#Hope practiced crawling with HIM first

[cinamun]

Jayde has been out here collecting milestones like pokemon and her brother is mad salty about it.

[kthologue]

if i can't have you— gojo satoru

contents. fluff, clanhead!gojo, yandere tendencies, oblivious!reader, he’s a little sick in the head but reader's an enabler

notes. a little concept i thought of. not proofread sigh

clanhead!gojo, who you’ve known your entire life. born into two of the oldest jujutsu clans, you were raised side by side. you were the only constant in a world that demanded everything from him before he even had the chance to ask.

clanhead!gojo, who swears that you’re like a little sister. always an irritating and reckless thorn in his side, always throwing yourself into things without thinking. he says it like a joke, like a punchline, hoping the words will sound true if he repeats them enough.

but he knows it is not. not with the way clanhead!gojo has practically been obsessed with you since his youth. who has everyone falling at his feet. who abuses his power in order to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

clanhead!gojo who remembers many years ago how he had persuaded you, with that devil-may-care grin, that it would be a brilliant idea to practice your first kiss together. “come on,” he’d said, “wouldn’t it be better to do it with someone you trust?”

clanhead!gojo, who feels invincible when you finally kiss him for the first time, as if everything in his life had led to this moment. in that instant, he knows that there’s no way he’s ever letting you slip away.

but now clanhead!gojo is stuck listening when your aunts gather in hushed tones over tea, whispering about your latest courtships, your hopeful suitors, the potential match your clan is eyeing. he pretends not to care. he tells himself he doesn’t. that he's gotten over you. that he's gotten over a silly childhood infatuation. and yet his jaw tenses. his eyes narrow. his hand curls into a fist beneath the table where no one can see.

he tells himself it’s just instinct. old habits. protective, brotherly concern. he’s always been like that with you, hasn’t he? watching your back. hovering too close. stepping in even when he shouldn’t.

but it’s not concern that keeps him up at night replaying the sound of your laughter, or the way your smile lingers like a bruise on his chest. it’s not brotherly to remember the curve of your shoulder when you walked ahead of him at the last clan gathering, unaware he was staring.

it’s not family that makes him hate the idea of you belonging to anyone but yourself. or worse—anyone but him.

and yet he says nothing.

but he listens. and he watches as the stranger sits beside you at a clan meeting. 

the room is filled with hushed chatter and the clinks of porcelain dishes. it’s a formal clan dinner, with every head of every allied family gathered around the table. gojo satoru sits at the head, uncharacteristically silent, fielding endless questions about the clan’s future.

but he’s not listening.

he can’t.

all because you had walked in with a man he doesn’t recognize, smiling and practically glowing, introducing him as a dear friend from a recent trip to kanazawa.

and satoru’s blood has been boiling ever since.

honestly, don’t you have shame?  bringing home a man you have yet to commit to—what are you trying to prove? 

he clenches his jaw and bites his tongue as elders speak around him, voices muffled beneath the sound of your laughter floating down the table. that bright kind of laughter he used to hear in private back when it was just the two of you skipping meetings and chasing dragonflies.

“sato?”

the nickname cuts through the room like a knife.

you’re smiling at him. that teasing, knowing smile that makes his chest cave in.

“what are you brooding over there for?” you ask, tilting your head just slightly. innocent. unbothered. as if you hadn’t just upended his entire sense of balance with your presence.

the sound of his name, that version of his name slips from your mouth like silk, soft and far too familiar for the way things are supposed to be now.

he stiffens, a flush crawling up his neck that he prays no one notices. he used to bristle at that nickname—sato—when you first gave it to him. but now? it’s the only name that makes his heart stutter.

 “i don’t think you’d be able to handle the thoughts in my head right now,” gojo says smoothly, his voice a little too soft to be casual.

it’s almost convincing, except even he can’t make sense of the storm in his chest.

you tilt your head, eyes glinting. “are you calling me dumb?”

gojo chuckles, the sound warm and real. it was the first genuine laugh that’s passed his lips all evening. “no, no. i’d never dare. i’ve seen you with a fan and a grudge. i fear for my life.”

you lean forward slightly, lips quirking. “smart man.”

he raises an eyebrow, playful. “i have my moments.”

“few and far between.”

he grins. “yet somehow i’m still your favorite.”

you roll your eyes, but the fondness in your gaze betrays you. “you’re delusional.”

“maybe.” he lets his eyes linger on you a beat too long. “but i’m not wrong.”

there’s a pause.

just long enough for your date, who’s been quiet through the exchange to glance between you two and clear his throat.

“i didn’t realize you two were so… close,” he says, the question barely hidden in the statement.

gojo doesn’t look away from you when he replies, voice lighter than air. “old friends. we go way back.”

you smile politely at your date, but there’s something wistful in your expression. “some habits are hard to break.”

and gojo swears he sees it—that flicker of doubt in the other man’s eyes.

good.

let him know you were never his to win.

that’s why when you storm into the compound three days later, hair slightly tousled and annoyance written all over your usually composed face, tossing your phone on the table with a dramatic sigh, clanhead!gojo can’t help it.

he feels elated.

he plays it cool, of course. reclines back on the tatami mat, long limbs stretched out, lips twitching at the corners.

“what’s got you in a mood?” he asks, already knowing the answer. already hoping.

you shoot him a look and groan. “he ghosted me. just disappeared.”

gojo raises an eyebrow, biting back a smile. it was a good thing that bastard made himself scarce before gojo had to intervene.

“how long has it been since the dinner, three whole days? should we send out a search party? put up flyers?”

you scowl. “i’m being vulnerable and you’re making jokes.”

he holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the grin sneaks in anyway. “sorry, sorry. it’s just... shocking. who wouldn’t want the pleasure of being haunted by you on a daily basis?”

you glare at him, but it’s softened by the way your lips threaten a smile. “don’t make me regret confiding in you.”

he shrugs, letting the silence settle for a moment. then, more quietly,  “maybe he realized he was in over his head.”

you look at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

gojo meets your gaze, and for a second, there’s something else there.

“not everyone’s built to handle someone who actually matters,” he says, voice casual, but his fingers tap a restless rhythm on his knee.

you blink. “well. that was weirdly nice. are you feeling okay?”

he rolls his eyes. “i'm always this kind.”

but you’re still looking at him, eyebrows furrowed, like you’re trying to piece something together.

“i just...” you hesitate. “it’s starting to feel like maybe i’m not supposed to end up with anyone. like i scare people off.”

something flashes in gojo’s eyes, too fast to name.

“you don’t scare everyone,” he says quietly.

you don’t respond immediately, but your gaze holds his  like you're trying to decipher something he hasn’t said. gojo doesn’t break eye contact either, and it feels like you’re both trapped in a trance.

then, you scoff, breaking the silence.

“you don’t count,” you say, your voice light but filled with an edge.

he raises an eyebrow, half amused, half confused. “what? why not?”

you tilt your head slightly, lips curling into a half-smile that feels a little too vulnerable. “i don’t know… you’re different.”

gojo’s expression shifts, softening just enough to make his heart beat a little faster. 

“i mean…” you trail off, awkward for a moment before you manage to push the words out. “it’s not a normal relationship to practice our first kiss together.”

he blinks, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in tone.

and then, it hits him. his teenage self’s desperate, pathetic attempt at wooing you.

right. that. the kiss.

gojo sometimes forgets how much of a charmingly conniving little shit he used to be. the memory of his teenage self trying too hard, fumbling with the moment, comes rushing back. a rush of warmth rises to his cheeks, but he hides it behind a sarcastic grin.

you shift, and for a moment, there’s this quiet understanding between you both. 

he looks at you, really looks at you, the usual teasing spark in his eyes replaced with something different. he opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come out right away.

"you know..." he starts, his voice lower than usual. "maybe we never really practiced that first kiss. maybe it was just the first time we... realized it was something we should've done a lot sooner."

you blink at him, your heart unexpectedly catching in your throat.

“wait…what?” you say, laughter bubbling nervously at the edges of your words, but the way your voice trembles says something different.

gojo just looks at you, the corners of his lips curling into something that almost resembles vulnerability. “didn't you feel something too?” he steps a little closer, eyes fixed on yours like he's trying to read the unreadable.

and maybe you finally realize it then, like a wave crashing over you that he’s been trying to say this for so long. 

you take a shaky breath, locking eyes with him. “you’re not saying that you have feelings for me...?”

gojo rubs his temples, letting out a frustrated laugh. “i have been at your mercy my entire life, how much more obvious could i be?” his voice is a mix of exasperation and something deeper, the smirk on his lips faltering for just a moment, his usual cocky demeanor slipping as his frustration becomes clear.

he leans in slightly, his tone turning more intense. “i made all of the guys at jujutsu tech swear off to you." the words hang between you two, and for the first time, there’s no playfulness in his voice, just the truth, raw and unapologetic.

you freeze, disbelief painting your face. your mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to process his words, before you finally manage a shocked gasp. "that was you?!"

his posture casual as though this is nothing new, but there’s a subtle intensity behind his playful demeanor. "well, i didn’t trust anyone else around you. "

your heart beats louder now, your breath quickening. you know you should be angry, that you should call him out for his overbearing actions, for crossing boundaries in a way that feels almost possessive. yet, despite your better judgment, a twisted part of you can’t help but feel… pleased.

but it’s still too much to say all at once. so, you take a deep breath, and you can’t help but laugh softly. the years of hesitation comes crashing down.

your voice quieter now, more certain. “so... what do we do about it?”

“get married. have ten kids. move to a cozy cottage in okinawa,” the words almost slip out, unbidden, but gojo stops himself. it’s too much to ask, too soon.

instead, he finds himself leaning in, his fingers gently cupping your cheeks, the touch almost trembling despite his usual confidence. his thumb brushes against the soft skin of your face, and for a moment, everything else fades. he realizes in that moment that nothing in his life could possibly matter more than this.

you blink up at him, and in the way your eyes look back at him so widely, so softly—he feels like he’s been holding his breath his whole life, just waiting for this. waiting for you to look at him like that. he could drown in that gaze, could get lost in it forever.

gojo leans closer, his heart pounding, each beat louder than the last. and then, finally, he kisses you.

it’s not rushed. it’s not like the first time, awkward and fumbling, full of uncertainty. no, this time, it’s everything he has wanted and more. his lips move against yours with the kind of certainty he’s never known before, and when he pulls away just a fraction, it feels as though the world has stolen his breath, leaving him gasping for air.

so gojo goes back in for another.

[moon-fics]

Drip Drip Drop

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary: After a long day of training, you decide to spend time with Bob. While you wait for him to finish his shower, you hear something odd.

Warning: Smut, masturbation, shower head, praise, MINORS DNI, 18+, established relationship

A/n: I love this trope (?) so much that I have to write it! This is my first attempt at smut EVER. Please, be nice!!!

You're spread out on Bob's bed as the sound of muffled water fills the room. Your body is spent from hours' worth of training that Bucky insisted on. If you had known joining the team would mean constant exercise, you might have hesitated to join.

You glance around his room to ease the boredom setting into your mind. Bob has been in the shower for a while, which isn't uncommon. Sometimes he likes to sit on the floor of the shower and enjoy the warm water. However, you were really hoping to spend time with him right after training.

Being held by him would definitely ease the aches in your body. Especially if you end up napping on him. He somehow manages to make them feel more rejuvenated.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see one of his desk lamps flickering. You sit up in his bed to get a better look, but the overhead light begins to do the same thing. At first, you assume it's something to do with the construction on the tower, but then your gut twists. As if on instinct, you know what's causing the blinking.

You crawl off his bed and ignore how heavy your body feels. Your feet pull you to the bathroom door, where Bob is supposed to be. The closer you get, the more you hear, but he isn't speaking. You can't quite make out what you're listening to, but you know it's Bob.

You raise your hand and knock your knuckles against the door. "Bob? Is everything ok?" You ask. There's no response, which doesn't help the uneasiness that's creeping inside you. "I'm going to come in, ok?" You raise your voice a bit higher in hopes he hears you. Still nothing.

With a heavy breath, you slowly open the door. The room is filled with steam that feels almost suffocating. It's hard to see through it, but after a few seconds of airing out the room, your surroundings become clear. With how humid it is, you're expecting Bob to be passed out, but you're completely wrong.

Your mind goes blank at the sight of Bob hunched over with his arm resting on the tile wall of the shower. His hand is working fervently as it slips up and down his cock. You quickly realize why he didn't answer you. He's lost in his own mind with his eyes squeezed shut. He wouldn't have heard you even if you pounded on the door.

He looks divine as water falls from his head down the rest of his body. His brown hair is stuck to his head, and a single strand is pressed to his lips. The same lips that are letting out soft noises of pleasure. You can't help but watch as he handles himself. Every few seconds, he'll bite his lip in hopes of stifling a louder moan that threatens to leave his mouth.

After a few minutes, you can't handle just watching him. Not when you can do so much better than his hand.

Silently, you remove your clothing. Your underwear is practically soaked by the time you slip it off. It's a shame all the juices will be washed off in the shower.

As the air in the bathroom shifts from boiling to lukewarm, Bob's hand stops. His eyes peek open to see why it's suddenly become colder. He lifts his head to see you naked, only a few feet away. He'd be embarrassed at you seeing him like this if he weren't so desperate for a release.

You enter the shower behind him, and he turns to face you. His face is a light pink as his hand removes itself from his cock. The lack of contact causes it to twitch. It's enough to make you drool in anticipation.

"You could have asked for help." You step closer to him. The hot water burns against your skin as you step under the shower head. You cannot imagine taking a long shower with that much heat, but you persist. "I've missed you all day," You hum.

"'m sorry, I didn't want to bother you after training," He mumbles. His hands find comfort on your waist, and he pulls you closer. Your wet skin presses against his perfectly. You can feel how needy he is with how close you are. You press a kiss against his lips, which he immediately reciprocates. He cups your face in hopes of keeping you there for as long as possible.

"This is never going to bother me," You assure him while pulling away from the kiss. Your hand presses against his chest, and slowly, you drag your fingers down. As your fingers pass his stomach, he lets out a groan. He's sensitive in that part, and your gentle touch forces him to flex. "Let me give you what you want," You suggest.

It doesn't take much to convince him because he nods his head enthusiastically, and his blue eyes are practically pleading for your aid. It's enough confirmation for your hand to grip his dick. The water creates friction that you can work with. You start off slow to give him a moment to adjust. As each second passes, you increase the pace.

"The tip, baby, please," Is all he can muster out. Your hand is already matching the pace he was at alone, but now you can do things he can't. Your thumb swipes over his head every time it reaches the top. This elicits moans from him, and he leans back against the cold wall. From past experiences, you know his tip is beyond sensitive. All it takes is the right movement, and he's putty.

His body shakes with every swipe, and his lips part to allow his noises to escape. He won't hold back when it comes to you. He deeply loves how you enjoy watching him, how you give him what he wants.

"Just tell me what you need and I'll do it," You coo. For right now, this seems to be enough for him, but not for you. Watching him pant and groan is delicious, but you work better with your mouth. Thankfully, he seems to have the same idea.

"Need your mouth," He whines. His hands raise up to run through his dripping hair. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to hold back his hips from moving with your hand. "Please, please," He begs.

How can you say no to your boyfriend when he's like this? You simply can't.

Your hand remains on his throbbing cock as you sink down to your knees. The floor of the shower presses against your knees, and there's a familiar burn. You give him a few more strokes before sticking out your tongue. You press his tip to the base of your tongue, and the heat radiating from him sends a shiver down your spine. You give it a lick, and his body quivers with another moan exiting his mouth.

You waste no time slipping his dick into your mouth. You stop halfway and watch his reaction. His head tilts back, and his hands move from his hair to your head. He doesn't grab your hair or move you, instead, he uses it as a place to hold onto. You take this as a sign to move.

