”

Harry nods.

They will find you.

They will bring you back.

[ankababy]

A Home (part 5)

Part 1 Part 4 Part 6

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Let’s get to know the boys!

The apartment was silent when you stepped inside.

But the boys were there, waiting for you.

Chishiya on one end of the couch, relaxed, head tilted slightly like he had already worked everything out before you even opened the door.

And Niragi—

Yeah.

He looked pissed.

Not his usual smug, teasing irritation, but real, seething anger. His jaw was tight, his arms stretched across the back of the couch like he was forcing himself to stay put.

You barely got the door closed before he was talking.

“Where the fuck were you?”

No softness. No teasing. No game.

You blinked. You expected this. But you also knew you had nothing to hide.

“I had to play.” you told him, voice even. “You know how it is.”

Niragi scoffed, eyes narrowing. He did know. And that was the problem.

You barely had time to take a step before he was in front of you, looking down at you.

“Alone?” he demanded. His voice was low, but there was heat in it. A growing fire. “And didn’t fucking tell me?”

There was no playfulness in it, no crude jokes. He wasn’t taunting you.

He was angry.

And… you understood why.

Niragi wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to people caring. The people in his life before—whoever they were—never really did.

He had spent so long being expendable. Disposable.

And now?

Now, you.

You, sneaking out on him, leaving him behind.

He wouldn’t say it, but you knew—deep down, beneath all that cruelty, something in him felt abandoned.

Still, you stood your ground.

“I came back, didn’t I?” you said, voice softer now. “I was fine.”

His eyes flashed, and he let out a short, mocking laugh.

“Oh, yeah?” He leaned in closer, towering over you. “And what if you weren’t, huh? What if you got fucking shot, or jumped, or—or whatever the fuck? You think I’d just sit here and wait for your cold-ass body to come back?”

You stared up at him, his words sinking in.

He meant that. Every word of it.

This wasn’t just about control. He didn’t want to own you—he wanted to keep you.

And not in that twisted, possessive, cruel way he had once thought was love.

This was something else. Something messier.

Something that meant he didn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm. Just barely. Carefully.

He tensed. Didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry.” you said, voice sincere. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

A beat of silence.

And then—Niragi laughed. Short, sharp, disbelieving. Not mockingly. Not cruelly.

Like he couldn’t believe you meant that.

Like he didn’t know how to accept it.

You cared about him. Him.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

He shook his head, stepping back, running a hand through his hair, restless.

“Fucking idiot.” he muttered. He didn’t know what else to say.

You glanced past him, finally meeting Chishiya’s eyes.

He was watching. Not surprised, not upset. Just watching. He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

You took a breath, let the tension settle, and then, as if nothing had just happened, you smiled. “Do you guys want something to eat?”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“No.” The answer was flat, blunt. He didn’t even look at you when he said it, already turning toward the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”

That was it.

No more yelling, no more threats. He was done.

You watched him go, his movements tense. He didn’t slam his door this time, but the way it clicked shut still felt too final.

You let out a soft breath.

Then—

“I do.”

You turned your head.

Chishiya.

Oh, Chishiya.

Your smile returned, softer now. “Alright.”

And just like that, you headed for the kitchen.

No hesitation. No questioning it.

Because if he was actually asking for something, if he actually wanted something, then you weren’t going to ignore it. Not him.

You moved quietly, opening cabinets, pulling things out. The apartment was still stocked well enough from your last run, and you always made sure to have something easy for him.

As you worked, you glanced toward the living room. “How long were you guys waiting?”

Chishiya stretched out on the couch, getting more comfortable. “A while.”

That wasn’t really an answer, but you didn’t push. Instead, you asked, “What’s up?”

He raised a brow.

You elaborated, “Like… what’s going on? You both just looked at me when I walked in like I ruined something.”

“Maybe you did.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “If I did, it was something bad.”

He let out a small, quiet sound. Almost a laugh.

And you cherished it.

You kept talking as you moved, keeping the energy light. Soft. Warm. Because that’s what you did. You made things easier, softer. Even after a confrontation like that, even after Niragi’s anger, you were still… you.

Still an angel.

You didn’t ask why they were waiting. You didn’t ask why he stayed out here when he could have easily gone to bed. You just… accepted it.

And that, more than anything, was why he stayed.

From the couch, Chishiya watched. He didn’t really move, didn’t react much, but you felt his gaze on you, felt that familiar weight of his attention.

You liked when he talked, though. Even if it was short answers, cute little sentences. Even if you had to pull them out of him sometimes.

So, you kept talking. “Do you think Niragi’s still mad?”

Chishiya didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

You huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

Silence for a moment.

Then, casually, like it was just an observation, he said, “Not that he really has a reason to be.”

You blinked, turning to look at him.

He wasn’t looking at you now, just stretched out on the couch like he couldn’t care less, arms behind his head, completely relaxed. But he’d said it.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“Just that he has no reason to be this pissed about it.”

You raised a brow, stirring the food. “I mean, I did sneak out.”

He barely reacted. “So?”

You let out a soft breath. So?

“Well,” you shrugged. “he said he wanted to come with me next time, and I went without him.”

Chishiya finally glanced at you, flat, unimpressed. “And?”

You smiled a little. “And that’s a good reason to be mad, no?”

He scoffed. “Not really.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

His tone was so dismissive, so completely unbothered. Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why Niragi was this worked up.

It was weird.

Weird because… it kind of felt like he was on your side.

You didn’t even know if that was the right way to put it, because Chishiya didn’t take sides. Not like that. Not in a way that meant anything.

But still…he was making it clear.

You weren’t the one being unreasonable here.

He could have taken this moment to tear into you, to say something mean, something cutting, to make it clear that he didn’t care about your choices or Niragi’s anger. But instead, he was just… stating facts.

No reason for Niragi to be this pissed.

And that was that.

Your chest felt warm.

You smiled softly, turning back to the food. “That’s nice of you to say.”

He let out a small, amused breath. “Wasn’t trying to be nice.”

“Still counts.”

You heard a quiet exhale, something that might have been the smallest, faintest laugh.

God.

You loved when he did that.

And he made you think.

And you were good at thinking.

Chishiya was a puzzle that people often didn’t even bother trying to solve. Not because he was impossible, but because he made himself seem impossible. Most people gave up before they even started.

You didn’t.

He wasn’t actually that complicated.

Not to you, at least.

Because he reminded you of a certain type of patient you’d met before. The ones who were too self-aware for their own good. The ones who understood themselves better than most but refused to let that knowledge change them.

Chishiya knew exactly what he was. It was one of the reasons why he was so calm, so detached. Why he didn’t see the point in getting emotional. He understood that emotions were just variables. Just inconveniences. And he didn’t like inconveniences.

But what interested you most about him was how he was empty.

You’d seen that before, too—people who lacked anything. People who only mimicked, only played along.

But Chishiya didn’t mimic.

He didn’t care enough to. He was just… watching. Always watching. And the thing was—he wasn’t cruel, either. Sure, he could be cold and detached, blunt to the point of being mean, but he wasn’t actively cruel.

He didn’t get joy from hurting people.

That was the biggest difference between him and Niragi.

Niragi wanted control because control was the only thing that made him feel safe. He wanted people under his thumb, he wanted them afraid, because that way, they couldn’t hurt him first.

But Chishiya?

He didn’t care.

He didn’t need people afraid of him.

He just needed them predictable.

People were easier to deal with when you already knew what they were going to do.

You glanced over at him as he stretched out further on the couch, so comfortable, so unbothered. He was watching you again.

You met his gaze, soft and bright as always, before you turned back to the food.

Maybe you were an inconvenience to him.

But he still let you in.

That meant something, didn’t it?

It didn’t take long to finish cooking, and when you finally plated the food, you walked over, setting his plate down gently on the coffee table.

You smiled, tilting your head. “Enjoy.”

He looked at the plate, then up at you.

You didn’t stay, though. You turned and started walking back to your room.

“You’re not eating?”

You glanced back, still walking. “Not hungry.”

And then you disappeared into your room, shutting the door behind you.

Huh.

~

The morning light filtered in through the windows, casting soft golden lines across the counter where you sat, fingers lightly drumming against the surface. Your thoughts were distant, unfocused, floating somewhere between the past and the present, between here and… elsewhere.

The apartment was quiet.

Chishiya was nowhere to be seen—maybe still in his room, maybe just existing somewhere out of sight. And Niragi… well, if he hadn’t stormed into the living room yet, it meant he was either still asleep or still angry.

You weren’t sure which was better.

Your mind wandered back to last night, to the way his hands had twitched like he was barely keeping himself together. His anger had always been violent, unstable, irrational. But last night had been different. He hadn’t exploded like you thought he would.

He had just left.

And Chishiya…he had been more present than usual. It was subtle, but you noticed it.

Maybe you were reading too much into things.

Maybe not.

You sighed, rubbing at your temples before resting your chin against your palm.

Then, the sound of footsteps.

Heavy, slow, dragging footsteps.

You glanced up just as Niragi walked into the room, hair messy, eyes still carrying the weight of sleep. He rolled his shoulders back as he walked, one hand lifting to rub lazily at the side of his neck.

But he wasn’t angry.

Not anymore.

Still sharp-edged, still carrying that air of cruelty, but not shouting. Not pacing.

Your lips parted slightly in mild surprise, but you quickly recovered, offering him a soft smile as he made his way to the fridge, yanking it open without a word.

You tilted your head. “Morning.”

He let out a low grunt in response, eyes scanning the inside of the fridge with clear dissatisfaction. He pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a slow sip before glancing at you.

“You look like shit.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Good morning to you, too.”

He leaned against the counter, resting his weight on one arm as he lazily watched you. His gaze flickered over your face, then down to your hands on the counter, then back up.

“You gonna sit there all day looking pathetic or what?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless. At least he was calm.

“You hungry?” you asked, shifting forward slightly.

He scoffed, taking another sip of water. “Maybe.”

That was good enough for you.

Without hesitation, you slid off the stool and walked toward the kitchen, already moving to prepare something.

At least he wasn’t fucking shouting at you anymore.

Niragi watched as you moved around the kitchen. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, tapping his fingers against the water bottle, gaze following your every motion.

It was strange—having him quiet.

Not angry, not picking a fight, just watching.

Maybe something had shifted last night.

Maybe he just wasn’t awake enough to be an asshole yet.

Either way, you’d take it.

You stood at the counter, one hand holding up two different spice bottles as you turned to face Niragi. “Which one?”

He didn’t answer.

He just… stared.

But it wasn’t an ordinary stare, wasn’t an annoyed glare, wasn’t one of his usual mean spirited looks. No, this was something else entirely. His brows pinched just slightly, his mouth pressed into a firm line, eyes narrowing in a way that made you realize—

He wasn’t glaring at the spices.

He was trying to read them.

The realization struck you quietly, an almost invisible shift in your expression as you put the pieces together.

Your lips parted slightly before you spoke, keeping your voice casual, light, teasing even. “You look like you’re trying to set them on fire with your mind.”

Niragi scoffed immediately, but the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was slightly aware he had been caught. “Shut up.”

You tilted your head, fingers rolling the spice bottles in your hands. “Or maybe…” you trailed off for a second, letting your words sit before finishing. “you can’t read them.”

His face immediately twisted into a scowl, eyes snapping toward yours. “The fuck are you talking about?”

You smiled at him, gentle, patient. “You’re squinting.”

“I’m not squinting.”

“You are.”

“I—” He stopped.

Oh. He had just noticed.

You hummed, watching him as you slowly lowered the spices. “You need glasses, don’t you?”

Niragi rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might actually sprain something. “I don’t need them.”

You weren’t convinced. Not even a little.

You turned to set the spices down, switching gears seamlessly. “So, what happened? Did you break them?”

He didn’t answer.

You glanced over your shoulder, watching the way he tensed slightly, fingers tightening around the water bottle in his hand.

Oh. Oh.

“You don’t have them.” you stated, voice softer now, more certain.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t need them that much.”

Liar.

You turned fully to face him again, eyes flickering over his expression, over the discomfort in his body language.

The squinting, the reluctance, the complete avoidance of the subject—it wasn’t just that he didn’t have them.

He didn’t want them.

And why?

Glasses weren’t something to be embarrassed about. He had no issues with his piercings, his scars, his everything—so why this?

Your mind ticked over the possibilities. Maybe he thought they made him look weak, or maybe he had needed them when he was younger and never got them, maybe someone made him feel less because of them, maybe—

Hm.

You let it go.

For now.

Instead, you gave him a knowing smile, voice still sweet as ever. “Well, good thing you have me to read things for you.”

His eyes narrowed immediately. “No, I don’t.”

You giggled. Giggled. Like his threats were nothing. Like he was nothing to be afraid of. It was… irritating. In a way he didn’t know how to name.

You turned back to the food, but Niragi was still watching you. Watching the way you moved, the way your shoulders relaxed, the way you didn’t push further.

People always pushed.

Always made it a thing. Always had something to say, something to pick apart, some dumbass reason to act like they understood him.

But you didn’t.

You just… let it be.

And it was weird.

He stayed silent for a moment, watching as you reached for the spice he definitely couldn’t read and sprinkled it over the food, completely unfazed by his presence.

Then, you glanced at him again, as casual as ever. “So, are you gonna help me get plates out, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

Niragi blinked. “You’re so fucking weird.”

And yet, he didn’t leave.

“Just grab two plates.”

Niragi didn’t answer right away, and you expected some kind of retort—some kind of bite about how you were bossing him around.

But instead? He just… did it. No grumbling. No complaints. No dramatic sighs about how you should do it yourself.

He just grabbed the plates.

You paused for a fraction of a second, brows lifting slightly, eyes flicking toward him. “Wow.” you said. “You’re behaving.”

Niragi immediately rolled his eyes, plates clicking softly as he set them down. “Don’t make it weird.”

You grinned. “Oh, but it is weird. I feel like I should document this moment.” You gasped, dramatic. “Maybe even frame it.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

You giggled, placing the last bit of food on the plates before nudging one toward him. “Here.”

He didn’t thank you. Of course, he didn’t.

But you didn’t expect him to.

You just smiled, moving to place another plate where Chishiya usually sat.

“Where’s your food?” Niragi’s voice cut in.

You blinked, glancing toward him. “Hm?”

He jerked his chin toward the plates. “That’s only two.”

“Oh.” you said, as if you had just realized. “I’m not hungry.”

Niragi’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should have. Then, he clicked his tongue. “Whatever.”

And that was it.

That was all.

You weren’t sure what you had expected.

But as you turned away, moving toward the cabinets, you could still feel his eyes on you. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of you.

Like he was figuring something out.

And you? You just kept moving. You passed by Niragi, you reached out, fingers soft as they brushed through his dark hair. A gentle motion, slow and intentional, like the touch itself carried a quiet affection.

“Be good.” you said lightly, fingers giving the tiniest scritch at his scalp.

Niragi made a sound. Something between a scoff and a huff, like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or just accept it. You knew which one he settled on, though.

“I’m always good.” he muttered, tilting his head just slightly toward your touch.

You smiled, because he totally wasn’t.

Then, you pulled away and walked toward your room, leaving him there, plate of food in front of him, mind churning.

…Niragi didn’t flinch away.

That was the first thing he noticed.

He hadn’t even tensed, hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t made a move to get your hand off of him when you touched him.

Not like before.

Not like the first time you had reached for him, when he had told you to not fucking touch him.

He had meant it back then. Meant it with full intent. It hadn’t been an empty snap, not a meaningless show of aggression. He hadn’t wanted hands on him, not even yours.

But now? Now, he sat at the table, fingers gripping the edge of the plate, jaw ticking slightly as he realized—

He hadn’t minded it.

No. Worse.

He had leaned into it.

Tilted his head toward your fingers like he actually wanted it.

Like a dog begging for affection. Pathetic.

His grip on the plate tightened, and he exhaled through his nose.

That was the thing about Niragi. He was mindful. Every thought, every decision—he didn’t make them blindly. He was aware of himself in ways most people weren’t. He knew why he lashed out, why he bit down, why he burned people before they could burn him. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t just some mindless violence.

He wasn’t that fucking stupid.

So he knew what this was.

What you were.

Something inside of him, something deep and buried—it liked you. It wanted you.

Not in a sexual way, though he wouldn’t be opposed to that, either.

But in a way that was… sickening.

Because if he wanted you, if he wanted this, that meant something in him could want at all.

And Niragi had spent a long, long time telling himself he didn’t.

Because wanting led to losing.

And he was so fucking sick of losing.

So when his first instinct was to move away from you, he did it. Every other time, he did it. Because that was the right call, the smart thing. Keep people at a distance, keep yourself from needing anything from them.

But this time? He hadn’t.

He had let you touch him.

Worse—he had let himself like it.

He grit his teeth and forced his hands to relax.

It was fine.

It was fine.

You didn’t know what he was thinking. And as long as he was aware, as long as he controlled it, as long as he didn’t let it get to him—it would be fine.

And Niragi knew exactly what he was doing. Every single time.

Every word that came out of his mouth, every movement he made, every decision—all of it was thought through. Even when he was cruel, even when he was reckless, even when he was violent, even when he was shooting around and screaming, there was always a reason.

And that included you.

That included the way he got you to touch him even when he pretended he didn’t want you to.

Because he did.

He just… didn’t understand why.

He thought about it now, sitting at the table, food in front of him, mind still lingering on the feel of your fingers in his hair.

The other times. The excuses. The bullshit reasons he pulled out just to get your hands on him.

Actually deeply liking it started the day he shot that man, you held his face in your hands, eyes so worried, so sweet, voice gentle when you asked if he was okay—and he had remembered.

Remembered how warm your hands were. How soft.

So he had said it. His neck hurts. Could you check it?

It had been bullshit. A flimsy excuse. His neck was fine. But you had believed him, fallen for it, and he had stood there, enjoying it, while your fingers moved over his skin.

That should’ve been it.

But it wasn’t.

He would do it again. And again.

Little things. Stupid things. On purpose. His shoulder would be sore. His side would be stiff. His wrist would hurt. Could you check? Could you fix it?

And every single time, you would.

Because every single time, you touched him so gently, like he was something fragile instead of something ruined.

And he let you.

He let himself want it.

But he didn’t know why. Didn’t know what the urge was. What part of him needed it.

Because he wasn’t some desperate loser looking for affection. He wasn’t some lonely, broken thing hoping someone would care.

He didn’t fucking need that.

Right?

His fingers curled into a fist.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

Because as long as you didn’t know—as long as you kept falling for it every time he threw out some shitty excuse—then it wasn’t real.

Then it wasn’t something he actually wanted.

And if it wasn’t something he wanted, then he couldn’t lose it.

And if he couldn’t lose it, then it couldn’t hurt him.

It was fine.

It was fine.

~

You had your little plate of cookies in hand as you walked back into your room, chewing idly on one, still lost in your own head.

Afternoon had settled in, quiet and warm, the apartment holding onto that strange peace it sometimes found in the still moments between. Chishiya was nowhere to be seen, probably tucked away in whatever corner he liked to disappear to, and Niragi—

Well.

Niragi was in your room.

And he was going through your stuff.

You stopped in the doorway, eyebrows lifting slightly, watching as he rifled through your things like he had every right to.

Okay. What the fuck.

The audacity. The sheer, unapologetic audacity.

You should’ve yelled. You should’ve grabbed something and thrown it at his head, told him to get out, to mind his own fucking business.

But… you didn’t.

You just watched, chewing your cookie as he pulled open one of your drawers, sifting through whatever you had tucked away, completely undeterred by your presence.