You start off with only reaching halfway on his member to ease yourself into it. Water drips down your face and slips into your mouth, but that only helps with your saliva. You can hear him cursing under his breath. His hands tremble against your head with every complete round.

"So good. You're doing so good, baby," He whimpers. He's at the point where rambling is all he can do to hide the noises stuck in his throat. It's your favorite part because his praises fuel your body. "Fuck, I could stay here all day."

You continue to listen to him compliment you in every way possible. Especially when you begin reaching the base and take him all in. You gag a few times when you press your nose to his pelvis. This earns a loud, guttural moan.

"I'm so lucky to have you. S-so thankful for such a beautiful girlfriend," He blubbers out. "My cock was made for you. Only you."

You can tell he's close with how much he's talking. It's his way of distracting himself from the edge. The closer he gets, the more he says, even if it isn't coherent or a full sentence. You still enjoy it nonetheless.

"Baby, baby, please slow down," He begins. He presses his lips between his teeth, and his hands tangle in your hair. You don't slow down. "Ah, shit, I can't-" His muscles tense and you increase your pace by twice as much.

His back hunches, and his eyes lock on you. He follows your lips as they drag over and over on his dick. It's hypnotizing for him and enhances every feeling inside him.

"Baby, I'm gonna cum," He warns. Your eyes flicker up to him, silently asking him where he wants to finish. The answer is always inside, and you know that. You just like making him think when he's distracted.

You watch as he repeats your name like a mantra, his words getting slurred at the end. Without warning, his hand pushes you to the base of his cock. Multiple mewling moans press past his red lips as his cock twitches in your mouth. You can feel his cum slipping down your throat and you swallow around him to get it all down.

After a few seconds, he releases his grip on your head, and you pull away from him. He's trying to catch his breath as you rise from your knees. The water has grown cold by now, so you reach over and turn it off. In doing so, you lean close to him. He finally begins to recover right as you begin to step away.

"Thank you," He mumbles. He never has to thank you; you've even told him so. However, he does anyway, and you've grown fond of the act.

"Can we please cuddle now?" You ask with a teasing smile.

"I can't imagine anything better," He nods as his lips quirk upwards.

[readwritealldayallnight]

ok here me out. simon coming too soon. like this man does not have sex often. ah i think it would be hot lowkey

18+ MDNI

Think of football scores

Think of the weather report

Think of last week’s briefing

Think of your first drill sergeant yelling at you

Think of-

He tries to think of anything that’s going to help keep him from blowing his load way too soon

Because you, right now? You’re certainly not helping his case

“Oh my god, that ride felt like it took forever. I didn’t think I was gonna last ‘til we made it home.” You nearly whine as you hurry to get the front door to your flat unlocked

‘That makes two of us’ Simon thinks to himself, remembering the way your wandering hands kept brushing against his thigh during dinner, how your sneaky fingers teased the prominent bulge pressed up against the front of his trousers the entire drive back, how your impatient lips tickled against the vein throbbing in his neck, sending goosebumps across his skin-

No

No, he can’t linger on it for too long, the twitching in his pants nearly painful from how pent up he is, how ready to burst he feels from having been kept apart from you for months, his hand a pitiful replacement for the warm embrace of your arms wrapped around him while your cunt held him even tighter

“Finally.” You exclaim, the door swinging open at your insistence, the both of you stumbling inside like a pair of fools drunk off of nothing more than each other

With a hand between your shoulder blades, Simon is steering you towards the bedroom like a man starved, his hands never straying from your skin

“Get on the bed, love. M’hungry.” His lips murmur against your ear, hopeful that eating you out will give his member the time he needs to pull himself together, for his brain and his cock to sync up and not burst in his pants the moment you touch him

Your own fingers are trying their best to fumble with his belt buckle, though he pulls his hips back out of your reach, bringing a pout to your lips

“Simon, no. I can’t wait anymore, I need you.” You try pleading with him, though you put up no resistance whatsoever as his large hands make their way under your shirt, slipping it over your head with ease

The bra is next to go, being flung across the room without a single care for where it lands, your pants the next item to be discarded on the floor, until you’re left in nothing but your panties and the dog tags he drapes around your neck each and every time he comes home from deployment, the cold metal reading ‘Riley’ sat perfectly between your breasts where he feels it belongs

“S’too bad, I’m cravin’ somethin’ sweet after supper.” He replies casually, the ache in his crotch unbearable as his eyes wander over your nearly naked form, a sight he’ll never grow tired of seeing. “You got somethin’ sweet for me? Hm? Gon’ be nice and gimme a taste?”

“Simon, please.” You insist, though you’re already crawling backwards onto the bed, eyes locked with his as he lowers himself between your parted legs, rough and calloused hands squeezing the meat of your thighs as he drapes one leg over his broad shoulder

“Mmm, you’ll have me love. Trust me. But first, I need you.” He says just as his lips begin trailing their way from your knee, leaving kissing in his wake as he inches his way higher up your thigh, along your hip, on the edge of your panties, grabbing the fabric of the waist band between his teeth before letting it snap back against you

“S-stop teasing.” You manage to let out, though your fingers sliding into his hair, nails scratching slightly at his scalp, lets him know you’re enjoying this as much as he is

Simon can feel himself beginning to leak into his boxers, when he presses a soft kiss against your folds over your panties and your soft gasp of surprise has his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head

He’s missed this, missed you more than he could ever say, every part of you, but this in particular, being able to rile you up as you squirm beneath him, getting all hot and bothered and desperate for him, this he has missed dearly

He would love to keep on teasing you until you’re as worked up as he feels right now, would love to drag this out and make the most of the evening, but he himself can only take so much more of this, his pants feeling impossibly suffocating at the moment, and so he tugs your soaked panties down off of you until their dangling off one ankle, connecting his mouth to where you need him most in a sloppy kiss that is anything but proper

The ache never stops though, not where you start writhing beneath his touch as though you were as sensitive as the head of his cock feels right now, precum staining through his trousers now as he unconsciously starts grinding his hips into the mattress, not when your gasps and moans and whines and pleads are the most beautiful music his damaged ears have ever heard, his own grunts of pleasure mixing into your melody

He should have known, really, that while eating you out might have helped to avoid cumming inside of you after only a few thrusts inside your warmth, he should have known better than to think that he wasn’t going to get as much out of this as you would

For a man as vigilant as he is, he’s hardly aware that it’s about to happen, too focused on helping you reach the peak of your pleasure, too intent on getting you to that place you’re begging him to take you to, whimpering for ‘just a little more, a little more, please Simon, please’, that he fails to realize he’s cumming in his pants until it happens, the force of it taking him by surprise as he groans against your clit, the vibrations just enough to send you careening over the edge into bliss alongside him

He’ll clean himself up later, maybe get you in the shower with him before you notice the wet stain on his front, but until then, he’s going to need some time to recover and get hard again

Luckily, he’s sat at in front of his favourite meal, and the second course is only about to begin

[monstersholygrail]

The second Squid Hybrid Suitor stumbles into your room he immediately trips over a pair of shoes by the door and flops right into what he hopes is your bed. Convenient? Yes. But also incredibly embarrassing? Yes again.

His awkward chuckle is the only sound in the room. He looks up to meet your small smiling face, not an inch of excitement in your expression. Fuck, only you could make that so sexy.

If you told him you changed your mind and that he could go but to leave the cock, he’d probably collapse in front of you and cum on the spot. But you didn’t, no instead you crawled onto the bed, hovering over him.

He was lost to your spell, far worse than any siren but just as deliciously cruel. He’d give anything for more, he was practically panting for it like it was mating season.

Maybe it was. Fuck, he should check—

His mind spins, still not believing this is completely real. But then you cup his cheek and all thoughts fly out of his cute little head till all he could think about was you and how damn good your weight felt above him, your luscious curves just within reach, and your fat ass pressed down on his crotch.

Dammit, he was so out of his depth here. A sharp needy mewl left him as you took his cock from his hand and started grinding against it.

You oozed confidence and calm as you used him so shamelessly. He was in awe of you. Especially compared to him who’s never felt the pleasure of being inside someone’s wet cunt.

You’d be his first. And he wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. You were absolutely perfect in every way. Everything you did made him so hard he could barely think.

Like right now as you slip his tentacle cock past the seam of those shorts that show off your thick drool-worthy thighs, teasing your entrance with his throbbing tip. His hips still buck as if that’ll do anything but he can’t help how his body reacts to you.

How the fuck will he not explode the moment he’s inside you?! He had to resist, had to make it seem like he was as experienced as you. That way you’d think he was as cool as you. But the truth comes pouring out.

“A-ah, just to let— nngh— fffuck, just so you know… this is m-ah-my first time. Not been with anyone, anyone else,” he stutters as he feels his cock slide through your slick folds.

Why, why, why, would he admit that? Is he an idiot? If he is it’s only when it comes to you.

You chuckle, the sound dripping with pity amusement and he groans, long pretty lashes fluttering back. He’s leaking even harder now, making you a slippery mess that has you moaning for him. A sound he’s ready to beg to hear more of.

“How cute.”

That prick of humiliation burns in his gut and it’s like you know exactly what it does to him as you slam his cock inside of you at the same exact time. Squid Hybrid Suitor gasps, stars in his eyes as he feels your tight molten walls suffocate his thick cock.

And it’s like something takes hold of him as before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s smacking your hand out of the way and replacing it with his own as he starts pounding away at you. Ruthlessly pumping his tentacle cock as deep inside of you as it can go.

A flicker of surprise passes your face, the biggest reaction he’s gotten from you, and then you’re moaning so loud for him, your pussy fluttering around his girth.

You both lose count of how many orgasms he brings you too and he has no clue how long he’s been in this room. Who cares about time when he has the sexiest person ever on top of him?

He just wants to keep slamming his cock inside your tight dripping cunt, no skill or finesse to his movements, he just keeps driving it in and out and in and out in a cycle that makes you dizzy.

What drives him the most crazy isn’t even the feeling of your walls sucking in his cock with every thrust but the way you almost refuse to moan for him. He feeds off your tiny whimpers like crumbs and he yearns to make you scream.

“Need to— mmph, fuck— fill you, pl-please,” he begs, scrambling to undress you both.

The moment he sinks into your perfect pussy, feeling the full sensation of you gripping him, milking him, it’s like a kraken is unleashed inside of him. He starts fucking into you like an absolute beast, forcing shocks of pleasure to echo throughout your body.

You can see the way he’s floundering around inside of you, his thick cock still mixing up your insides. But it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Placing your hands on his surprisingly toned chest, you subtly help guide him.

Maintaining pace you start riding him, making his cock reach new depths, hitting places even you never knew existed. Realization dawns on his face as your cunt throbs and pulses around his shaft, already close to your next orgasm. So this is how he should be doing it, he thinks.

And he runs with it, switching positions so he’s on top of you and absolutely plowing into your depths. The sounds of your bodies smacking together, the loud squelch that follows every thrust just gets louder as you both cum over and over. Filling your pussy to the brim till it overflows and then quickly replacing it with a new load.

“Be my mate, please, baby, be my mate,” he begs, whimpering in your ear as your walls ripple around his length, just begging him to fill you again.

“W-what?” You ask weakly, your nonchalant persona cracking beneath the force of his thrusts.

“Be. My. Mate,” he whines out with each brutal smack of his hips. Holding your orgasm hostage, waiting your response.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing but for once during your courtship you give him a clear answer. Mewling out a needy yes as your next release rolls through you.

Squid Hybrid Suitor hisses in pleasure, his cock growling impossibly harder despite all the times he’s already cum inside you.

You won’t regret this decision. He’ll show you multiple times a day, as many as you need, just how good a mate he can be.

For more stories in the Deep Sea Courting series check out My Patreon for only $4!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[whosmariaaa]

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

— cw :: suggestive, murder, violence, attempted roofie

college! sukuna was not planning on giving up on you any time soon, no matter how upset you were. to put it simply, he was obsessed. checking your socials all the time, still trying to reach out every single day.

no girl had ever gotten under his skin like this. no one had ever made him feel like this. he didn’t even know he was capable of feeling like this about someone. and sukuna would be damned if he let you go now.

though it barely seemed to be working, because you weren’t falling for it. didn’t exactly stop him, as you would think, but gojo and toji decided to help him out for once.

they were in the lockers after basketball training, gojo and toji yapping about one of the cheerleaders. sukuna wasn’t listening. he was thinking about you, of course. how the hell could he not get you off his mind? did you put a spell on him or something?

then, gojo sat down next to him. “yo, sukuna. toji and i were thinking,” he started.

“shocking. didn’t think you two fucking idiots were even capable of that,” he sneered. gojo’s eye twitched, but he continued nonetheless.

“it’s kind of sad to see you still chasing y/n even after all that shit went down, and you’re kind of pathetic about it too,” gojo told him.

“kind of? you’re really fucking pathetic about it. seriously man, i’m pretty sure you’ve killed people before, and you’re all soft hearted for a girl who hasn’t shown you a speck of attention,” toji criticized.

feeling irritation rise, sukuna was about to snap back, but gojo quickly interrupted, “what toji’s trying to say, is that we want to help you. you’re our best friend for a reason,” he explained.

“why don’t you try to shit you used to pull with other girls? pretend like you don’t care, and they come running back, always works, right?” gojo added, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

sukuna scowled, “you two know how i feel about y/n. she isn’t just a quick fuck. and how the hell would that even work when she doesn’t even look my way?”

“yeah, we get it. but you should try it. because what you’re doing right now isn’t working for shit,” toji replied, sitting down next to gojo.

when sukuna went back to his dorm, he thought about it. maybe, it could work. maybe, it’d catch your attention. maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

so, plan in action, he stopped coming to you every single day. he practically was ignoring you now. he stopped talking to you altogether. stupid as it sounds, it was starting to piss you off. you had every right to ignore him. he in fact did not. was this perhaps a little petty? sure. did you care? no.

but, much to sukuna’s dismay, you let it rest. he had gotten on your nerves enough. he was finally leaving you alone, so you might as well take peace in it.

your not-so-secret admirer was however not taking peace in it, at all.

“damn, she’s still not crawling back?” toji noted, scratching his head when he saw how infuriated sukuna was with the entire situation.

“she’s just playing hard to get,” gojo replied, “she’ll be on her knees before you know it!”

honestly, sukuna would be on his knees for you a whole lot sooner than you would be for him. gojo and toji knew that too, but they were a little afraid of their friend breaking, so they were trying to keep their hopes high.

“no, she won’t. why the fuck did i fall for such a fucking bitch?” he scoffed.

“yeah, she is kind of bitch, though—” gojo laughed.

“don’t fucking talk about her like that,” sukuna warned firmly, grabbing gojo by the collar again.

“you literally said it first—”

“shut the fuck up.”

sukuna was again pried off gojo by toji, before he actually hurt him. though his friends finally stopped being asses about the entire situation, he still felt like losing his shit.

and that feeling continued when even the week after that, you didn’t seem to be losing sleep at all over his absence, while he definitely was over yours (you were actually still feeling petty he was ignoring you now, but you didn’t show it). it was ridiculous. why was he so infatuated with you? sukuna didn’t even know himself, and yet, he couldn’t bare to let you go. he was hooked.

he needed to get his mind off things. when toji invited him to a frat party, he immediately decided to go. last time he went was weeks ago, and he wanted to take his mind off things. what better way to do that than with alcohol, weed, and girls?

when he arrived at the party, gojo gave him a few shots to ease up. and sukuna immediately had his eyes on a girl, pretty, nice body. he just needed some more alchohol and weed to soothe the weird ache in his chest when he thought of other girls. girls that aren’t you.

though, that didn’t matter now. he took a few more shots, took a few blows of toji’s blunt, and went over to the girl. they talked for a bit, he was charming, and before they knew it, the girl was in his lap, making out with him while the music blared in their ears.

when she separated for some air, sukuna looked at her with his intense red eyes, then looked around his surroundings a bit. that’s when he saw you. you were chatting with some friends, but then your gazes met. neither of you were looking away, for a good 8 seconds.