He didn’t even look up.

“You seriously own this much girly shit?” He scoffed, picking up a tiny bottle of perfume, turning it over in his fingers. “What do you even need this for? You tryin’ to impress someone?”

You made a small noise in your throat, walking past him to set your plate down on your desk. “I like them.” you said simply. “They smell nice.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he found that incredibly stupid, but he still twisted the cap off, sniffing it. His nose scrunched up immediately, and he shoved it back into the drawer. “Fucking hell, that’s sweet.”

You laughed. “Yeah? You don’t like it?”

“Smells like something a little girl would wear.”

You hummed, plopping down onto your bed, still watching as he kept going. He had zero shame. He was picking up whatever caught his eye, tossing aside anything that didn’t, fingers trailing through the small, personal things you’d collected.

This should’ve annoyed you.

It didn’t.

Because this was Niragi. And Niragi had no fucking boundaries.

You knew this by now.

He pulled something out—a tube of lip gloss, clear with a subtle shimmer—and turned to you, holding it up like it was some kind of evidence. “You actually put this shit on?”

You blinked at him. “Sometimes.”

He smirked. “What, trying to look pretty?”

“Trying? I thought I already was.”

That actually made him pause.

His eyes flickered over you, something unreadable in them, before he clicked his tongue again and tossed the gloss onto your desk. “Cocky.”

You only smiled, watching as he kept going.

It was interesting.

Because Niragi was a taker. He took things. Things he wanted, things he thought he deserved, things just to see if he could get away with it.

And here he was, going through your stuff, taking in the pieces of you he’d never bothered to see before.

It was… almost funny.

You were right here, watching him, letting him do it, and that fact alone seemed to make him even more bold.

Because if you weren’t stopping him, then why should he?

You sat there, completely unbothered, still chewing idly on your cookie as Niragi—without hesitation, without even a flicker of shame—switched drawers.

And oh.

Oh.

He found the underwear drawer.

Lace, silk, soft little things in all kinds of colors. Personal. Intimate.

He paused for half a second. Not out of guilt, definitely not out of anything resembling decency—just surprise. Like he hadn’t actually expected to find something interesting, but now that he had, well—he might as well keep going.

And you still didn’t stop him. You just sat there, watching him, curious about what he’d do.

Because you knew Niragi.

You knew exactly the kind of shit he’d say.

“Oh-ho, look at this.” He plucked out a delicate cute little piece, holding it up between two fingers, like he was appraising it.

Lace-trimmed, soft, very pretty.

He turned to you, a wide, shameless grin stretching across his face. “Give me a little spin in this, sweetheart.”

You blinked at him. “Nah. You give me a spin in it.”

His grin twitched. Just a flicker, like he hadn’t expected you to turn that on him so quickly. And then he was laughing. “The fuck? You want me to wear this?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one holding it up.”

He scoffed, tossing it back into the drawer. “Yeah, no thanks. Not my size.”

“Shame.” you mused. “I think you’d look cute.”

That made him laugh again as he dug further through the drawer, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Damn, look at all this fancy shit.” He pulled out another one, stretching the waistband between his fingers. “Who the fuck sees this, huh? Just wearing this around the house for fun?”

You hummed. “Maybe.”

His gaze flicked up to you. “Yeah? Just sittin’ around all dolled up, waiting for someone to take a peek?”

“You’re the only one peeking, Niragi.”

And there it was again—that half-second pause.

Like something in your words hit just right.

Because you were right.

You weren’t stopping him. You weren’t yelling at him, throwing a fit, shoving him away.

You were letting him. Letting him look. Letting him dig through the little parts of you that were meant to be private, meant to be untouched.

“Yeah.” he said, voice smooth, smug, like he was tasting victory. “Guess I am.”

But even then, you weren’t annoyed. You weren’t embarrassed. You just smiled, tilting your head slightly. “You gonna put everything back when you’re done, or am I gonna have to make you fold them too?”

He snorted. “You think I’m the type to clean up after myself?”

“No.” you admitted. “But you are the type to do it if I ask real nice.”

And fuck him, he knew you were right.

You leaned forward slightly, still watching him rifle through your things, fingers curling through lace and silk like he had any business being there.

“Do you even know how to fold clothes?”

Niragi stopped.

Just a brief hesitation, barely even a second. But you saw it. His fingers twitched around a pair of panties before he scoffed, tossing them back into the drawer like they weren’t worth his time. “Of course I do.”

Oh, that was a lie.

A really bad one, too.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You sure?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

You smiled. “That’s not what I asked.”

He clicked his tongue. He was getting annoyed. Not in an actual angry way, but in that I don’t like where this is going kind of way.

“So if I tell you to fold something, you’ll do it right?”

Silence.

For just a second too long.

You grinned. “You don’t know how.”

Niragi’s jaw clenched. Like the fact that you caught him was some unforgivable crime.

You stood up, brushing crumbs off your fingers as you stepped forward.

“Alright.”

You reached into the drawer, plucked a pair of panties right from the mess he made, and held them out to him. “I’ll teach you.”

Niragi stared. Not in a flustered way, not even in the way a normal person would if someone just casually pulled out their underwear and held it up for a fucking lesson.

Just… blankly.

Like he was watching something so bizarre, so fucking ridiculous, that he was trying to decide if he even wanted to be part of it.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded. “Dead serious.”

His gaze flicked between you and the panties in your hand. Then he grinned. “You just wanted an excuse to show me your little pretty shit, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and pay attention.”

And—surprisingly—he did.

Or, at least, he didn’t walk away.

Which meant he was interested.

You sat back down on the edge of your bed, smoothing out the soft fabric over your lap. And as you carefully folded them over once, then twice, tucking in the sides, you spoke.

“So?” You glanced up at him. “You really never learned how to fold clothes?”

He scoffed. “Didn’t need to.”

“No one ever made you?”

A beat. Then, a short, half-assed shrug. “Not my problem.”

You hummed.

That… was a dodge.

Which meant there was more to it.

You ran your fingers over the folded fabric, considering him.

Niragi wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t the type of guy to let things go. If he wanted something, he’d get it. If he needed something, he’d take it.

So if he really never learned how to fold clothes…that meant he never had to.

Which meant either no one taught him, or no one ever let him.

Or maybe…maybe if he ever did, he got laughed at for it.

You kept that to yourself, though. Instead, you held out the neatly folded panties to him. “Your turn.”

He made a face. “The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

You smiled. “Try.”

And for whatever reason—Niragi actually did. He snatched up another pair from the drawer, mocking your movements as he folded it once, then twice, then—

Yeah. No.

That was bad.

He glanced at you, waiting for you to judge him.

And when you didn’t, when you just sat there, nodding like that was actually a real attempt, he squinted. “That’s it?”

“Mhm.” You reached out, straightening one of the folds. “That’s better.”

He watched you fix it, quiet for a second.

“You’re so fucking weird, you know that?”

You laughed. “I know.”

You leaned back on your hands, still watching him hold the folded pair of panties in his hands. He looked so unimpressed. Like he was above this. Like he was too good for something as basic as folding clothes.

But he still did it. That was the part you liked.

You tilted your head, your voice light, teasing. “See? Not so hard.”

Niragi scoffed, tossing the fabric back into the drawer like it had offended him. “Yeah, yeah. Look at me, I’m a proper little housewife now.”

You smiled. “You’re getting there.”

His nose scrunched. Like he could physically feel how much he hated that sentence.

God, he was funny.

“So, what, you’re into this kind of stuff? Teaching people? Making them your little pets?” He murmured, sitting down next to you on your bed.

You laughed softly. “You think I see you as a pet?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You treat me like one.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “And how’s that?”

He snorted. “Always telling me to behave. Always talking to me like I’m some kind of fucking problem you need to fix.”

Your smile didn’t falter. “Maybe because you are.”

You watched the way his body stiffened just a little. The way his fingers twitched like he wanted to lash out. “Yeah? And what, you gonna fix me, little therapist?”

Oh.

That hit something. Not because of the words. But because of the tone.

That wasn’t just mockery.

That was defensive.

Like you were picking at something inside of him.

And Niragi didn’t like that.

He was so much more than just a violent, shameless little shit. He had depth, real deep-seated issues, a tangled mess of things he would never talk about. And the second you touched even the edge of it—

He bit.

You smiled. “I don’t need to fix you.”

He stared.

“I just like you how you are.”

Something flickered. Something subtle. Something in his chest itched.

But before he could even process it, you reached out and smoothed a hand over his head, fingers threading lightly through his hair.

He froze.

His first instinct was to jerk away. To shove you off, to tell you to fuck off.

But he didn’t.

He just sat there, body tense, letting you do it.

He wasn’t used to that. To someone touching him so gently. Not to hurt him, not to push him, not to take something from him. Just… touching.

Like he was worth it.

It was so foreign, but fuck—

It was nice.

His brain hated it. His body loved it.

You pulled away, your smile still soft. “See? Good boy.”

There it was.

The bite.

His face twisted, and he immediately swatted at you. “Get the fuck outta here with that shit.”

You laughed, dodging back just in time. You tilted your head, watching him with a knowing smile. “What’s wrong? You don’t like compliments?”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Not when they come with some weird ass ‘good boy’ bullshit.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your palm. “So you don’t like being told you’re good?”

His jaw twitched.

He didn’t like that question.

Because it wasn’t about the words. It was about the implication.

That he never heard it before.

That he didn’t believe it when he did.

That the very idea of being ‘good’ felt so fucking foreign to him that it might as well have been a language he never learned.

Your smile softened. “You don’t think you’re good?”

His face twisted. “What is this, a fucking intervention?”

You laughed, light and easy. “I’m just curious.”

He snorted. “Yeah? Well, keep that curiosity to yourself, sweetheart.”

You didn’t. Instead, you kept watching him, your eyes warm, thoughtful.

And Niragi was waiting. Waiting for you to push. Waiting for you to ask the wrong thing. To pry too deep, to say something that would set him off.

That’s what people did. They pushed. They prodded. They dug their nails in, looking for something they could use against him.

But you—you just sat there. Watching him like you were learning him. Like you were trying to understand.

And it was so much worse. Because Niragi could handle cruelty. He could handle anger, hatred, violence.

But kindness?

That made his chest feel too tight.

That made him think.

And Niragi didn’t like thinking.

So he did what he always did when something got too real.

He bit.

“What, you wanna fix me so bad? You wanna be my little savior?”

“No.”

That caught him off guard. You were so calm about it. So genuine.

“I just want to know you.”

That—that did something.

Because nobody ever wanted to know Niragi.

People wanted to use him. They wanted him for his violence, his rage, his ability to be unhinged enough to do the things they never could. Let’s not even talk about how they didn’t want him before he turned into this. He never got anything good.

But you? You didn’t want anything. You just wanted to understand.

And he hated it.

And he liked it.

And he didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

So instead of answering, instead of giving you something real, he just rolled his eyes and leaned back on his hands. “Yeah, well. Good luck with that.”

Your smile didn’t fade. You just kept watching him, kept learning him, like you had all the time in the world. You crossed your legs, settling i. “Alright, let’s do something.”

Niragi raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What, you gonna teach me how to knit now?”

You smiled because sadly, he was fucking hilarious. “No. I ask, you answer. If you don’t want to, you can pass. No limit. Or, if you really don’t want to do this, you can just walk away.”

That last part—that was important.

Niragi had spent his whole life backed into corners. Every conversation, every interaction, every fight was something he was forced into—or felt like he had to start it, so he did—something he had to win or else he’d be left bleeding.

But here you were, telling him he could leave.

And fuck—that was a trap, right? Had to be.

People didn’t just give options. People pretended to give options while expecting something in return.

But you—you didn’t look like you were lying. You just looked open. Relaxed. Like you were actually okay if he walked away.

Which was so fucking stupid. Because why would you let someone like him decide how this went? He should leave. He should tell you to fuck off and walk out and pretend this never happened.

But he—he didn’t.

“Fine. Knock yourself out.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite color?”

Niragi blinked. “Pfft—are you serious?” He laughed. “That’s your first question?”

You just shrugged. “Yeah. What’s your answer?”

He smirked. “Black.”

You hummed, considering. “You know, most people say black isn’t a color. It’s the absence of color.”

He hummed. “Yeah? Well, that just makes it even better.”

You chuckled. “Alright. Next one—coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Iced or hot?”

“Hot.”

You smiled, tucking that information away. “Do you like spicy food?”

“Duh.”

“Favorite type of weather?”

He gave you a look. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

You only smiled. “Just answer.”

He sighed dramatically, as if this was so ridiculous, but he still answered. “Summer. When it’s hot as fuck. None of that cold, shitty rain.”

You nodded. “Noted. Okay, next—what’s your worst habit?”

“I don’t have any.”

You laughed. “Oh, please.”

“No.” He grinned, all teeth. “I’m perfect.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes. “Next—do you like animals?”

Niragi scoffed. “Who gives a shit about animals?”

“So that’s a no?”

He opened his mouth—then stopped.

Thought about it.

“Tch.” He shrugged. “I mean, some of ‘em are cool, I guess.”

“That’s practically a yes.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

You laughed softly. “Alright, next question—school? How did it go?”

Niragi didn’t answer.

His smirk dropped. His body stilled. He didn’t scoff. He didn’t make fun of you.

He just—didn’t say anything.

And that told you everything.

You didn’t push. Didn’t pry, didn’t ask again. You just moved on. “Favorite type of music?”

He let out a breath through his nose, shifting his weight. “Loud.”

“That’s not a genre.”

“That’s my answer.”

You smiled. “Alright, loud music. Got it.”

He was aware of what you were doing. He knew you were learning him. And even though he was letting you, even though he wasn’t walking away—he couldn’t figure out why.

You tilted your head, watching the way he shifted. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw the flicker of something underneath. Something unsettled.

Something unfamiliar.

You gave him a small, gentle smile. “You did good.”

That got to him.

His face twitched. The muscles in his jaw flexed, something ugly flashing through his eyes before he scoffed.

“Tch. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged. “It means exactly what I said.”

His fingers twitched at his sides.

He felt weird.

Like something inside him was pushing and pulling at the same time.

He wanted to stay. Wanted to keep talking, keep playing this game, keep letting you pick at him.

But he also—he didn’t.

Because he was too aware of what just happened.

He let you in.

And that was—that was wrong. It was fucking stupid.

Why the fuck did he do that?

Why the fuck did he keep answering?

Why the fuck did his chest feel so fucking tight just because you told him he did good?

His face curled into a sneer, something defensive and sharp. “Pfft. Whatever.”

Then he stood and walked out.

Not a word more, not a glance back.

You just watched him go.

Because you knew.

You saw it. The moment his own mind caught up to him. The second he realized just how much he gave away.

It was fascinating.

A man like Niragi—someone who didn’t shut up, who had a fucking comeback for everything, who played every game with no shame—and yet, this made him run.

Huh.

That was interesting.

It told you a lot.

Niragi wasn’t just broken—he was trapped inside his own walls. Walls that were so thick, so ingrained in him, that even when he gave himself permission to open up—the second he realized it, he slammed them shut.

He ran from himself.

And that was—

Hm.

You exhaled softly, tapping your fingers against your knee.

Looks like you’d have to be careful with him.

You stayed there for a moment, sitting on the edge of your bed, finishing the last of your cookies, crumbs brushing off your fingers as your mind quietly replayed what had just happened.

Yeah. You’d moved something in him.

Something that made him flinch.

Not physically. Niragi didn’t flinch like that. His reactions were sharper, more defensive—like a cornered animal baring its teeth, even when there was no danger.

But this was different.

You’d crossed an invisible line. A line even he hadn’t realized existed until it was too late.

He gave too much. And his brain told him to get the fuck out before he gave any more.

You let out a soft breath, stood up, and carefully—mindfully—put everything back. The panties, the perfume bottles, the little things Niragi had plucked out of your drawers like they were toys to entertain himself with.

One by one, you returned them to their places.

Neat. Organized. Back in order.

Unlike Niragi.

~

When you were done, you padded quietly out of your room, the soft sound of your footsteps muffled by the floor.

You weren’t sure what you expected to find in the living room—Niragi, sulking on the couch, maybe? But no.

The room was empty.

But from the corner of your eye, you saw movement in the kitchen.

Chishiya.

Leaning against the counter, half-turned away, drinking from a glass of water.

Of course.

You smiled, something light and automatic, as you made your way toward him.

“Hey.” you greeted softly, leaning against the counter opposite him. “What’s up?”

He raised a brow, like the question was… unnecessary. “Drinking water.”

You laughed, soft and genuine. “I can see that.”

You liked talking to him.

Even when he didn’t give you much in return.

You tilted your head again, studying him. “How long were you out here?”

He took another sip of water before answering. “A while.”

That could mean anything with him. Minutes. Hours. He was the kind of person who could sit in silence forever and never get bored.

You tapped your fingers against your arm. “And Niragi?”

“Gone.”

You weren’t surprised.

“Did you see where he went?”

“No.”

You hummed softly. “He’ll come back.”

Chishiya gave you a look. Not skeptical. Just… observing. Like he was mentally calculating what that meant. What you meant by saying it so easily, like you already knew how Niragi worked.

Maybe you did.

“Did you guys fight?” Chishiya asked.

“No.” you said simply. “Just talked.”

His head tilted slightly. “He doesn’t talk.”

“He did this time.”

“I see.” he murmured, setting his glass down on the counter with a soft clink.

And you knew what he was thinking. That Niragi didn’t just talk to people. Not like that. Not unless there was something to gain.

Which meant he’d given you something.

Something real.

And Chishiya, being who he was, was filing that information away, quietly deciding what to make of it.

You could see the gears turning in his head, that five steps ahead mentality working overtime.

You smiled again, soft and warm, like you weren’t completely aware of the mental chess game he was already playing.

“I’m making tea.” you said suddenly, pushing off the counter. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

You glanced at him as you set the kettle on the stove, your voice light, casual. “How do you take your tea?”

A slow blink. “I don’t care.”

You hummed softly. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is, though.”

“No preference at all?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Not really.”

“Hm. That tells me something.”

A flicker of interest crossed his face. “Does it?”

You smiled, not answering immediately.

Yes.

It told you a lot.

People’s preferences—or lack of them—weren’t meaningless. The things they didn’t care about said just as much as the things they did.

And Chishiya? He was indifferent to the details. Tea, food, small comforts—all optional.

That kind of detachment didn’t come from nowhere.

But you weren’t going to say that.

Not yet.

Instead, you turned slightly, resting your hand on the counter. “You like sweets?”

A pause.

Then, with a small shrug: “I don’t dislike them.”

You smiled. Progress.

“Sweet tea, then.” you decided, adding a bit of honey into one of the cups. “Not too much, though.”

Chishiya watched you, gaze steady.

“You do this a lot.” he said, voice calm.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

“The way you ask things.”

You feigned innocence. “Asking things is normal.”

“Yes,” he said “but you ask them well.”

You laughed softly. “Thank you.”

He didn’t react. “It’s not a compliment.”

“Sure sounds like one.”

A slow blink. “You’re good at getting people to talk.”

You smiled, warm and knowing. “Only if they want to.”

A small pause.

Then, quietly: “That’s not true.”

You met his gaze, something sweet dancing behind your eyes.

Chishiya was smart—too smart.

You had no illusions that he’d figured you out at least a little. He knew you weren’t just making small talk.

He knew you were digging.

And he let you.

Not completely, not easily, but he let you all the same.

You turned back to the tea, pouring the hot water over the leaves, letting them steep.

“What about coffee?” you asked, keeping the conversation moving. “You drink it?”

“Yes.”

You raised a brow. “Black?”

“You already knew that.”

You laughed softly. “I had a hunch.”

Of course he drank it black. No sugar. No milk. Nothing unnecessary.

You leaned on the counter, watching him. “You drink a lot of it?”

“When it’s available.”

That was telling, too. It wasn’t about enjoyment. He drank it when it was useful.

“Hm.” You handed him his cup, watching the way he took it. You took a sip of your own, letting the warmth settle in your hands.

He took a slow sip, then met your gaze. “Satisfied?”

You smiled, teasing. “Almost.”

You were good at this. And he knew it.

“So,” you mused, fingers wrapped around your cup. “what’s the worst tea you’ve ever had?”

Chishiya blinked, staring at you like he was trying to determine if that was a serious question. “…Worst tea?”

“Mhm.” You took a slow sip, tilting your head at him. “You ever had, like, an awful cup?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.”

“No, it’s a great question.” you corrected playfully. “It tells me things.”

“Does it?”

“Everything does.” you said simply.

“Hospital tea.” he said, resting his cup down on the table. “It tastes like—” He paused, considering his words, then settled on:“Nothing. Warm water.”

You hummed, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve heard that.”

It was an easy detail to overlook, but you didn’t.

Hospital tea. Not just bad tea—hospital tea. A place he’d been enough to remember something as mundane as the taste.

Interesting.

But before you could press further, a voice interrupted—loud, grumbling, and unapologetically irritated.

“Are you two fucking serious?”

You turned to see Niragi dragging himself into the kitchen from the hallway, rubbing his ear with one hand. His face was set in a scowl, hair a mess.

“Good morning to you too.” you greeted, unfazed.

He scoffed. “The fuck is with all the talking?”

“You live with us.” you reminded him, taking a sip of your tea. “What else did you expect?”

He stretched his arms, letting out an exaggerated groan. “I dunno. Chishiya jerking off loud or something.”

Chishiya, still as unbothered as ever, didn’t even blink.

“Mm.” he said flatly, taking a sip of his tea. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Niragi’s smirk dropped. “The fuck?”

You went back to sipping your tea, smiling into the rim of the cup, because you didn’t want to laugh.

Niragi liked to complain, liked to throw shit your way—but at the end of the day, he still stood here, listening.

Just like Chishiya, really.

They could pretend to be uninterested all they wanted, but you knew better.

You turned to Niragi, still leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he stared at you.

“Did you sleep?” you asked, voice as soft and calm as ever.

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Would I be this fucking grumpy if I did?”

“You’re always grumpy.” you teased lightly. “So it’s hard to tell.”

He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Cute.”

You were cute, actually. Too damn cute for someone living in a world like this. Too soft.

You smiled anyway. “I could make you something to help. Something warm, maybe?”

He frowned, shifting his weight. “What, like milk?”

“If you want, and, y’know, find a cow somewhere for me.” you said, setting your cup down. “Or tea. There’s a lot of things that can help.”

He stared. Not like before, not like when he was testing you, picking at you to see how much you could take. No, this stare was different. Hesitant. Uncertain, like he didn’t know if he should let you do something so… normal for him.

Chishiya noticed. He also noticed how Niragi wasn’t snapping at you like he usually did.

At first, Niragi had been fucking brutal. A complete asshole, like he got some kind of sick amusement out of getting under your skin.

But now?

Now he lingered. Now he listened. Now he let you talk to him like this, soft and sweet, like he wasn’t a walking disaster.

And that was interesting.

Chishiya had seen Niragi’s type before. He’d known a lot of angry men who lashed out first, thought later. But none of them ever had someone as persistent as you in their life.

He sipped his tea, watching, waiting.

Niragi, on the other hand, was completely unaware of Chishiya’s silent observations, too busy trying to ignore whatever the hell was going on inside his own head.

Because why the fuck were you still being nice to him?

Why the fuck was it working?

It wasn’t just that you were sweet—it was the way you spoke, the way you looked at him like he wasn’t some rabid dog that needed to be put down.

That was the problem.

Because Niragi was used to that. He was used to people looking at him with disgust, fear, hate. That was normal. That made sense.

But this? You, standing there, offering him warm fucking milk and asking if he slept like he was a normal fucking person? That didn’t make sense.

And yet…he didn’t tell you to fuck off.

Didn’t roll his eyes and storm out.

He just… stayed.

And fuck, that was dangerous. Because the longer he let this happen, the harder it was to pretend it didn’t feel good. You felt good.

And that was so fucked up.

Because you weren’t just soft—you were hot.

It wasn’t just the way you looked, though fuck, you were something to look at. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you made people want to be near you.

Niragi wasn’t blind. He knew exactly why people gravitated towards you, why you were the kind of person that people wanted to take care of, who took care of the people, even when they didn’t deserve it.

And that was the thing.

He didn’t deserve it.

But fuck if he didn’t want it anyway.

Chishiya, of course, was much more subtle about his thoughts.

He wasn’t about to be like Niragi was, but he wasn’t blind either.

You were attractive. That much was obvious. But more than that, you were interesting. You had a way of breaking past things, getting people to open up without even realizing it.

It was… impressive.

So yes, both of them knew you were hot.

But only one of them was really struggling with it.

And Niragi hated that.

You tilted your head, watching him, waiting for some kind of answer.

“Well?” you asked, tone still warm, patient.

Niragi scoffed, looking away like he didn’t care, but you caught how his fingers twitched against his arm, how his weight shifted ever so slightly.

“Yeah, whatever.” he muttered.

“Okay!” you chirped, turning to grab another mug. “I’ll make you something nice.”

Chishiya sipped his tea, completely unfazed. “I feel like I should warn you that he bites.”

“Oh, I know.” you laughed, filling the kettle. “But he’s still cute.”

Cute.

Niragi almost choked.

“The fuck?” he snapped, glaring at you like you just insulted his entire existence. “You’re messing with me.”

“No.” you answered simply. “You’re cute. You can deal with it.”

Niragi grumbled something incoherent, but didn’t argue further.

Chishiya noticed.

You moved around the kitchen, pulling out honey, completely unbothered by the way Niragi was staring at you like you just shattered his reality.

And it was fascinating.

Chishiya had seen people try to handle Niragi before. They either fought back or avoided him entirely, knowing he wasn’t worth the effort.

But you? You didn’t do either. You acknowledged him, treated him like he was just… there. Like he wasn’t something to fear or push away.

You placed the mug in front of Niragi, smiling as you slid into the seat next to him.

“There.” you said. “All warm and sweet.”

Niragi stared at it.

Then at you.

Then back at the fucking tea.

He looked at Chishiya. “Did she drug it?”

Chishiya barely blinked. “If she did, you deserve it.”

You giggled.

And fuck, Niragi hated that it sounded so good.

Still, he lifted the cup, watching you over the rim as he took a sip.

…It was good.

Annoyingly good.

You propped your chin in your hand, watching him expectantly. “Well?”

He shrugged, acting disinterested. “It’s fine.”

Liar.

“That’s good.” you mused, before turning your gaze to Chishiya. “And you?” you asked, tilting your head. “How’s your tea?”

Chishiya blinked, mildly surprised you even asked. Most people didn’t.

“It’s tea.” he said plainly.

You pouted. “That’s not an answer.”

Chishiya raised a brow, but after a brief pause, he sighed, setting his cup down.

“It’s fine.” he said. “Good, actually.”

You beamed again.

And fuck, that did something too.

Because when was the last time someone smiled at him like that?

Like they were genuinely happy he was there?

Chishiya was observant. He could read people well. And he knew you weren’t faking it.

You genuinely liked them.

And neither of them knew what the fuck to do with that.

Niragi hated it.

Chishiya studied it.

~

The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet.

You leaned against the counter, the dim moonlight casting soft shadows across the room. The apartment felt empty at this hour, and you hated it. The silence pressed against you, heavy and unwelcome.

You didn’t like being alone.

It was strange, really—how easily you had latched onto the boys. They weren’t the type of people anyone would naturally gravitate toward, especially not someone like you.

Someone soft.

Someone who cared too much.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You always cared too much. Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when it wasn’t deserved.

Because that was just who you were.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, thinking back to the past few days. You had been cooking for them, taking care of them, giving and giving—and what had you gotten in return?

Niragi was an asshole.

Chishiya was distant.

They weren’t gentle with you, they didn’t go out of their way to return your kindness, and yet, you still liked them.

You liked the way Niragi, despite all his mean words, had started lingering around you more. The way he let you touch him, even when he pretended to hate it. The way he had listened to you earlier this day, actually drank the tea you made him, instead of throwing it across the room just to piss you off. You liked the way Chishiya, no matter how detached he seemed, was still here. The way he let you talk to him, let you pick at his mind without shutting you out completely. The way he noticed things about you, even if he didn’t say much about it.

It wasn’t affection.

Not yet.

But it was something.

And you were used to getting nothing.

Maybe that’s why you clung to them so much. Maybe that’s why their company meant more to you than it should.

Because at the end of the day, you weren’t just scared of being alone in a room.

You were scared of being alone, period.

And at least with them, there was something to hold onto.

You let out a slow breath, shaking off the thoughts pressing against your ribs. Enough of that. You were tired. It was late.

Pushing away from the counter, you made your way through the quiet apartment, your footsteps light against the floor. Everything was still, untouched—Niragi had long since disappeared into his room, and Chishiya had gone off somewhere, probably lost in his own little world.

It was just you now.

When you reached your door, you hesitated for only a second before stepping inside. The room was dim, familiar. Safe.

You shut the door behind you.

Then, without another thought, you climbed into bed, the blankets cool against your skin as you settled in.

The silence wasn’t so bad when you closed your eyes.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

~

The morning air was sweet, and the apartment was quiet except for the soft sounds of you cooking. The scent of sizzling food filled the kitchen as you worked, humming faintly under your breath. You had woken up early—earlier than either of them, as usual—because, well, you always did. It wasn’t a conscious decision anymore. It was just how things were. You woke up, you made food, you kept going.

You didn’t expect Niragi to be up yet, so when you heard the sound of footsteps dragging into the living room, you didn’t turn at first. Not until you felt his presence settle next to you, just close enough that you could sense the weight of his gaze on your hands.

You glanced up, offering him a small smile. “Morning.”

Niragi didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, watching you. He looked rough—hair a mess, face groggy.

“The fuck are you so happy about?” His voice was raspy with sleep.

You huffed a soft laugh, turning back to the stove. “Good morning to you too.”

Niragi snorted, leaning his weight onto the counter. “Tch. It’s too early for your sunshine bullshit.”

You just shook your head, stirring the food in the pan. “Well, I’m making you breakfast, so maybe I have a reason to be happy.”

Niragi scoffed, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked to the food, lingering. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t put any of that girly-ass spice shit in mine.”

“My ‘girly-ass spice shit’ makes everything taste better, and you know it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t need my food tasting like a fucking flower shop.”

You let out a small laugh. “Fine, fine. No flower shop for you.” You adjusted the heat on the stove, then cast him another glance. “Sleep well?”

Niragi gave you a look like you were the dumbest person on earth. “No.”

You bit back a smile. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because I got woken up by a certain someone talking all night.”

You tilted your head. “Me?”

“No, the fucking neighbors—yes, you.”

“I wasn’t talking all night.”

“Maybe not all night, but long enough to be annoying.”

“Mm.” You hummed, tapping the spatula against the pan. “Guess I should be quieter next time, then.”

Niragi raised a brow, looking you up and down. Then he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering slightly. “Or you could just shut the fuck up entirely.”

You blinked at him. Then smiled sweetly. “Nah, I don’t think I’ll do that.”

Niragi exhaled sharply, straightening up again, muttering something under his breath about how annoying you were.

You just kept cooking.

He was always an asshole, sure. But he was standing here, wasn’t he? Watching you cook, waiting for food.

That was enough.

“You gonna tell me why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to sneak out the other night?”

You froze for half a second, but recovered quickly, setting the pan back on the stove. You hadn’t been expecting him to bring it up now, not when he seemed relatively relaxed. But of course, it had been coming. He wasn’t the type to just let things go.

“I just went to a game.” you said simply, keeping your tone even.

He scoffed, shifting his weight. “Yeah, no shit. I meant, why the fuck did you go alone?”

You took a slow breath, then turned to face him properly, leaning back against the counter. His expression was weird—something between irritation and something… else. Something heavier. His jaw was set, his eyes locked on you, unblinking.

You shrugged lightly. “You said you’d go with me next time.”

“Exactly.” Niragi snapped. “So why didn’t you fucking wait?”

You hesitated, watching him carefully. He was pissed, that much was obvious, but there was something underneath it. Something tense, something that made his fingers twitch slightly against his arm.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” you admitted. “What if it was a hard game? You’re still—”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” He rolled his eyes. “You think I can’t handle a fucking game?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You frowned, keeping your voice gentle. “You’re still healing.”

“I don’t need you fucking babying me.” His lip curled, something mean sparking in his eyes. “I’m not some weak little—”

“I know you’re not weak, Niragi.” You cut him off before he could get worked up. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what the fuck is?”

You exhaled slowly. “I just didn’t want to risk anything happening to you.”

He stared at you. Hard. Like he was trying to find a lie in your words, some hidden meaning that made more sense to him. But there was nothing else. You meant what you said.

His fingers twitched again, a slight shift of his shoulders. Then, finally, he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” he muttered.

You smiled faintly. “I’ve been told.”

He didn’t smile back. Didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched you like he still wasn’t sure what to do with you. Then, finally, he turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Just don’t fucking do it again.”

You didn’t promise anything. You just turned back to the stove, quietly plating the food. You set the plate down in front of him. “Here you go.” you murmured.

He scoffed, but you caught the way his fingers twitched around the fork before he even picked it up. Like he had to stop himself from saying something, from reacting too much.

Just then, Chishiya came into the kitchen, too.

“Morning.” you greeted him, just as sweetly. You nodded toward the table. “Sit down, your food’s already done.”

Chishiya didn’t argue. He slipped into the seat across from Niragi, wordless as always, but there was something in the way he listened. The way he always listened. Even when he didn’t respond, he never really ignored you. Not anymore.

You leaned against the counter, watching them eat. It was easy, peaceful. Almost like you were a normal group of people, instead of three survivors.

“I think I’ll go for a walk later.” You mumbled.

Niragi stopped mid-bite, eyes flickering up to you with instant irritation. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” he said, voice laced with mockery. “Maybe because last time you went outside, they fucking shot at you?”

“They shot at you.” you corrected lightly.

Chishiya, still chewing, finally spoke. “They shot at all three of us.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Well, I’ll be careful. I just want some fresh air, maybe find a few things we need.”

Niragi scoffed. “Yeah, well, if you’re stupid enough to go, I need more bullets.”

It took you half a second to realize what he meant. He wasn’t letting you go alone. He was making an excuse.

You almost smiled.

Chishiya, still eerily calm, pushed his empty plate aside. “I’ll come too.”

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mochii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess

(Y/N is literally that “A boy would be the son of France” TikTok trend but it’s “The sane and easy-to-communicate-with people will be everyone’s favorite, but two ruined insufferable psychopathic wildcards, shall be mine<3”)

[spiicii]

bloodline property / valentine’s day (jey)

jey uso x fem!reader word count → 3.4k summary → sami’s words from last night left you all confused. you don’t have feelings for jey. feelings are messy and complicated. but when jey takes you on a date far more intimate than a nice dinner, you’re not so sure anymore.  links → masterlist / taglist tags → fluff, romance, unprotected piv sex, oral sex (fem receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink (if you squint), overstimulation, praise kink, crying, possessive behavior, love confessions

Thursday ✩ Jey

You hadn’t expected Jey to take the entire day off just to spend time with you. You were still curled up in Sami’s bed even though Sami had left hours ago for an early morning workout. You weren’t really asleep, but you were still startled when someone’s arms wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck. 

“Good morning.” Jey’s voice was warm and you instantly relaxed at the sound. “Sleep good?” 

“Mm hm.” You turned around to face him, your heart immediately stuttering at the sight of his adoring brown eyes. He was looking at you with what could only be described as devotion, a small smile on his lips as he stared at you. You suddenly heard Sami’s words in your head from last night. 

You’re telling me that you and Jey don’t have something special going on?

Jey always looked at you like this. It wasn’t love. He was just fond of you. Just like you were of him. But something in Jey’s wide puppy eyes had you thinking that maybe you’d miscalculated. 

“What’s up, ma?” He asked, his brow furrowed in concern. You realized that you probably looked distressed and you were quick to school your features. 

“Nothing, babe.” You told him, offering him a winning smile. “Just…a bad dream.” 

Jey made a sympathetic noise, pulling you close to his chest to kiss your hair. “It’s alright, babygirl. I gotchu.” 

Your heart stuttered again. You were fucked. 

*****

Jey had insisted you didn’t need to dress up and you soon found out why. 

“I can’t believe you remembered,” You murmured, completely in disbelief as you walked up to the entrance of the aquarium. “I mentioned this months ago.” 

Jey’s smile was a burst of sunshine. “Aye, I gotta pretty good memory. Not as dumb as I look, huh?” 

“You don’t look dumb,” You admonished, reaching to take his hand in yours. You felt excited, but scared too. This wasn’t what you had expected from Jey. You’d expected what the others had given you: a nice dinner, maybe some filthy sex, but this was different. This felt almost intimate; a dream you’d once mentioned to him that you never expected to come to fruition. This wasn’t casual. Not to you. 

You tried to push down some of your anxiety. Maybe you were reading too much into it. It was just a stupid aquarium. So what if you’d always wanted to go to one? Jey probably didn’t know how much this meant to you. He’d just heard you mention it and decided to do something nice for you. That’s it. 

Jey squeezed your hand. “Is this okay? We don’t gotta go if you don’t want to.” 

You realized you probably looked upset and you quickly shook your head, smiling at him. You were being ridiculous. Sami had gotten into your head. That’s all. And Sami had been wrong. 

“No, I’m excited.” You gave him a grateful smile, pulling him towards the ticket booth. “I’ve always wanted to come here. Do you think they’ll have sharks?” 

Jey laughed, allowing you to pull him along. “I dunno, maybe. You like sharks?” 

“Uh huh. They’re my favorite.” 

“Well then they better have them or imma be callin’ someone to complain.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, allowing yourself to finally relax. You wouldn’t let Sami’s crazy talk get in your head today. This was the aquarium. You’d dreamed of visiting one ever since you were a little kid and nothing, not even that strange feeling fluttering in your chest, would stop you from enjoying yourself. 

You watched as Jey paid for your tickets, his smile wide as you pulled him along to the first exhibit. 

The aquarium was quiet, which was to be expected for a Thursday morning. You passed a few older couples and the occasional tourist, but it was mostly just the two of you. Jey allowed you to take the lead, watching with unconcealed affection as you jabbered about the fish and sea creatures.

“Look! I read a book about these when I was little! Aren’t they cool?” 

“Aw, look, Jey! Aren’t these adorable?” 

“Jey, look at this!” 

Jey looked every time, but not at the fish. He seemed to only have eyes for you, his smile never dimming even though you were sure you were talking far too much. He held your hand the entire time, your fingers interlaced as you tugged him along. Whenever you stopped to admire an exhibit Jey would make sure to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side so he could press kisses into your hair.

When you finally reached the biggest exhibit, you couldn’t help but bounce on your heels in excitement. The aquarium was massive and you excitedly pulled Jey along once you saw the underwater tunnel. 