“hey, c’mon babe, we can go upstairs to a room,” the girl whispered in his ear, dragging him back to reality. a scowl appeared on his face. he wasn’t thinking about sex, and definitely not with her.

which was strange, the old sukuna would’ve flashed her his signature grin and took her upstairs without a doubt. it seems you’ve genuinely tainted his mind. for the better or worse, he didn’t know.

he pushed her off his lap. “the fuck are you talking about?” he snarled. she gasped, catching herself barely as he went on his feet. he didn’t spare her a second glance as he went over to you, which is exactly when you two locked eye contact again.

“and what do you want?” you huffed impatiently, though the intense eye contact made you slightly nervous. huh? since when did sukuna make you nervous?

“why the hell are you here?” he demanded. you rolled your eyes, “and why does that concern you?”

he took a step closer, dangerously close as he hovered over you. “don’t play fucking games with me, y/n. i’m not in the mood. let me repeat myself, why the hell are you here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “because it’s my friends party? what’s your problem?” you responded.

“my problem is that you’ve been ignoring me for weeks, and i’m fucking sick of it. it was just a project, and you’re such a bitch about it,” he sneered.

“i had every right to be pissed about it, and you know that too. and i didn’t want to talk to you, because you’re an ass, but apparently you’re just stupid and can’t take a hint,” you snapped back, starting to feel annoyed again.

now you didn’t care about the unbroken eye contact, or your friends staring wordlessly, because this man was a champion at getting on your nerves.

“cry me a damn river. maybe you’re just a pissy bitch that can’t handle when life doesn’t go her way,” he scoffed.

you suppressed an offended gasp, but you definitely weren’t suppressing the slap you were about to give this man again. but, just when you were about to hit his cheek, sukuna caught your wrist, in a bruising grip too.

“don’t even fucking think about it. i’m not letting you get away with shit anymore, be glad i’m not breaking your wrist,” he warned. you were silently glaring at him, and he was glaring right back.

then, he dropped your wrist and walked off. “asshole…” you mumbled under your breath. seriously, what was his problem?

safe to say, both of you spend your night at the party away from each other. sukuna making out with several different girls, even around 2AM taking another upstairs, needing to think about something else.

you, however, spend your night with your friends, drinking a few shots, but not too much to get drunk or anything. you were trying not to think of his words, but damn they kind of hurt.

your friends eventually went back to their dorms. they asked you several times if you wanted to come too, but you knew that if there wasn’t any loud music, talking and drama surrounding you, you’d probably wallow in silence, so you refused and stayed. maybe you’d find some distraction, who knows?

and as if someone heard your thoughts, next to you suddenly sat a man with blue hair and pale skin.

“you look distressed,” he commented. was it really that obvious?

“nah, it’s nothing, really,” you smiled, shrugging it off. the guy smiled back, letting the topic rest.

“uh huh, y/n right?” he asked. “people know you’re off limits, because you’re apparently sukuna’s girl. but what i saw from earlier, that’s not so true, is it?”

your smile disappeared, and you rolled your eyes. “seriously? that’s what he’s been telling people? what a loser, honestly,” you grumbled. the guy chuckled.

“so it’s not wrong for me to assume you’re single?” he questioned. your eyes shot to him. maybe he was the distraction you were desperately needing.

“huh, no, not at all. what’s your name, then?” you queried.

he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, looking at you with a charming grin. “mahito, nice to meet you, y/n,” he greeted. you smiled at him. you did recognize his name. it gave you a suspicious feeling, but it was merely fleeting, so you shrugged it off.

you two talked for like an hour or so. mahito was a nice guy, but he did give you the creeps with what he was saying from time to time. but it was probably just the alcohol in your system, so you shrugged it off.

then, he eventually went off and got drinks for the both of you. you quickly checked your phone.

“hey babe, hope ur feeling better by now, lemme know how the parties going xxx” your friends text read. you smiled at the sweet message, and quickly texted back about the tea, telling about how you met a new guy.

then, a few seconds after you send press and shut your phone off, he sat down next to you again. the two of you continued talking, and you took a few sips of your drink. but as the minutes past by, suddenly you felt like things were spinning. you felt dizzy.

your heart sank.

with quick thinking, you got on your feet and excused yourself to the bathroom with a calm smile. you were anything but calm. you couldn’t think clearly. you went into the bathroom, locking the door.

had he put something in your drink? had he drugged you? did he attempt to roofie you? you were panicking. all of your friends had gone to their dorms, and they would never make it on time. you didn’t know a soul in this party, and everyone was either drunk or stoned. what the hell were you supposed to do? and when mahito was going to inevitably notice you were gone for too long… you were starting to hyperventilate.

your head was spinning like crazy, and you felt your throat close up.

sukuna wasn’t focusing on shit right now. he had a girl on his dick, but he still felt slightly off. but he forced himself to enjoy it nonetheless. that was until his phone rang. he hung up without looking at the name. it was probably gojo or toji trying to pester him. then, his phone went off again, and again.

“who the hell is that?” she asked, breathlessly but still irritated.

he didn’t even care to reply to her. when his phone went off once more, he let out an annoyed sigh and looked at the name. it was you. he felt his irritation rise.

but he did pick up after two rings. “what the fuck do you want, y/n? if it wasn’t clear already, don’t try shit right now,” he snapped angrily.

it was silent on the other end of the line. sukuna was tempted to hang up, until he heard a little sob. he suddenly felt a rush of confusion, and maybe even concern.

“where are you?” you sniffled quietly.

“still at the party,” he replied as he sat up. the girl, just as stoned and tipsy as him, looked at him confusion.

“please help me, sukuna. i don’t know what the fuck happened, but i— i was talking with this guy, mahito or something, and i think he put something in my drink,” you stuttered out. his breath hitched slightly at the implication, and then he felt his fists clench, a wave of anger hit him.

sure, you guys were fighting, or whatever it was, but that man was still head over heels, no matter how much he wanted to push it down. and he was going to beat this guy to death for ever thinking he could touch you.

sukuna had already pushed off two other girls for you before, might as welk make it three. the girl whined drunkly, but he couldn’t care less. he pulled on his boxer and pants, and quickly threw on a shirt.

“where the fuck are you?” he asked, his tone dangerously low as he left the room, not looking back at the girl.

“bathroom d— downstairs,” you stammered. things were going fuzzy, some parts of your vision even black. you could barely keep your eyes open. “please hurry,” you cried softly.

and that tone, that panicked, helpless tone set something off in him. he was downstairs in just a few seconds, roughly shoving aside anyone in his way. no one dared to say anything, because no one had ever seen sukuna this angry before. people around fell into a tense silence, wondering what the hell happened.

as soon as he saw the bathroom door, he went to open it. and when it didn’t budge, he slammed his fist into the wooden door without a doubt, and turned the lock from the inside. his fist was covered with his blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

then sukuna saw you, on the floor, barely conscious. you were trembling, big tears rolling across your cheeks. it was so unlike you. you were always so fierce, and just then, he decided that he loathed seeing you cry.

he grabbed you, an arm around your waist. “it’s okay, baby, i’m here. no one’s fucking touching you,” sukuna reassured. you felt… safe in his arms, as much as you hated to admit it.

“i still fucking hate you, don’t get me wrong,” you mumbled, though your voice cracked slightly.

“uh huh, sure thing, baby,” he replied. but then, everything went black. sukuna had made it on time, but he felt a strange ache in his heart thinking about what if he hadn’t. he picked you up, weirdly gently for his doing, and went to the other side of the house, where he knew toji and gojo were at.

“yo, sukuna, we heard you finally had sex with a girl aga— is that y/n?” gojo questioned, flabbergasted. toji immediately turned his head.

“what the hell happened?” toji asked, immediately stepping over.

“some fucking idiot roofied her. take her to my car,” he ordered, putting you in toji’s arms. but gojo and toji were too slow for his liking.

“i’ll shoot both of you in the fucking head if you don’t get her out of here in two seconds,” sukuna said in a tone that told them he wasn’t playing around.

“chill out, man,” toji replied, though he was already on the move. sukuna had threatened them many times, but this was different. he was genuinely angry now, and he could get dangerous when he was.

“you’re going to kill that guy, aren’t you?” gojo asked, his usual teasing tone gone. he was dead serious. sukuna’s silence told him all he needed to know. gojo nodded and went after toji.

as soon as they were out of the frat house, he turned on his heel and approached the first person he saw.

“where’s mahito?” he asked. everyone knew the guy, everyone but apparently you. he was a real creep on campus. he’d never roofie anyone before, but honestly, no one’d put it past him.

“uh, in the bathroom. the same bathroom of which you kicked my door down, by the way, you’re paying for that—” the guy started, but sukuna’s menacing stare shut him up real quickly.

and just like he said, there mahito was. in the bathroom where you said you were going a while back, he looked around in confusion, oblivious to the storm behind him.

just when he was about to turn around, his head smashed into the stone-tiled wall three times, the white tiles now colored red.

“you fucking dumbass,” mahito heard in his ear as he was turned around, his back now slammed against the wall. a strong hand on his throat keeping him there.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t sukuna,” mahito taunted playfully, as if he didn’t have blood dripping down from his forehead. “was starting to wonder when you’d start looking for your little y/n,” he added.

“say her name again, i fucking dare you,” he snarled. mahito knew better than that.

“i’m just saying, i could’ve had a great time with her, until you had to go and ruin things,” mahito teased, flashing him a sickening smile. then a harsh left hook to his face shut him up, sending even more splatters of blood to the wall.

“let’s see if you can talk this tough when we’re outside,” sukuna replied, his tone scarily even. just like that, he dragged mahito outside, not like anyone was watching anyways because everyone went back to partying.

sukuna beat him up till he was bloody and bruised, and even then he didn’t stop. it was a gory sight, one that would’ve made anyone sick. he didn’t care, even as mahito’s face was crooked from amount of punches he had taken. mahito couldn’t even scream or beg for his life anymore, even though he was in excruciating pain. he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

he had no mercy. his hands were painted red from mahito’s blood, he punched until there was practically nothing to punch anymore. and then, nothing. he wasn’t breathing anymore, no pulse.

sukuna had indeed killed people before, he wasn’t ashamed of it. toji and gojo had done so too, none of them had been caught before. none of the other murders were necessary, just guys who pissed them off. but mahito?

he crossed a line thinking he could hurt you. no matter how much you hated him, sukuna was scarily attached to you ever since that day you called him out. so much so that he would apparently kill for you. romantic, no?

as he stared at mahito’s mangled face, he suddenly got a call from gojo. “what?” sukuna grumbled.

“y/n woke up a few minutes ago, she’s asking for you, well, more like demanding,” gojo replied. you were asking for him? that shamefully made his heart skip a beat.

“you kill the guy yet?” toji asked.

“yeah, we’re in the alleyway. can you guys clean this shit up and take him with your car? i’ll be with y/n in a second,” he proposed. they agreed, and before he knew it he was in his car with you in the passenger’s seat.

you were shaken up, confused, but you felt oddly safe. sukuna was quiet too, giving you time to process as he drived you to the dorms. you decided to not comment on his bloodied hands for your own sake.

and eventually, you found yourself in his dorm. you took a shower, and he gave you his hoodie to sleep in. he even gave you food and water.

all that frustration you felt for sukuna this past weeks, suddenly just disappeared. he had saved you, maybe even saved your life, and now he’s treating you so well.

sure, you were still upset about you failing your class, but you could finally forgive him for all that. honestly, if you told yourself a week ago that you forgave him, you wouldn’t possibly believe yourself.

and you would also never believe yourself if you said that you were now laying in sukuna’s bed, wrapped in his arms.

“how do you feel, baby?” he asked softly, a tone you’d never think he’d be able to use.

“could be better,” you murmured quietly. a silence fell over you two, it wasn’t uncomfortable. you didn’t feel uncomfortable either. who would’ve thought?

you looked up slightly at him, meeting his eyes. “thank you for all that,” you told him, smiling lightly. “i think i can perhaps, maybe forgive you now for that 49%.”

sukuna just slightly furrowed his eyebrows, before grabbing your chin and pulling you into a kiss. you leaned into it, not pushing him away.

he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “no one’s ever going to fucking hurt you again, i’m serious, you got that?” he promised.

“yeah. sounds pretty serious to me,” you replied, not being same to hide your smile. he just huffed, and kissed you again. a few hours later, you fell asleep in his arms.

now, college boyfriend! sukuna was the happiest man alive. he still dominated the basketball court, still got plenty good grades, had his best friends gojo and toji. and the one thing he will forever love most and cherish in life, you, his girl. and with that, sukuna was ready to kill and die for you, always.

──★˙🍓̟!! expectations were high for me, so i think i delivered guys!! genuinely proud of this one. this is kinda crazy since it’s the last part, and again i can simply not express how thankful i am for all of you!!!! and i HAD to eventually let sukuna do something violent for once, because it’s sukuna ofc. and no, i do absolutely not, ever ever, condone violence or murder!!!!! love sukuna to death but if he was real you wouldn’t catch me in a 100 km radius from him🥀🥀

— taglist ! @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @seizecherry @xlilycoco @v1x3n @go-go-gadget-autism @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @paradisestarfishh @misticsilver @whosmarjj @aquariusscollection @satorushousewife @rwirxles @anonnieghost @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @iminloveweveryone @poopooindamouf @phisen @ryomku @erintaro @clp-84 @mastermasterlist1p1 @katsukiseyebrows @iioveoldermen @happy2delivur @jup1tersuccubus @nxcxllxsevens @realalpacorn @kxgumi @crankyarchives @itsjustisa @junitries @kodzukensworld @desiretolive @bnbaochauuu @tomsxslvt @flwerie @bwlol7 @szuuyl @yourfavbabigirl @grignardsreagent @my-sin-my-soul-my-hell @nothankyew @yourangel04 🍓

[formulaonecrumbs]

making space for you 🧡

Lando Norris x gf!reader (though gender isn’t specified and reader is set as a model idk)

summary: Lando Norris wants his girlfriend to move in but doesn’t have the nerve to ask directly, so he starts dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints. She starts catching on.

warnings: none that i can think of. it’s just pure tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: FIRST WRITTEN FIIICC RAAHHH!!! i’ve had this in my drafts (off tumblr) for weeks. i don’t put my writing many places so this is special 😇 i hope y’all don’t hate it because i kind of love it errmmmm ANYWAYS enjoy! happy reading 🫶 p.s. can one of y’all give me prompts, i’m so lost rn. my asks are always open ♡︎ LOVE U BABIES MWAH 💋

Lando was acting suspicious again.

Not in a cheating way. No—he was still very much the golden retriever boyfriend who texted goodnight with a heart and a photo of his feet hanging off the hotel bed. But suspicious in the “I’m clearly hiding something but I think I’m being slick about it” kind of way.

You first noticed it when you came back from Milan. You’d just wrapped a runway show and all you wanted was to crawl into Lando’s ridiculously oversized bed and not speak to another human for at least twelve hours.

Instead, you walked into his closet to steal one his hoodies, as you usually did, and found your clothes—folded. Color-coded. Already in there.

“You reorganize now?” you asked, raising a brow as he leaned against the doorframe, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grinned. “It’s practical.”

“Is it?”

“You’re here, like, half the time,” he shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“Except I have a place five minutes from here.”