“This is amazing!” You exclaimed, your eyes roaming to take in the 360° view of the tank. “Do you think the sharks are here?” 

Jey never took his eyes off you. “I’m sure they’re here somewhere.” He replied, though he didn’t seem too concerned about it, watching with fondness as you smiled happily. 

You continued to walk through the tunnel together, still on the lookout for a shark, before you finally stopped halfway. You couldn’t help but admire the view, hundreds of small fish and creatures swimming around you. Soft, ambient music played in the background, the tunnel quiet with just the two of you. You looked up above you and saw a stingray, pointing excitedly for Jey to look too. 

You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you close so he could kiss your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile. He looked beautiful, the shimmering reflections from the water casting an aquamarine glow across his face. His chocolate eyes seemed to glitter in the light, his smile positively radiant as he looked down at you. 

“I ain’t ever seen you this happy before.” He murmured, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, wrapping your arms around him in return. “Well, it’s all because of you.” 

Jey’s smile was dazzling, his gold teeth twinkling in the watery light. He leaned down to kiss you, his touch causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach. He pulled you close, his strong arms holding you tight, as if he were worried that you might suddenly dart out of his grasp. 

Jey’s eyes were mesmerizing in the light and you felt like you couldn’t look away. “I just…” He trailed off, seemingly looking for the right words. “I just wanna make you happy like this all the time.” 

You felt like something with wings was trapped in your ribcage. Sami’s words were in your head again, your heart beginning to race. 

I’ve seen the way Jey looks at you. How he acts differently when he’s with you. Hell, even how he talks about you when you’re not around. And believe me, he talks about you a lot. It’s pretty obvious to me that he’s in love with-

“Jey…” You breathed, suddenly overcome with emotion. What the hell were you doing? This had been a bad idea. You’d let him get too close, allowed him to blur the lines between casual sex and something more. But how did you feel? 

You stared at him, watching as the watery light caused his beautiful eyes to sparkle. You’d looked at him a million times, but this moment felt different. You felt like you were seeing him for the very first time.

Jey. 

The man who was loyal to everyone around him, even at the risk of his own destruction. The man who put others before himself, no matter how badly he wanted to be selfish. The man who fought hard and loved even harder, desperate to protect those he loved. The man who dreamed about one day making it on his own, secretly guilty of imagining a world without the Bloodline. The man who felt insecure about himself, no matter how many fans gushed about how pretty he was. The man who cared about everyone and everything, no matter how much he tried to play it cool. The man who wore his heart on his sleeve, secretly terrified of being left alone.

Jey. 

It was all Jey, wasn’t it? 

It had always been Jey. 

He kissed you again and it was different this time. You felt like you were floating, your heart still beating wildly out of your chest as he held you close. You’d never felt like this with anyone else before. Not even Roman. His touch felt electric, time standing still as his soft lips brushed against yours. You couldn’t be sure how long the two of you stood there, bodies pressed together and words unspoken in that underwater tunnel. And when a shark finally did swim by you didn’t even notice. You only had eyes for him. 

*****

Okay, so you didn’t want to talk about what happened at the aquarium. You didn’t even want to think about it. What you had shared felt too vulnerable, too intimate to speak about. It didn’t help that Jey had bought you a stuffed shark at the aquarium gift shop, the gesture so tender that you felt like you might cry right there in front of the cashier. You were glad when Jey offered to take you home. 

You allowed him to lead you to his bedroom, feeling yourself slip back into the role you were comfortable in. Here you could be Bloodline property. Here there were no messy feelings, no confusing thoughts, no worries about what your next move was. Here all you had to do was obey, allowing the Right Hand Man to use you as he saw fit. 

That’s who he was, you tried to remind yourself. He belonged to the Tribal Chief, the same as you. He was Roman’s Right Hand Man. He wasn’t your Jey. He was never yours. He could never be yours. 

You tried not to think about this as Jey took his time worshipping your body, his touch gentle and his kisses full of affection. He wasn’t making this easy, especially as he whispered soft praises in your ear, his words so sweet that you felt like you might cry again. You were grateful when he finally paid attention to your weeping sex, determined to wring as much pleasure from you as possible. 

You’d already come three times, but Jey still wasn’t satisfied. He hadn’t even fucked you yet, using only his fingers and mouth to bring you to completion. Even now he had his long arms slung across your hips to pin you to the bed, eating you out slowly and leisurely despite the fact that you were trembling, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as he pushed closer and closer to your next orgasm. 

“Please, Jey,” you croaked, your fingers curled in the sheets so tightly your knuckles were blanched. “I can’t…I can’t…” 

“Yes, you can, ma,” Jey cooed, his eyes dark as he looked up at you. “You can give me another. I know you can. Make a mess for me, sweetheart.” 

You shook your head vehemently, still wriggling pathetically beneath him in a feeble attempt to dislodge him. The pleasure was threatening to overwhelm you, your muscles tense and your empty hole spasming as he continued to pay special attention to your clit, ignoring how empty you felt without him. 

“Need you to fuck me, Jey, please,” you begged, resisting the urge to curl your fingers in his hair and tug him off of you. “Please, I need you so bad.” 

Jey smirked up at you. The bastard loved this, you knew. He wanted you eager and desperate for him, willing to promise him anything just for his perfect dick to be inside you. You would hate it if it didn’t turn you on so fucking much. 

“Need me that bad, huh?” he teased, finally releasing your clit and leaning back to watch you. You spread your legs further apart, hoping to entice him. 

“I do.” Normally you would be embarrassed at how pathetic you sounded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could think about was how badly you needed to feel him inside you. He was just so talented, always able to fuck you exactly how you needed. And you needed it. Badly. 

“Papi, please.” You didn’t normally call him that, but you were desperate, your gaze at him pleading. “Please.” 

Jey chuckled, already moving up the bed to kiss your lips. “It’s alright, baby,” he murmured, his lips soft as they brushed against yours. His beard was still wet with your juices, the smell of your own arousal now in your nose as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. “You know I ain’t gonna leave you hangin’. Don’t I always take care of you?” 

You nodded, another tear falling down your cheek before Jey kissed it away. 

“Just relax, sweetheart. Lemme treat you right.” 

You were so wet and open that Jey slipped into you easily, your body relaxing instinctively at the feeling. You felt like an itch was being scratched somewhere in your brain, your body taking him perfectly as if he were made to be inside of you. Jey let out a low groan and the sound was beautiful. 

“Feel so good, mamas,” he praised, peppering your face with kisses. “Always so good for me, ain’t you?” 

You nodded, your eyelids fluttering as Jey gave you an experimental thrust. He felt perfect. He always did. Not too big, not too small, not too wide, not too long. Your pussy was made for him and Jey seemed to agree, bracing his arms on either side of your head as he began to fuck you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Jey crooned, his forehead pressed to yours. “Such a pretty girl. I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

You felt that strange emotion in your chest again, the same one you’d felt at the aquarium. Your heart was beginning to race, butterflies in your stomach as Jey stared at you adoringly. 

“Are you mine, baby?” He asked, his voice low, as if he were worried someone might overhear. “Are you?” 

You felt your eyes fill with tears again, but this time it wasn’t from pleasure. 

“Jey…” 

You felt overwhelmed, that strange emotion filling your chest and making you feel as if your heart was going to explode. You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to push him away and tell him that you weren’t his. You wanted to run back to Roman and forget all about these confusing emotions. 

So why didn’t you? 

Jey was looking at you expectantly, something vulnerable shining in his dark eyes. He was waiting for your answer, his hips slowing as he stared down at you. His question wasn’t rhetorical. It wasn’t pillowtalk. Were you his? 

Your lip quivered, the tears falling down your cheeks with abandon now. Suddenly none of it mattered. You didn’t care that this wasn’t part of the script. You didn’t care that you belonged to someone else. You didn’t care that this was probably the wrong time, probably the wrong place. You had to get the words out or else you would lose him forever. And you couldn’t live without him. 

“I’m yours, Jey.” You heard the conviction in your tone, your voice shaky as you resisted the urge to sob. “I’ve always been yours.” 

Jey went still, his eyes wide as he stared at you. You felt your cheeks burning but you refused to look away. You couldn’t, even when Jey didn’t speak, sending you further and further into a spiral. Oh god, had you fucked up? Had you misread all of this? What if you’d been wrong? 

Then Jey’s lips were on yours again, his kiss desperate and relieved and you cried harder, the tears making your kiss salty. You felt relieved too. You hadn’t been wrong. Jey wanted you. Jey loved you. And when Jey pulled back you could see that his own eyes were shining. 

“Shhh, it’s alright, baby,” Jey’s voice was fragile, his hand shaky as he reached up to brush some of the tears from your cheek. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.” 

You were trembling beneath him, staring up at him like he hung the moon and stars. Your hands were reaching out to grab at him, scrabbling to touch him everywhere, desperate to be as close to him as possible. 

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, his cock now impossibly deep inside you. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, overwhelmed with pleasure and happiness. Jey was kissing your cheek, his hips beginning to pick up speed again as he thrust into you. 

“I ain’t ever leaving you, pretty girl,” Jey whispered, the words so tender and sweet that you cried harder, burying your face into his neck. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me. I ain’t leaving unless you send me away. I don’t care ‘bout no one else but you.” 

He shifted his hips and you felt stars explode across your vision, your body stiffening as if you’d been shot with volts of electricity. You let out a small whimper, Jey’s thrusts unfaltering as he continued to give you pleasure. He was always so good at this, but this time felt different, the arousal mixing with your strong emotions to create something intense and new. 

“I’m gonna make you happy, baby. I promise. I need you so bad, sweetheart. Don’t ever wanna be without you.” 

You could feel yourself approaching the edge of your orgasm, Jey’s words sending you into a haze of ecstasy. You’d never felt like this before, the pleasure so good you felt like you were levitating. You were still crying, but you weren’t sad. This was the happiest you’d ever been. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” Jey’s words were almost pleading. “Show me how good I make you feel. I need it, baby. Please.” 

You obeyed, the orgasm slamming into you with such a force that you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy clamped down on Jey’s cock, causing him to let out a groan, his thrusts turning brutal as he moved closer and closer to his own finish. 

“So good, babygirl,” he gasped, your walls continuing to flutter and pulse around him. “So perfect fo’ me.” 

You held on tightly to him as he finally came inside you, letting out a small sigh of satisfaction at the feeling of warmth spreading between your legs. You felt like he had claimed you, body and soul, and made you his. And only his. 

Jey finally stilled, his breathing ragged as he pressed soft kisses into your neck. You held him close, your fingers threading through the curls at the base of his neck. It wasn’t until you let out a small hiccup that Jey finally leaned up to look at you, his face so vulnerable that you felt like you might start crying again. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “I…I shouldn’t have…” 

You were quick to silence him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as you clung to him. He didn’t relax even when you deepened the kiss, his own body beginning to tremble beneath your hands. 

He pulled away with a gasp, screwing his eyes shut as he pressed his forehead to yours. You could tell it was taking all of his willpower to keep from crying and your heart broke at the sight. 

“Don’t apologize.” Your words were barely a whisper, your arms still wrapped around him to keep him close. You wanted to keep him this close to you forever. You could feel your chests pressed together, your hearts only a few inches apart, both of them beating wildly. 

“Jey…I…” 

Would you say it? It was just three words, just three, but they felt lodged in your throat. Saying them out loud would make them real. Make them true. 

But when you met Jey’s eyes again, you knew you’d been nothing but a fool. 

The words were true whether you said them aloud or not. They’d been true for a long time, you’d just been too stupid to see it. 

“I love you, Jey.” 

Jey seemed stunned at first, his eyes wide as he stared at you. Then you watched as his eyes filled with tears, a breathless laugh escaping from his lips. His smile was brighter than you’d ever seen and you felt like you were staring into the sun. 

“Pretty girl…” He said your name reverently, as if it were sacred. “I love you more.” 

_____

previous part: valentine's day (sami)

next part: valentine's day (roman)

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @luvrsluxe @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @solarrexplosion @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 18 - giving up

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst, sorry in advance for this one

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you heard a knock at your door and you felt your heart in your throat. it had been almost a week since you had seen rafe, since that night. a week of unanswered calls, ignored messages and trying to convince yourself that you didn't need him. didn't want him.

but now he was here.

your breath caught in your chest as you stared at the door, frozen. your fingers hovered over the doorknob, every muscle in your body screaming at you to walk away. to pretend you weren’t home. to let him feel the same emptiness he had left you with.

but you couldn’t.

with a deep breath, your turned the handle to see rafe, looking like a wreck. his hair was a mess like he had run his hands through it a hundred times, and his eyes were red, dark circles sitting heavy beneath them.

“y/n,” he breathed, stepping forward like he wanted to touch you, to pull you into him. but you took a step back, and the way his face fell made your chest ache.

you know if you spoke, your voice would crack, and you couldn't let that happen.

"i promise you," he started, his voice quiet, "i would never, ever do something like that. especially not to you."

you let out a hollow laugh, crossing your arms over your chest like it could hold you together. “i saw the picture. i saw the tweets."

"and you believe them?"

“cara told me you tried to kiss her."

his face twisted in anguish, 'y/n. that photo, i was yelling at her, trying to get her away from me. she wouldn't leave me alone, kept telling me how much she wanted me. that photo, was me telling her to get the fuck away from me."

you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie, any hint that he was just feeding you another excuse. but all you could see was desperation. raw, unfiltered desperation.

your voice broke, “then why would she tell me you tried to kiss her?”

“because she wanted this, y/n. she wanted to ruin us. she knew exactly what she was doing.” his voice was hoarse, filled with something close to panic. “i swear to you, i didn’t touch her like that. i would never—”

“but you let it happen,” you cut in, your throat tightening. “you let her get close enough for people to think that. you didn't push her away sooner, she was all over you even when i was still there."

rafe’s jaw clenched. “i was drunk—”

you let out a sigh, shaking your head. “that's not an excuse.”

"i’m not making excuses,” he insisted, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “i fucked up. i should’ve never let her anywhere near me. i should’ve left the second i realised what she was doing.” he exhaled sharply, his voice breaking. “but i swear on my fucking life, y/n, i didn’t cheat on you.”

a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. "i can't do this."

his face crumbled. “you can” he reached out like he was going to cup your face, but you stepped back again, and this time, something in his expression shattered completely.

you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to hold yourself together. “i wanted to believe you wouldn’t hurt me. that you were different.” your voice cracked, “but i can’t do this, rafe. i can't let someone hurt me this bad again."

“so what?” his voice was raw. “you’re just gonna give up on us?”

your heart clenched painfully. “i’m not giving up, rafe. you did. you didn't even come after me when i left. you know how bad my trust issues are. i just can't, i can't-"

tears welled in his eyes, but you had to look away, because if you stared at him for too long, you knew you’d break completely.

you swallowed hard, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve. “i love you, rafe. but i can’t be with someone who makes me feel like i'm not enough. that's how i've felt my whole life."

his breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw real fear in his eyes. “y'n, please-”

but you shook your head.

and before he could say anything else, before he could convince you to stay, you closed the door.

and then, as soon as the lock clicked into place, you collapsed onto the floor and let the sobs take over.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: pls don't hate me

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm@pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy

[sturniololuvz]

“The Talk”

Sturniolos x sister

Warning: sex talk,

Y/N sat on the couch, legs crossed, watching her brothers with an amused smirk. Matt, Nick, and Chris sat across from her, looking like they were about to enter a war zone. Matt was taking deep breaths, Nick was rubbing his temples like he had a migraine, and Chris was slouched back with his hood up, looking like he’d rather die than be here.

“Alright,” Matt started, clearing his throat. “We need to have a talk.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh god, what did I do?”

Nick sighed. “It’s not about what you did. It’s about what you might do. Eventually.”

Chris groaned. “This is so bad already.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Okay…? And what exactly am I ‘eventually’ doing?”

Matt inhaled sharply. “We, uh… we need to talk about sex.”

Y/N blinked. Then she let out a snort. “Are you serious?”

Nick gave her a deadpan look. “Do we look like we’re joking?”

Chris muttered, “I wish we were.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Guys, I know what it is.”

Matt looked skeptical. “Do you, though?”

Chris leaned forward. “Okay, then explain it.”

Y/N groaned. “Ugh, really? Fine. It’s when two people—usually a guy and a girl—do things together that could lead to having a baby but don’t always.” She smirked. “Or, you know, just for fun.”

Nick made a face. “Ew, don’t say it like that.”

Chris clutched his chest. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Matt exhaled. “Okay, so you technically know what it is. But do you know the important stuff?”

Y/N shrugged. “Like what?”

Nick leaned forward. “Like how guys will literally say anything to get what they want, so don’t believe everything they tell you.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, if some dude ever says, ‘If you really liked me, you would,’ just block him immediately.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I know that. I’m not dumb.”

Matt sighed. “Okay, good. But we also need to talk about protection.”

Chris groaned. “Can we not?”

Nick ignored him. “Y/N, do you actually know how birth control works?”

Y/N smirked. “Yeah. It stops babies from happening.”

Matt ran a hand down his face. “Not exactly. It lowers the chances, but it’s not 100% effective. And it doesn’t protect against STDs.”

Y/N’s smirk dropped slightly. “…Okay, I actually didn’t know that part.”

Chris pointed at her. “See? This is why we’re having this god-awful conversation.”

Nick sighed. “And just so you know, the ‘pull-out method’ is not actual protection. If a guy ever tries to convince you it works, he’s an idiot and you should run.”

Y/N gagged. “Ew, I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Chris threw his hands up. “Same! So let’s just agree you’re never doing anything, and we’re good!”

Matt groaned. “Chris, shut up.” He turned back to Y/N. “Okay, next up—consent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I know what consent is.”

Nick nodded. “Good. But just so we’re clear, even if you’ve already agreed to something, you can always change your mind. No one can pressure you into anything.”

Matt added, “And if someone ever tries to make you feel guilty for saying no, they’re not worth your time.”

Y/N sighed. “I get it, guys.”

Chris smirked. “Alright, then let’s test you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Chris nodded. “Okay, let’s say a guy tells you, ‘We don’t need protection. I’ll be careful.’ What do you do?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Tell him to get lost.”

Nick grinned. “Good answer.”

Matt nodded. “Okay, what if he says, ‘If you really loved me, you’d do it’?”

Y/N scoffed. “Then I’d say, ‘If you really loved me, you wouldn’t pressure me.’”

Chris smirked. “Damn, she’s got comebacks ready.”

Nick leaned back. “Okay, I think she actually gets it.”

Matt sighed in relief. “Thank god.”

Chris clapped his hands. “So, in conclusion—guys suck, be safe, don’t be stupid, and tell us if anyone tries to mess with you so we can ruin their lives.”

Y/N laughed. “Got it.”

Nick stood up, stretching. “Mom owes us for this.”

Matt groaned. “We’re never doing this again.”

Chris pointed at Y/N. “And you’re never doing anything. Ever.”

Y/N smirked. “I make no promises.”

Chris looked horrified. “WHAT?”

Nick grabbed his arm. “Let it go, man. It’s over.”

Chris muttered, “I hate this family.”

[criminallyvenomous]

Anytime, Always - Spencer Reid X Reader

• Plot - When Dr. Reid came to speak at your University, you were thrilled. A big-time F.B.I. agent at your own school, how could you resist? Soon, that wasn’t the only thing you couldn’t resist. Random meet ups and nights together were fun at first, but when he started guest lecturing on a regular? That was a whole new experience.

•Ship - Spencer Reid X Reader

• Fandom - Criminal Minds

• Warnings - Age gap (legal consenting adults), Fluff, Eventual smut, Pining, and of course a warning you might fall for Spence even harder post reading)

• Word Count - 1,504

~

“You wouldn’t even believe how swamped I am with schoolwork right now. I can’t imagine taking three hours out of my day to go see a seminar, I’m sorry.” You told your friend, Emma as you packed your backpack with your supplies, due to the ending of your shared class.

“You invited me!” She replied, laughing at how messy your weeks have gotten with midterms coming closer.

“I know, I know.” You ran your hand through your hair as you shook your head. “I just, ugh. I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll cheer you up! It’s an F.B.I. agent on campus, talking about serial killers and weird kinky stuff. Aren’t you obsessed with that genre on T.V.? Besides, his photo’s up in the hall, and the guy is a total smoke-show.” She persuaded.

“Okay, fine. You convinced me. Let’s just grab a quick lunch before we head over.”

You had begun to realize she was right, this was going to cheer you up. When it was announced that Dr. Reid from the F.B.I.’s very own Behavioral Analysis Unit was coming to speak at your university, you ordered tickets the same day. His photo was striking, but so was his biography. A multi-PhD owner with one of the coolest jobs in the country, how could you have possibly said no?

The venue began to fill and to say Spencer was anxious was an understatement. Sure, he had done a few talks at colleges before, but only ever with the team. Whenever he even tried to do his own part of a presentation, whether with Rossi or Emily, his jokes always fell flat and the room cold.

He decided to take a quick peek at the crowd, not sure if it would calm or heighten his nerves. It was about what he expected, young adults and a few older. There were a lot of students on their phones or talking to each other, a few with notebooks and pens or pencils to take notes. There were even the additional couple with laptops or iPads. He preferred to work on paper, but as the times have evolved, so have his thoughts on tech. Notes were notes.

He headed backstage and made brief small talk with the Dean before she went on to introduce him.

“Ooh, It’s starting!” Emma whispered into your ear, earning a “Shh” from you.

“Students, I am very pleased to be the one introducing Dr. Reid today. I first met him when he was a budding star of the Bureau, now he’s rather well known in several fields for his vast knowledge. A graduate of CalTech with an eidetic memory, Dr. Reid holds PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. He also has bachelor’s in Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy. It’s no wonder he was scouted into the F.B.I. and joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit at just twenty-two years of age. His work with the team has helped bring countless criminals to justice and well, I’ll let him take it from here. Dr. Spencer Reid everyone!” She announced, your Dean was an older woman with connections to just about anyone. It was only last year a Youtube star and NBA player spoke at your university.

“Wow, thank you for your kind words, Dean Taylor.” Spencer said as he headed onto the stage, mic’d up.

You were already excited, but seeing his face in person was a whole new level of attractive than his photo. He began to do his speech, but you were distracted by every little thing about him. His height first of all, almost unnaturally tall and slender, but fit nonetheless. He wore a lighter blue button down with a darker blue tie, a black cardigan draped over. It was a tad oversized, hanging over his slacks. You followed his hands as he used the pointer to showcase details of each slide behind him. His hands were appropriately sized to his lankier frame, but his long fingers caught your attention, almost being impossible to look away from.

“This is when the case got interesting, we had determined that despite the team’s initial inclinations, there was most certainly a satanic note in these killings. Does anyone have a theory or comment on the case so far?” He asked the room, you looked around before making your eyes to the board, trying to catch up.

“You said Salem? That’s creepy.” Some guy towards the back of the audience called out, not having raised a hand.

“Creepy is right. There’s definitely a connection to the witch trials, can anyone tell me what?” You could tell he didn’t have a lot of experience leading these seminars or lectures, but he could still keep an audience’s attention. You decided to raise your hand.

“Yes, red shirt in the fourth row?” He asked you.

“You said the victims were drowned, could this have been a test of innocence?” You guessed.

“Precisely.” He smiled. You couldn’t help but smile back.

The rest of the talk went without a hitch, and Spencer had decided to stay and take questions from the students. The Bureau told him to try and earn some interest in the F.B.I. from students with promise. He headed to grab a water and a snack before he began the Q&A section.

“That was great, Dr. Reid. David was right in suggesting you. It’s been a pleasure having you on campus.” Dean Taylor said, putting her hand onto his shoulder, reassuringly.

“Thank you so much, Dean. It was a pleasure being here. To be honest, I missed the college environment. It’s part of why I kept coming back.” He half-joked.

“We’re looking for some returning guest lecturers, if you’re interested and the commute’s not too much.”

“That’d be great, actually. I’ll talk with my team lead. Just send me any information you have or need.” He couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of teaching, even if only temporarily and as a guest. He liked sharing his knowledge to well, anyone that would listen.

“I’ll let you get back out there. Let me know if you need anything at all.” She stated and he nodded in response.

There were fewer students who stayed back than he expected, which was honestly a relief to him. Among the few, was you. He had internally added you to the list of people to talk to about an interest in the F.B.I., but was shocked at just how beautiful you were now that he could get a proper look.

“Dr. Reid, can you tell us more about your involvement with child abductions? How many end in a non-horrifying manner?” Some girl ahead of you asked.

You waited your turn, purposefully putting yourself at the end of the line to ensure extra time with the doctor.

“Red shirt, fourth row.” He recalled, you laughed.

“Y/N. It’s an honor to meet you.” You extended a hand and he hesitated before shaking it.

“You too.” He pushed a stray hair behind his ear and gestured you to take a seat across from him. He was sitting on the edge of the stage, with his legs folded like a kid. It was endearing. “So, what question did you have for me, Y/N?” God, you were glad he knew your name.

“Um, I’m sorry, I totally forgot.” You were embarrassed, “To be honest, I’m completely starstruck right now. You’re a legend in your fields and not to mention astonishingly attractive. It’s too much, how are you even real?” You rambled, chuckling awkwardly.

“Same way you are, I guess.” He meant it as a joke on humanity, but it came off as a flirt. “I mean, like we all are just specks of dust on a floating rock, right?” This time he awkwardly laughed. You think you even see his cheeks redden.

“Absolutely.” You smiled.

“So, are you interested in joining the Bureau?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Well then, you should take my card.” He pulls out a business card from his back pocket and hands it to you. “You can reach me at that number or the email with any questions you might have.”

“What if I don’t have any questions? Can I still reach out to you?” You tried your best to flirt, when would you ever get a chance like this again?

“Hmm, what year are you? You’re undergrad right?” He was reminded of your age difference and just wanted to make sure you were at least semi-appropriate, considering the possible power dynamics that could be in place.

“Yeah, I’m a fourth year. Twenty-two this year. What are you, thirty?” You laughed lightly, he smiled.

“Thirty-four.” He corrected.

“So…” You trailed off. “About that number,”

“You can contact me anytime, Y/N.”

“Here, I’ll give you ‘my card’.” You joked, pulling a page from your notepad and scribbling down your information before handing it to him.

He looked down at it and smiled.

‘Y/N L/N xxx-xxx-xxxx anytime’

part two

[hoe4sports]

Two little girls

Leah Williamson x reader

A/N: My first fic in ??? Idk, please go gentle on me as ease back into this whole world

Warning: mentions of substance abuse.

Summary: Finally getting to pick up you daughter Gracie from the adoption agency; you are met with a surprise.

-

“Well, hello little Gracie. Was someone too excited to take her nap?” you cooed, lifting Gracie up from the stroller. Gracie immediately smiled as you held her towards your frame, facing Leah. “Hello, my little girl” Leah said, tapping her nose.

Your social worker, Anita, was finishing up the last paperwork you needed in order to bring her home. Gracie was your soon to be adopted daughter, at only 2 months old; she was the biggest sunshine, always being happy and smiley. “Isn’t she just adorable, baby?” Leah said, touching your back softly. You nodded along, busy admiring her little toothless grin with the biggest bluest eyes and her full head of dark brown hair.

Gracie had been removed from her birth mom immediately upon delivery. She was a 25 year old woman struggling with extensive substance abuse. This was why it was decided by the court that she wouldn’t have her any maternal rights over little Gracie, even before the birth. On the other side of the case, were you and Leah. You had been introduced to the adoption process a year ago, and had just a few months ago been added to the list of approved parents. The match between you, Leah and Gracie had been immediate. A few visits with Gracie, and the social workers were convinced that this was the right fit for her.

“Alright mommies, this is sadly the only things she owns. Most of her clothes belonged to her foster parents, and they didn’t want to let the clothes go. Something about being ready for the next placement” Anita shrugged, clearly feeling a combination of annoyance and embarrassment. She handed the backpack to Leah, who gave Anita a sad smile.

“We have plenty of clothes at home for her. The family, they are so excited to meet her. Gifts has been delivered daily since we announced that we were hopefully adding a little girl to our family. My mom was practically swooning over her pictures because she only has grandsons” Leah said, trying her best to fill emptiness of the air. Anita smiled as she nodded and let out a relieved sigh. Leah reached for the diaper bag you had brought along with the stroller, pulling out a little pink fleece suit with bears printed on them. The suit was handed over to you, and you started putting her feet into the outfit making her look even more adorable than before.

“Have you gotten her room in place yet? It must feel exciting to finally bring her home” Anita smiled, looking over at you who had just managed to get Gracie’s suit on. “Yes, Leah painted two room just in case the newborn voices her opinion about the interior design” you giggled, teasing Leah.

Leah playfully rolled her eyes at you before shaking her head. She couldn’t believe how soft she had gotten even before Gracie was yours.

“Actually, I painted two rooms in case she has an opinion about the layout of our home” Leah corrected, making you let out a few laughs.

“Mama is being silly isn’t she?” You cooed at your daughter who by now was ready to leave, all dressed up as a tiny yawn escaped her lips. Anita smiled at you, admiration sparkling in her eyes. This was the part of her job that she loved.

“So, are we set to leave once we sign the papers? The car is parked next to the closes parking lot, so it’s gonna be a little walk. But we love being outside, so you will learn to love it ” Leah said, smiling at Gracie.

-

A few months ago, you had gotten the call on a random Wednesday. Initially, you hadn’t answered your phone as you were in the middle of a workout with you and Leah’s team. It seemed rather unlikely that you would receive a call only a few weeks after being officially approved as adoption parents. Your phone had kept ringing for an extended period, for so long that when Leah went to the locker room to change her shoes; she heard your phone buzzing in your cubby. Initially she hadn’t thought much of it, assuming that it was your mother or brother’s girlfriend that wanted a chat, but for once; her curiosity sparked.

That lead to Leah sprinting out of the locker room across the stadium in a frantic attempt to locate you. “Y/N! Your phone! It’s ringing!”’she shouted out across the gym earning a few odd looks for her teammates.

She made her way over to you even jumping over a few pieces of equipment before handing the phone over to you. “Hello, Y/N Williamson speaking” you said, moving away from the crowd. The woman on the other end was a social worker, Anita, who was letting you know that just in a few weeks; a little girl would be needing parents, and you seemed to be a good fit.

That day, you and Leah were excused out of training early. It had been a discussion, a short one, but a discussion about the timing in the whole of this. It was summer, and the baby’s arrival was to be scheduled around September. Initially, you wanted an older child. Ideally around 3-4 years old, but a call to your parents was all that was needed before you felt confident that this was right for you; both your moms promised to help out on game days until she was a little older.

After the decision had been made, you rang up Anita who made arrangements for you to be notified of the birth. The plan was for you to meet Gracie just a few days past delivery before she would go into foster care for a few weeks until most of the paperwork had been processed through.

Leah had immediately taken to nesting after the call was over, and made an executive decision to pick a paint for your daughter‘s room. 2 hours later, you walked out of the store with everything you needed in terms of painting and preparation with a mission to paint Gracie’s room soft pink.

The following day, Leah had the day off while you had some partnership meetings to attend. When you arrived home that evening, instead of one pink room; you had two. “I didn’t know if she’d like the room upstairs better than the downstairs” Leah shrugged, paint on her nose. “You are spoiling her already, darling” you said, wiping her nose. “Oh, our daughter is gonna be spoiled in all the right ways love” Leah followed up, kissing your cheek.

-

“Actually, there is just one thing I wanted to discuss with you” Anita said, as she sighed visibly upset. “There is someone that wants to say goodbye to her, and I understand if you don’t want that”. Leah shook her head “of course she can say goodbye, it must be hard for a mother to let go of her child no matter the circumstances”.

Anita shifted in her chair, as you held Gracie close feeling worried about what would happen if her mother wanted her back. The adoption hadn’t gotten through just yet, but you had gotten temporary guardianship over her. “Well, it’s just that it’s not her mother, it’s her sis-“ Anita’s sentence was cut short by a loud bang and a little girl tumbling into the room.

“No, I need to say bye to my sissy before she’s gone forever and then she will never remember me!” The little girl yelled, working to get back up on her feet. A young woman followed behind her, looking stressed.

“Paisley, I told you we have to wait. Please come back here” she huffed, immediately grabbing the toddler who broke out a pout. You and Leah shared a look, both feeling rather confused on the situation. Gracie who was still in your arms, was lifted over to Leah before you slowly walked towards the little girl. The little girl almost instantly hid behind the woman’s legs, feeling scared.

“Hi Paisley, do you want to came and say goodbye to your sister?” You asked squatting down infront of her. Paisley nodded slowly, chewing on her pointing finger. She looked up at the woman who gave her a nod, and Paisley practically threw herself onto you. Your arms wrapped around her as you stood up, carrying her over to Leah who was now situated in the couch.

“Are you her new mommy?” Paisley asked, peaking over at her sister. Leah nodded slowly, holding Gracie so that Paisley could see her. “Yes, we are both her new mommies. My name is y/n and this with Gracie is Leah ” you introduced, sitting down next to Leah with Paisley in your lap.

“Is her name still gonna be Gracie? My social worker said that often new families give you a new name” Paisley asked, gently reaching forward to touch her sister cheek. “Yes, she’s still gonna be named Gracie” you confirmed, feeling sad about how kids get their names stripped from them.

“Woah, she’s lucky! When Anita find someone that wants me, then she says I’ll maybe have to get a new name. I hope someone will want me one day too. Do you have parents?” Paisley asked curiously, now feeling more relaxed in your arms. “Yes, I do”, you confirmed.

Paisley’s eyes widened, “Woah! So Gracie will have a grandma and a grandpa?” She asked, touching her sister’s hair. “Yes, she’ll even have nephews, aunts and uncles” you expressed, the warmth of you family filling your heart.

“Gracie, you are lucky” Paisley sighed, withdrawing her arm back. She scooted down to the floor again, moving to stand in front of Leah. “She’s so cute” Paisley squealed.

You and Leah shared a sad look. A night with a few glasses of wine and a sad movie about siblings losing each other had led to a promise of never spilling a pair of siblings, ever.

“Hey Paisley, how about I put Gracie on the playmat and you can play with her for a little while” Leah suggested, urging for you to get up with her. Paisley nodded eagerly, sitting down nicely on the mat before Leah placed Gracie next to her.

Anita stood by her desk, slightly reddish in the face clearly embarrassed. Leah looked at you, and you nodded thinking exactly what she was thinking. The pair of you moved to Anita’s desk.

“Anita, we cant just spilt a pair of siblings”’Leah sighed, looking over Paisley who was playing gently with Gracie making her giggle. Anita looked at you with sad eyes. “I understand” she said, reaching out of the backpack that had Gracie’s belongings in it. “I’ll see if I can find a foster family that wants to take in Paisley, she’s been rejected multiple times and families has sent her back because she’s a handful. I cannot imagine finding a family who wants her and a baby.” Anita said, sitting behind her desk. Her hands moved toward her face, before rubbing her face in distress.

You looked over at Leah, who stood admiring the two siblings. Guilt crept up on in a way that made it feel like she was being eaten alive.

“Leah, we can’t let this happen. We already have two already painted rooms” you whispered to her, “look at them, they need each other” you pleaded.

Leah looked like she was on edge about the idea, close to boarding the ship. “Buy baby, it’s a big responsibility. What if it’s too much?” Leah whispered, reaching for you hand. “It won’t be, we have our families and our teammates that we can lean on for support”. Leah still didn’t seem on board with the idea, but by the look of her face; you could see how she by every smile and giggle that Paisley pulled out of Gracie, she was one more thought away from agreeing with you.

“Mrs.Williamson, it’s full understandable that you won’t go through with this adoption. I will find someone to care for the pair of them this evening, that’s why Paisley came here regardless.” Anita apologetically said and that shot a spark in Leah.

“Wait, Paisley doesn’t have anywhere to go? No fosters?” Leah urged, suddenly seeming more onboard with the idea.

Anita sighed again, “no, sadly not. I got a call last night to pick her up asap, but I begged them to give me until today”.

Leah bit her teeth together thinking of the little blonde begin shuffled around between families for ages.

“You know what? We’ll take her” Leah spat out, looking at them. Anita broke out in a relieved smile.

“Wonderful, you can bring Gracie home now. Bianca, please take Paisley out to the playroom” Anita asked, making you and Leah feel confused.

Paisley looked up at Anita and Binca. Her whole body shifted, suddenly seeming like the smallest most unwanted being on the planet. Her eyes started filling with tears, slowly moving to where Bianca was situated.

“No, we are cleared to both foster and adopt, right? Is there any way we can bring Paisley with us too? As a fosterhome?” You suggested, hoping that Leah wouldn’t protest it and that you had read her correctly.

“Foster with the intent to adopt” Leah corrected, instantly grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. You flashed her a shy smile, hoping that this wasn’t something you would regret.

“Mrs.Williamson, she’s a handful. Lots of energy, and she has caused several homes to quit fostering” Anita ushered, trying to keep her voice down.

“Respectfully, we both work as professional footballers. I’m sure there is a way to make her energy work in her favour.” Leah expressed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well,if you are sure; that settles it. Would you like to break the news to her while I make some quick calls?” Anita asked, pulling up her phone. You nodded eagerly, excited to go from a two person family to potentially being four.

You looked over at Leah while Anita excused herself out of the room with Bianca. The two girls were back on the playing mat together. Leah grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Last chance to pull out, baby” you whispered, Leah shook her head. “My two little girls, our two daughters” she whispered, familiarising herself with the phrase.

“Hey Paisley” Leah said squatting down in front of her. “Yes? Is it time to go already? I’ve barely said goodbye!” Paisley complained, standing up before crossing her arms with a big pout on her face.

“How would you feel about coming home with us and Gracie?” Leah asked, awaiting the young blondes response. Paisley looked up at Leah as she tilted her head to the right, her facial expression confused.

“Like coming to visit? Like a sleepover?” Paisley asked, clearly thinking about what it would mean. Leah smiled again, brushing Paisley’s hair out of her face. “Like coming to stay at our home with your own room, and then we can see if we are able to make it forever” Leah confirmed, awaiting the girls response.

Paisley’s eyes widened, eyes becoming glossier by the second before she shot up and launched herself around Leah’s neck. “Like, I can call you mommy just like Gracie can? Or is that just for Gracie? That’s okay, I don’t mind calling you Leah and Y/N” Paisley urged, bouncing on the ground. Leah looked over at you, still holding the young girls frame. There was a gaze shared between the two of you. Life was about to take an unexpected turn, but perhaps that unexpected turn was just what you needed. Perhaps Paisley was gonna be the missing piece to your puzzle.