“Which you barely use.”

He wasn’t wrong. Still. Weird.

—————————————————————————

The next time, it was the bathroom.

A whole drawer. Toothbrush, hairbrush, your favorite moisturizer, that one serum you can never find in the UK—he’d somehow gotten it shipped from Paris. Though, he was Lando Norris, you should’ve expected it.

You squinted at him when you found it.

He shrugged again. “I know your skin freaks out if you switch products. Thought I’d help.”

“I could’ve brought it myself.”

“Yeah, but this way, you don’t have to.” His grin widened. “Aren’t I the best boyfriend ever?”

“You’re something,” you muttered, though your cheeks flushed all the same.

—————————————————————————

But then there were his socks in your designated drawer. Your shampoo replaced by full-sized bottles of his favorites. His phone charger always “accidentally” ending up in your purse. A second key to his flat mysteriously showing up in your handbag, like it walked there itself.

You weren’t dumb. He was doing something. Slowly. Subtly.

But he wouldn’t say it.

Not once did the words “move in” pass his lips. You knew because you’d started counting how many days he danced around it.

Seventeen.

Seventeen days of hints and nudges and one very suspicious IKEA receipt.

So naturally, you decided to make him squirm.

—————————————————————————

“Baby,” you called one afternoon, holding up a pair of his boxers from your laundry basket. “Why is your underwear here?”

Lando peeked up from his phone, lying on the sofa with his feet draped over the armrest. “We share laundry now. Efficient, no?”

“You’re not even here half the week.”

He smirked. “Yet my socks keep ending up in your drawer. Funny, that.”

“Funny…” You narrowed your eyes. “You planning on invading more drawers, Mr. Norris?”

“Just testing the waters,” he said smoothly, like it wasn’t a completely weird thing to say.

You sat beside him, kicking his legs off so you could steal his spot. “You know, normal people ask their girlfriends to move in with them.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s this crazy concept called communication. You should try it.”

Lando turned his head, giving you that boyish smile—the one that got him out of trouble and into most people’s hearts. “And if I were to ask you… what would you say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I get full control of the bathroom cabinet or not.”

“You already have it!”

“Then maybe I’d say yes.”

He grinned, looking relieved. “So, hypothetically… if I didn’t want to ask because it’s terrifying and what if you say no and break my poor fragile heart—”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“—hypothetically, would it be okay if I just kept sneakily merging our lives until one day you wake up and realize we already live together?”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “That’s literally what you’re doing.”

“Subtlety is a skill.”

“No, it’s avoidance.”

He poked your knee. “It’s a love language.”

“Yours is physical touch and being annoying.”

“And yours is pretending you don’t like when I’m annoying.”

You smiled then, small and soft. The look in your eyes not less amused, but now accompanied by complete fondness and love. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” he said, full of himself.

You nudged his shoulder. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

He blinked. “Do what?”

“Move in.”

His mouth dropped open for a second. “Wait—you’re serious?”

You shrugged. “You said it, didn’t you? I already basically live here. Might as well make it official.”

Lando stared, like he didn’t believe you. “You want to move in with me? Like… permanently?”

“I’ve tolerated your snoring for over a year. I think I can handle the rest.”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms, half crushing you in a hug, peppering every inch of your face with kisses. “You have no idea how happy you just made me.”

“I think I do,” you said against his chest. “You’ve been plotting this since December.”

“Okay, maybe I’ve had a Pinterest board since November—don’t judge.”

You groaned. “Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.”

“I just wanted it to feel like home. Like ours. Not just mine.”

You pulled back to look at him, my expression softened. It always seemed soften with him. “It already does, Lando.”

His eyes softened, voice gentler. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I already ordered us a matching towel set.”

You laughed into his hoodie, shaking your head.

Of course he did.

[magicdustsworld]

Zayne has standards.

He really does.

And those standards include not thirsting after his very beautiful wife every time she has the audacity to exist in a damn sundress.

But here he is.

You are sprawled out on the couch, using a cushion as a recliner while you scroll through your phone with a practiced ease that should have been illegal. You are wearing that sundress again—the same one he bought you and the same one that made him lose his mind the first time you walked out of your bedroom wearing that. The soft yellow clings to your bust and torso, before flaring from the waist down. A slit runs down from your knee to the hem—giving him a tantalizing view of your legs as you cross them over one another. The neckline dips low; although keeping your modesty concealed, the sweetheart shape leaves no stone unturned—promising the allure behind the veil.

There you are resting on the sofa like some celestial being descended from heaven; taking away his breath and self control—fighting and failing hard to resist the temptation.

And the worst part of it all? You aren't even trying to seduce him.

You are just there.

Radiant.

Effortless.

Dangerous.

As ever.

Zayne leans on the doorway, arms folded over hios chest and jaw set in a thin line as if that would the heat from crawling up his neck.

As if sensing his gaze, you speak without making the effort to look up, "Anything wrong?"

"It's too cold for you to be wearing something like... that.

"Huh?" Finally, you grace him the look he was so desperately begging for. (Not that you'll ever know about it). You make some clicks on your phone before turning the device towards him, "See! It's 70 degrees. It's warm enough."

In response, your husband just glares at the screen like it has personally offended him. It has. Then, he mumbles something incoherent under his breath; along the lines of 'You have a knack for getting knocked out cold' and 'How much it'd help him you if you only sprout some wisdom and put on a cardigan.'

He rotates on his heels, strolling towards the kitchen—at this point only some chilled water would help him—and hoping you haven't caught onto his monologue. But you did. You always do and when you finally register his words in your mind, a slow grin curls down your lips.

So that is it, huh?

No sooner has Zayne reached the refrigerator, he feels the warmth of your figure behind him. He fixes you with a questioning gaze, one of his eyebrows raising, as he fishes out a bottle of water from it.

Leaning against the counter, your perpetual smirk depends and that's the cue for your husband to know that you are upto no good.

"You okay, darling?" You ask, voice low and turning towards a teasing edge. Stepping closer, you place your hand on his forearm—the muscles tensing almost instantly under your touch. Perfect. "You look a little... warm."

Zayne clears his throat, "I am fine."

"Mhm, hmm, you sure?" you ask, leaning in—absolutely revelling on the effect you are having on him.

"Of course," he swallows, stepping back but you only step closer; not letting him or anyone shorten the proximity. You wouldn’t even let it happen, no matter what occurs. "Why would you even think otherwise?"

"Heh!" You snort, amusement floating in the sound. "Because what if I say you keep looking at me like I am dessert and you are starving?"

"Then I'll say you're delusional."

"Oh?" This time, you raise an eyebrow. Then, wedging your voice to a tone lower—transcending it to something sultry and wicked. "Then you wouldn’t be affected if I kiss you right now?"

His shoulder jerks back, eyes widening as a warmth spreads all over his cheek and burns down to his neck. "You wouldn’t dare—"

But you do.

You kiss him.

Standing on your tip-toes, your eyelids flutter shut as your soft lips pressed against his chapped one. The slow motion of the movement gave him all the time in the world to memorize each nook and cranny of your expression before you engulfed him into a sincere affection. Sacred in the act. Reverent in its nature.

After being happily married to the calm and composed Dr. Zayne—one of the best surgeons in the Akso hospital and the youngest winner of the starcather award—for two years; you'd wonder surprise kisses like this would be considered a routine now. And although they are, Zayne's reaction to them every time hasn't had a single itch of change. You still remember how he had reacted when you had kissed him unexpectedly for the first time. It had been under a snow cuddled christmas tree in the heart of Linkon city and as cliche as it was, it was the fruit of your hard earned resolve after yearning for him for literal years.

Even that time, his hands and feet had fallen victim to paralysis as well. Heart beating in his chest at a rapid rate and he stood there like a statue, barely moving his lips against yours—just like now. Only when did you begin to pull away, did he finally take the lead.

His hand wraps around your waist, pulling you close whilst the other cradles your jaw. Angling your face to the side, he parts his lips—pressing them on yours with a fervent hunger. His tongue prods over your lips and you open your mouth, welcoming him into the salacious exchange. The fabric of his shirt, bunches inside your fist prompting you to pull him closer. He relents, lips meeting with yours with sheer desire and affection. Despite the carnal nature of his mouth on yours, you couldn't deny the wafting purity in the air. The way Zayne handled you with so much affection and zeal—never rushing you, matching his tempo to yours because it isn't just him indulging in this wanton connection. There's you and Zayne is nothing but vigilant when it comes to you; as if you are a fragile thing and any stitch of recklessness would shatter you. Something he'd never let happen as long as he lives.

When he let's you go, both of you are breathless. Inhaling the mingling air in abrupt, short pants; a flush spread over your skin.

Then, "Still fine?" You whisper, gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter. The smug smile back with full force.

Zayne, still dazed and doomed, "You are... evil."

But even as he says that, his hold on your waist tightens just ever so slightly. Because, even if the end of the story concludes you as evil, he'll be gratified to know that you're his evil.

P.S. if y'all are wondering why does every Lnds drabble of mine consist husband!LI then it's because I'd husband them up in a breath if they were real ;-; jdhdjhdjhs hope you liked it

Zayne is my main btw <3 do tell me yours!

[munsonify]

sought out

pairing. bob reynolds x gn!reader

summary. after a tiring mission, you seek out bob for comfort

content warnings. fluff, established relationships, cuddles, sleeping in the same bed, brief mentions of missions, r overthinking slightly, bob being sweet and sappy

word count. 1305

a/n. idc if i’ve already written a cuddling fic with him. this is what we deserve. it’s what he deserves. enjoy the sweetness, not proofread

———

“my door’s always open.”

that sentiment has stuck with you for the three short months you’d been dating bob. at first, you thought he meant metaphorically. that he was always there for you, and that you were welcome in when he’d offered. you’d slowly realized he meant more than that.

it would start with you knocking on his door, waiting patiently outside for him to answer. you watched his eyes light up when he saw it was you who was there to greet him, ready to ask him to take a walk with you, or if he had something you could borrow. each time, bob would usher you in his room, whether you necessarily needed to or not. you began knocking in hopes to simply come in and spend time with him, to sit next to him and talk to him. he was always so quick to oblige, opening his door wide for you.

bob liked having you around, something you eventually came to realize. he liked your company, he liked having you in his space. you brought comfort to him. one night, in a hushed whisper, bob let break to you that you made him feel at home. his room felt bare, almost empty without you around. it was that same night he let you in on another little secret of his. he loved you, and there was no sense in keeping it in. this love he had for you was practically seeping out of his pores. you’d spent the rest of that night giddy, the new confession filling you both up with so much joy.

tonight, as you slugged through the large tower, your mind went drifting back to bobs words. his door was always open, he felt at home with you, he liked your presence. it was a sentiment you shared, of course you did. all you could think about was having him near you, his warmth radiating onto your body, his steady heartbeat reminding you that everything was okay. the three day long mission you tended to took a toll on you, your body achingly sore and in a desperate need of a shower.

you made yourself shower first, warm water and gentle soap washing away the sweat and some of the tension for your body. this gave you time to stew in your thoughts, toss things over in your mind. all you wanted was to crawl into bed next to bob, relax into his soft blankets, to feel his gentle touch. you decided to yourself that you’d at least make your way over to his room.

with a plaid pair of pajama pants and a hole-y shirt on, eyes drooping with exhaustion and shoulders slouched, you shuffled your way across the hallways of the living quarters. you walked all the way to his room freshly clean, standing right in front of it with hesitation. a shaky breath racked through your body as you contemplated some more. do you knock and wake bob up? or do you simply let yourself in? both felt a little wrong to you, your mind betraying you, going against everything you knew about the man.

he wouldn’t be angry or upset at you for waking him up, even if you’d feel horrible for interrupting his peaceful sleep. he’d be happy to let you in. even then, you decided against it, acting before you could back out. your hand found his doorknob, gently grasping it and turning it, opening it forward as quietly as you could. it only processed with you then that these doors had locks on it, eyes furrowing together as you realize he wasn’t keeping it secured at night.

you just as quietly shut the door behind you, looking over at bobs bed, seeing the lump under the blankets that was definitely him. he was curled up peacefully on one side of the bed, comforter pulled up passed his shoulders, enveloping him in warmth. you tiptoed your way over to his bed, smiling softly at the sight of your boyfriend. he sometimes didn’t sleep well, and you were beyond grateful he was getting his rest. with slight hesitation, your hands gently gripped the sheets, lifting slightly to give yourself room to slide into bed.

the mattress dipped at your weight, something you tried to make slow and subtle, careful to not wake him. bob didn’t seem to notice as you slide into bed, letting the blankets fall over your body comfortably. it was quite easy to settle in next to him, his large body so close to you, presence calming your nerves. while laying on your back, your move your head to the side to admire him. he stirred only a little in his place, something you chalked up to him simply moving during sleep. you fought the urge to reach over to him, to touch him and hold onto him. still, you didn’t want to disturb him. you instead tuned over on your side, back towards his, only inches away from each other.

you spent nearly 10 minutes laying in bed succumbing to your exhaustion, letting it wash over you and drag you slowly into slumber. that’s when you’d felt more shifting beside you, this time a lot more intentional. you slowly realized bob was waking up, a hand of yours reached up to your face, palm rubbing at your closed eyelids. you felt the bed dip as he turns over slightly, his body a little tense as he try’s to process what was happening. you were quick to tense up, suddenly feeling a little ashamed of your decision of showing up unannounced.

any negative feeling you had in your body slipped away at the feeling of bobs hand reaching out to you, meeting your hip in a gentle touch. he slowly began to maneuver himself around, sleep ridden body still acclimating to being awake. a little part of you still expected him to scold you, to say some off handed comment of you coming into his room without permission. even with his strong arms wrapping around your torso, pulling your into him, it nagged in the back of your mind.

and, even if it wasn’t quite how you expected him to, he did scold you.

“should’ve shook me awake,” bob murmured in a low, sleepy voice. you felt him cuddle into you, cheek pressing into your shoulder blade, large hands bracing your opposite sides. “missed you.”

your arms found their way to his in attempt to wrap yourself up tighter in his hold, something he caught onto and obliged to without question. in the same quiet tone, you spoke back to him. “didn’t wanna wake you, looked so peaceful. ‘n’ i missed you more.”

“i’d do anything to see you,” bob said in the most casually sincere voice. your chest tightened up at his words, even more so at how he just said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. the ache in your body all went straight to your heart. the tension in your shoulders melted away as he held you in his arms.

in the same way bob felt at home with you, you felt safe with him. secure. all of your worries left you for the night, the only thing that mattered was being right here with your boyfriend inside of the comfort he provided. it was such effortless feeling he gave you, something you could only find in him. that’s when sleep overtook you, rested in his arms, enveloped in his warmth, swarmed by his scent.

you never questioned what he meant by his door always being open again. not after he left it unlocked for you, not after he left open space in his bed, and not after he welcomed you without a fuss. bob would always be there waiting with open arms.

[k1mbe3rly]

hi dear I hope you’re doing well.

could you please make a sieun x reader where sieun is envious cuz the reader (his gf) is getting too close to suho. thank you!

Jealousy looks good on you

warnings: smut,

Ever since you and suho met each other y’all were quick to become best friends as well, he even taught you a bit of fighting moves and third wheels you and Sieun, but lately it’s like sieun is third wheeling you both, Sieun was quick to notice you and Suho closeness and how quickly y’all connected, he couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous because of it. At first he was gonna ignore but he couldn’t

After having lunch with both of them, Suho had to go to his job leaving you and Sieun alone, you smiled softly wrapping your arm around his arm while walking home, you groaned “Ughhh i’m so full! are you?” you said making a conversation, he looked over at you and just nodded looking foward, you raised an eyebrow “Are you okay Sieun? why the long face?” you said with a cheeky smile pointing his cheek, he gently shoved your hand away, “I’m fine..just thinking.” he said plainly

“About?” you asked him still looking up at him, he hesitated to tell you and just shaked his head, once yall arrived to his place it’s been a tiny bit awkward, still noticing his plain expression, “Are you sure your okay? what’s wrong?” you asked him, he sighed softly, “What’s going on between you and suho..yall been, i don’t know hanging out a lot?” he simply asked, you raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean? we’re just good friends” you told him, “You sure about that?” he said with no hesitation, than realization hit you, he was jealous as you smirked a bit, “Why? jealous Sieun?” you teased

He just stared at him his back against the headboard, you crawled on his lap, “You have no reason to be jealousss, i’ve never seen you jealous, it’s look good on you..” you whispered to him, he got a bit flustered, “Seriously tho. What’s going on?” he asked again, “Nothing, i swear, i’ll distant myself for you baby” you said kissing his cheek

He hummed a bit, you than kissed him which he kissed you back, his hands slightly going to your hips, you slightly pushed your tongue in his mouth which made him grunt in surprise, but he went along with it, your tongue on his dancing around it, finally pulling back you took off your own shirt, his eyes soften at your body admiring it, your hand took his off which he didn’t resist, “I’ll make sure you never feel jealous again okay..?” you told him as he just nodded feeling excited

His hands exploring your body, he then unhooks your bra letting your bra fall off. You lifted up a bit to slide down your pants as he watches, his breath going heavy a bit as he realizes he should undress too quickly fumbling with his pants and pulling them down as well, he waited until he saw you take off your panties to take his boxers off, which was right after your pants were off

He quickly removes his boxers, positioning you directly above his cock, he slowly lowers you down onto his length, filling you completely with one smooth thrust, you moaned softly, as he let out a tiny noise at the sudden hot and tight feeling, as you begin slowly riding him, his hands begin roaming over your stomach and chest possessively, slowly guiding you as well, his cock hitting all the right spots nice and slowly, soft moans falling out your mouth, while riding him you kissed all over his face making sure he feels completely loved and that nothing is happening

You slowly picked up the pace, his eyes closing and his mouth opening slightly, enjoying the feeling of you doing all the work, “I’ll make sure you feel good okay? you just sit there” you whispered to him as he just nodded, he was practically hugging you, his arms around your waist and your chest on his chest, his face in your neck moaning softly, as you pick up the pace again, his whines become more frequent. He loves how you're treating him so gently

You paused for a moment steadying him, wanting him to be able to cum, you slowly bounced on him, second by second going faster, he moaned out feeling your ass crash down onto his hips as you kept going faster, he watches your boobs bounce with your movements, he tilts his head back, a loud moan escaping his lips as you bounce faster on him. His fingers clutch desperately at your thighs, his nails leaving marks. His hands move up to your bouncing hips, trying to slow you down but your relentless pace makes his arms weak, “Just wanna make you cum..” you moaned to him as he nodded feeling his orgasm build up

You started moaning as well feeling your orgasm build as well, his hands move to the bed sheets quickly clawing at the bed sheets, “Oh my-.. i’m gonna- i’m gonna cum!” he whimpered out, you tried to speed up as you suddenly came on him, your cum making a mess on his cock as he looked down biting his lip, watching as his length disappears in and out, he moans loudly as he also cums, you panted stopping

Both of yall taking a breath as you fell onto him hugging him slightly, “Feeling better..?” you asked him, he nodded as a small smile formed on his face being glad to have you with him.

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his mate’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[vampzwon]

박종성 ✸ — truth hurts !

ⓘ; marrying jay was the best decision of your life— since the very moment you said “yes,” married life with him was an absolute daydream. but of course, with all positives come it’s negatives, and no one ever said married life would be easy, not when two people with two seperate lives and two different personalities merge to one.

﹏ ⌗ 𝓹airing: 𝓅!jongseong x 𝒻!reader ❨4059❩

⏖’ 𝑔enres, angst. fluff. reconciliation. smut.

⊹”mlist.

𝓦arnings: angstangstangst, lack of communication, jays just depressed atp lmao, crying, kissing, proximity 18+ MDNI dry humping

𓏵-, 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒. guys i wrote thus on a road trip wnd i needed to piss SO badly likenit was crazy painful but then i had a nap and then i woke up with this idea so.. yeah. my dreams r in favour of my tumblr career it seems

Jay hated eggs.

Not in a casual “I’d rather not” way—no, it was a bone-deep, soul-level aversion. The smell, the texture, the way the yolk stared up at him like some runny, golden eye. Scrambled, poached, sunny side up—didn’t matter. They all made his skin crawl.

But you, unfortunately, loved them.

Soft-boiled, hard-boiled, over easy—eggs were your go-to comfort food. You’d hum to yourself as you cooked them, barefoot in one of his old shirts, swaying to whatever playlist was humming through the kitchen speaker. You always said there was something hopeful about breakfast, even when the world outside felt unkind. A perfect way to start a perfect day.

He used to tease you for it.

“You’re romanticizing a chicken’s reproductive cycle,” he’d say, scrunching his nose as you giggled, letting him backhug you as you melted into his hold. “Romanticizing or not, it’s all I can make. Now eat.”

He’d grin into your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. “Guess I married you for your looks, then.”

You’d roll your eyes and feed him a bite anyway. He’d grimace like he was in pain, overact dramatically, then chew with a resigned smile—just to make you laugh again.

Perhaps the pain that came with consuming egg left when they were made with your own very hands.

That was the difference, he realized—not the egg, not the seasoning, not even the way you overcooked the yolk just a little because you knew he hated it runny.

It was you.

It was always you.

Something about the way you cracked the shell with that little flick of your wrist, the way your brow furrowed as you tilted the pan with practiced precision—like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He could eat eggs when you made them because they tasted like you’d poured your loving all over him— and that? He could die in it. Live in it. Drown in it.

This morning, the eggs taste of nothing.

Not even disgustingly creamy, or rubbery and stubborn in that way they used to be. They tasted of emptiness, of a space where something should be but painfully wasn’t.

He prodded at it with his fork, staring into the marble of the kitchen counter emptily, the cloth of his work attire suffocatingly tight against his throbbing chest. He looked down at his briefcase, right beside his stool at the counter, and then at the front door, where you hastily tied your shoelaces with nimble fingers.

You used to look at him every morning. Really look at him. With that mischievous grin playing at your lips and that soft, unfiltered way your eyes scanned him up and down like he was the best part of your day.

“You look sexy in a suit, Mr. Park,” you’d say with a mock-whisper, even though no one was around to hear. “If you’re late to work, it’s your fault for looking that good.”

You used to kiss him harder before he left—like goodbye wasn’t just goodbye, it was a promise. A see you later.

You used to always ensure you said bye, refusing to leave until you heard him reply— and now, you left first. Always. Without so much as a glance, without a trace of the warmth that used to cling to your touch.

“Do I still look good in a suit?” He croaked out weakly, under his breath, loud enough for him to hear, but certainly not loud enough for you. You had already left in one fluid motion, the door swinging shut with a soft click that felt louder than any argument you’d ever had.

Jay sat there for a few seconds longer, frozen in the kind of silence that hums in your ears when you’ve just been left behind. He stared at the now-empty entryway, his shoulders slumping with insecurity he didn’t recognise.

He exhaled shakily, one hand tugging at the knot of his tie as if loosening it would somehow help him breathe better.

He sighed into his hands, elbows braced on the edge of his desk as his monitor flickered to life. The screen glowed too bright, the same spreadsheet from yesterday blinking back at him like it had never left.

The same monotony.

Click. Log in. Pretend.

The office buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of printers. People moving with purpose. Like their lives made sense. Like they’d all kissed their partners goodbye this morning without feeling their heart sink to the floor.

Jay exhaled through his nose, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He groaned under his breath tiredly, offering his colleague, Minjun, sat beside him a friendly smile. “Morning.” He offered quietly.

Minjun was already halfway through his coffee, chair leaned back just enough to look like he wasn’t trying to work yet. He glanced at Jay and grinned.

“Rough start?” he asked, tapping a few keys before swiveling slightly in his chair. “You look like you barely slept.”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose, scratching the side of his jaw absently. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Minjun nodded, like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.

“How’s the missus?” he asked, casually—like it was a question about the weather. Like it wasn’t a dagger to the gut.

Jay hesitated.

His smile faltered just a little.

He looked down at the wedding band on his finger—still there. Still shining under the fluorescents. Still supposed to mean something.

“She’s…” he started, then trailed off. He cleared his throat. “She’s busy. Work’s been crazy.”

Minjun nodded like that explained everything. “Yeah, my girl’s been swamped too. Gotta love being married to a working, bossy woman, huh?”

Jay forced a chuckle. “Yeah.”

Minjun merely nodded and turned back to his monitor, as if he didn’t understand jay really meant we haven’t really looked at each other in days or I think I miss her more when she’s right beside me than when she’s gone.

Jay lied. He doesn’t love being married to a working woman.

He doesn’t mind the bossy bit—never did. In fact, he loved that. The way you talked with your hands when you were passionate about something, the way your voice sharpened when you were standing up for what you believed in, the way no one could ever, ever get the last word when you were in the mood to win. That was you. That was part of what made him fall in love in the first place.

As selfish as it sounded, as wrong as it felt to even think it, there were mornings he wished you’d just stay. That you’d sit across from him again with your silly egg puns and tangled hair and bare feet on the cold kitchen tile. That you’d press a hand to his chest and smooth out his tie, kiss him without looking at the clock.

He was proud of you. God, he was. He saw how alive you were in your field—how you lit up when you talked about projects, ideas, the rush of doing what you loved. You were brilliant. Ambitious. Unstoppable.

And yet… he missed the version of you that used to hold his hand under the table. That used to crawl into his lap when the nights got too quiet. That used to ask him to stay in bed five minutes longer, like the world could wait just a little. He missed being your priority.

Not with flowers or flashy gifts—though he’d do that too, if he thought it would make you smile like you used to. No, Jay wanted to pamper you in quieter ways. Gentler ones.

He wished you didn’t have to wake up to an alarm that sounded like a threat. Wished you didn’t have to pull your hair back so tight, or lace your voice with authority just to be taken seriously in boardrooms that didn’t deserve your brilliance.

He wished your hands weren’t always tired. That your eyes didn’t carry shadows even concealer couldn’t cover.

He wished you didn’t have to work so hard.

Not because he thought less of you—but because he wanted to be the one to give you rest. To be your peace when the world demanded too much. He wanted to run you baths and rub your feet and bring you silly, overpriced coffee just because he passed your favorite spot on the way home. He wanted to see you in soft clothes, curled on the couch, telling him about your dreams instead of your deadlines. He wanted to take care of you the way he used to—the way you used to let him.

With a lump garnering the back of his throat, he forced himself to look at his monitor, but first, he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering to the corner of his desk where a framed photo of you two smiled up at him. It was from a vacation a year ago. Greece.

The photo was still there. Still smiling.

You, leaning into him, skin sun-warmed and glowing. Him, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wind in your hair, his sunglasses crooked on his nose, both of you laughing at something the camera didn’t catch. A beautiful candid, a raw picture of the love that so quietly, yet easily flourished.

He wondered if you remembered that trip the way he did. The way he still did—every time he looked at that photo, every time he closed his eyes and pictured you in that white dress, laughing as the sea breeze played with the hem.

His thumb brushed the edge of the frame gently. Like touching it would bring you back.

The heating wasn’t working again.

Jay clicked the thermostat again, watching the light blink uselessly. Nothing. He exhaled through his nose, rubbed the back of his neck, and thought to himself to give the gas company a call tomorrow morning.

The apartment felt colder than usual tonight. Not cold enough to see your breath or anything stark like that—just enough of a chill that it crept under your clothes and made everything feel a little too still. A little too quiet.

He crawled into bed with a sigh, the sheets cool against his goosebumped skin. He didn’t bother calling for you. You were still getting ready in the bathroom, your nightly routine running longer these days—more work to catch up on, you insist.

He lay flat on his back, eyes tracing the same crack on the ceiling he always ignored. One hand tucked beneath his head. The other just sat there on his stomach, useless.

The room echoed with nothing. No laughter. No music. Just the dull hum of pipes and the faint clink of you rinsing out your mouth.

And then you came in. No words, no eye contact—just a tired grunt as you slid beneath the covers beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight.

Another long day. Another night of backs turned and unspoken words crowding the dark.

You didn’t mean to be cold.

He didn’t mean to stay quiet.

But somewhere along the way, this had become normal.

Tired silence. Distant bodies.

Jay stared up at the ceiling. That stupid crack again. Suddenly it seemed the most interesting thing in the world.

He didn’t move when you pulled the blanket over yourself, didn’t reach out like he used to.

It was too cold.

And it wasn’t just the lack of heating.

He sighed. Suddenly, the space between the both of you felt raw, more painful then it already was. And before he knew it, a sharp, aching intake of breath left his lips.

You frowned.

At first, you thought maybe he was clearing his throat. Maybe his breath had caught on the dry, cold air. But then another came. A soft, whimpery exhale. So quiet, it sounded like it wasn’t meant to be heard. And then it shattered.

A sob. A small, helpless, heartbreakingly real sob.

You froze.

Your husband doesn’t cry.

Not when he’s frustrated. Not when he’s exhausted. Not even when he’s hurting. Jay holds things in. That’s just how he’s always been—quiet in grief, steady in discomfort, the kind of man who folds his pain neatly and tucks it away where no one can see it.

The last time you saw him cry, really cry, was in Greece. A dead turtle on the shore. He tried to brush it off, made some dumb joke about how its little shell looked, but when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d turned away, eyes shining, lip trembling. He’d cried for five minutes and then kissed your shoulder like nothing happened.

This wasn’t five minutes.

This wasn’t quiet.

This was months of silence catching up to him. A thousand missed kisses. Every time your hand slipped out of his. Every breakfast shared in silence. Every time he forced himself to scarf down an egg. Every “have a good day” muttered instead of kissed into his collar.

Jay was crying like he’d forgotten how to stop.

Your eyes went wide in the dark as your body turned toward him on instinct. “Jay…?”

He didn’t answer. He wept.

The sound was raw, torn straight from his chest—ugly and aching and real. He turned his face away from you, burying it into the pillow like he couldn’t bear to be seen, like letting you witness this would break him even more.

You gasped, helping him sit up against the bed frame as he hiccuped with pain, as his back hit the frame with a quiet thud, head tipping back against it as if even holding it upright was too much.

His eyes—God, his eyes—bloodshot and glassy, swollen from crying, stared ahead blankly. Not at you. Not at anything. Just gone somewhere far.

You knelt between his legs, hands trembling as you reached for his face, brushing hair back from his forehead, smoothing it down like you used to during those spontaneous instead of going to work cuddles.

“Jay…” you whispered, your heart absolutely wrecked. You winced, the pain in your chest bordering physical.

You reached for his face again, holding it between your palms even as he kept his eyes downcast.

“Talk to me. Please.”

You hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad. You’d known things were off—of course you had. The silence. The quick goodbyes. The skipped dinners and missed texts. But you thought it was just a phase. A rough patch. Something that would smooth itself out once the deadlines cleared, once the meetings slowed, once life calmed down.

You didn’t realize he was hurting. Not like this. Not this deeply.

And now, sitting here with him shaking under your hands, unable to look at you, sobbing like a boy lost in the dark, you felt shame crawl up your spine. How did I miss this? How did I let this happen?

He let out a sad little sniffle, the kind that clawed its way out of his throat and didn’t even try to hide how pathetic it sounded.