“You could call us whatever you like, P”

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; satoru gojo

requested by ; cookie simp anon (12/09/24)

fandom(s) ; jujutsu kaisen

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; satoru gojo

outline ; “so i see you write for jujutsu kaisen huh? may i request some gojo relationship hcs please?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

as the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, and a teacher at jujutsu tech, it almost goes without saying that satoru gojo is an extremely busy person. between organising stuff for his students, attending boring meetings with the higher ups, and dealing with missions of his own, he barely has enough time to sleep most day — but, still, as your boyfriend he does what he can to make sure you still feel loved and appreciated even when he can’t always be by your side. and if that means sending you daily ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, calling you throughout the day, showering you in more gifts than you know what to do with, and sending his students (and esteemed colleagues) to protect you when he’s away, then so be it

whenever he’s blessed with an exceptionally rare day off, the first thing on his mind is organising something with you because, well, why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to spend some much needed one-on-one time with his partner? and his dates can range from extravagant and luxurious to intimate and simple depending on your preferences and what mood he’s in — after all, for someone like gojo it’s just as easy for him to chill at home watching films with you as it is to teleport the two of you to that high end restaurant across the country he’s heard good things about… gotta make the most of the free time he’s got, after all

satoru never sleeps quite as soundly unless he’s cuddled up with you — your head on his chest or nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the smell of your shampoo in his nose, the weight of your body on top of his own, the sound of your breathing and the little noises you make in your sleep, and the security he gets from being able to wrap his arms around you, all of it is needed for him to get a good night’s sleep. and don’t worry if you’re not an early riser like him because he’s perfected the art of getting up and tucking you back into bed without rousing you from your slumber (what a sweetheart!)

whether you believe it makes him endearing or a menace to society, it’s undeniable that gojo has a strong sense of humour and loves messing with the people he cares about — and as his lover you get to experience that side of him more than anyone else. of course he does know where to draw the line (what practical jokes you won’t find funny, what comments not to make, when to drop the silly pet names and act serious for once), but generally he loves making you laugh and will go out of his way to make a complete and utter fool of himself if that will make your day just that small bit brighter

very physically affectionate once he’s comfortable enough with you to let his infinity down and always likes to be touching you in one way or another when you’re together: wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side or back against his chest, holding your hand, picking you up and carrying you around, encouraging you to sit on his lip, smothering you with kisses, cuddling you, running his hands up and down your sides or upper arms, resting a hand on the small of your back, etc.

other than your lips, his favourite places to kiss you are as follows: the top of your head, the nape of your neck, and the tip of your nose. and he loves it when you kiss him on the forehead (after brushing his hair out of the way) and on his hands — it never fails to make him smile and melt.

gift giving is one of his main love languages so it’s safe to say that as his partner you’ll want for nothing. whether its something you’ve mentioned liking/wanting, something he’s seen that he just knows you’ll love, or an item on display that you looked at a bit longer than everything around it, gojo will buy it for you without an ounce of hesitation — even if it has an absolutely exorbitant price tag attached. and, annoyingly, he’s always correct and you always end up loving the stuff he gets you (which only contributes to his bragging about being the ‘best boyfriend ever’, for better or for worse)

satoru is your absolute biggest cheerleader in life and will not rest until he’s sure you know just how much he adores you and how amazing he knows you are — and if he can’t be there in person to support you for a big event, he’ll always be there over the phone either texting you a string of earnest encouragements that soothe your anxieties or in your ear on call reassuring you that you’ve got this and he knows you’ll do an amazing job because it’s you, etc.

definitely encourages you to learn how to fight because he knows just how much danger you’re in just by being in his life. he’s very intense about it too because he does not want to take any chances with your life (duh)

uses his six eyes on you pretty often, usually just to check you over and make sure you’re not coming down with anything or hiding an injury from him or just to check up on you when you’re away from him for one reason or another

he’s just… protective, that’s all

(and who can blame him after everything he’s lost?)

as touched upon in previous points, it will take gojo some time to become comfortable enough with you to turn off his infinity — this means that for the first few months of your relationship there will be a distinct barrier between the two of you and any physical affection you engage in will be exclusively on his terms. just be patient and give him some time to adjust, you’ll get your super touchy boyfriend in good time

as far as pet names go, satoru is pretty versatile and will call you things that range from traditional (your first name or a shorter version thereof, or something like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘my love’), to more modern (e.g. ‘babe’ or ‘sugar’), to terms of endearment that are downright ridiculous and spoken with the exclusive intention of making you laugh.

his lockscreen is a picture of the two of you on a date abroad, his home screen is a picture of you smiling at him first thing in the morning, and he’s forever bragging about how amazing his partner is to anyone who will listen — the students mostly think it’s cute, shoko is used to it and just lets him ramble, but poor kento is sick of it (he doesn’t mind you as a person, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that he’d like to have one day at work where he’s not interrupted by gojo gushing about how gorgeous your eyes looked this morning, or some other such nonsense)

loves seeing you in his clothes, like he has a whole album dedicated to shots he’s taken of you in his shirts and jumpers it’s ridiculous. and if you happen to wear a size that’s bigger than his then you can guarantee that he’s going to go out and buy a crap load of oversized clothes to wear just so you can steal them (and give him his favourite view in the world)

he commits all the things you love to memory just so he’s able to use his knowledge to impress you down the line. your favourite sweets, your favourite meals, your favourite flowers, the fabrics you like to wear, etc., etc… you are his favourite thing to learn about and he may just about know more about you than he does about jujutsu or digimon

… barely

[rosiecosy]

signed in blood࣪ ִֶָ☾.

(dk x reader) — angst, thriller

the first letter is easy to ignore.

just a scrap of paper slipped under your door, your name written in delicate, looping script. inside, a single sentence.

"you don’t deserve him."

you frown at it but don’t think much of it. people talk online all the time, say worse things behind the safety of a screen. this is just another delusional fan who thinks they know what’s best for seokmin. nothing worth stressing over.

but then, there’s another.

and another.

each one more unsettling than the last.

the handwriting stays the same, neat and careful, almost loving. but the words turn sharper, crueler, describing things they shouldn’t know—where you went last weekend, what you wore two nights ago, the way seokmin held you close when he thought no one was looking.

then, the worst part.

"with love, seokmin."

your blood runs cold the first time you see his name at the bottom.

you know it’s not him. he doesn’t even write like that. but something about it unsettles you in a way you can’t explain. it feels intimate. like someone slipping into your life, into his life, wearing his name like a second skin.

you don’t tell him. not yet. he’s been exhausted lately, barely getting enough sleep between rehearsals and promotions. you don’t want to burden him with something that might be nothing.

but then—

your phone rings.

"hey," seokmin says, voice softer than usual. "are you home?"

"yeah," you say, sitting up. something about the way he asked makes your stomach twist. "why?"

"can i come over?"

"of course," you say immediately. "is everything okay?"

a pause.

"i don’t know."

the unease that’s been sitting at the back of your mind sinks deeper, curling around your ribs.

"seokmin—"

"i’ll be there soon," he says, and the call ends.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at the screen like it might tell you something he didn’t.

it doesn’t take him long to arrive. he knocks once before stepping inside, closing the door behind him. when you look up, he’s standing there, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

his eyes meet yours, and your breath catches.

he looks… lost. like he doesn’t know if he should be angry or heartbroken.

he holds up the paper.

"what is this?"

you blink. "i don’t know."

he exhales, pressing his lips together. he looks like he wants to believe you. but he unfolds the letter, and when he reads it out loud, your blood turns to ice.

"i’m sorry. i don’t love you anymore. please don’t contact me again."

your name is signed at the bottom.

"seokmin—"

"it was in my dorm," he says, voice quieter now. "just sitting there on my bed. no explanation. no… nothing. just this."

"i didn’t write that."

he lets out something between a laugh and a breath, shaking his head. "it’s your handwriting."

"but it’s not mine."

his fingers tighten around the letter. "then whose is it?"

you don’t have an answer. your mind is spinning, trying to piece it all together.

"seokmin, i would never—"

"do you know what it felt like?" he interrupts, voice breaking. "coming home after a long day, already feeling like shit, and finding this? reading those words and thinking—for even just a second—that maybe you… maybe you really meant it?"

your chest tightens. you reach for him, but he takes a step back. not in anger. not in rejection. but in hesitation.

and that’s what scares you the most.

"i know you," he says, quieter now. "i know you wouldn’t just leave like that. but it looks like you. it sounds like you." he shakes his head. "and if it wasn’t you, then—"

he swallows hard. his fingers tremble where they clutch the letter.

"then i don’t know what’s worse."

you stare at him, at the hurt in his eyes, at the way he’s holding it all in like he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets it out.

"seokmin," you say, voice shaking, "i swear, i—"

a chime interrupts you.

your phone. a new email.

when you check it, your stomach drops.

a draft sitting in your outbox. unsent.

a breakup email.

written in your words. in your style.

waiting.

like someone was planning to send it for you.

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 3/Final)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1 / Part 2

Eddie still hadn’t let go.

His fingers were wrapped around yours, tight, trembling, like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. His breath was uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, his pulse hammering against your palm.

He was spiraling.

And you couldn’t let him.

“Eddie,” you murmured, voice low, steady.

His grip tightened.

You took a slow step closer. “Look at me.”

Eddie shook his head.

Like he couldn’t. Like if he looked at you, really looked, he’d have to face it.

So you made the choice for him.

You reached up, your free hand brushing his cheek, guiding him gently, forcing his eyes to find yours.

And when they did?

Something broke.

Because Eddie Munson was terrified.

Not of this place. Not of the monsters outside.

But of losing you.

“I can’t—” His voice cracked. His fingers dug into your skin. “I can’t—”

You swallowed hard. “You can.”

Eddie laughed. A breathless, wrecked thing. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You tried to smile. “You’ve mentioned.”

He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

Eddie’s eyes flickered over your face, like he was memorizing you, like he was terrified this was the last time he’d ever get to.

Then—softly, brokenly—

“Hold on to something good.”

Your heart stopped.

Because there it was.

The truth.

This wasn’t just about the Upside Down. Wasn’t just about surviving.

This was about you.

You, who had been the one thing he hadn’t expected. You, who had let him pull you in, who had reached back when he was too afraid to.

You, who had made Eddie Munson realize what it felt like to be wanted.

And now, when everything was falling apart, when there was no more time to pretend—

He finally admitted it.

Your chest ached.

Because you needed him to know.

You inhaled sharply, then—without thinking, without overanalyzing, without giving him time to run—

You moved.

Stepped forward, pressed up onto your toes, and kissed him.

Eddie froze.

Then he broke.

His hands grabbed you, desperate, pulling you in, holding on. His lips crashed against yours, messy and needing, like he was trying to memorize you, like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.

Because he wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the kiss broke. Not when your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, the weight of everything hanging in the space between.

His hands were still on you—one curled around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist like he was afraid to loosen his hold. Like if he did, you’d slip through his fingers.

And you? You weren’t letting go either.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, full.

Then—Eddie exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound.

And he laughed.

Not loud. Not forced. Just a quiet, shaky thing, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You swallowed, chest tight. “What?”

Eddie shook his head, barely pulling back enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you.

Then—softly, almost helplessly—

“I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t just an admission.

It was everything.

The way he’d been looking at you for weeks. The way he had pulled you into his world without meaning to, the way he had fought this—fought himself—until he couldn’t anymore. Now he was done fighting.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer. “Then don’t go anywhere.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then he kissed you again.

Softer, this time. Sweeter.

Like he was promising something.

Like he was all in.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The others found you minutes later.

Steve groaned. “Oh my god—seriously? Now?”

Nancy ignored him, stepping forward. “We have a problem.”

Eddie sighed, still very much holding onto you. “Oh, great. More problems. I love problems.”

Robin frowned. “We think Vecna knows we’re here.”

Eddie stiffened.

Your stomach dropped.

Nancy’s expression was grim. “We need to move. Now.”

Silence.

Eddie exhaled sharply. Then—reluctantly, reluctantly—he pulled away, his fingers brushing yours one last time before he turned to the group.

And just like that, the moment was over.

But as you followed them out of the trailer, as the storm in the distance rumbled louder, as you felt the wrongness in the air watching—

Eddie reached for you.

Slipped his fingers between yours.

And held on.

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the group started moving, slipping through the trees in a tense, breathless silence. Not when the sky overhead rumbled, deep and wrong, a storm of red lightning flashing through the thick clouds.

Not when Vecna’s presence pressed against the air, like a weight settling over your chest, thick and suffocating.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around yours, calloused and warm, his grip unyielding.

Like he was afraid to loosen it.

Like if he let go, something would take you from him.

Nancy led the way, flashlight beam cutting through the dark. Robin and Steve followed close behind, whispering back and forth about their next move, about what the hell they were supposed to do now.

But you barely heard them.

Because Eddie was still holding your hand.

And every so often—just for a second, just barely—his thumb brushed over your knuckles, like he needed to remind himself that you were still here.

Still with him.

Your stomach tightened.

Because it was hitting you now—really hitting you.

This wasn’t just about getting out of here.

This was about Eddie.

Eddie, who had spent his entire life being overlooked. Who had convinced himself that no one ever stayed, that nothing good ever lasted.

And now, after all of it, after the fights and the fears and the almosts

He was finally holding onto something.

You weren’t going to let him lose it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You reached the clearing near the gate.

Nancy hesitated, lifting her flashlight. “We should be close.”

Eddie exhaled, squeezing your hand once before finally—reluctantly—letting go. “So, uh. What’s the plan, exactly?”

Robin huffed. “Oh, you mean besides the don’t die part?”

Steve sighed. “We get back through the gate, find Dustin and the others, and figure out how the hell to kill this thing.”

Eddie snorted. “Right. Easy. Love that for us.”

Nancy frowned. “We just have to get across the clearing.”

You didn’t like how she said just.

Because the clearing?

It wasn’t empty.

The flying creatures—the bats—were swarming.

Dipping and shrieking, circling the clearing in an endless, twisting pattern of teeth and wings.

Your stomach dropped.

Robin swallowed hard. “Okay. I vote not dying by demon bat.”

Nancy tightened her grip on her gun. “We run.”

Eddie stared at her. “Through that?”

Nancy exhaled. “We don’t have a choice.”

Steve pulled a rusted metal lid from the ground—a makeshift shield—before glancing back at the group. “We go on three.”

Your pulse hammered.

Eddie shifted closer, his fingers brushing yours—just barely, like he wanted to grab your hand again but didn’t trust himself to hold on too tight.

Like he knew he wouldn’t let go.

Steve took a breath. “One.”

The bats shrieked.

Eddie’s hand curled into a fist.

“Two.”

Your heart pounded.

Eddie glanced at you, just once.

And then—

“Three!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Through the dirt and the wind, through the screeching and the chaos, you ran. Steve swung his makeshift shield at anything that came too close. Nancy fired into the dark, guiding the group forward, her face hard with determination.

Robin stumbled, nearly going down—but Eddie grabbed her, shoved her forward before she could fall behind.

He was right beside you.

Breath hot, fingers skimming yours but not grabbing, like he was forcing himself to let you run on your own.

Like he wanted to hold on but couldn’t.

Then—

A shriek.

A sharp, sudden pain—

And something ripped into your side.

You choked on a gasp.

Because shit, it hurt.

A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you—

And Eddie caught you.

“No—”

His arms wrapped around you, the momentum knocking you both to the ground. The world spun.

Bats dived from the sky, closing in—

Eddie’s arms tightened.

And then—

Steve’s shield slammed into the ground beside you, knocking a bat out of the air. “Get up!”

Eddie hauled you up.

Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

Just grabbed you, one arm around your waist, pulling you forward.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You made it through the gate.

Fell through the crack in reality, hitting the ground hard, gasping for air.

Robin tumbled beside you, Steve and Nancy scrambling up behind her.

But Eddie?

Eddie was on you before you could even move.

“Hey—hey—” His hands were everywhere, searching, pressing, checking—his fingers skimming over your ribs, sticky and wet, pulling back to reveal—

Blood.

Your blood.

Eddie’s face went white.

You tried to sit up. “I’m—”

Eddie pressed down, keeping you still. “Don’t—don’t move, okay? Just—shit—just breathe—”

His hands shook.

His eyes flickered up to Steve, panicked. “She’s—fuck—she’s bleeding, Harrington, what do we—”

Steve was already moving, pulling off his jacket, pressing it against your side. “She’s okay—you’re okay,” he said, voice tight, rushed. “It’s not deep. Just—just a scratch.”

Eddie let out a wrecked breath.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

Didn’t breathe until your fingers curled around his wrist.

Eddie’s gaze snapped back to you.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady.

“I told you not to go anywhere.”

Eddie let out a broken, relieved laugh.

Then he dropped his forehead against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when Steve pressed his jacket against your side, trying to slow the bleeding. Not when Robin and Nancy hovered nearby, whispering about what to do next. Not even when you winced—his grip only tightened, like he could keep you together by holding on.

Your head was spinning, the pain sharp but distant, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to what had happened yet. But Eddie?

Eddie felt it all.

You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his breath shook, in the way his fingers curled against your skin like he was desperately trying to keep himself from breaking.

Like if he let go for even a second, this whole thing would slip through his fingers.

And you couldn’t let him think that.

So you reached up, slowly, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

His breath hitched.

Your voice was quiet, weak but firm. “I’m okay.”

Eddie laughed.

A breathless, wrecked thing, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You almost weren’t,” he whispered.

Your chest tightened.

Because that was it. That was what had shaken him.

Not the monsters. Not the gate.

But you.

The idea of losing you.

You swallowed. “But I am.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, like he was trying to believe you, trying to let the words sink in.

Then—without warning—he dropped his head against your shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you, careful but firm, like he needed to feel you there, solid and real and alive.

His breath was shaky against your neck.

“I can’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I can’t do this without you.”

Your heart ached.

Because Eddie Munson, the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave—

Was asking you to stay.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath.

Then—softly, desperately—

“Promise?”

You tightened your grip on him.

“I promise.”

Eddie exhaled.

And for the first time since stepping into hell, he finally—finally—let himself believe it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t move.

Not even when the others shifted around you, whispering about what to do next, about getting back to Hawkins, about what comes after.

Because right now?

Right now, you were the only thing that mattered.

His arms were still around you, careful but unrelenting, like if he let go, the world might take you away. His breath was uneven, his heart hammering against yours, the weight of what almost happened settling between you both.

And you felt it.

The fear. The helplessness.

The absolute certainty that Eddie Munson would never recover if he lost you.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of his jacket, grounding both of you. “Eddie,” you whispered.

He inhaled sharply.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t lift his head.

Just held on.

“Give me a minute,” he murmured, voice raw. “Just—just a minute, okay?”

Your chest ached.

Because this wasn’t for you.

This was for him.

For the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave. For the boy who had never been given something good without it being taken away.

For the boy who had spent weeks trying not to want you—only to realize he couldn’t survive losing you now.

You exhaled softly.

Then—without hesitation, without fear—you wrapped your arms around him.

Holding him this time.

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Like he hadn’t expected it.

Like he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.

Then, slowly, carefully, he melted into you.

His grip tightened. His fingers curled against your back. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Like he was memorizing you.

Like he needed this moment to be real.

And you let him have it.

Because Eddie Munson had never had something worth holding on to before.

But now?

Now he did.

And he was never letting go.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie hadn’t let go of you in over an hour.

Not fully, anyway.

Even after the bleeding had stopped. Even after Nancy and Steve had agreed that you were okay. Even after the group had packed up and started moving again, heading back to Hawkins, back to whatever came next.

His hand was always on you.

A steadying touch at your back when you stood. His fingers brushing your wrist as you walked side by side. His knee pressed against yours when you sat down to rest.

Small things.

Things that no one else would notice.

But you noticed.

And every time?

Your chest ached.

Because Eddie Munson, who had spent weeks keeping you at a distance, who had convinced himself that letting you in would be a mistake—

Was holding on to you like he couldn’t survive letting go.

And you weren’t going to let him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The group made it back to Steve’s house just before dawn.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

No one spoke much as they filtered inside, exhaustion heavy in the air.

Robin and Nancy crashed on the couch. Steve disappeared upstairs, muttering something about needing a shower before he “lost his goddamn mind.”

But Eddie?

Eddie didn’t let you out of his sight.

Even now, as you sat on the basement couch, his fingers were curled around yours, his grip tight. His leg bounced restlessly, his face unreadable, like his mind was still stuck back there.

Stuck in the almost.

The what if I lost you.

You squeezed his hand.

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—quiet, wrecked—

“I need you to say something.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie huffed a breathless, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head. “Like—fuck, I don’t know. Tell me I’m losing it. Tell me this whole thing isn’t real. Tell me I didn’t just—” He stopped, running a hand through his curls. “Tell me I didn’t just fall for you in the middle of a goddamn horror movie.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because there it was.

The thing he had been holding back. The thing he had fought for so long.

But now, after all of it—after the running, the fighting, the fear—he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He stilled.

Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes lifted to yours.

And you saw everything.

The fear. The exhaustion.

The need.

And, most of all, the certainty.

Because Eddie Munson wasn’t running anymore.

Not from you.

Not from this.

You exhaled. Then—softly, steadily—

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Then, before he could say anything else—before he could overthink or panic—you reached up, fingers curling in his jacket, and pulled him in.

And when his lips met yours?

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t panicked.

It was steady.

It was certain.

It was a promise.

Because this wasn’t about almosts anymore, this was real.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie kissed you like he meant it.

Like he had been meaning to for weeks, like it had been building and building, waiting for the moment he finally let himself have it.

And now that he had?

He wasn’t letting go.

His hands slid up, fingers tangling in your hair, his grip careful but firm, like he was grounding himself in you. Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between you, until his breath was your breath, until the only thing in the world was this.

Not the danger. Not the running. Not the things waiting in the dark.

Just you and Eddie.

And when he finally—reluctantly—broke away, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his heart hammering beneath your hands.

Silence stretched.

Then—soft, wrecked, real—

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Your chest ached.

Because you knew what he meant.

This wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment thing.

This was Eddie Munson, falling for you, completely and irreversibly, in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse.

And you weren’t going to let him do it alone.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tighter in his jacket. “Then we’re both in trouble.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—before he could second-guess it, before he could panic—you kissed him again.

And this time?

Eddie melted.

Because there was no more pretending.

No more almosts.

No more running.

Just you.

Just this.

And when the world finally stopped falling apart—when the danger was over, when Hawkins was safe again, when Eddie Munson wasn’t a fugitive anymore—

You knew he’d still be holding on to you.

Because this?

This was real.

And Eddie Munson?

He wasn’t ever letting go.

[bblairxe]

vampire! ellie x fem reader hcs??

— ୨ৎ vampire reader x ellie . sfw . mdni

sorry if this is like shit, i don’t know the first thing about vampires !

— ✶ at first, she probably wouldn’t believe you. she’d be teasing and taunting you about it, saying things like, “so .. you want some garlic?” or “can i sleep with you in your coffin?”

— ✶ she’ll go feral every time she sees your fangs. always asking you to smile or prodding her fingers at your lips. “c’mon baby, lemme see ‘em!” 

— ✶ whenever you guys go out, ellie insists on dressing you. she’ll pick out the cutest outfit for you, then picking one for herself. you notice the clothes look almost exactly like hers, but when you bring it up, she just says it was a coincidence. 

“els, uh, you do know we’re wearing the exact same thing, right?” you question, a dumbfounded expression on your face as your eyes flicker from the clothes on the bed to the ones on her body. 

she looks down and then at the clothes on the bed. of course ellie knows, she’s the one picked it out after all. “oh shit! we are wearing the same thing!” she exclaims with a fake shocked expression, hopping up to press a kiss on your cheek. “it’s cause we’re written in the stars, babe.”

— ✶ if you start getting bloodlust around her, she’d get cocky about it. “oh you’re looking at my neck again, should i be scared or turned on?” but  if it’s something serious, she’ll be concerned and try to help you in any way possible. 

— ✶ she would probably end up offering herself up to you. trying to be all nonchalant about it but she’s secretly scared shitless. 

“you know .. if you need some, you can just feed off of me.” her voice breaks the silence between you two. 

you nearly get whiplash the way your head snaps to look at her. looking at her like she just said the most dumbest thing on earth because well, she did. “ellie, i am not going to feed off of you. i’ll figure this out myself.” 

“just letting you know i’m always here if you need it.” 

“we’ll talk about this later.” 

— ✶ she would beg to try on your capes, pestering you about it day and night until you finally give in.  

“oh, this is some cool shit right here dude.” she laughed, checking herself out in the floor length mirror. 

she walks over to you, nearly tripping over the cape but she balances. “watch this,” she brings her arm over her mouth, the cape draping over it. “i vant to suck yer blood.” 

you roll your eyes at her childish, stereotypical antics but she doubles over laughing. “not funny els, very corny.” 

“yeah, yeah but i see that smirk.” she manages in between giggles, moving to give you a kiss as an apology. 

— ✶ she’ll always make sure to put up dim lighting around the house. buying black out curtains and giving you an umbrella each time you go out. 

ellie would totally be the type to pretend she doesn’t care about dating a vampire, but deep down, she thinks it’s the coolest (and hottest) thing ever. 

[novaursa]

The Golden Court (gods can watch)

- Summary: You were taken from the royal court by your father when you were a child. Now you return as a woman grown from exile. A woman that ignites fires in her wake.

- Pairing: Jason Lannister/targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Adult themes will progress more and more as chapters go on. This fic is pure filth and I make no apologies for it. You have been warned.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the triad

- Tag(s): @idenyimimdenial @scarletdfox @princesstiti14

The streets of King’s Landing were never truly silent. Even in the cool embrace of early evening, when the sun hung low over the Blackwater, casting its golden hue over the city, there was a hum of life—a restless energy that pulsed beneath the surface.

The people of the capital had long learned to watch without looking, to listen without hearing, to speak only when it was safe. But today, their gazes lingered too long, their whispers just a little louder.

Because you were not alone.

Daemon walked beside you, his dark cloak billowing just slightly as he moved through the crowded streets with the ease of a man who belonged everywhere and nowhere. The Rogue Prince of Westeros, the man who had once ruled these very streets with fire and blood, now walked them again—only this time, it was not himself that drew the most attention.

It was you.

The whispers followed in your wake like a tide rolling in.

"The prince and his daughter—"

"Did you hear? She's to wed the lions—"

"Two husbands—by the gods, what madness—"

"Targaryen women, it is said, are no ordinary creatures—"

Daemon, ever amused by the murmurings of the smallfolk, smirked as he tilted his head slightly, listening. “They talk as though they have never seen a Targaryen do something scandalous before.”

You huffed a soft laugh, lifting your chin slightly as a pair of street vendors hurriedly stepped aside to let you pass. “Perhaps they believe you are finally being outdone in notoriety.”

Daemon grinned, his dark violet eyes flickering with mischief. “That would be a first.”

You turned your gaze forward, watching as the winding streets led you further into the depths of the city. The smell of roasted meats and fresh bread mingled with the more pungent scents of the capital—sweat, damp wood, and the ever-present stench of the gutters. It was a city that lived and breathed on its own terms, much like the man beside you.

“I should tell you,” you said, your tone carefully even, “that my wedding will take place before the moon is over.”

Daemon’s steps slowed, just for a moment.

Then—

He sighed, his amusement flickering into something more thoughtful. “So soon?”

You nodded, glancing up at him. “Jason insisted.”

Daemon scoffed. “That sounds about right.”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. “You disapprove?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, plucking an apple from a nearby merchant’s stall without bothering to stop or pay, biting into it with a sharp, satisfying crunch. The merchant froze, eyes wide, but said nothing.

Daemon chewed, swallowed, then finally spoke. “I’ve long since learned that my approval means very little to you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not true,” you countered, sidestepping a cart as a boy hurried past with a bundle of cloth. “If it did not, I wouldn’t be telling you at all.”

Daemon huffed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You want me there.”

You nodded. “I do.”

He let out a low hum, tossing the apple core aside, barely missing the foot of a passing knight. “Well, at least one of us should enjoy the sight of the Faith’s horror when it happens.”

You grinned. “Tyland says it will be a private ceremony, away from the Septons and their outrage.”

Daemon snorted. “Smart of him.” Then, after a beat, “And Jason?”

You smirked. “He doesn’t care who watches, so long as the wedding happens.”

Daemon chuckled, his mood lightening. “And you?”

You exhaled, watching as a group of women whispered behind their hands as you passed. “I care only for what comes after.”

Daemon gave you a long, considering look, before a slow, knowing grin spread across his lips. “Then we should be sure to make it worth remembering.”

You let out a breath, turning to meet his gaze fully, grateful—as you always had been—that he never tried to change you, never questioned you, never feared what the world whispered about you.

Because if there was one thing your father knew, it was that the world had never known what to do with a Targaryen who refused to be caged.

The morning air was crisp as the final preparations for departure stirred the halls of the Red Keep into a bustling flurry of movement. Servants hurried back and forth, trunks filled with silks and velvets strapped onto horses, banners rolled tightly, gold and finery packed away under the watchful eyes of Lannister guards.

And yet—

You had not even managed to dress.

Not properly, at least.

Because Jason, ever the indulgent lion, was making a spectacle of himself.

He stood behind you, his large hands splayed boldly over your hips, his bare chest warm against your back as you attempted to fasten the laces of your traveling dress. His golden hair was still disheveled from the morning’s indulgence, his smirk lazy and utterly shameless as he pressed kiss after kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, your shoulders—uncaring of the servants who moved in and out of the chambers, their heads averted, their faces pointedly neutral.

But Jason was not neutral.

Jason was unbothered, entirely content, too pleased with himself to even pretend at decorum.

Tyland, on the other hand, was seated near the hearth, watching the entire display with a mixture of disapproval and amusement, dressed in his usual immaculate manner, his traveling coat already fastened. He held a quill in hand, his attention flicking between the parchment he was reviewing and Jason’s antics, his green eyes glinting with quiet mirth.

Jason hummed against your skin, his lips pressing another slow kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Do we truly have to leave this morning?”

You huffed, trying to disentangle yourself from him as you finally secured the laces of your dress. “Yes, Jason.”

He sighed, as though this was a great inconvenience, his hands still wandering over your waist. “And yet, I can’t seem to let you go,” he murmured, his grin widening as his hands dipped lower, his voice mockingly thoughtful. “Perhaps we should stay a few more days, hm? Let the Rock miss us before we arrive?”

You laughed, though you swatted his hands away before turning to face him fully. “You mean let the Rock question us before we arrive?”

Jason grinned. “Same thing.”

Tyland finally set his quill down, exhaling as he leaned back in his chair, watching you both with that knowing, measured gaze of his. “If we delay any longer, our bannermen might begin plotting rebellions before the wedding even happens.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively, but he was smirking. “Let them stew in their grievances. It makes victory all the sweeter.”

Tyland sighed, shaking his head slightly, before closing the parchment before him. “Regardless, the carriages are prepared. The men are ready. We leave today.”

Jason let out a mock groan, stretching lazily before his smirk returned, sharp and wicked. “Then I’ve decided. You shall ride with us.”

You blinked. “I have a dragon, Jason.”

Jason’s grin widened, his hands already tugging you close again, uncaring of the way the servants moved quietly around you both. “And yet, Haelle can take herself, can’t she?” he murmured, nipping at your jaw. “I, however, require special care.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could not contain the amusement curling in your smirk. “And Tyland?”

Jason shrugged. “Him too, I suppose.”

Tyland, who had already returned to fastening his gloves, did not look up as he responded, smoothly, “I agree.”

That—

That made you pause.

Your gaze snapped to Tyland, your brows raising slightly. “You do?”

Jason laughed, his hands tightening at your waist. “Now that surprises her.”

Tyland sighed, finally rising from his chair, adjusting his coat with perfect ease. “You would rather ride alone and listen to your dragon scream in your ear for half the journey?”

You tilted your head, thoughtful, before smirking. “I rather enjoy my dragon’s screams.”

Jason leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you enjoy ours more.”

You exhaled, amused, before finally—reluctantly—pulling away.

“Fine,” you said, smoothing your hands over your dress. “I’ll ride with you.”

Jason’s grin widened. “I do love when you make good decisions.”

Tyland, as always, remained coolly composed, though you did not miss the satisfaction flickering beneath his steady expression.

And so—

You prepared to leave King’s Landing, bound for the West, bound for a future that none could undo.

The banners of House Lannister stretched long across the rolling hills, their crimson fabric catching in the dying light of the afternoon. The procession moved like a serpent of gold and steel, winding along the well-worn roads that led westward toward Casterly Rock, their horses’ hooves drumming a steady rhythm against the packed earth. The carriages, filled with supplies and finery for the upcoming wedding, trailed behind the column of mounted knights and bannermen.

But it was not the lions that ruled the skies.

Above them, the shadow of wings stretched long over the earth.

Haelle.

Her black wings, streaked with gold along the edges, cut through the evening light like a knife, her massive form blocking out the sun in brief, ominous flashes. The Nightmare Queen, as the smallfolk called her, soared with the grace of death, her shadow sending wildlife scattering as she passed.

The column slowed slightly, some of the men turning wary eyes upward, but no one dared speak. They were still unused to her presence—to the way a dragon’s arrival sent birds into a frenzied flight, to the way even the bravest warhorses tensed beneath their riders when her wings flapped overhead.

Jason, riding beside you, barely glanced up, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his amusement. “You could have left her in the skies a bit longer,” he mused, his fingers idly adjusting the grip on his reins. “She makes my men uneasy.”

You huffed, exhaling through your nose as you guided your horse forward. “Then they’ll need to get used to her, won’t they?”

Tyland, on your other side, glanced at you, his gaze steady. “You are taking her presence as a warning.”

You smirked, shifting slightly in the saddle. “She merely reminds them that lions do not sit at the top of the food chain.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to bark orders at his men. “Make camp here! Set the tents up before night falls—I want double the patrols set along the ridge. We’re still too close to open roads.”

The knights and squires moved swiftly, the practiced discipline of House Lannister’s forces ensuring that within minutes, the carriages halted, and men dismounted to begin the work of securing the camp.

You, however, were already dismounting.

Haelle had circled once more, before landing atop a rocky hillcrest, her massive claws sinking into the dirt, her head swinging low as she exhaled a breath of smoke through her nostrils.

Tyland watched as you slipped easily from your saddle, your movements fluid, your body still untamed by the rigid customs of courtly riding posture. You landed lightly, your boots kicking up dust as you straightened.

Tyland sighed, already knowing where you were going, before he nudged his own horse forward and dismounted after you.

Jason, still on his steed, barely glanced over. “Try not to let her fly off with you,” he muttered, though his tone was light, teasing. “We’d hate to lose our bride before the wedding.”

You flashed him a wicked smirk, already making your way up the rocky slope. “If she did, you’d have to come find me.”

Jason’s grin widened, his green eyes glinting. “Oh, I would.”

Tyland sighed, trailing after you at a more measured pace, his boots crunching against the gravel. “I should stop you from straying too far,” he murmured, “but you’ll do as you please either way.”

You reached the crest, the warm wind whipping through your silver hair as you approached Haelle, her scaled body a black mass against the darkening sky. The dragon rumbled, shifting her weight, her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the distant sun.

You reached up, running your fingers along the warm scales of her neck, feeling the power coiled beneath her skin. “They will never stop fearing you,” you murmured, your voice nearly lost to the wind.

Tyland, standing just behind you, spoke evenly. “They do not have to love her.” He stepped closer, his presence solid, grounding. “They only need to respect what she is.”

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “And me?”

Tyland held your gaze, his calculated green eyes unwavering. “They will fear you, too.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Good.”

Tyland sighed, but there was something like amusement in his eyes. “Come,” he said finally, extending a hand toward you. “Before Jason grows impatient.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but after one last caress along Haelle’s scales, you turned away.

And below, the lions waited.

The camp was already coming to life by the time you and Tyland returned from the hillcrest. The banners of House Lannister fluttered in the evening breeze, their rich fabric catching the fading sunlight, casting long shadows over the bustling rows of tents.

Fires had been lit, their warm glow flickering against the polished steel of armored knights, the smell of roasted meats and spiced wine already curling through the air as squires moved swiftly between the encampment, seeing to their lords’ needs. The murmur of conversation hummed beneath the crackling flames, but every so often, you could still hear the distant rustling in the woods—the wildlife that had yet to return after Haelle’s ominous landing.

As you strode through the camp, men parted instinctively, their gazes flickering between you and Tyland as they stepped aside without a word. Their wariness amused you—it was one thing to fear the dragon overhead, but quite another to fear the woman who commanded her.

Tyland walked at your side, his pace measured, his expression unreadable as he observed the workings of the camp. He did not speak—he rarely did unless something needed to be said—but you could feel his mind turning, already thinking ahead, already anticipating what would come next.

Ahead of you, a larger pavilion had been set up, its deep red fabric emblazoned with the golden lion of the Lannisters, the entrance flanked by two armored guards who immediately stepped aside as you and Tyland approached.

Inside, Jason was already waiting.

The tent was spacious, richly adorned despite being temporary. A large wooden table sat at the center, already strewn with maps, goblets of wine, and an unfinished meal—a sign that Jason had already been entertaining himself while you had been away.

The bed—far too fine for a simple encampment—was lined with furs, the pillows plush, the scent of leather, wine, and Jason himself thick in the enclosed space. It was not the Royal Keep, nor the Rock, but it was comfortable in its own way—more than enough for what the night would bring.

Jason was lounging near the table, his hair slightly disheveled, his tunic loosened at the collar, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet as he watched the two of you enter.

His smirk was immediate.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” he mused, his gaze flickering between you and Tyland as he lifted his goblet to his lips.

Tyland moved towards the table, plucking a parchment from the mess of maps and documents Jason had clearly neglected. “Unlike you, some of us find value in patience.”

Jason scoffed, setting his goblet down with a thud. “Patience is for men who have nothing better to do.” His green eyes flicked pointedly to you. “And I have far better things to do.”

You huffed, stepping further into the pavilion, undoing the clasps of your riding cloak before discarding it over a nearby chair. “If you mean drink yourself into oblivion, I can see that well enough.”

Jason grinned, rising from his seat. “Drink—yes.” He moved towards you, his presence overwhelming, his fingers already reaching for your waist, pulling you into him without a hint of hesitation. “Oblivion? Only if you wish it.”

Tyland sighed behind you, pouring himself a measured drink before finally sitting. “Gods spare me,” he muttered, though the slight tilt of his lips betrayed his amusement.

Jason ignored him, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin at your collarbone. “How was your dragon?”

You arched a brow. “Did you miss her?”

Jason smirked. “I missed something, but it certainly wasn’t her.”

Tyland took a slow sip of his wine, watching as Jason leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his breath warm against your skin. “If you are done flaunting your affections, we should discuss what comes next.”

Jason sighed dramatically, pulling back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Must you always ruin my fun?”

Tyland arched a brow, setting his goblet down with purpose. “You have had plenty of fun. Now, we prepare for the rest.”

Jason exhaled, his grip on you still firm, though his smirk never faded. “Fine, fine.” He guided you effortlessly to the table, pulling out a chair with mock gallantry before motioning for you to sit. “Let us plan, then, my love. But be warned—I mean to collect my fun later.”

You laughed, settling into the chair, while Tyland merely sighed, rolling out the map of the Westerlands onto the table.

And as the night stretched on, the three of you planned—

For Lannisport, for the wedding, for what would come after.

But Jason’s words lingered.

Because the night would not be spent just on plans.

The night had long since settled over the camp, the flickering candlelight casting warm glows against the polished steel of scattered armor, the deep reds of the pavilion’s fabric turning into something darker, something richer in the dim light. The maps upon the table had been marked, the movements of bannermen confirmed, the strategies for their arrival in Lannisport set in place. There was nothing more to discuss—at least, nothing more that could not wait for the morning.

Tyland was the first to lean back, exhaling slowly as he rolled up the last of the maps with a methodical ease. His fingers, always precise, pressed the parchment into a neat cylinder before setting it aside, his eyes glinting in the low candlelight. “The preparations are done,” he murmured, more to himself than to either of you, his voice calm, measured. “We should rest before the next day’s ride.”

Jason, who had spent most of the conversation reclining in his chair with his goblet of wine in hand, smirked as he pushed himself up from his seat, stretching his arms above his head. “A fine suggestion,” he mused, tilting his head slightly as he turned his gaze toward you, focused and predatory in the dim glow. “But I have always found that true rest comes only after true indulgence.”

Tyland rolled his eyes, though he did not argue. He never did—not when it came to Jason, not when it came to you.

Jason, sensing no resistance, reached for you without hesitation. His large hands found your waist, pulling you effortlessly from your chair and into his grasp, pressing your body against his as he tilted his head, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough, little dragon.”

You arched a brow, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, your fingers grazing over the golden lion embroidery stitched into the fine fabric of his tunic. “Have I?” you murmured, though your voice carried the teasing edge of challenge. “I seem to recall you being very well entertained earlier.”

Jason chuckled, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing possessively into your hips. “And yet, it is never enough.”

He did not give you time to retort.

Instead, he moved—swift, practiced, completely unashamed as he pulled you towards the bed, his steps firm, unwavering, as if this had already been decided long before the night had even begun. The furs that lined the mattress were warm beneath your fingers as Jason guided you down, his body following closely, his weight pressing against you in a way that made it clear—there would be no escape, not that you wanted one.

Tyland, ever the composed one, had not moved from his place by the table. He simply watched, his expression unreadable, his fingers still resting lightly against the rim of his goblet. But Jason did not ignore him—he never did.

“You should join us, brother,” Jason said, his voice rich with amusement, though there was something deeper beneath it—something heavier, something laced with expectation.

Tyland set his goblet down with a quiet clink before rising from his seat. “I always do,” he murmured, his movements slow, deliberate, as he made his way toward the bed.

Jason grinned, satisfied, before his attention turned back to you.

His hands were already at the laces of your dress, his fingers making quick work of the delicate knots, pulling the fabric loose, peeling it away layer by layer with a sort of reverent impatience. “This dress is lovely,” he murmured, though his smirk widened as he tugged it lower. “But I prefer you without it.”

You shivered as the cool air met your bare skin, but Jason’s touch was quick to replace it, his hands warm, greedy, mapping the curves of your body as if he had never touched you before, as if he did not already know every inch of you.

Tyland, standing beside the bed now, watched with an unreadable gaze, though the flicker of something dark, something possessive, flashed behind his green eyes. He did not rush—he never did. Instead, he reached forward, his fingers brushing lightly along your exposed collarbone, his touch softer than Jason’s, more controlled, more calculated.

“You look divine like this,” Tyland murmured, his voice low, smooth as silk. “As if you were made to be worshipped.”

Jason scoffed, his grip tightening slightly on your waist. “Worshipped?” he echoed, his smirk deepening. “No—she was made to be ruined.”

Before you could react, Jason moved, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was searing, demanding, his hands pressing you deeper into the mattress as his body followed. His weight, solid and warm, settled between your thighs, his fingers already trailing lower, teasing, testing, setting every nerve alight with anticipation.

Tyland, still standing, exhaled softly as he began to undo the clasps of his doublet, his movements slow, methodical, his gaze never leaving yours. “Then I suppose it is our duty to do both,” he murmured, his voice almost thoughtful, as if this were a conversation over wine rather than the prelude to something far more sinful.

Jason chuckled against your lips, his breath warm as he shifted lower, his lips tracing a slow path down your throat, his hands spreading your legs with ease. “I do love when we agree.”

And then—

There were no more words.

Only the sound of rustling fabric, of gasps stolen between kisses, of hands grasping, bodies pressing, fire meeting gold, until there was nothing left between you but heat and hunger.

Jason wasted no time, his hands gripping your hips with a force that would surely leave bruises by morning. His rhythm was unrelenting, each thrust deep and deliberate, his usual patience abandoned in favor of raw need. His body was pressed to yours, his weight pinning you beneath him, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he moved inside you with a fervor that bordered between pleasure and pain.

“Gods,” Jason groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as he pulled back just enough to watch the way your bodies met, the way he disappeared into you with each desperate snap of his hips. His green eyes were heavy with lust, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a smirk. “You always take me so well, little dragon.”

You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, the stretch of him overwhelming but intoxicating all the same. Jason had never been gentle—never had the restraint to be anything other than what he was: a lion driven by instinct, by hunger, by the primal desire to claim, to conquer, to make you his in ways no one else ever could.

Tyland, still kneeling beside the bed, watched with quiet intensity, his eyes dark as they flickered between you and Jason. But he was patient. He always was. Where Jason was fire, Tyland was ice—controlled, calculating, waiting for the right moment to strike. Yet even his restraint had its limits.

His lips found yours, his kiss slow, teasing, a stark contrast to the brutal pace Jason had set. His fingers skimmed your jaw, tilting your face toward him as he deepened the kiss, his breath warm, his tongue sweeping over yours with a practiced ease that left you breathless.

Jason let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper, forcing a gasp from your lips that Tyland swallowed eagerly. “So eager to be kissed while I’m still inside you,” Jason murmured, amusement laced with desire as he watched the exchange. His pace never slowed, if anything, it grew rougher, each movement designed to wring every reaction from you. “You do love to be worshipped, don’t you?”

Your hand, trembling from the intensity of Jason’s rhythm, slid down Tyland’s chest, fingers brushing over the fine fabric of his tunic before drifting lower. You found him hard beneath the layers of his clothing, your touch eliciting a quiet exhale from him, his usual composure faltering for just a moment.

Tyland groaned softly against your lips, his own hand covering yours, guiding you over the growing evidence of his restraint. “You test my patience, princess,” he murmured, his voice smooth but strained, betraying the desire simmering just beneath the surface.

Jason smirked at the exchange, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Go on, brother,” he taunted, his thrusts turning almost punishing, his grip possessive. “Let her feel what she does to you.”

Tyland exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening as your hand moved with purpose, pressing against the hardness straining beneath his breeches. His composure, so carefully maintained, was slipping—his breathing uneven, his fingers tightening around your wrist as if debating whether to stop you or let you continue.

Jason groaned, his head falling forward against your shoulder for a brief moment before pulling back again, his gaze flickering between you and Tyland, reveling in the sight of both of you unraveling beneath him. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Between us, like you were always meant to be.”

Your body burned with sensation, caught between the overwhelming pleasure Jason delivered with each relentless movement and the delicious anticipation of Tyland’s inevitable loss of control. Jason’s grip on your thigh tightened as he shifted, adjusting his angle, hitting deeper, harder, pulling another broken moan from your lips.

Tyland groaned at the sound, his patience fraying as he reached for the laces of his breeches, loosening them with swift efficiency. His breath was warm against your cheek, his voice a quiet command. “Do not make me wait much longer.”

Jason’s smirk widened, his rhythm turning erratic, his hands gripping you as if he could brand you with touch alone. “Then take what you want, brother,” he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. “She’s already yours.”

His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you beneath him as he chased his release with the single-minded determination of a man who refused to be anything but utterly satisfied. His breath was hot against your skin, ragged, uneven, as he drove into you with brutal precision, his body shuddering, his grip unyielding.

"Fuck," Jason groaned, his voice thick, strained, his head tilting back as the wave of pleasure crashed over him. His movements turned erratic, desperate, his hands tightening as he buried himself inside you one last time, his body trembling against yours. The tension coiled within him snapped, a guttural sound slipping from his lips as he spilled inside you, his breath catching, his grip almost bruising as he rode out the last tremors of his pleasure.

For a long moment, he stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his body pressed flush against yours, still claiming every inch of you as his own. His breath came in uneven pants, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he slowly regained himself.

Then—

Jason let out a slow, satisfied sigh, a lazy grin curling at his lips as he finally lifted his head, his green eyes still dark with the remnants of pleasure. He took in the sight of you beneath him—flushed, breathless, thoroughly ruined—and let out a low chuckle, smug, victorious.

“Always so perfect,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down your thigh possessively before glancing toward his twin. "Your turn, brother."

Tyland had been waiting.

Patient as ever, watching with an intensity that never wavered, his own restraint fraying at the edges, his breath just a little too measured, his fingers flexing as if to keep himself from reaching before his moment came.

Now, Jason was offering you to him—like a feast already ravaged but still rich, still wanting.

Tyland exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight as he shrugged off the last remnants of his clothing, his usual pristine composure beginning to crack. His eyes flickered toward you, his expression unreadable, though you could see the hunger lurking beneath the surface, waiting to consume.

Jason smirked at his twin’s hesitation, still breathless but ever the instigator. He leaned down, pressing an almost mocking kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Don’t make her wait, Tyland. She’s already so eager.”

Tyland let out a quiet breath, as if steadying himself, before finally—finally—he moved.

Jason shifted off you, rolling to the side with an exhale of satisfaction, watching, thoroughly entertained as Tyland took his place.

His touch was different.

Where Jason had been fevered, rough, insatiable, Tyland was careful—at first. His hands trailed down your body with measured precision, mapping every inch of bare skin with the patience of a man who sought to memorize, to commit every reaction to memory before taking what he wanted.

"You are beautiful like this," Tyland murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his voice a quiet contrast to Jason’s smug confidence. “A sight no man should ever be allowed to forget.”

Jason let out a huff of amusement from where he lounged beside you, stretching like a well-fed lion. “Romantic as ever,” he teased, though there was no true bite in his words.

Tyland ignored him, his focus entirely on you.

His fingers pressed against your thigh, spreading you open, his breath hitching slightly as he took in the way Jason had left you—open, wanting, already claimed but still needing more.

A sharp breath left him as he positioned himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours, slow, teasing, as if savoring the anticipation, the moment just before he took you for himself.

Jason, ever the observer, smirked as he propped himself up on his elbow, watching. “She likes when you tease,” he mused, his green eyes glinting wickedly. “But not for long.”

Tyland exhaled, his control slipping just enough that his fingers tightened against your waist, holding you in place as he finally—pushed inside.

A groan tore from his throat, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath shaky as he filled you, slow, deliberate, savoring every second of it.

Jason hummed in approval. “There you go,” he mused, his fingers trailing lazily over your thigh, still not quite ready to remove himself from the moment. “Now, make her remember it.”

Tyland's control lasted only a breath before it crumbled.

At first, his movements were slow, measured, his grip firm yet careful as he adjusted you beneath him, shifting the angle of your hips to fit you better, to push deeper, to claim you as thoroughly as his brother had. His breathing was ragged against your skin, his fingers pressing into your waist as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep from losing himself entirely in the heat and slickness of you.

Jason’s earlier release had left you sensitive, overstimulated, yet still wanting, still yearning for more. And Tyland, ever the composed one, was unraveling in real-time above you, his usual restraint fraying with each precise thrust, each gasp that left your lips.

You clung to him, your nails dragging down his back as his pace increased, the initial carefulness giving way to something more desperate, more fevered. The shift in his rhythm was slight at first—a deepening, a lengthening of each stroke—but soon, it grew more forceful, more demanding, as if he had abandoned all pretense of patience.

A low groan left his throat as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “You were made for this,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, his control slipping with every thrust. “Made for us.”

Jason, still lounging beside you, watching with that familiar glint of amusement, let out a slow chuckle, entirely unashamed in his observations. “And here I thought I was the one who couldn’t restrain himself,” he mused, stretching lazily, his smirk widening.

Tyland ignored him, his grip tightening at your hips, his thrusts turning sharp, deliberate, hitting deeper, harder. A choked moan left your lips, your body arching against him, your legs tightening around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him inside.

Jason exhaled in satisfaction, shifting closer, running his fingers through your sweat-dampened hair. “She’s a marvel, isn’t she?” he murmured, his voice low, dripping with indulgence as he studied your expression, the way your lips parted, the way your body responded so perfectly to his twin. “So eager, so willing to take everything we give her.”

Tyland's grip faltering for just a moment at the words, his control thinning into nothingness. His forehead pressed harder against yours, his teeth gritting as he rocked into you with more force, as if he was proving Jason’s words correct with every movement.

Jason watched the way your fingers clenched at Tyland’s shoulders, the way your body trembled, the pleasure threatening to consume you entirely. And as much as he enjoyed the sight, he was not a man known for patience.

He shifted again, this time rising onto his knees beside you, his smirk steady as he tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “You’ve had one of us inside you,” he murmured, his voice teasing, knowing, his green eyes heavy with wicked amusement. “Shall we see how well you take both?”

Your breath caught, even as Jason leaned in, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your lips, savoring the way you sighed into him before pulling back. His fingers traced your jaw, his smirk deepening as he guided you downward, toward the hardness already waiting for you.

Tyland groaned at the shift, his hands tightening at your hips, though he never stopped moving, never stopped claiming you. If anything, the sight of you willingly leaning toward Jason, your lips parting to take him into your mouth, only spurred him on further, his thrusts turning harder, more erratic, his composure fully slipping into ruin.

Jason let out a pleased sigh as you took him in, your tongue teasing along his length, your lips wrapping around him with practiced ease. His fingers tangled in your hair, not forcing, not yet, simply guiding, simply watching, utterly content.

“There’s our perfect girl,” Jason murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watched himself disappear past your lips. “Taking us both so beautifully.”

Tyland groaned at the words, his movements growing frantic, his breath hitching. His grip on your hips turned bruising as he thrust into you with abandon, his composure shattering completely.

Between them, you were consumed—caught between the raw, unrelenting pleasure of Tyland’s body pressing into yours, and the slow, deliberate indulgence of Jason’s teasing fingers in your hair, his low murmurs of praise making your head spin.

Jason chuckled darkly, his hips rolling slightly into your mouth, his grip just a little firmer now, guiding, encouraging. “How does she feel, brother?” he mused, watching the way Tyland’s control had utterly shattered, the way he was no longer the composed, calculating lord but something entirely undone.

Tyland groaned, his voice rough, strained. “Like she was made for us.”

Jason grinned, pleased. “Of course she was.”

Tyland’s rhythm, once measured and careful, had dissolved into something frantic, something almost uncontrollable. His thrusts came with purpose and deep, his breath ragged, his grip bruising as he lost himself in you, the pleasure overwhelming every last shred of his restraint.

Jason, still guiding your mouth over him, smirked at the sight of his brother finally unraveling, finally surrendering to the sheer indulgence of it all. “That’s it,” Jason murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Give in, brother. Take what’s yours.”

Tyland let out a low, almost guttural groan, his fingers tightening around your hips as he buried himself as deep as he could, his body shuddering, his control finally snapping. He came hard, his grip unrelenting as he lost himself entirely in the sensation, his release spilling into you as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his breath shuddering from his lips.

For a moment, he stilled, his chest heaving, his body still trembling from the force of it. His fingers flexed at your waist, as if grounding himself, as if still reeling from the sheer intensity of his own undoing.

Then—

Jason shifted beside you, his eyes gleaming with renewed hunger. He tilted his head, watching the way Tyland still clung to you, still catching his breath, his body still molded against yours. But Jason had never been known for patience, and he had already spent enough time watching.

“Move,” Jason commanded, his voice firm, urgent, his own desire still simmering beneath his skin. “I won’t waste my seed on furs and sheets.”

Tyland, still breathless, let out a slow exhale, his fingers reluctantly slipping from your waist as he withdrew, his body still humming from the aftershocks of his pleasure. He moved, but not without a final lingering touch, his fingers brushing down your spine, as if reluctant to let go.

Jason wasted no time.

The moment Tyland moved, Jason was there, his hands already gripping your thighs, already pulling you back to him. His patience had been thin to begin with, and now, as he positioned himself at your entrance once more, it was gone entirely.

He pushed inside in one swift movement, a deep groan slipping from his lips as he filled you again, his body shuddering at the sensation. “Gods,” Jason growled, his fingers digging into your hips, his restraint nonexistent. “You’re still so tight.”

You gasped at the sudden fullness, your body still sensitive, still trembling from Tyland’s release, but Jason gave you no reprieve. His rhythm was immediate, unrelenting, his thrusts deep and punishing as he chased his second release with reckless abandon.

Tyland, still catching his breath, watched from the side, his green eyes dark, his expression unreadable. But there was no jealousy, no rivalry—only quiet satisfaction as he watched Jason lose himself again, as he watched you take them both without hesitation.

Jason’s movements were frenzied, desperate, his grip possessive, his breath uneven as he buried himself in you again and again, his pace erratic, his pleasure consuming him entirely. “You were made for this,” Jason murmured, his voice almost reverent, almost delirious. “Made to take us, made to be ours.”

Your body arched beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets, your breath coming in uneven gasps as Jason drove into you with fevered intensity. He was close again—so close—his body coiled with tension, his release building with every punishing thrust.

Tyland smirked slightly, still lounging beside you, his fingers idly brushing against your skin. “He won’t last much longer,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing.

Jason let out a sharp breath, his pace faltering just slightly. “Shut up, Tyland,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, his movements turning erratic, desperate. “I’ll last as long as I damn well please.”

But the truth was, he was already at his limit.

With a final thrust, Jason let out a deep, shuddering groan, his body tensing as he reached his peak, his release spilling inside you as he buried himself to the hilt, his fingers gripping you as if he could pull you deeper, as if he could claim you completely.

His breath came in heavy pants, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he slowly rode out the last waves of his pleasure, his body still trembling from the sheer force of it.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, of bodies pressed together, of the slow hum of satisfaction settling between the three of you.

Then—

Jason let out a slow, pleased sigh, finally lifting his head, his smirk returning even as exhaustion weighed in his limbs. He glanced toward Tyland, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “See?” he murmured, his voice thick with lingering pleasure. “Told you I’d last.”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Barely.”

Jason scoffed, rolling onto his side, one arm draped lazily over your waist, his grip still possessive even in his exhaustion. “You’re just jealous I got to take her twice.”

Tyland hummed, leaning back against the pillows, his fingers brushing absently over your thigh. “Perhaps.” His eyes flickered toward you, something darker lingering beneath his usual cool expression. “But the night isn’t over yet.”

Jason smirked, his fingers trailing down your spine, already teasing. “No, it isn’t.”

And just like that, the hunger stirred again, the night stretching long with indulgence, with pleasure, with a fire that would not burn out.