Then, he shrugged your hands away.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just tired. And it was heartbreaking.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom door to the left, avoiding yours. Dismissive, like he was over it. Like he didn’t care anymore.

But you knew better.

You’d loved this man long enough to recognize the lie in his body language. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way his fingers twitched against his thigh like they were fighting the urge to reach back for you.

He didn’t want to end the moment.

He didn’t want to shut you out.

He just didn’t know how to say what he needed.

Your voice softened into a whisper, almost unsure. “Jay…”

He didn’t look at you, just let out a shaky exhale through his nose. “Do you love me, still? Y/n?”

The words were quiet. Too quiet. Like they’d been buried inside him for weeks, maybe months, and had finally clawed their way out.

Your breath caught. Like it physically stopped in your throat.

“What?” you breathed, stunned. “Jay, of course I do—“

But he flinched. Not away from you—but inward, like even your answer might hurt too much if it wasn’t the one he needed to hear.

“You don’t look at me like you used to,” he said, voice hoarse. “You don’t even touch me. Not unless I’m crying in bed like a child.”

“Jay—”

“I don’t say this to guilt you,” he whispered, voice cracking again. “I just need to know. Because I feel like I’m loving you alone.”

Your hand flew to his cheek, your thumb sweeping under his eye as your forehead fell to his, desperate to find a connection. A single tear trickled down your cheek.

“You wake up before me,” he said quietly, voice trembling. “You’re out the door before I can kiss you. You come home late. You don’t smile at me the way you used to. You don’t…” His voice cracked again. “You don’t see me.”

He stopped for a second, and then let out a laugh—watery, small, a sound that twisted your stomach because it wasn’t joyful at all. It was hollow. “You don’t even touch me,” he said, voice barely holding together. “Do I… disgust you? Do I not please you enough?” He added, his voice pensive, but so small and insecure it knocked the air out of you. “What—Jay, no. What are you talking about?”

His eyes flashed to yours—finally, fully—and you wished they hadn’t. Because all you saw was pain. Deep, aching, starved-for-love pain.

“I lay beside you every night, inches away, and it feels like I’m in another room,” he said, breath catching. “You don’t reach for me. You don’t even flinch when I don’t kiss you goodbye anymore. You just let it happen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because he was right. Not because you didn’t love him.

But because somewhere along the line, you started surviving instead of living. And he was the one who paid for it.

“I thought maybe you were tired,” he continued. “Or stressed. But then it kept happening. No kisses. No holding hands. Not even a passing touch in the hallway. And I thought… maybe you don’t want me anymore. Maybe I stopped being someone you see that way.”

Your eyes welled. “Jay, I—God, I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

“Then why did you?” he whispered.

You paused for a second.

And then—you did the only thing your body remembered how to do when words failed you.

You sobbed. A broken, trembling breath ripped through your chest, and you surged forward, cupping his face like it was the last thing tethering you to this earth.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and tear-stained and soaked in apology. But it was real. Every part of you screamed into that kiss—I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t give up on me.

At first, he just sat there. Stunned. Frozen.

And then, slowly, his hands gripped your wrists, pulling you closer, kissing you back with something just as shattered.

He gasped against your mouth like he’d forgotten how it felt to need you like this. To be needed. To be wanted.

And when you pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, breaths tangled, he whispered, “Please don’t stop loving me.”

You shook your head, tears slipping freely now.

“I never did,” you whispered. “I just forgot how to show you.”

He gasped for air as he cried into your neck, shoulders shaking with each broken sob. You held him tighter, like your arms could sew the pieces of him back together. Your hands moved instinctively—rubbing slow, smooth circles over his chest, right over his heart. The place he loved you from the most.

Each hiccuped breath he took shattered you a little more.

“My poor baby…” you murmured, your voice barely holding steady, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “So touch deprived, huh?”

He nodded, fast and desperate, like a child needing comfort. Like someone who’d been waiting for this—for you—for too long.

Your hand slid up to cradle his jaw as he clung to you, thumb brushing away the fresh wave of tears. “You don’t have to beg for it anymore,” you whispered. “I’m right here. I’m so sorry I left you starving for me.”

His arms squeezed around you like he didn’t believe you’d stay. Like if he loosened his grip, you’d slip away again.

“You can touch me whenever you want,” you murmured against his temple. “Hold me whenever. Kiss me whenever. You don’t have to ask.”

He looked down at you hopefully, eyes blurred with hazy tears. “So can I kiss you now?” He muttered hopefully.

“You never have to ask me that question again, my jongseong.” Your voice cracked on his name—soft and reverent, whilst his eyes searched yours, still teary, still unsure, like he was waiting for the part where you’d vanish again.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

And you meant it.

And before he could spiral back into silence, you kissed him.

Fierce. Needy. Deep enough to tell him every word you didn’t know how to say. That he was loved. Wanted. Chosen.

He gasped softly against your lips, but this time it wasn’t from pain—it was from the overwhelming feeling of relief. Like your kiss was oxygen, and he was coming back to life for the first time in months.

Your hands threaded into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, grounding himself in your warmth.

He kissed you back like he was remembering it all—how to hold you, how to crave you, how to feel safe in your love again.

He hummed lowly as you suckled on his tongue, hands bruising into your waist as his length slowly grew hard. You groaned at the feeling, rutting your clothed clit over his bulge.

He broke the kiss simply to moan— a sound so desperate, but certainly long due, as your manicured hands roamed his chest warmly, pulling his shirt off attentively.

He groaned, throwing his head back as he pistoned his hips upwards, moaning softly at the friction after months of being void of it all. “Fuck, my Y/n. I missed you.” He managed between shaky breaths— from pleasure or crying, you’d no clue.

His moans grew louder, just so slightly, and the pool in your panties grew too. You moved against his bulge faster, with growing ache. You forgot how touch deprived you were too, when this distance grew. How you ached for your husband and him only.

With a resolute, high pitched whine, he slumped against the bed frame, a sign that he came already, and you laughed softly, kissing his cheeks softly as you rutted yourself against him just a little faster, a little harder. He fidgeted with overstimulation, but too tired to protest, he merely buried his head in your neck, hands fussing with your pyjama shirt.

With a moan you pathetically released in the simple cloth of your panties, slumping beside him tiredly.

He threw your shirt to the side carelessly, instantaneously burying himself right in the valley of your breasts. He sighed contently, breathing you in as if there were no better place for him to be.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp in the way you knew always made his shoulders loosen. He melted into it without hesitation, arms still looped tight around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You exhaled shakily, your chest rising and falling against his as you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

His breath hitched—just once—but it wasn’t from sadness anymore. It was from peace.

You stayed like that, forehead resting against his hair, your thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles into his back.

“I missed this,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your collarbone.

You smiled softly, your hand stilling in his hair to cradle the back of his head. “I missed you. All of this. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He nodded into you, his hold relaxing just enough to let you shift, but not enough to let you go.

“Promise?” he whispered.

You simply tilted his head up and kissed him again—light, yet heavy with passion, weighing down with hope.

“Promise.”

oh inlove him how could anyone break his pretty lil heart💔reblogs n likes much appreciated! ty for reading<3

©VAMPZWON

[tojicide]

chapter four ── lab partners.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

(i forgot to post it with tags the first time around so i have to repost it… so sorry for spamming your notifs </3)

synopsis. caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

chapter summary. after a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you… or so it seems.

prev: chapter three. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

Caleb didn’t remember making it to his bed last night.

That wasn’t unusual these days. Most nights ended in a whirlwind of aching limbs and crashing adrenaline, a blur of alleyways and sirens, limbs sore from swinging through Linkon’s crumbling skyline until he could scale the fire escape outside his dorm and collapse.

Sometimes he didn’t even bother removing the suit.

The only proof he was even back in one piece was the dull throb in his shoulders and the familiar, worn-in scent of his dorm—old laundry detergent and someone’s leftover Cheetos. That, and the familiar protest of the bunk mattress digging into his back.

A groan slipped from his throat as he tossed an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the god-awful morning light filtering through the slats of their half-broken blinds.

He could feel the grime still clinging to his skin, last night’s victories sticking to him like second skin. Three attempted robberies, a handful of purse snatchers, and one very memorable dive into a dumpster full of Caesar salad.

(He was trying not to think about that last one.)

The sound of someone clearing their throat sliced through the morning silence.

His whole body went rigid.

He cracked one eye open slowly, only to find Zayne sitting across the room in his desk chair—legs crossed, arms folded, wearing a judgmental expression that practically screamed intervention.

“…Morning, Batman,” Zayne said flatly.

Caleb groaned and rolled over, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then explain why you came in at three in the morning with a limp, croutons in your hair, and—unless I was hallucinating—a fork sticking out of your shoulder.”

Caleb blinked, slowly reaching beneath the blanket to pull the crumpled remains of his suit deeper out of sight. “I got it out. No biggie.”

Zayne gave him a look that could only be described as hardened. Silent. Cold. Stern.

“The silence is so loud,” Caleb muttered, burying his face in his mattress.

“I can wait all day.”

“Okay, okay,” he groaned, pushing himself upright and scrubbing a hand over his face. His hair stood up at odd angles, and he knew from the ache in his back that he probably looked as bad as he felt. “But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even the snowman plushie on your bed.”

Zayne raised a single brow, then solemnly held up two fingers. “The snowman takes all secrets to the grave.”

“Good.” Caleb exhaled. “Alright, I’ll just rip the bandaid off. I’m Spider-Ma—”

“Spider-Man. Yes. I know. Figured it out two weeks ago.”

Caleb’s words stuttered to a halt. “…You what?”

Zayne reached down, plucking something off the floor. It was Caleb’s mask—plain as day, just lying there like a dirty sock. “Aside from the suspicious injuries, the weird new muscles, and the fact that you literally crawl through the window every night, this thing hasn’t exactly been subtle.”

“Aw, man,” Caleb collapsed dramatically onto the mattress. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You are,” Zayne agreed cheerfully, tossing the mask onto Caleb’s stomach. “But, for what it’s worth, I admire your… let’s call it ‘unshakable sense of justice.’”

Caleb peeked over the edge of his pillow. “Really?”

“Sure. Very noble. Very heroic.” His roommate tilted his head. “Unless you get arrested, in which case it is just incredibly embarrassing.”

Caleb snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at him. 

“Anyway,” he said, fluffing the pillow in his lap, “that was question one.”

“There’s a second question?”

Zayne leaned forward with a nod. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”

Caleb squinted. “The school paper? No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who reads that before noon.”

“Unfortunately for you, today’s edition is a little more… relevant than crossword puzzles and department bulletins.”

He pulled out his phone and chucked it toward Caleb, who caught it with the sluggish reflexes of someone who had dodged bullets but not slept.

Bright screen. One swipe. Bold title.

The Spider’s Sense.

And beneath it, a photo—clear, high quality, unmistakable—of him, mid-air, suit vivid against the valley of skyscrapers.

Who Is Spider-Man? Weeks ago, witnesses reported a masked individual, clad in red and blue, moving with inhuman agility...

Caleb didn’t even register the rest at first. He was too focused on the photo. That was him. There was no doubt, and his stomach churned.

The rest of the article blurred into a wash of phrases. Masked vigilante. Real-life superhero. Enhanced human? Technology? Guardian or threat?

His hands trembled slightly as he scrolled. “Who wrote this?”

Zayne shrugged. “No clue. It’s anonymous. Might’ve been a student, or one of the permanent writers trying to make a name for themselves.”

Caleb’s chest tightened. The words on the screen burned themselves into his brain. His entire existence was no longer just speculation—it was documented.

And worse? That was just the beginning.

“Check socials,” Zayne added. “It’s… sort of everywhere.”

With the dread of someone opening a cursed scroll, Caleb tapped the next app.

Twitter. Instagram. TikTok.

The internet was flooded. Hashtags. Edits. Fan accounts. A clip of him saving a cyclist from an oncoming truck looped with dramatic music.

And the comments—

victoriastoji: nah girl if he’s saving cats from trees i’d let him web me up aaaanytime batmanstanfr: This has to be AI. No way he’s real. coolgirl45: oh yup. I just know there's some fine shyt under that mask. BRING ME HIM.

“My Lord,” Caleb whispered.

“You’re famous,” Zayne said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. “Or infamous. I suppose we’ll find out.”

Caleb dropped the phone into his lap and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no way.”

“There is a way,” Zayne echoed. “And that way is: you’ve gone viral.”

He should’ve felt proud. This was what heroes were, right? Public symbols. Masked protectors. Instead, all he found in its absence was a sinking weight.

This wasn’t just about sneaking around and stopping small-time crooks anymore. It wasn’t just about helping old ladies cross the street or making sure kids didn’t get their bikes stolen.

This was bigger.

His name—his face, sort of—was out there. His anonymity was already cracking.

The mask had kept him safe. But now… the city was watching. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Tara was sprawled across your bed like a tragic heroine from a Victorian novel, one arm slung over her face as though she’d just received news of an ill-fated engagement. Her jacket had half-slipped off her shoulder, one boot still on, and one sock-covered foot twitching in dramatic protest.

“If I still smell like car wax for the rest of my life,” she whined, “at least I’ll die knowing I did something charitable.”

You snorted quietly, glancing at her from the mirror where you sat cross-legged at your desk. Lip pencil in one hand, tiny sharpener in the other, you worked through the uneven point with surgical focus. Your fingers still ached from scrubbing windshields and hoods three days ago, but the ache was a dull, familiar one. The kind that said: you did something that mattered. That helped, even if it left you sore.

“At least you raised more than your goal,” you said, turning slightly to flash her a small, knowing smile. “Enough for all your upcoming events, and then some. Plus, the extra for the community clinic next month. And, most importantly: more than Lambda Chi Alpha.”

Tara shot up like she’d been electrocuted, her eyes suddenly alive again. “Okay, so— about that,” she said, voice hushed like she was letting you in on a secret. “Because we absolutely crushed it, and because the universe is clearly in our corner for once, the boys are throwing a party this weekend.”

You blinked. “The boys?”

“The frat rats. Xavier, Raf, the entire losing side.” She twirled a hand in the air. “They’re calling it the Midterm Mixer, which is… definitely a choice… but it’ll be so fun, I promise..”

Your face already contorted into a grimace. “Mm, I don’t know. That actually sounds like my worst nightmare.”

“Come on,” Tara pleaded, flopping back into the—your— pillows. “It’s just one night of pretending we’re not slowly drowning in deadlines. A final hurrah before midterms.”

You hesitated, stomach tightening with quiet reluctance. It wasn’t just the looming tests or the pile of lab reports waiting to be written. It was the chance that he might be there..

Caleb. 

You hadn’t seen him properly since the meeting prior to your lab presentation. He’d left you hanging—again—and you’d buried your irritation in your workload, trying not to dwell on it. But you had. Of course you had, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

Tara, of course, picked up on your hesitation like a bloodhound. “Wait… is this about he who shall not be named?”

You frowned. “What? No.”

“That was the most suspicious ‘what’ I’ve ever heard. It had, like… three silent subtexts.”

You tried to wave her off, but she grinned, relentless in her pursuit of the truth. “Oh my God, it is. You don’t want to go because you’re afraid of seeing your favorite academic nemesis.”

“He’s not my favorite anything,” you muttered, opening your laptop a little too forcefully.

Tara tilted her head. “Sure he isn’t. That’s why you twirl a finger in your hair every time his name gets mentioned.”

You paused, lip parting in protest, then closed it again. Your hand not-so-suspiciously fell from your hair and into your lap. There was no winning this one.

“What? There was a knot…” you grumbled.

“Right,” she said, lying through her teeth with a smile. “Just admit it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to look like you care.”

“I don’t care.”

She looked at you, entirely unimpressed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just know that whatever it is that you’re avoiding, it’s pretty obvious that he feels it too.”

A scoff breaches your lips. “If he did, would he have skipped out on me for the past few labs? I don’t think so.” 

Even with your back turned to her, you can hear the smile in Tara’s voice. “Hmm… you certainly have a lot of bitterness in that beautiful voice of yours for someone who ‘doesn’t care.’”

You flushed, caught. You shook your head without a reply, fingers nudging your laptop open once more.

The page for the Linkon Gazette was already pulled up, cursor hovering over your article. The one about him—the masked figure who’d swung across your city like a myth in motion. The one who, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, kept showing up. The one who’d endured your pepper spray like it was a mild inconvenience and vanished before you could ask a single question.

You knew it was just a story. A journalistic lead. But still… something about him stayed with you.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the way he’d moved—graceful and fast and human in the most impossible way.

Or maybe it was the lingering suspicion you couldn’t seem to shake: that you knew him. Or had seen him. Or—

No. That was crazy. 

Still, the article had gone semi-viral. Readers were hungry for updates. And you—no matter how much you told yourself it was just curiosity—kept thinking about the man in the mask.

You hadn’t written everything. Not yet, that is.

“I’m not saying yes to the party,” you mumbled, mostly to distract yourself.

Tara smirked. “You will. You’ll pretend to hate it, then show up wearing that liner and make someone’s son question his entire life path.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward in a way you couldn’t fight off.

She stood and stretched, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll circle back later. I’m gonna go ice my legs and emotionally prepare myself for Xavier’s attempts at DJing.”

“Good luck,” you said through a laugh, already clicking through the Gazette’s backend to check the article’s traction.

As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, “By the way, if you don’t come, I’m sending you a selfie of me at the party every ten minutes until your phone explodes.”

You made a noncommittal noise in response, but something about her words lingered. You didn’t want to go. Not really—but maybe that was the problem.

Because part of you did want to. And you weren’t sure if it was the music, the drinks, the celebration—or the possibility of running into someone whose eyes you hadn’t stopped remembering.

Whoever he was.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The lab room was too quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet that came with focus and cooperation. This was…. tense. Brittle. Like if you breathed too loudly, too harshly, the whole ceiling might come down on your heads.

You sat hunched over a spreadsheet, orange highlighter uncapped. Your eyes scanned row after row of Caleb’s recent data entries, and your stomach sank. These weren’t just lazy mistakes—these were guesses. Sloppy ones, too. Unlike him from what you knew of him, both firsthand and through the grapevine. You knew it because you’d been carrying this project on your back for weeks while he’d been… elsewhere. Distant. Distracted.

He stood across the table, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping his world in balance. You noticed the way his foot tapped incessantly against the tile floor.

It wasn’t for the stress relief.

He was spiraling.

Not just from guilt—which had been eating away at him since the day the spider sank its fangs into his skin—but from everything. The missed assignments. The long nights swinging between rooftops. The adrenaline spikes. The way his GPA was inching closer to ruin, and his spot as top of the class, the thing he’d clawed toward for years, was now hanging by a thread.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even explain it to you, the single person who might be owed as much.

His gaze flicked—again—to the terrarium at the edge of the bench. Three spiders inside. Neatly labeled, color-coded tags. Clicked shut. 

But there were supposed to be four.

And the second your eyes drifted toward it, he saw the exact moment you noticed.

“Hold on,” you muttered, blinking down at the log sheet in your lap. “Where’s the fourth one?”

Caleb swallowed, heart pounding in his throat. “Huh?”

“The… the striped one,” you clarified, already cross-checking labels. “The one we dosed with the neuromodulator last week.”

He leaned in, squinting at the enclosure like maybe—maybe—it would pop back into existence if he looked hard enough. “Weeeird,” he said weakly. “Maybe it’s in the soil?”

You didn’t even dignify that with a full look. “It’s not a burrowing species.”

Your voice was clipped. Frustrated. Like you’d had enough.

And Caleb couldn’t blame you. He’d been showing up late to labs, forgetting deadlines, spacing out mid-analysis. You had every right to be pissed. Every time he left you to pick up his slack, he told himself he’d make it up to you somehow. And then something else would happen—a car chase, a mugging, a building on fire—and he'd vanish all over again.

Maybe you didn’t know why, but you felt the absence.

“Maybe it teleported,” he tried.

You whipped your head around and gave him a look sharp enough to cut steel.

“Seriously?”

He raised his hands like a white flag. “Just sayin’. Science is full of surprises.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned toward the tank, muttering to yourself as you checked the corners. Caleb watched the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the subtle furrow between your brows. Your fingers moved with purpose. Precision. You were good at this. So good. Better than him, really.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you said under your breath. “Dr. Rappaccini keeps everything airtight—she’s obsessive about it.”

Caleb shrugged, voice too casual. “Maybe one of the other labs took it?”

“Without logging it?” You looked up sharply. “That’s not protocol.”

And there it was again—that hint of disappointment. Not the loud kind, but the quiet, exhausted one. The one that meant you expected more from him.

He felt it like a gut punch.

“Well, we’ve got enough data from the other three, right?” he offered, trying to sound optimistic.

You hesitated. “Barely. It’s not as conclusive without the fourth set, but… I guess we can still present the trends.”

He nodded quickly, seizing the olive branch. “Yeah. And we’ll figure out how to make up the missing variable later. I’ll talk to Rappaccini.”

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Since when do you volunteer for extra lab time?”

He looked down at the pipette in his hands. “Just tryin’ to be better.”

Your gaze lingered on him a second longer, like you didn’t quite believe it. “Is this your attempt at a redemption arc or something?” you asked dryly.

Caleb coughed, recovering fast. “You wish.”

You snorted, but the tension between you didn’t ease. He watched you scribble something in your notebook, your pen tapping against the margin in steady, rhythmic bursts. It was always like this—silent patterns, little rituals you probably didn’t even realize you had. He used to think they were annoying. Now they grounded him.

Now they made his chest feel tight.

He wasn’t sure if it was the spider venom mutating his bloodstream or just… you.

Without a word, you slid your notes across the table toward him. “Here. You’re presenting Part B, right?”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah.” He hesitated, frowning. “You sure you don’t wanna split it more evenly?”

“I’ve got the intro and the methodology,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I trust you to handle the analysis.”

A pause.

“…Ish.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ish?”

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, I did hear you tried to answer a short-answer question last week with ‘vibes.’”

Caleb groaned. “That was in philosophy! C’mon, it was a joke.”

But you were already standing, packing up your notes with brisk efficiency.

Before he could say something else, Dr. Rappaccini’s assistant poked his head in. “You’re both up next.”

Chairs scraped against tile. Caleb shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, repeating his talking points in his head like a mantra.

Buzz.

His phone vibrated once.

Buzz. Buzz.

Twice more.

You turned to him, already scowling. “Seriously? Put it on Do Not Disturb already.”

“I— sorry,” he mumbled, pulling it out to check.

LINKON PD ALERT: Robbery in progress. 5th & Linwood. Nearby units respond immediately.

His stomach dropped.

Everything in him screamed go. People were in danger. If he waited, if he chose himself—chose you—people could get hurt. But—

Your voice broke through, sharp with disbelief. “Caleb?”

He looked up. Your expression was expectant, slightly nervous. Vulnerable.

You needed him here. Just once.

“I—uh,” he stammered, backing away. “I gotta go.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Caleb, we’re literally about to present!”

“I know, I just—something came up, okay?”

“Caleb!” Your voice was louder now. Shaken. “I— I don’t have your parts practiced! I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry, I just— I gotta go!”

And just like that, he turned and ran.

You stood frozen in the lab, fists clenched, heart hammering. All the missed labs. All the vague excuses. All the silence.

You didn’t know where he was always running off to, and maybe you didn’t care anymore.

But what hurt the most was that a small part of you did, even if it was for a reason you couldn’t name.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until later that night—or more rather, early the next morning—that Caleb got around to checking his emails. 

His most recent email was from you. 

Subject: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!! we got a C+. thanks a lot bucko.  Sent from my iPhone.

Right as he opened it, a Canvas notification pinged at the top of his screen.

Your instructor has updated: Lab Partners – Spring Semester.

His eyes scanned the page.

Lab Partner: None

Lab Partner: None

His slot—and yours—were both empty.

And just like that, the panic he felt in the alleyways of the city wasn’t so different from the one spreading in his chest now.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb spotted you across the dining hall like a spy on a mission, armed with a tray that held exactly one sad cookie and all the dignity of a man facing trial.

You sat at a table with Tara and Yvonne, both mid-conversation while you absently picked at your salad, two chocolate chip cookies lined up beside your bowl like trophies. Unbothered. Thriving. The vision of a girl who had deleted him from a shared spreadsheet like she was erasing a stain.

And the worst part? You hadn’t answered his apology emails.

He swallowed and approached anyway. “Is the second cookie for me, or…?”

You didn’t even glance up. Didn’t have to.

“It’s for my dignity,” you said flatly.

“Ah. So… symbolic.”

“Exactly.”

Yvonne looked between you both and muttered something under her breath about emotional turbulence before grabbing her tray and ghosting out of there. Tara followed a moment later, tossing Caleb a brief good luck with that expression.

Now it was just you, him, and the two cookies between you.

He sat down across from you, setting his tray down with a thud that sounded louder than it should’ve. “Okay, I get that you’re mad—”

“Oh, do you?” Your tone was clipped. “Because ditching me during our presentation with zero warning kinda gave the impression that you dropped the class entirely.”

Caleb winced. “It was an emergency.”

“Right. A life-or-death emergency?”

“Yes.”

And it had been. Just not the kind he could explain.

You finally looked up, eyes sharp and cold, and for a second he forgot what language was. “Well, while you were off saving the world or whatever you’re calling it, I had to present your analysis with no prep. I looked like an idiot.”

“You never look like an idiot,” he said instantly. Too instantly.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…W-What I meant was—” he started, voice catching.

“Too late.”

“Okay, fair.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how warm the room was, how close you were, how he could still smell the faint citrus of your shampoo from across the table. “I’m sorry.”

You arched a brow. “For?”

He hesitated. “For… ditching you.”

“And?”

“…And making you carry the project alone.”

You tilted your head, gaze unreadable. “And?”

He exhaled slowly. “And pushing you to the point that you deleted me from the lab spreadsheet like I was some failed experiment.”

You gave a little hum of satisfaction, grabbing one of your cookies and taking an infuriatingly slow bite. “Apology not accepted.”

Caleb slumped. “C’mon. Seriously?”

“Not unless you find a way to make up the points you lost us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So this is, what—conditional forgiveness?”

“This is consequential forgiveness,” you corrected, calm as anything. “You cost me an A. You’re lucky I haven’t broken a beaker over your head.”

He nodded slowly, a wry smile creeping in. “That… actually feels fair.”

The truth was, he had screwed up. Repeatedly. Not just with the lab, but with the way he’d pulled away from everything lately—classes, responsibilities, you. And maybe what made it worse was that you noticed.

He didn’t want you to notice.

He didn’t want you to care.

But he really didn’t want you to stop.

You held him accountable, and never wavered. It was… refreshing, in a way.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Extra credit or… something. Just—don’t write me off yet.”

You shrugged, licking a crumb from your thumb in a move that was definitely not lethal but still managed to short-circuit his brain. “If you do that, then maybe I’ll consider reinstating you. Maybe.”

Caleb leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You bailed mid-step,” you easily reminded him. “You’re lucky I didn’t file for academic abandonment.”

“Academic abandonment,” he repeated, chuckling despite himself. “That’s new.”

“I’m submitting the paperwork as we speak.”

“Ooh. Terrifying.”

You didn’t break eye contact as you reached across the table, plucked his lone cookie off his tray, and took a bite.

His eyes widened. “That was mine.”

You chewed. “Should’ve brought two.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re a flake.”

“You’re… kinda evil.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t poisoned your food.”

There was a pause. Not icy, but charged. He looked at you—really looked—and wondered when exactly the rivalry had blurred into this. This feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with radioactive spider venom.

Caleb leaned back, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’m gonna fix this. Mark my words.”

You narrowed your eyes, but something behind them softened. “You better,” you said. “Or next time, I’m eating your entire tray.”

He stood, picking up his tray and muttering as he walked away, “Betrayal stings more when it’s chocolate chip.”

You didn’t answer.

But you were smiling.

Just a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb stood outside Dr. Rappaccini office, staring at the little nameplate on the door like it might spare him. It didn’t, of course. He could never be so lucky.

He knocked three times for good measure.

“Come in,” her voice called from inside—calm, efficient, a little like she had five other things she’d rather be doing than speaking to one of her students.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to look less like someone whose lab partner had asked this very professor to sever their lab partnership.

Rappaccini didn’t look up at first. She was grading with the speed and surgical precision of a woman who’d seen one too many poorly labeled graphs in her day. When she finally glanced up, she set her pen down slowly.

“Mr. Xia,” she said with a forced smile. “I was wondering when you’d crawl out from whatever hole you vanished into.”

Wow. No sugarcoating. Maybe he really had been missing class a bit too much lately.

“I deserve that,” he admitted with a wry grin, hoping it’d earn him brownie points. “Totally fair.”

“Mm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask for extra credit.”

“Sort of. I’m here to ask how I can fix what I broke.”

She stared at him, then gave a dry little laugh. “Well, that’s a refreshing amount of self-awareness. Most students come in blaming poor time management or divine intervention.”

Caleb smiled sheepishly once more. “No lightning strikes or mysterious illnesses. Just… bad decisions. And poor communication.”

She gestured for him to sit. “Your partner already presented the project. I imagine she wasn’t… thrilled.”

“She left me an email that said, ‘I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU’ in all caps, so…” He paused. “I’d have to agree with you there.”

Rappaccini allowed herself the tiniest smirk. “Concise.”

“I’m just… I’m trying to make it right,” he then said. “If there’s anything—and I mean anything—I can do to make up the points for us, I’ll do it.”

There was a long pause as she folded her hands over the stack of papers in front of her.

“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Dr. Connors is running an independent experimental study this month at Oscorp. It involves cellular regeneration—specifically, lizard DNA.”

Caleb blinked. “Lizard DNA?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s studying regenerative properties—limb re-growth, accelerated healing, that kind of thing. It’s early-stage, but it’s part of a bioengineering cross-collaboration with Oscorp’s pre-clinical research team.”

Caleb sat up a little straighter, curiosity stirring. “And he needs students?”

“Volunteers,” she corrected with a raise of her finger. “No grade boost guaranteed, but participating students will receive consideration toward incomplete assignments if the data is thorough and the effort is there. Both you and your lab partner can volunteer. It’s not easy work, though. It’ll take late nights and actual commitment.”

Caleb asked hesitantly, “Do you think my partner would even want to sign up for this?”

Rappaccini deadpanned. “She already did. Yesterday.”

And once he heard that, Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “Okay. I’m in. I mean—we’re in.”

Rappaccini raised an eyebrow. “That confident?”

“I have to be,” he said. “I need to prove I’m not just… the guy who bails when it matters.”

She nodded slowly, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small stack of forms. “Here. Fill this out, and bring it to Dr. Connors’ office by the end of the week. Orientation starts Monday.”

He took the form, feeling something like relief start to uncoil in his chest.

“Thank you, Dr. Rappaccini.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, picking her pen back up. “This is you digging yourself out of a hole you made. Don’t stop halfway.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, and Caleb?”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“If you ditch this study the way you ditched that presentation,” she said, looking directly at him, “I will personally request your removal from the department.”

He raised a hand solemnly with a sheepish smile. “Message received, ma’am.”

She went back to grading, placing her glasses on her nose bridge. “Good. Now go earn back your lab partner before she finds someone smarter and… less difficult.”

“Wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Caleb muttered on his way out. But even still, he clutched the Oscorp packet in his hand like it was gold.

Because somewhere between the disaster presentation and the sound of your voice yelling his name as he sprinted away from you… he realized something.

He didn’t just want to make this right for the grade.

He wanted to make it right for you.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n i’m an idiot and forgot to post it without tags, i’m sorry to the taglist bc i tagged you guys like four times 🙁🙁🙁

anyways….. long time no see………. the semester is officially over sooooo i can finally get back to writing. i have a few other wip that i’d like to finish before chapter 5 tho ☝️☝️ currently working on a knight!sylus fic and zayne in a pride and prejudice au :p

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post!)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

[c0ffeejelly1]

I know where the hole is!..I think.

-Bros the type to let you take control during his first time

Cw: smut smut smut um smut (virgins, like both of y’all soo) fem dom, thats all. (ALL CHARACTERS ARE TIMESKIPPED VERSIONS 🙏🙏 so basically of age.)

* “A-are you sure about this, babe?..”

* He felt like his heart was sinking to the deepest depths of his stomach with each passing moment.

* Is this a heart attack? Is this how it feels? Is he having one right now??!

* He was panicking. How the hell did he get himself into this position??

* “I mean, I don’t want to force you to do anything you might not like..”

* Who was he kidding? He knew damn well you wanted this! But he’d just never...

* “..we could always just..reschedule?”

* Reschedule? Seriously?

* Who the hell says, 'reschedule’ in this type of situation???

* What had he gotten himself into...

* He could practically feel his brain going into overdrive, the stupid word ‘error’ repeating in his mind.

* Why was his heart trying to wrestle its way out of his body?? Did it want him to die?!

* Is this organ failure? He doesn’t want to die!!..

* And the drips—no gallons of cold sweat running down his face like a marathon...

* Is this normal?!? Sweating this much??

* Could you see this? Was his face clammy looking??

* God, he hoped you were blind to his nervousness...

* This was such a stupid idea.

* And all because of his big ass, egotistical, lying, good-for-nothing mouth.

* If only he’d just said the truth to you...

* The truth that he’d never done something like..this.

* Something so intimate..something so deep..something like having-

* “Are you nervous?..”

* His eyes immediately open wide.

* Why were his eyes even closed to begin with?!

* This was so embarrassing..he could feel the blush on his cheeks rise even more as he avoided eye contact with you.

* “M-me?! Noo…not I’m nervous! I-I mean-..nervous I’m not! Ha..so let’s just um..”

* He gulped loudly.

* Are gulps supposed to hurt your throat?

* He’d have to look that up later...

* ..but back to the problem at hand!

* You were getting suspicious, which wasn’t good!

* And his arms remained laying either side of your head—not because he was experienced and knew what he was doing. No.

* only because he needed something to stop himself from collapsing down onto you like a nervous wreck.

* He was shitting himself.

* How was he supposed to do something like this to someone as gorgeous as you?

* And to think you were willing on your back presenting yourself to him in just your underwear...

* The way your bra would cup the two fruitful breasts he had no shame burying his face in, hiding the sinful buds he’d never seen in his life—actually, there was the one time he caught you in the shower, so maybe this wasn’t going to be his first time seeing you so- fuck. He’s getting distracted...

* But then there were your undies that shielded away your most vulnerable parts..and to think, you were giving that to him?.. Him????

* He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, y’know?

* You should know by now that he’s all talk, no action! He can’t touch you!

* The thing is..he’s never actually had sex! Okay?! He admits it!

* It was a lie!

* But you were just talking about how you want your first time to be amazing. He just-…

* He just didn’t want to seem lame to you! I mean, look at you!

* You were so beautiful..and he was just..there?

* And to think you wanted him to- to-..put his D in your P?? He’d probably finish on the spot!

* Just imagine how embarrassing that’d be...

* “Baby..”

* His head perks up at the pet name, his eyes meeting yours.

* “You’ve..never done this before, have you.”

* Fuck.

* Well

* It was good while it lasted, boys.

* He tried his best.

* Now he can finally crawl into a hole and die.

* He can’t lie to you when you look like this! You're practically naked, for Christ's sake! And he was in his boxers and- shit.

* Had a raging hard boner...

* He didn’t know a thing when it came to making women feel good...

* He’d watched sex videos before. Yes, he wasn’t a prude, but still.

* Did he know where exactly the hole was?

* …

* No.

* So how was he supposed to-

* “Lay on your back.”

* “..What.”

* “I said lay on your back.”

* “But then how am I gonna..“

* “I’ll do it.”

* “..y-you’ll wha-“

* How did he get himself into this mess?

* How did the only piece of clothing covering his most precious area end up on the floor?

* How did he find himself covering his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to stop the sinful sounds from escaping his lips..

* How did your mouth feel so good?

* “Ah..f-fuck baby..slow down a little..”

* His chest only moved up and down frantically, his breathing becoming heavier as his hand found a place in your hair. He was falling apart and was so close already...

* The way your tongue would flick at his tip, teasing it as you looked at him for a reaction.

* The way you would suddenly take him whole, causing his back to arch slightly and his head to fall back into the pillow behind him, a stuttery whine leaving his mouth.

* And then there were your hands..the way they would wrap around his cock so nicely, quick strokes being made, and the occasional massage of his balls.

* Fuck it was 'so good..’ as he would say it.

* you sure you were a virgin?

* This doesn’t seem like virgin behaviour to him...

* He was so deep in thought, so dazed that the only thing he could think of was coming undone.

* He felt good..way too good, so good that-

* “Baby!- w-wait..mhf!..ah-..I’m gonna cum..”

* “Y-Your mouth-..fuck..so good..sogoodd..”

* Then you stopped.

* ..why did you stop?

* Did he do something wrong? Why did you just...

* He felt his thoughts come to a halt as he watched you pull off your undies, his eyes wandering down to your..oh wow. You really were going to do this.

* You gently place a hand on his chest, using your other to grip his cock, causing him to suck in a breath at the sudden contact.

* He was sensitive and on the verge of finishing just from a slight touch..it was adorable.

* Your hips ride up above his pelvis just right enough for the lips of your pussy to wet his cock with your juices.

* Were you trying to kill him here?

* All he could do was watch and whine softly as he hoisted himself up with his elbows.

* He wanted to be inside you.

* Wanted you to take him

* Be his first, just as he was about to be yours.

* He needed it badly, and so you gave it to him.

* Sweaty, hot, messily.

* You were so beautiful...

* The way you held your tits from bouncing up and down while riding him, a hand still placed on his chest as your head slightly tilted back from the pleasure you were receiving.

* He was making you feel this good..him.

* He felt so embarrassed with the sounds that were falling from his lips—the whimpers, whines, and moans of your name—all just for you.

*Fuck he loved you.

* He was so in love...

* He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He could feel the coil in his stomach begin to tighten as his cock twitched inside of you.

*He was gonna cum

* And you knew that.

* You both did

* “Y-you’re so..t-tight..fuck.”

* “How do you f-feel this good?”

* “So beautiful..h-how did I ever deserve you?..”

* “Fuck d-dont clench around me like that baby..”

* “I wanna cum for you baby..please..”

* “I’m so glad you were my first time..”

* “D-don’t..say things like that..it’s so dirty..”

* “I-i can’t baby..i-I’m gonna-“

* A wonderful first time for both of you, if you ask me.

Characters I had in mind while writing this

REIGEN (mob psycho 100)

All might, present mic, DENKI, sero (my hero academia)

Hinata, NISHINOYA, KAGEYAMA, yamiguchi, bokuto (haikyuu)

ITTO (genshin impact)

POLNAREFF, mista (JOJO’S bizarre adventures)

Kagami, MIDORIMA (kuroko’s basketball)

Sanemi, HAGANEZUKA (demon slayer)

METAL BAT, king (one punch man)

GOJO (jujustu kaisen)

JEAN, Connie (attack on titan)

LEORIO, kite (hunterxhunter)

ONIZUKA (Great teacher onizuka)

Any character you would like

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking

♡ gn reader

There’s something very off about your roommate… something eerie that makes you keep your distance.

You can’t describe exactly what it was about the boy except that you felt it from the second you shook his hand. The way he introduced himself… you don’t know… you had this unshakable feeling as though he already knew you from somewhere.

It’s a weird thought to have of someone you’d only just met. You knew you were probably just being paranoid. It was your first time sharing your space with someone other than family, so it might very well just have been you being apprehensive.

Not that you’d ever let it show, though. You didn’t want things between the two of you to be awkward when you’d be living together for the next three years of getting your degree.

You just needed to get used to him, is what you told yourself. 

So you laughed at his jokes and listened to his brags with a polite smile as though nothing was wrong, even when he continued being strange. 

For starters, he had almost nothing to unpack – as though he only planned to stay about a month or two. Everything seemed newly bought as well – unused and sterile, like a movie set.

You don’t know… maybe he was a minimalist even though he didn’t seem the type.

It shouldn't really have made your skin crawl the way it did. But whether it made sense or not, you couldn’t shake the discomfort – walking around in a constant wariness of him. 

Everything about him seemed like a half-assed theatre act.

You’d see him in the lecture hall, walking from here to there, buying strawberry milk from the vending machines. His textbooks remained piled on his desk in your shared dorm room – but you’d never seen any one of them open. And when curiosity and suspicion made you flip up one of his notebooks, you found it was all blank except for a few shitty doodles on the first page. You never see him cram for exams or writing any papers. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him pull a laptop out of his bag.

It’s like he isn't a student at all…

And something about the rest of his performance just rubs you the wrong way.

It’s as though he’s practiced all his facial expressions in the mirror – as though he’s studied social cues and body language in a human behavior manual instead of having learned them naturally. It makes you uneasy – how his smile is always a bit too wide and a bit too stiff to be genuine and how all his words are like dialogue off a script.

Somehow, it feels as though he’s wearing a second skin – hiding something… something that’s not quite right on the inside.

It grosses you out when he tries flirting with you. But you do your best to hide it. Brushing him off by changing the topic, inviting other friends when he asks to eat lunch together, laughing off his attempts as though he’s making jokes – always excusing yourself when you end up alone with him for too long. 

You try to avoid him as much as you can. Pretending to study when you’re in the dorm together – and otherwise going to bed early.

He tells you he’ll see you at the party later when you leave to pregame with some friends. You can only muster a smile and a curt “Sure.” before leaving. 

As for seeing each other later – you hope you don’t.

But of course you do. You can’t seem to escape him. Everywhere you go, he follows.

It doesn’t help that all your friends think he’s so hot, immediately calling him over, gushing over him as though he’s some type of celebrity. They don’t understand your reservation – if they were you, they’d have fucked him the first night of moving in together.

It’s not like you don’t find him attractive as well. You admit he is ridiculously handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you’d say you lucked out being assigned the same dorm room as him. 

But as it were – he gives you the same feeling as spotting a spider.

He’s got his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk back together. 

He had a little bit too much to drink… And despite your thoughts about him, even you didn’t have the heart to say no when he was practically hanging off of you – cheeks dusted pink with his mothlike lashes droopy, drunkenly mumbling while blinking up at you with those awfully bright eyes, asking you to take him home and tuck him in.

“Ugh...” You sigh.

It’s a struggle carrying the nearly two-meter-tall boy, almost having to drag him down the hallway before stopping short at your door. He’s drooling on your shoulder with murmurs of sleep as you search for the key – not exactly sober yourself.

When inside, his bigger body presses you against the closed door – his face buried in the grove of your neck with slurred words.

“Dude.” You state with a grimace – as if saying his name was too much of a burden – sighing as you haul him off with the same exasperation of a parent putting an unruly child to bed. 

Ducking beneath his arm, you leave him kissing the door – thinking to yourself how you really should put him to bed before he can embarrass himself any further.

You open your mouth to tell him when his temper finally makes him grab your arm a little harder than intended. 

“This isn't how this is supposed to go.” 

You flinch instinctively, and his grip tightens in return. “Hey?”

You can’t see his face with the way he’s got his head bowed. But you don’t like the snuff growl that passes under his breath as he utters the next words.

“Why are you so difficult?”

You do more than flinch this time, yanking yourself out of his harsh grip before he can apologize for it – taking on a deliberate offensive stance. 

With your feet squared and your hands up to keep him at a distance, you look ready to try fending him off.

Something about it seems premeditated – something in the wary way you eye him. You don’t even look all that surprised – as if you had suspected this side of him existed all along and had only been waiting for it to surface.

Oddly, t feels like something you’ve kept secret from him – as though you’ve acted comfortable all this time when, in reality, you’ve been clutching your mental pearls.

He realizes then why you haven’t returned his affection – why all you’ve ever given him is cold-hearted rejection…

Of course. It’s obvious now – so obvious it’s funny. Even though he’s been the one parading around like someone else, it feels as though you’ve been doing the exact same thing around him – hiding your discomfort behind a sweet smile – hiding it so well that not even his keen eyes have picked up on it…

But it’s clear now….

You’ve both been playing a game of pretend – just a pair of perfect strangers – who've now shared their hand. Leaving you both feeling naked – raw out in the cold – just waiting for the next move.

“I guess the gig is up, huh?” He rasps, fingers twitching at his sides – looking ready to pounce.

You couldn’t defend why you'd kept the pepper spray in the drawer of your nightstand – but you were glad you had. Rushing for it, hands shaking as you pulled the handle and grabbed the bottle – twisting around and spraying it right in the face of your roommate.

He cries out from the attack, clutching his face with both hands – staggering back with a series of gruff curse words.

Still, he guards the door – preventing your escape.

The groaning turns to croaks instead, and you think he might be crying. It’s tough to see through the hands covering his eyes – but when he looks back up again, despite the red burns left by your pepper spray on his puffy teary cheeks, he’s got a smile on his face. 

He’s not crying – he’s laughing – as the hand covering his face slowly drags down the crazed expression – over crazed eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring at you through the gaps between his fingers.

The look alone is enough to give you goosebumps.

But when you try to make a run for it, he grabs you again – and this time, you’re not able to shake him off. It feels as though the tight grip splinters your skin as he pulls you back – shoving you down against your bed.

“Can’t say it hasn’t been fun, roomie. But I’m not completely satisfied yet.”

He’s on top of you before you get a kick in – pinning your wrists above your head as he leans over you – bright eyes gleaming with that sickness you’d almost convinced yourself you’d been imagining. You opt to shout, but he’s soon got his other hand clasped tight over the bottom half of your face before you get a sound out.

“You were supposed to fall in love with me, you know?” His voice is airy as though he’s confessing – but also on the brink of laughter as though he’s telling a joke in class. “That’s how it goes in the movies.”

You swallow beneath his hand – eyes peeled, heart beating so hard it hurts.

His eyes wander – roaming your neck and chest. It’s awfully quiet before he speaks again. “But I suppose we can act out a different plot line...” 

You whimper at his suggestive tone – already feeling the weight of his intentions bearing down on you, crushing you free of air. 

“I like romcoms, but horror stories have their charm, too...”

You shudder beneath the warmth of his breath, screaming into his palm once his warm lips mouth your throat, sucking on the tender skin with tongue and teeth in between words.

“An unfortunate college student finds themself moving into the same dorm as their unhinged stalker…”

There’s a thrill in his tone – something crazed and terrifying as he goes on.

“The two play a psychological game of endurance, trying to balance college and privacy while sharing the same space...”

Something hard and gross steadily ruts against your thigh. His voice gets thicker – breath hotter on your neck. The kisses turn sloppy. Tears burn your cheeks.

“Everything seems to lead up to a party held before Spring break, a fateful night on which their endurance finally runs out.”

He groans, and you sob.

“A rejected kiss, a can of pepper spray, a shared bed. What happens next?”

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Full fic with smut available here: