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velarisdusk · 2 months ago

Text

Drunk on You

Azriel x Reader

summary: You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending. word count: 11.1k content: [ explicit sexual content (piv), oral sex (f receiving), grinding in da club (do i need to warn abt that??), explicit language, alcohol, VERY irresponsible consumption of alcohol, vomiting from drinking, FUI (flying under the influence) ] author's note: FUI arent i so funny lmfao as per usual with these, i know prythian doesnt have speakers/subwoofers , and prob also doesnt have strobe lights, but i write what i want so its ok yall can deal ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a dash of blaze enhanced with lover’s knot stirred thank you @wildfloweroutlaw for the request!! i've never written a fic specifically having friends to lovers in mind so my mental block gave me a bit of trouble with this but i had a lot of fun writing it! <3

Velaris hums with life around you, the midday sun painting golden ribbons across cobblestone streets. The air is thick with the scent of spiced cider and honeyed pastries, threaded through with the briny whisper of the Sidra. Laughter swells and fades between vendors calling out their wares—bolts of silk that shimmer like liquid light, books with gilded spines that promise adventures, trinkets that glint like they’ve been kissed by starlight.

“It’s the pacing that makes it brilliant,” you say, sidestepping a wobbly cart stacked with jars of something dark and suspiciously jiggly. “You’d love it if you gave it a chance.”

Azriel walks beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-wash jeans, his only accompanying shadow slinking along sun-warmed stones like it’s sulking. He’s a strange silhouette in the golden light—too dark for a day like this, like the night followed you out of habit. But he listens, quiet and steady, nodding at the right moments as you ramble about the last book you read. You’ve learned to hear the shape of his silences—how they stretch or shorten, the weight of them, what they hold back.

“I’m telling you,” you press, dodging a knot of children weaving through the crowd, “if you actually gave it a shot, you’d love it.”

Azriel huffs a soft laugh. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time. You’re just too stubborn to admit I have impeccable taste.”

The corner of his mouth lifts—barely. “You bought a book last month because the cover had a dragon making out with a sword.”

You gasp, scandalized. “That’s called intuition.”

“No. That’s called a gamble.”

You bump your elbow against his arm, grinning when he exhales through his nose. That small, hard-won sound. This—this is easy. Has always been.

As the crowd thickens, your attention snags on a jewelry stall to your left—slim chains catching the sun, gemstones winking in their delicate settings. At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze strays to a weapons vendor on the right, where a gleaming dagger is being turned over in calloused hands.

You both hesitate. Then look back at each other at the same time.

Azriel raises a brow.

You smile. “Meet you in a minute?”

He dips his chin in a slight nod, already angling toward the stall, fingers twitching like they’re itching for the weight of the blade. You drift toward the jewelry, drawn in by instinct more than intent. Your fingers trail over thin rings and polished charms, the glint of metal catching the light just right.

A pair of dangling earrings stops you—stones that shift hue in the sun, subtle and soft. Pretty. Eye-catching without being too much. The kind of thing that might go with the dress you picked up earlier while wandering the boutiques, half-killing time before the market. The one you hadn’t planned on trying, but slipped into just for fun. A little more daring than your usual. Soft in all the right ways, with a neckline you kept pretending not to think about.

You’d stared at yourself longer than you meant to.

And walked out with your first shopping bag of the day.

You curl your fingers around the earrings, already halfway through justifying the purchase in your head.

It doesn’t take long to browse. After paying and a few lingering looks, you glance across the street to find Azriel still at the weapons stall, turning the dagger over in his hands. His expression is unreadable—calm, analytical, like he’s weighing something only he understands. The single shadow drifts across his back, restless beneath the unrelenting sun.

Your gaze finds him without thought. A habit carved over time. Familiar, even after everything, in that quiet, unconscious way habits become part of you.

You blink and turn away just as he looks up. He’s already moving, steps unhurried, wings tucked in close, hands slipping into his pockets again as he falls into stride beside you.

“Anything good?” you ask lightly.

Azriel shrugs. “Steel’s folded differently—strong but light. Good balance. Sharp edge.” He huffs at himself. “It’s a good blade.”

You roll your eyes. “Careful—Truthteller’s going to get jealous.”

His mouth twitches. “There’s no one like her,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes the small of your back as he steers you out of the path of two shrieking children.

He nods toward the bag in your hand. “Let’s see it.”

You fish out the black velvet box and flip it open with a grin. “For the dress!”

Azriel snorts. “You mean that napkin you bought earlier?”

You snap the box shut a little too forcefully. “It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s barely a scarf.”

“Azriel.”

The full name earns you another twitch of a smile. His voice lowers, amused. “I still don’t know where you plan on wearing it. I’ve seen you more hesitant to leave the House in sweaters.”

Your cheeks warm. “Well, I didn’t feel as confident in those.”

His brow rises slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. Your voice is lighter when you add, “Maybe you’re just nervous you won’t be able to handle seeing me in it.”

“I’ll manage,” Azriel says dryly. “It’s your delusion I’m worried about.”

You bump his shoulder again, and this time he lets the smile break free. The two of you fall into easy conversation—Cassian’s most recent baking disaster (“explosive,” Azriel says without inflection), café gossip, a gentle debate about whether Velaris even needed the twelfth coffee shop to begin with.

At the townhouse, Azriel steps ahead to hold the door open, shadow trailing in behind him. The antechamber hums with warmth—laughter echoing from the next room, spices lingering in the air.

“I’m telling you, I found it just sitting there,” Cassian insists as you enter. He’s pacing like he’s testifying in court, hands gesturing wildly. “Brand new bottle of amber whiskey. Uncorked. Untouched. In a bush.”

“In a bush?” Mor deadpans from the couch.

Cassian gestures wildly. “In a bush! Behind the stables! What are the odds?”

Mor narrows her eyes. “Any chance you’re feeling lucky enough to gamble?”

They lock eyes, Cassian’s grin curling at the edges.

Feyre perks up from her place on the sofa. “If gambling means Rita’s, I’m in. I haven’t gone out in weeks, and I plan to be very irresponsible tonight.”

All three turn to you with matching looks—expectant and conspiratorial, like they’ve already know your answer but want to hear you say it. Feyre’s smile is the worst of them—sweet and smug and knowing.

You glance at Azriel. He’s already sighing, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he can feel the impending headache.

“Guess we know when—”

“Yeah, alright,” Azriel mutters.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lean in toward the mirror, smoothing a final sweep of gloss over your lips. Then you take a step back, letting your eyes rake over your reflection. Hair styled just how you like it—precise where it matters, undone where it doesn’t—and your makeup? Soft, glowing, and just sharp enough to slice. The kind that shines when the light catches your cheekbones and mouth.

Behind you, Feyre whistles low. “He’s going to eat his words.”

Mor, sprawled on the bed in a pose that screams practiced indifference, smirks. “And probably choke on them.”

You snort, reaching for the earrings you bought earlier. “It’s not for him.”

Feyre slides up beside you, linking her arm through yours as she catches your eye in the mirror. “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t mind if he looked.”

She’s not wrong.

Mor rises in a stretch, her plum dress catching every sliver of light as it hugs her curves like a secret. The hem’s scandalous, the neckline worse—and with her golden hair cascading over one bare shoulder, she looks like she could topple empires with a single breath. Feyre’s in a slate blue that borders on silver, cool-toned and backless, the color making her blue eyes even more piercing beneath artfully smudged liner. And with her soft waves pinned just so, she looks like smoke made woman.

You fasten your earrings with a quiet click and smile at your reflection. You feel good. Confident. Not just in the dress, but in your skin.

There was a time when what you felt for him lived quietly in your chest—soft, persistent, and patient. Over time, it faded into something else. Something easier. You let it go long before anyone knew you were holding on.

But it never disappeared completely. Not really. Not in a way that matters. Not in a way that would stop you, if he ever hinted at wanting something more.

Downstairs, the low murmur of male voices curls up the staircase from the sitting room. That deep, familiar hum threaded with laughter. It’s comfortable and easy. The kind of sound born from long nights, drinks shared, and old stories retold��brothers teasing one another into comfort.

Cassian’s laugh is unmistakable—loud and unrestrained over the clink of glass. Rhysand’s is more of a drawl, lazy and pleased with itself. And then there’s Azriel. Low, steady. A quiet current that runs beneath them all, silk wrapped around steel.

The sound of heels on the stairs draws their attention—Cassian’s first. He whistles, low and appreciative, as Mor appears at the top step, her dress catching the light with every step. Rhysand gives an exaggerated bow from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. Even Azriel lets his gaze linger, just a touch longer than polite, before returning it to his drink.

Then comes Feyre, laughing at whatever wicked comment Mor whispered over her shoulder. Rhysand is off the couch and moving before she’s even halfway down, reaching for her hand like gravity’s got nothing on the pull she has on him. He murmurs something low against her ear as he takes her hand, earning an eye roll and a muttered warning that sounds suspiciously like a threat. He grins like a male entirely too pleased with himself.

And then—

You.

The last to appear. Not intentionally, of course. But you’d be lying if you said the timing didn’t work in your favor.

There’s a pause—just a breath—but enough. Enough to feel it.

Cassian is the first to recover. “Damn,” he says, voice a little rougher than before.

Mor beams, smug and delighted, as if she’s taking personal credit. Rhys gives a low hum of approval, already spinning something cocky to say—but whatever it is goes unheard.

Because Azriel’s gaze is already there, fixed on the landing, like he’d been watching the space just waiting for you to step into it. And when you do, he doesn’t look away.

His stare lands heavy—enough to steal the air from your lungs.

You wait for the usual—some sharp, clipped remark, maybe a too-smooth deflection. But instead—

“...Huh.”

That’s it.

A single, unimpressed syllable that cuts through the air like a blade dipped in ice.

You blink. Huh?

He doesn’t elaborate. Just turns back toward Cassian, nodding at his shirt—half unbuttoned, chest on shameless display as if confidence could count as tailoring. “Bold of you to challenge her like that. One of you’s going to end up hypothermic.”

Cassian grins like he’s been handed a gift. “At least I’m not stuffed into those jeans you’re trying to pass off as comfortable. One wrong move and we’ll be calling a healer.”

Azriel’s lips twitch, barely. He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just takes a slow sip of his drink.

Your eyes drop of their own accord. Those jeans are unforgivable. So is the way they fit him.

You force your gaze away, descending the final step with all the poise you can muster.

Cassian, with a mischievous grin, offers his arm like it’s second nature. “Guess we’ll be whores together tonight.”

You loop your arm through his with a grin that could make the Mother herself blush. “Fine. But I’m the classier whore. More expensive.”

He barks a laugh, delighted. “High-class whore. Got it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mor teases, stealing the rest of Rhys’ drink without a shred of remorse (he mutters a tight ‘Hey’ through clenched teeth, swatting at his cousin as she ducks away).

Feyre checks the time with mock exasperation. “Stay any longer and we’ll miss half the night.”

“Then let’s go,” Mor cheers, grabbing you and Cassian like a female on a mission.

And then—chaos. Magic coils, wind rushes, the floor disappears beneath your feet.

A heartbeat later, you’re outside, blinking against the lights and noise of Rita’s.

Your stomach flips—like it always does. It never gets easier.

Music pulses from the open doors, thick in the night air, and faelights paint the pavement in deep gold and violet. Mor’s fingers slip from your wrist; she’s already halfway to the entrance, weaving through the crowd like it’s parting for her.

The cool night clings to your skin, but the heat radiating from the club ahead makes it all feel alive, electric with possibility. The air is saturated with cologne, alcohol, and the faintest hint of smoke as you approach the bouncers. The low hum of the waiting crowd blends with the deeper thrum of bass that threatens to crack open the night.

The moment you step inside, the atmosphere hits—thick and heavy with energy. The music is deafening, the bass a living thing that thrums through your chest, infecting your limbs with a restless kind of excitement. Faelights strobe in wild streaks—purple, blue, red—and for a second, it feels as though you’re in some kind of dream.

Feyre pulls you into the crowd first, her grin wide and wicked as she leads the way toward the bar. Mor follows close behind, laughing, already calling out to familiar faces. The guys trail after—quieter, maybe, but impossible to miss in the way they cut through the crowd.

Drinks are ordered. Jokes fly. Within minutes, your group claims a half-circle booth just off the dance floor. It doesn’t take long for the music to pull you all in. Cassian downs half his drink and drags Mor out first, the two of them already moving like they’ve danced together a thousand times—and they probably have. Feyre loops her arm around your waist, eyes glinting beneath the lights. “Come on,” she yells over the music.

You don’t need convincing.

Rhys just waves you off with a smirk, already settling into the booth like he plans to stay there all night.

The next stretch of time blurs—song bleeding into song, breathless laughter and clinking glasses, the bass settling into your chest like a second heartbeat. The lights cast everything in hues of violet and electric blue, cutting shadows across flushed skin and gleaming teeth. You’re dancing with Feyre, the two of you falling into easy rhythm. Mor and Cassian egg each other on nearby, reckless and unbothered, like children left unsupervised.

At one point, Mor grabs your hand and twirls you fast enough to make your head spin. You stumble into her, both of you breathless with laughter, alcohol making everything weightless.

Feyre slips between you and Mor, twirling with abandon, her hair catching the light like strands of liquid gold. Off to the side, you spot Cassian mid-charm offensive, working a pair of females with that lethal grin—the kind that guarantees more than they can handle. Judging by their reaction, it’s going well. Rhys lounges nearby, nursing his drink and watching Feyre with a crooked grin, content to let her shine.

But a few beats later Feyre drifts away from you both, drawn by something only she and Rhys can hear. Across the floor, Azriel leans against a column in the shadows, arms crossed, the picture of cool disinterest. You throw him an exaggerated beckoning gesture—all wide eyes and mouthed dramatics. Mor mirrors you, adding a pout for effect.

He doesn’t move, just shakes his head, unimpressed.

You and Mor exchange a look—then stick your tongues out at him, childish and triumphant.

You think you catch the ghost of a smile.

Then Cassian appears beside him, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, mischief written all over his face. “Her friend’s cute,” he shouts over the music. “Be a good wingman.”

To your surprise, Az lets it happen.

As he moves past, his arm brushes against yours—barely a touch, but enough to feel. He angles toward the other female—tall, elegant, with dark eyes and a laugh that rings above the music. She’s beautiful in a way that turns heads.

Still, some stubborn part of you insists she’s not that pretty. Not compared to you.

The thought surfaces unbidden—and you shut it down just as fast. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. And this? This isn’t that.

To anyone watching, Azriel looks engaged. His smile is easy, even bordering on smug, and he leans in like he means it. But you know better. That’s your best friend. You see the signs: the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes skim past her, too fast and too often.

Which is probably why you keep catching him glancing your way.

Or maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the lighting, the way this dress hugs your curves like a second skin. Still… you’d swear his gaze lingered. And not just on your face.

The music shifts—louder, dirtier, the kind that grabs your spine and doesn’t let go. Mor’s gone to get drinks, and for the first time tonight, you’re alone. But with the alcohol warm in your veins, you don’t mind. You let the beat carry you, movements fluid and loose, like your body already knows the song by heart. The crowd thickens, lights blur, and everything becomes a haze of motion and heat. The tempo rises. You drift closer to the center, caught in the music, untethered.

Then, during a rare lull between songs, you glance back toward the booth—

And spot Feyre in Rhys’ lap, flushed and breathless. Her hair sticks to her forehead as she lifts a tiny glass with exaggerated flair. Rhysand just raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, as she tries to coax him into a shot.

He refuses. She pouts. Then she steals his beer instead, chugging it right there in his lap. He fumbles for the glass, shouting something you can’t hear. But she just twists away, triumphant, dodging him until the glass is empty. With a dramatic gasp, she slams it on the table and struts off—slightly wobbly—leaving Rhys with nothing but the small shot of dark liquor.

You laugh—can’t help it.

But the sight of Azriel freezes your grin halfway between amusement and something more. Because he’s still talking to the female—who, from what you can tell, is more than happy to let him steer the conversation. But even as his words flow smoothly to her, his eyes are locked on you—piercing and intense, like he can’t look away, even if he’s supposed to be.

And that gaze… it cuts straight through you.

Warmth blooms low in your belly. Not from the alcohol. Not entirely. You hold his gaze, and the rest of the room fades. The music, the lights, the crowd—they’re distant noise now. Because though the space between you is still wide, it feels like a wire pulled taut, vibrating with something that isn’t the music.

Maybe it’s the buzz. Maybe it’s the bass still pounding in your chest. Maybe it’s the fact that his gaze is still on you.

The music shifts again, and your body follows without a thought. You let the music guide you, every slow roll of your hips deliberate, every look daring him to match you. You aren’t sure why you’re dancing for him (because it is for him, isn’t it?), or why your eyes haven’t left his once, but the rush is intoxicating.

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But then something flickers in his eyes—brief and unreadable.

For a heartbeat, you wonder if maybe you’ve imagined it all.

But then he claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods once at the female—goodbyes, maybe? You can’t be sure.

And then Azriel steps through the crowd. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t smile. He just starts toward you, weaving through the crowd with that unhurried, measured stride you know by heart.

He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.

When he stops in front of you, the music swells again—and this time, it feels like it’s for you. Drunk enough not to overthink it, you don’t hesitate—you just reach for him, pulling him into your orbit.

And just like that, you fall into step with him.

Effortless. Unspoken. Like your bodies had been waiting for this moment—like they remembered each other from another lifetime. There’s no need for words, not when the music does all the talking. Not when the bass pulses through your spine and Azriel’s warmth curls in your blood like smoke.

His hands settle low on your hips—too low, maybe—and the contact short-circuits something in you. Through the thin fabric of your dress, his palms burn. You swear his grip tightens as you move, subtle but unmistakable, like he’s testing how far he can go. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You move in tandem, one body split in two. Every step aligned. Every breath shared. The sway of your hips becomes a silent conversation, and even as the crowd surges around you, none of it touches you. All you feel is the slow drag of his hand, the brush of his chest when he leans in too close. All you hear is the rasp of his breath in your ear.

Somewhere in the haze, you wonder where Mor is with your drink. You hope—fervently—she’s seen you like this and decided to give you space. You don’t want to be saved.

Then Azriel catches your hand. Twines his fingers through yours. Wordless, he spins you out, guiding you around him with a kind of reverence that feels like worship. The fabric of your dress strains, hugging every curve as you spin. His palm stays anchored to your waist, steady and possessive. And when you slip behind him, your gaze catches—hungry—on the curve of his ass in those sinfully tight jeans. The stretch of cotton over his back. The muscles shifting under his shirt like a promise.

By the time you return to face him, breathless and hot-faced, he’s already watching you. And he knows. Cauldron, he knows.

His hair sticks to his forehead, dark strands damp from the press of bodies, the heat. His collar’s still loose, open just enough to hint at skin, at the strong line of his throat. A silver chain catches the light where it rests against his collarbone, the cobalt glint of his siphon nestled low—one of the simpler siphon pieces you’ve seen him wear, reserved for nights like this when the full set would only get in the way.

And then there are his eyes.

Not friendly. Not protective. Nothing safe. They’re molten—dark and slow and unapologetic as they trace the length of you. They leave scorch marks in their wake. And when you meet that gaze, something primal shifts inside you. Something ancient and aching.

He pulls you in, flush against him, his hands spanning your back, scarred fingers grazing bare skin. The contact is searing. Your breath falters.

Still, you manage to play it cool—or try to. “What’s wrong, Az? You’re staring.” It’s meant to be teasing. Light. But it comes out quieter than you intended. Softer. As if even your voice can’t help giving you away.

His breath stutters. Just enough. “Don’t tease me right now.” His voice is low and rough, his eyes now dark enough to drown in. “It’s not the dress.”

And then—then—his thigh slots between yours and he drags you close enough to steal your balance. The dance shifts—slower now, hungrier. There’s something dangerous uncoiling between you.

The pressure of his thigh is subtle, maddening. The friction sets a slow-burning ache deep inside you, and without thinking, you move. Just enough to chase it. Just enough to make yourself feel something. He notices. Of course he does. His fingers press firmer at your back, holding you there, and you wonder—ache to know—if he feels it too. This tension. This current humming under your skin, magnetic and irrevocable.

Your hips move in time with his, a rhythm that no longer has anything to do with the music. You brush against him, again and again, and each pass stokes the fire curling low in your belly. His hand steadies at the small of your back—firm, coaxing, guiding the rhythm of your hips until you’re moving in time with him. Until you’re grinding slow and sure against the solid line of his thigh. He watches every flicker of reaction like it’s a secret he’s been aching to unearth.

His shadows brush your skin—light as breath, bold as fingertips. They slip under the hem of your dress, past the dip of your neckline, exploring, learning, teasing. It’s not enough to satisfy, but it’s enough to tempt. To make you dizzy.

Your breath stutters, and for a moment, his gaze dips to your mouth.

You barely manage a smile. “Still not about the dress?” you murmur, your voice low, throat dry.

Azriel’s eyes flicker—then settle on you like a storm about to break. “Not even a little.”

And when his nose grazes yours, it isn’t a kiss. But it could be. It’s the moment right before—the breath, the space, the choice. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But the song changes, the spell snaps, and suddenly the room exists again. Someone bumps into Azriel from behind, and his hand drops to your ass to steady you. A reflex. But it brands.

You both laugh, too breathless, too wired, too aware of what just almost happened. And his hand is still on your ass.

You need a second—a buffer, a breath of air before you do something you can’t undo.

“I need a drink,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

His hands linger but eventually fall away. Slow. Reluctant.

You glance up at him, give him a look you hope says this isn’t over, and slip through the crowd toward the bar.

The bartender slides a drink your way before you can even remember ordering one. You catch it on instinct, fingers curling around the chilled glass just as the condensation begins to bead. It slicks your grip slightly, grounding you in the present—the weight of the glass, the sting of alcohol, the echo of Azriel’s touch still humming beneath your skin.

You barely have time to take a sip before an arm braces beside yours on the counter—long, inked, and annoyingly familiar. Then the rest of Rhysand follows—tall, rakish, and far too smug for someone clearly on the brink of losing his balance.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, voice syrupy and just loose enough at the edges to toe the line between charming and concerning. “If it isn’t our little heartbreaker.”

You blink at him over the rim of your glass, your mouth still parted mid-sip. “How drunk are you?”

“Moderate,” he says, with the blind confidence of a man absolutely not moderate. Then, solemnly: “I think I just tried to winnow to the moon. Cass said no.”

A laugh bursts out of you, sharp and surprised, catching you off guard. “You were supposed to be the responsible one tonight.”

Rhys makes a sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly sends a nearby cocktail crashing to the floor. “Fuck responsible. Do you know how hard it is to stay sober when everyone around you is glowing and half-delirious? Mor and Feyre have been spinning like drunk ballerinas for the last twenty minutes. Cassian challenged a table of strangers to an arm-wrestle for ‘honor and glory.’ And Azriel—”

He cuts off, lips twitching. That grin, slow and sly, curls like smoke.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he sing-songs, turning away to steal a sip from someone else’s drink before grimacing and abandoning it.

Gods, you’ve never seen him like this. Loose. Unfiltered. Unbothered by image or control. You make a mental note to corner Cassian and Azriel as soon as possible, if only to demand every humiliating story they’ve ever collected on him.

“You were going to say something,” you groan, watching him closely.

Rhys gives you a beatific smile that practically screams I’m lying. “Me? Never.”

You take another slow sip of your drink, trying—failing—to will the heat from your cheeks. But Rhys, of course, is infuriatingly perceptive. Even through a haze of liquor, he clocks you immediately.

“Oh no,” he breathes, voice gone delighted and a little too loud. “Oh no, it’s happening.”

You arch a brow. “What is?”

“You’re falling in love with my shadowsinger.”

The words land like a match dropped in dry grass.

You choke, spluttering into your drink. “I’m not—”

“Sure, sure,” he says, cutting you off with a patronizing pat to your arm. “And neither is he. You two are just dry-humping in the dark, panting like—like you’re seconds away from devouring each other. All very normal friend behavior, I’m sure.”

You groan and let your head fall forward, forehead thunking against the bar top. The cool wood offers no relief from the mortification burning behind your eyes.

“Go away.”

Rhys props his chin on his palm, utterly content. “Can’t. Too drunk to move.”

You turn your head just enough to peer at him, face still pressed to the bar. “Do I need to find Feyre?”

His expression shifts to something like panic. “Please… do not.”

“Right.” You sigh, dragging a hand down your face and letting it rest there. “You’re impossible.”

Rhys smiles lazily, lashes low and smug. “And you’re glowing. All flushed and starry-eyed. It’s disgusting.”

You flip him off without looking.

That’s when the night starts to blur.

At some point, you find yourself curled under Cassian’s arm, both of you howling over a story he refuses to finish because he keeps laughing too hard. He smells like sweat and cologne and a bad idea—not that you haven’t entertained the thought once or twice. When you reach for your drink, he snatches it just out of reach with a devilish grin.

“You’ve had enough,” he slurs—then immediately downs his own.

You wait until he’s distracted, then snatch your drink back and down it in one go.

Across the room, Mor is spinning Azriel in a slow, ridiculous waltz to music that’s far too fast. Her head is thrown back in laughter, one heel discarded, and Azriel’s grinning wide and unrestrained as she twirls herself dramatically beneath his arm. One of his shadows retrieves her fallen shoe and dutifully returns it. He pretends not to notice.

Rhys, for some reason, decides the whole place needs another round—again. He’s at the bar holding up fingers in rapid succession—four, five, seven—gesturing to absolutely no one. When the bartender ignores him, he levitates a bottle of amber liquor off the shelf with a flourish and begins personally pouring shots into the mouths of nearby patrons like some deranged, drunken Father Solstice.

Cassian finds Azriel in the crowd and immediately throws an arm around his neck, dragging him close with a sloppy grin. “My brother,” he declares, far too loud, smacking a kiss to Azriel’s temple before pulling him into a one-armed hug that rattles both of them. “Do you know—do you know—how much I love you?”

Azriel just blinks. “Unfortunately.”

“Shut up,” Cassian slurs, already halfway into his next declaration. “You’re the best of us. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Except me. Sometimes. But even then—”

“I’m going to kill you,” Azriel says—quiet and deadly. But he doesn’t move to escape. If anything, he leans into it.

Later, you, Feyre, and Mor vanish into the bathroom, which starts as a mission of necessity and ends in chaos. The line’s too long. The floor’s sticky. You all start yelling about how no one cleans the stalls in this place. And somehow, ten minutes later, Mor’s knees are on the tile while you and Feyre crouch beside her, holding her hair back and cackling as she curses Rhysand’s name for “making” her take that last glowing green shot.

“You’ll live,” Feyre says, patting her back with the resigned affection of someone who’s done this before.

“Probably,” you add.

Eventually, the three of you stagger back to the booth—giggling, disheveled, makeup slightly smeared but still beautiful. Because drunk girls in packs always are.

You collapse into the cushions, and for a moment, everything just is—a tangle of warm limbs, laughter, glitter. Cassian’s still trying to tell a story no one can follow. Azriel is methodically peeling an orange he must’ve stolen from the bar. Mor keeps interrupting to dramatically rehash her brush with death on the bathroom floor.

Somewhere between the fourth retelling and a new round of drinks, Feyre bumps into your side, giggling as she climbs— climbs—into Rhysand’s lap.

“Oh my gods,” she breathes, burying her face into his neck. “You smell like night and sin and trouble.”

Rhys hums, stroking a hand up her thigh. “And you, darling, are my favorite sort of trouble.”

You try to ignore it. You really do. And, for a few minutes, you’re fine. But then Feyre whispers, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you keep touching me like that I will drag you into the shadows and make you beg to—”

“No,” you say sharply, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not. You cannot do this in the communal booth.”

Rhysand and Feyre both blink at you. Slowly. Like they’re just now realizing the rest of you exist.

“Oh,” Feyre says, blinking again. “I said that… out loud?”

Cassian groans and drops his head to the table. “Yes. You did.”

“We all heard it,” Mor says, looking personally offended.

Rhys looks vaguely affronted. “We were talking through the bond—”

“You weren’t,” you, Cassian, and Mor all say at once.

Azriel only sighs and catches your eye, mouthing, Every damn time.

And then—

Too much light. Too much warmth. Music in your bones. Glitter on your cheeks. Someone grabs your hand and drags you back to the dance floor. You don’t know who. Doesn’t matter. You let the rhythm carry you, laughter bubbling up like it’s been trapped for months.

Azriel finds you in the chaos. Quiet. Solid. He takes your hand, spins you once—lazy, sweet—then pulls you close with that look. Like the world is loud but you are not.

And then—

The night slips.

You and Mor, arms around each other, cheeks dusted with shimmer.

Cassian balances a shotglass between the clawed tips of his wings—a feat that’s nothing short of impressive—while Azriel leans in to drink from it for the fourth time and misses. Again.

Rhys stumbling through a dance with Feyre, refusing to let go of her hand even as he trips.

Azriel laughing, loud and bright, shirt drenched in spilled liquor and clinging to him like a second skin.

It’s beautiful, in the messy, ephemeral way nights like this always are.

And when it ends—when the cold air bites and your heels dangle from your fingers—you’re walking beside him.

Azriel. Silent and steady.

Side by side. Arms brushing.

Still friends.

Still not in love.

Definitely not.

Probably.

… Maybe.

The others are a few paces ahead, their laughter echoing down the cobbled street, mingling with the night’s quiet. You’d all chosen to walk back to the townhouse instead of winnowing—mostly to spare Mor another tragic bathroom incident.

You glance at Azriel, his profile softened by the pale glow of distant streetlights, the sharp edges of him mellowed by the dim light. He’s quieter now, more anchored, like the buzz is finally starting to bleed out of him too.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and something shifts, an unspoken weight hanging in the air between you. It’s not just the silence—it’s everything that comes with it. He looks away first, but the tension doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, thick and undeniable.

“So,” you say, your voice light, but there’s a brittleness beneath it, a crack in the calm. “You get this fucked up before?”

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound familiar and warm, but with something in it that feels like the night itself. “Should’ve seen us three while we were training. You wouldn’t have recognized us.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

Azriel smirks, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place, a mystery veiled beneath his calm. “I’ll answer that when I’m sober enough to remember half of it.”

A teasing grin tugs at your lips, unspoken but understood.

His gaze shifts toward you then, and the playful edge in his expression softens, ever so briefly. It’s a shift so subtle, it feels as though the air around you changes. His steps slow, just enough to bring him closer—his presence, steady and grounding, a quiet comfort against the coolness of the night.

And then, before you can fully comprehend it, his hand is at your back again—a subtle, possessive touch, just above your waist. It’s not new, this gesture. He’s done it before, but tonight, it feels different.

“You okay?” His voice is soft, low—barely above the city’s hum, but it cuts through everything else.

You swallow, suddenly aware of the weight behind the question, the way it settles in your chest. You nod, forcing a smile, though it feels less like a smile and more like a fragile shield. You meet his gaze through your lashes.

“I’m drunk,” you admit, a small giggle escaping, but the sound feels a little too light for the heaviness in the air.

Azriel huffs a soft laugh, warm breath brushing against your skin. “Yeah, I figured.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, in a way—a strange sort of peace between the two of you. The laughter and raucous chatter of your group fades further ahead, their voices lost in the night, leaving only the faint echo of their noise behind. Here, between you and Azriel, there’s nothing but quiet. His hand still rests at your back, the lightest touch, but you can feel it—every brush of his fingers against the fabric of your dress, like an unspoken promise.

You glance over at him, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Answer my question though. Did you have fun tonight? I know you don’t like coming out much.”

Azriel doesn’t look at you. His gaze remains fixed on the path ahead, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Fun?” he mutters, his voice light but carrying an edge. “If I’d known the night would end with me trying to drink out of Cassian’s wings, I might’ve stayed in.”

You laugh softly, the sound laced with warmth. “Oh, but you looked like you were having a blast.”

“I was,” he admits, voice lower now, quieter.

His words hang in the air, settling between you, filling the space with something deeper, something more. You glance at him again, and this time, his gaze finds yours. Dark, steady, unwavering.

And in that moment, everything feels charged, like the next move is inevitable.

You stop walking.

Azriel doesn’t pull his hand from your waist. Instead he swings around, turning to face you with an abruptness that feels almost instinctive, like the idea of letting go wasn’t even an option. Like keeping his hand on you mattered more than keeping his feet on the ground. Now, he stands before you, close enough that the heat of his body bleeds into yours, the cool night air thick with the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

For a moment, there’s nothing—just the two of you, suspended in the quiet, the distance between you and your family growing with each passing second.

It’s like a pulse, something deep within both of you that knows this is the moment, one that’s been silently building, lingering, biding its time.

You feel it in the way his eyes lock onto yours, how his body shifts ever so slightly—so close now you could reach up, could touch him, but you don’t move.

Then, as if it was always meant to happen, his hand slides from your back, cupping the side of your face gently. His thumb brushes across your cheek, soft and tender, a quiet, unspoken question hanging between you.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in first. Your lips find his—soft, uncertain at first, like you’re both holding your breath. But the second they meet, it’s like something clicks into place. Like every unsaid thing between you is finally, finally speaking.

But then it deepens, the kiss turning more urgent, the gentle press of lips becoming something more, something full of warmth and heat. The taste of alcohol lingers, but underneath that is the familiar, the comforting—years of friendship tangled into something new, something wild. The world shifts, or maybe it’s just the two of you, with everything else fading away.

Azriel’s hands slip into your hair, finding the nape of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, pulling you closer. And the kiss is no longer just soft; it’s a quiet intensity, like something between you both has been building for far longer than either of you realized.

When you part, it’s only just enough to breathe, just enough to meet his gaze. Your lips feel swollen, your heart racing in your chest. But all you can think about is how desperately you want more. Not just his mouth, but all of him—his body, his touch. The press of him, hot and solid against you. The drag of his hand down your spine, the way his fingers splayed across your waist like he never wanted to let go. You want him closer. You want him everywhere. His hand between your legs. You want—

You blink, the haze slowly clearing.

As you lean past him, you finally take in the world around you again. The rest of the group is a fair distance ahead now, moving in a disjointed knot—Cassian with his arm slung lazily around Mor, Feyre pulling Rhys by the wrist as he slurs something half-laughing.

“Guys,” you call, breathless, voice a little hoarse, “we’re going to the… to the House of—” But you realize, mid-sentence, that no one is listening.

“Forget it,” Azriel mutters, and without warning, he grabs your hand.

He tugs you right, pulling you away from the main walkway and down a narrow side street, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights overhead. You follow without hesitation, heart racing, your legs moving before your mind can fully catch up. The sounds of the city—music drifting from an open window, the distant clang of something dropped—feel muffled now, like they belong to someone else.

All you know is the heat of his hand in yours, the excitement blooming in your chest as a grin spreads across your face. And then, you’re running.

Laughing, breathless, borderline euphoric as your feet hit the cobblestone in time with his. His fingers are laced with yours, and he doesn’t let go—not once—not even when you nearly trip on a loose stone and bark out a curse through your grin. He just squeezes your hand tighter and keeps going.

The wind rushes past, sweeping your hair into your face, and still you run, streetlights flickering overhead like stars caught in motion. You glance at him once, just once, and gods, it knocks the breath clean out of you.

He looks good. Stupidly good. His wings are tucked in tight behind him, shadows trailing in his wake like they can't quite keep up. There’s a flush high on his cheeks from the alcohol or the running—or maybe the kiss—and his smile. His smile is rare and wild and real, splitting his face in a way that makes something in your chest twist. His eyes find yours, dark and bright all at once, and the way he looks at you feels like falling without ever hitting the ground.

You’ve known him for years. Fought beside him, argued with him, trusted him more than you’ve trusted most. You’ve always thought he was beautiful in that silent, devastating kind of way. The kind of beautiful that hurts if you look too long. But this is new. Or maybe not new at all—maybe it’s just undeniable now.

He slows only once the path narrows again, steps easing to a walk, his hand still firm in yours. You're panting, your heart racing in your chest like it’s trying to tell you something urgent, something important.

Azriel glances at you, still grinning. “Want a shortcut?”

You eye him, arching a brow. “A shortcut, or are you about to throw me over your shoulder?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I could throw you over my shoulder.”

You snort. “You’re drunk.”

His smile deepens. “Tipsy.”

You tilt your head. “Drunk, and you think you’re in any shape to fly us home?”

He smirks, swaying slightly. “I could.”

You blink at him. “Could you even land us properly?”

He pauses—just for a beat—then looks at you with a glint in his eye that’s half mischief, half something far more dangerous. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t know me growing up.”

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he sweeps forward. One arm wraps around your waist, the other slides behind your knees, and suddenly you’re airborne—held tight against his chest like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders without a second thought.

“Azriel—”

But he’s already launching into the air, wings snapping wide, the wind catching beneath them as the city drops away below.

You press your face into the side of his neck, your laughter half-dazed, half-horrified. “You’re actually insane.”

He hums, voice a little smug. “Maybe. But you’re the one who kissed me.”

And gods help you, you’re already wondering when you can do it again.

Maybe he feels it—senses it—because before you can even finish the thought, he adjusts his grip just enough to shift you higher against him. Your arms loop instinctively around his neck, noses brushing, breath mingling. The wind whips past, cold and biting, but you don’t feel it.

You only feel him.

Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s nothing like that first kiss—nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s needy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and breathless hunger.

You moan into him—can’t help it. The sound is swallowed by the sky, lost to the night. But he hears it. You know he does. His grip tightens like he needs you closer, like there’s not a single inch of air he’s willing to spare between you. His shadows are stirring again, curling around you like they want in on the taste.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he growls—deep and low and barely restrained.

“Azriel—” you gasp against his mouth. He huffs a laugh, sharp and wicked.

“Careful,” he murmurs, lips trailing hot over your jaw. “I might miss the landing on purpose.”

You barely manage a breath. “We need to land,” you murmur, though it sounds more like a curse than a request. “Now.”

He lets out a sound that’s half-groan, half-laugh, and the next moment, he angles downward.

The house appears below in a blur, the lights from the windows streaking past as he descends fast and sharp. The landing is rougher than usual—feet hitting the balcony hard, wings flaring wide to catch the worst of it—but neither of you care. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours the second you touch solid ground.

He walks you backward through the open doors, his hands already skimming beneath your dress—rough and hungry, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. The fabric slips higher with every step, until it's bunched around your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like you might tear it clean off.

Instead, you reach behind him, fumbling at the slats that hold it together around his wings. The second you get the first one undone, he groans into your mouth, kissing you harder. His hands slip down your back, eager and sure, grasping for the zipper of your dress.

You undo the next, and the next—moving fast, clumsy with urgency. By the time the last one comes loose, he’s all but panting against your jaw.

“Off,” you whisper, and he shrugs out of the shirt with a sound that’s damn near a growl.

He lifts you again like you weigh nothing, kissing you through the hall like he’s starving—stumbling a little, both of you half-drunk on each other and the leftover buzz of the night. His shirt falls somewhere by the wall, your heels were long since discarded on the veranda, and your dress slips off your shoulders as you reach the stairs, falling in a silky heap at your feet. You barely register the path, only the heat of his mouth on your throat, the scrape of his teeth at your collarbone, the low, broken noises he keeps making like he needs this—needs you.

The bedroom door slams shut behind you, and then you’re falling back onto the bed, and he’s following you down.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, cool sheets against your back—his body a furnace as it presses to yours, bracing on his forearms.

His lips find yours again, slower now, but no less desperate. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you sigh into every kiss like it’s the only one you’ll ever need.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking gently over your cheekbone as he leans in deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that feels far too practiced for two people who’ve never done this before. But you have, haven’t you? In glances. In moments stolen in shadows. In the soft touches that used to mean nothing—until they meant everything.

You arch into him when his hand skims down your side, across your ribs, ghosting the curve of your waist like he’s still not sure you’re real. Like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breath catching. “You’re so—”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.

You feel it in the way he lowers his head and wraps his lips around your nipple, warm and wet and slow. Your back arches off the bed, a gasp escaping you as he laps his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.

You dig your fingers into his hair, letting your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as his hands roam—one cupping your other breast, the other smoothing down the length of your thigh. He shifts, nudging your legs apart with his knee, sliding between them like he belongs there.

And gods, he does.

You open your eyes just enough to look at him—his dark hair falling into his face, his mouth wet and red from kissing you. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more wrecked.

“Az,” you whisper, breathless, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone.

He lifts his head. Meets your gaze.

The look in his eyes nearly undoes you—like he’s never seen you before, not like this. Like something old has cracked open between you and there’s no going back.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says, voice low and raw. “Longer than I ever let myself admit.”

You don’t reply. Because his hands shake as they trail down your body, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers tug at the fabric, dragging it down your hips and past your thighs.

“Cauldron, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, the words thick with desire, as he works your underwear off your legs. His eyes trace the path of his hands like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “It took everything in me not to stare when you came down those stairs,” he says, voice rough. “You looked like you’d strung up the fucking stars just to watch them burn.”

Your heart gives a traitorous flutter. He was looking. He did care. And knowing that makes something inside you ache.

You spread your legs for him, a silent invitation. His gaze flicks back up to yours, hungry and wide, a dark promise in his eyes. But it’s not just hunger in those eyes—there’s something deeper, more tender, that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

He shifts, dropping to his stomach, his wings spread out behind him like a dark, protective shield. You gasp as his lips brush the inside of your thigh, the heat of his breath against your skin making you shiver. He’s barely touched you, but your body is already aching, already craving more.

Azriel hums as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your inner thigh, the sound a low vibration that runs straight through you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs as he settles between them.

He can’t wait any longer.

His lips finally brush your folds, and you can’t help the needy whimper that escapes you. His mouth is hot—so hot, and as soon as his tongue flicks against you, your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his hair. He groans, low and satisfied, and the sound makes your chest tighten with need.

Azriel loves this—loves the taste of you, the way you tremble under his touch. It’s like he’s starving, and your pussy is the only thing that will ever fill him. He’s quick to bury his face deeper, his tongue lapping at your clit with the precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times, each movement a studied perfection. You feel him groan into you, his entire body trembling, like he can’t get enough.

And then, he starts grinding.

You feel the slow, desperate rut of his hips against the mattress—like he needs the friction, like it hurts not to be inside you. His cock throbs against the fabric of his underwear, and still, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your cunt, a low, broken whine of a sound, his mouth locked to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

You reach for his hair, tugging him closer, hips moving of their own accord as you grind up into his face. He moans louder this time, his hands pressing down on your hips to hold you still just long enough for him to really feel you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away just long enough to breathe, “you’re so fucking sweet. Can’t get enough.”

“Then don’t stop,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Az—just—”

You don’t need to finish. He’s already back, his mouth pressing against you again like a man starved, devouring you with everything he’s got. Every flick of his tongue against your clit, every deep stroke, sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, building you up higher and higher until you can’t think of anything else but him—his tongue, his mouth, his need.

He’s lost in you, his hips still grinding desperately into the mattress as he eats you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You grip his hair tighter, pulling him even closer, rocking your hips against his face, each thrust of his tongue like a promise.

And when you finally let go—when you shatter, your body arching against his mouth and your vision going white—he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps licking and sucking until you’re trembling, until you’ve been pushed past every point of endurance.

He pulls away slowly, his face glistening with you, and his dark eyes are glowing—feral, hungry. His lips curl into a satisfied grin, like he just won the most important battle of his life.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, and then he crawls back up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You can feel his chest press against yours, his heartbeat racing as fast as yours. He pulls away, and for a moment, you just look at each other—eyes locked, the world outside forgotten.

He brushes his nose against yours, a soft, lingering touch, and then lowers his forehead to yours. “You okay?” His voice is rough, still full of desire, but there’s a softness to it now, a care that makes your chest tighten.

You nod, breathless, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “More than okay.”

His lips curl into a smile, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. You reach for him, your hands shaking just a little as you trail your fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes close as your hands move lower, tracing the defined lines of his stomach. You want to memorize him—want to feel him, every part of him.

As your fingers brush against the waistband of his underwear, your breath catches in your throat. The tension in the air thickens, and for a moment, you hesitate, fingers trembling just above the fabric. His body is taut beneath your touch, but his eyes remain locked on yours—expectant, but still tender.

You pull them down slowly, the fabric sliding off his hips, revealing him fully for the first time. Your gaze flicks downward.

And gods, he's big.

You blink, your heart racing as you take in the sight. The soft glow of the room highlights the sharp, defined lines of his body, but it's him, his cock, that makes your breath hitch. Thick and hard, standing at attention, the tip flushed with need, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, wide-eyed and speechless.

Your stomach does this strange flip, a mix of awe and anticipation. You’ve seen his body before—shirtless, after sparring, sweaty from training—but this... this is something else.

It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s bigger than you thought, intimidating in a way that makes your cheeks flush.

The heat between your legs flares, but it's not just lust—it’s the overwhelming realization of how much he desires you. The connection. The intimacy. This is your best friend, exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s more than you expected. Bigger, thicker than you thought—intimidating and... a little overwhelming.

A warmth starts to bloom in your chest, spreading down to the pit of your stomach. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that. It’s a sort of quiet shock that makes your whole body feel electrified, like you’re standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure you’d ever have the courage to leap into.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally look up at him. He looks nervous—his gaze flicking down, then back up again, like he’s unsure how you’ll react. “I can handle it, Az.”

He doesn’t answer at first, just watches you with those dark, stormy eyes, searching for something in yours. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

“Are you sure?” His voice is thick, strained. The weight of his hesitation settles between you. You nod, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“I’m sure,” you breathe out. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

A shudder runs through him at your words, but he doesn’t move to rush it. Instead, he leans down, placing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand gently cradling your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing and tender. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours again.

“I’ll never rush you, okay? Anything—you let me know,” he says, his voice low and filled with such sincerity that it makes your chest tighten. He slowly begins to ease himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against you.

It’s everything you imagined and more—every inch of him solid and warm, the weight of him just right as he finally pushes into you. The stretch is slow, controlled, and you wince slightly at the initial burn, but it fades quickly as he inches in deeper, his hands gentle on your hips. He pauses once he's fully seated inside, both of you panting, your body adjusting to the sensation.

Azriel’s breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, then presses in again—slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust. “Fuck, you feel so good, (y/n),” he groans, his voice thick with desire.

You feel him everywhere, his every movement slow and deliberate, the depth of his tenderness filling you in ways you never expected. But as the heat builds in your belly, a need rises in you too—a need for him to give in, to let go, to stop holding back.

“I need more, Az,” you whisper. “Please.”

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of conflict and desire flickering across his features. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice rough, but you can see the way his hands grip the bed, his muscles straining as he tries to hold back.

You reach up, hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him again, more urgently this time. “I said I’m sure,” you whisper against his lips, fingers brushing the edge of his wing.

And that’s all it takes. He straightens suddenly, hands sliding down to grip your waist as he begins to move, his thrusts steady and sure. He’s still gentle, his rhythm slow but building in intensity with every movement. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the same fierce desire mirrored back at you, mixed with something deeper—something softer.

Each stroke is powerful as he drives into you with growing urgency. You moan, fingers digging into his biceps, your body arching to meet every snap of his hips.

“Azriel,” you gasp, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure begins to build inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a breathless growl as he thrusts harder, the force of him filling you completely. “Always got you.”

The heat builds fast, that deep, aching tension curling tighter with every thrust, stoking the fire within you. His hands find your hips, fingers curling hard into the flesh—gripping you like he’s claiming you, like he can’t bear to let go—as he pulls you onto him again and again. He angles his movements just right, drinking in every sound you make and relishing each one more than the last.

His movements are still slow, deliberate, but there's a hunger there now—something primal in the way he grips you, the way he pulls you closer, urging you to take more of him.

“Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, desperate for more, for him to push you over the edge.

Azriel responds with a low, hungry groan, his thrusts becoming a little quicker, a little harder. He can feel the way your body trembles beneath him, the way you react to him. He loves it, loves knowing that he’s the one who’s breaking through all the walls, all the restraint you both held before.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growls, his voice rough with need, words spilling out in a rush as he braces himself over you. His forearms cage you in, hands on either side of your face, cradling your jaw, holding you there like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. He thrusts deeper, pushing you further into the mattress, and the room seems to spin. Your world narrows to just the two of you, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

Your breath hitches as you feel yourself tightening around him, your body winding up with a force that threatens to snap. You can’t stop the moan that escapes you, the pleasure building inside you, getting closer, almost overwhelming.

“Az, I’m—” you choke out, unable to finish the sentence as the pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

“Let go, baby,” he says, low and raspy, urging you on. “Let me feel you.”

You never thought you’d hear him like this, hoarse and hungry and just a little wrecked, and fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve heard in your life.

And then, it happens—the release hits you like a wave, washing over you, taking over every part of you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as your nails scrape down his back once more.

Azriel groans your name, the sound raw and desperate, and as your body contracts around him, his thrusts falter for a moment before he loses himself too, the intensity of the moment taking him to the edge.

He buries himself deep with a guttural moan—low and wrecked, like the sound’s been punched out of him—his breath hitching, hips stuttering as he spills into you, body trembling with the force of it. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck—”

You’re both still breathing hard when he suddenly stills, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wide.

“Shit,” he pants. “I didn’t even ask—are you on the tonic? I’m so sorry, I just—fuck I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to—”

You laugh, breathless. “Az, I am. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He exhales shakily. “Okay. Good. Fuck, good… Just—yeah. Okay.”

For a moment, all there is is the sound of your breathing, the feel of him against you, and the pulse of your hearts racing together. You both just stare at each other for a moment, trying to catch your breath, the weight of everything hanging between you in the most beautiful, unspoken way.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, still hovering over you, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

You nod, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice still breathless, a contented smile tugging at your lips.

Azriel presses a kiss to your forehead and slips out, easing onto the bed and tugging you with him until your head rests on his chest, your body draped over his. One arm wraps around your waist, and his wings wrap around you both like a blanket.

You lie there in silence, skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, breath slowly evening out. You’d deal with everything in the morning—whatever this was now, whatever it meant. You’d figure out what to say to Mor, to Cassian, to Feyre and Rhysand. But for now, you just press your face into Azriel’s chest and let yourself rest, wrapped in him, wrapped in this.

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #drunk on you

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hoejosatoru · 3 months ago

Text

Roster Hopper - Blue Lock edition

Characters: fem!reader x isagi, chigiri, bachira, barou, rin, otoya, karasu, yukimiya, nagi, reo (all separate beside nagi and reo) characters are 21+, reader's hair color/texture and skin color not specified

Summary: College team AU, where y/n is a manager of the team and bets her friend she can hook up with all the members of the team - without them finding out. This can be read as one entire fic or if you want to jump around I have the name of each character bolded for their part.

Word count: 11.3k help this took forever

a/n: this is the blue lock version of the fic concept I've done with Haikyu teams. I prefer to write characters older but college au makes this easier to so just imagine whatever age you want. Also y/f/n= your friend's name bc I couldn't think of one

Warnings: semi public sex, car sex, fingering, dirty talk, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, threesome, face sitting, squirting, toy use, finger in ass, chigiri is a sub/calling him good boy, virginity loss for rin, girl there’s a lot we got 10 men to get through so buckle up, also not proof read sorry

"Ugh, I am not going to miss August practices," your friend groaned, fanning herself with a clipboard.

"Seriously," you sigh. Usually you loved being the manager of your college's soccer team. It was a fun position and an easy way to get involved with a sport you enjoyed. Not to mention, your best friend was your co-manager, which meant you always had someone to chat with during practices.

The only time being the manager sucked where days like this, when you had to stand out in the blazing sun. Ego, the coach, made the team come in a week before the semester starts to begin training, which meant long days in the heat.

"Well, it's not all bad," your friend smirked, gesturing to the scene ahead of you. All of the players were currently running around shirtless, sweat dripping down their toned, sun-tanned bodies. The position certainly came with perks.

"Not a bad view, eh?" you replied.

"Ego's really cruel with his no hook up rule," your friend grumbled. You laughed, remembering how awkward the first team meeting you intended when Ego lectured everyone about not having sex with each other because it was a distraction. The players being off the table was definitely a downside of the position.

"I know," you sighed, "How am I supposed to graduate without knowing who's good in bed?"

"Right, like Rin is good on the field, but do you think his skills transfer?" your friend mused.

"Maybe Chigiri likes getting his hair pulled?"

"Do you think Barou makes girls call him the king while fucking?" You both snickered, drawing the attention of Isagi.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" you both responded in unison. You both turned away, trying to stifle laughter. As you regained your compsure, a thought popped into your head. You'd gone the past 3 year without breaking Ego's rule, but headed into your final year, you were feeling more daring...

"I have an idea."

"Which is?" your friend asked.

"What if I hooked up with all of them so we could get answers to our question?"

Your friend stared at you, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"I fear I am," you replied. "Breaking the rules is fun every now and again."

"You'd have to break the rules like 10 times," she countered.

You shrugged. "I've behaved the last few years, I think I'm owed it. Besides, Ego will never find out because I'll make sure they'll keep their mouths shut. They can't know I'm hooking up with the other guys on the team, it would mess with the data."

Your friend rolled her eyes. "I didn't know this was so scientific. I bet it isn't even possible."

"Wanna put some money on that bet?"

"You're on."

You two spend the rest of practice hashing out the details of the bet. You had to sleep with the top ten players on the team, so could figure out who was the best. You couldn't tell them about the bet, nor could you let any of them find out, as it might mess with how good their performance is. You wanted to see how good they are when they didn't know it was a test. But if the team finds out, game over. And if Ego find out... well that was an awkward conversation you were keen on avoiding. You both agreed you had until the end of the school year and winner owed the other $300.

Karasu gave you your first opening. He was trying to convince the guys to go to a frat party with him, but after a week of tough practices no one was interested.

"I'll come with you, Karasu," you said with an innocent smile. "I think some of my roommates wanna go too, we can all go together." You added for the players who may be in earshot. Going alone might raise some suspicions. Karasu jumped at your offer and said he could pick you guys up at 8. Little did he know...

"Sorry Karasu, all my friends bailed," you lied, feigning disappointment. "Hope you don't mind if it's just me." Karasu's eyes raked over your body as you climbed into his car. You wore a mini skirt and a little top, which the glint in Karasu's eyes told you he enjoyed.

Just because Ego had a no hook up rule, it didn't mean the guys didn't look - or flirt - from time to time. Karasu was definitely one of the players that liked to push that boundary.

"Fine by me," he grinned. "We'll still have a good time."

The party, unfortunately, left much to be desired. It was the first big frat party of the year and it was beyond packed. The one drink you had was warm and crappy. Not to mention the music they had blasting sucked. You were barely there an hour when Karasu motioned for the exit.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out for such a shitty party," he sighed when you returned to the car.

"S'okay," you shrugged. "Hey it's still early, why don't we drive around and find a spot to chill for a bit?"

Karasu nodded, his hand on the back of your seat as he threw the car in reverse. "I think I know a spot."

It was only a few minute drive until you pulled up to a private little park, far from the main road. You couldn't believe your luck. You and Karasu slipped into easy conversation for a bit. The longer you spoke with him, the more you realized just how cute he was. You sorta went immune to the team's good looks since you've been around them for so long, but staring only at Karasu for so long reminded you that he was fine.

"What're you thinking about?" you asked him when he went quiet, giving you a particular look that made your stomach flip.

"I'm thinking," he replied, licking his lips, "That you look really good and that I really hate Ego's stupid rules."

"I can keep a secret if you can," you replied, leaning into him.

He held up his pinkie. "I won't tell a soul." You wrapped our pinkie around his with a triumphant grin. "Back seat has more space."

You crawled over the center console, followed closely by Karasu. He could see up your skirt, your ass barely covered by a little lace panty. He could feel himself growing hard as he tried to commit the image to memory.

You let out a little yelp as he playfully smacked your ass. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

You maneuvered to be straddling Karasu's lap. His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you into a deep kiss. He was shy at all, kissing you with a hunger. You let out a pleasant hum as he nipped at your lower lip.

Your hips stirred over his lap as you felt him growing hard beneath you. Your skirt had completely hiked up around you waist, leaving you covered only in lace. Karasu let a groan as looked down at your clothed cunt pressed against his hard on through his jeans.

"Like what you see?" you teased rolling you hips. The friction against your aching cunt was delicious.

"You're so sexy," he mused, bringing his hands down to squeeze your tits through your top. You mewled, nestling your cunt against his thigh to grind down harder on him. You returned to kissing him as you rocked your hips, the rush of doing something you knew you shouldn't heightened pleasure building.

Your breaths were shortening the more you rolled your hips. You had to break the kiss as you desperately tried to chase your high. "Fuck, you think you could cum just like this?" Karasu asked, an excited edge in his voice.

You bit your lip and nodded, unable to find your voice. Karasu pulled your top down, exposing your boobs. He was greedy, sucking at your nipple and squeezing the other to help you along.

Your head collapsed on his shoulder as your body tensed and relaxed deeply into your orgasm. The breathy moans in Karasu's ear nearly made him come his pants.

"Fuck that was hot," he grinned. "Can I fuck you?" He was already slipping himself out of his pants. His tip was flushed and leaking, looking as needy as he sounded.

"Please." You were just as eager for more, positioning yourself over him. You let out a content sigh as you sunk down on to him.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, "All that for me?" He let you roll your hips, adjusting to him, but he couldn't hold himself back for long. He placed his hands on the seat, giving him leverage to fuck up into you.

"Karasu!" you cried. The air was thick, windows fogged from your panting breaths. Your hand streaked across the condensation as you tried to stabilized yourself.

It wasn't long before another wave of pleasure surged through your body, squeezing Karasu tightly. He let out a delicious groan as his hips stuttered and released into you. You collapsed onto of him, both of you panting.

"So worth breaking the rules," Karasu grinned. You smiled back, though for more reasons that Karasu realized. 1 down.

****

It had been a couple of weeks since your tryst with Karasu and you'd been holding your breath for Ego to call you into your office, or another player to make some suggestive comment. But there was no indication Karasu let anything slip. Your success emboldened you to set your sights on the next man

Barou always used the team gym later at night, after the rest of team had filtered out. He hated working out with them, complaining that they were loud and obnoxious. You, however, he didn't mind.

You were intimidating by Barou when you first met him, but quickly learned he was all bark and no bite. Well, with women that is. Though he had that tough exterior and an imposing size, he was always respectful towards you.

Truthfully, it was Rin you were most nervous to tackle in this challenge. Though physically less intimidating, he was certainly colder. Though Barou was smart, you had a feeling he would fall into the same pit fall most men do: thinking with the wrong head, so to speak. Rin, however, was more calculated, more observant. You feared he see through your charade. But that was a problem for future you.

You were grateful that Barou let you use the team gym in evenings with him, as you could avoid the crowded campus gym and men that ogled at every woman that walked in. For the most part, you and Barou did your own thing. Sometimes you would spot each other, but really you were just sharing the space with minimal interactions. You knew. Barou liked to do his own thing while working out and didn't wanna push it. Tonight, though, you had other plans.

You donned your cutest workout gear: tiny bike shorts and sports bra in your favorite color. You went about your normal workout, though not going as hard as you normally did so you could keep an eye on Barou. He looked as he normally did during a gym session, shirt off, hair down, wearing only small athletic shorts. He was certainly not making it hard to want him.

Barou was currently at the bench trying to beat his personal record of an incline press. He always had an impressive amount of weight loaded on his bar, but today it looked impossibly heavy. Grunts of frustration echoed in the empty gym as he couldn't quite lift the weight high enough to count as a rep. He set the bar down on the rack with a metallic clang and huff of frustraion. Now was your time.

"You know," you wandered over casually, "I heard that more testosterone can help men lift more.

Barou's brow furrowed. "Does it look like I'm low on testosterone to you?"

You appraised his broad form, thick with muscles, veins snaking down the length of his arms from the pump of his work out. A light layer of sweat made his body sheen. "Certainly not." You shrugged, not letting your true interest show. "Just thought it was an interesting theory. Probably bull shit."

Barou's eyes flickered between you and weight rack You could see the gears turning, the desire to conquer the a weight that would put him far above his teammates. "You'd be willing to try?"

"Sure, why not," you replied. "Could be a cool experiment."

"Alright, c'mere." You did as you were bid, your heart fluttering in your chest beneath his gaze. You slid on to him as casually as you could, your legs straddling his.

Barou was obviously bigger than Karasu, but you could feel the difference even just by being on his lap. His body was thick, forcing your legs open wider to accommodate his width. His muscles flexed beneath you as he shift on the bench to prepare for this lift. You bit down on your lip, hoping he wouldn't notice your blush.

Barou wrapped his hands around the bar, focus etched on his face as he lifted it off the rack. You weren't sure if you were surprised or not that it actually worked. It took some exertion on his end, muscles bulging, skin flushed, grunts that would sound very... suggestive out of context. But he was able to bench the weight for 3 reps, when he wasn't able to get a single one prior.

"Fuck, I can't believe that worked," he panted, setting the weight back down on the rack. When he sat up you were just inches apart.

"Knew you could do it," you said, innocently rolling your hips forward. "You're the strongest guy on the team by far." A little ego stroking never hurt.

"That why you were so eager to sit in my lap?" Barou replied shifting beneath you. You could swear you could feel his cock hardening beneath you. "Could feel you watching me all night." His eyes flickered down your body, taking in your barely covered body. "In this little outfit. Did you put this on for me?"

You batted your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Barou tsked. "If you asked for what you want, you might get it y/n." His hands, rough and warm, were resting on your outer thighs, leaving no question of what he was suggesting.

"And if I want you?"

His fingers dug into you. "Be careful what you wish for." He pulled you into him, you chest flush against his. His kiss was possessive, dominating. He kneaded your ass as your tongues slid over each other. His skin was hot against yours with only the thinnest layers of material between your aching cunt and his growingly hard cock.

You went to reach between the two of you, to squeeze his length, but Barou gripped your wrist. "I'm in charge here."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged.

In a flash Barou had man handled you into being bent over the bend. "Yeah." He ground his cock against your ass. "That what you want?" You mewled but that wasn't good enough for Barou. He brought his hand against your ass with a sharp slap, making you gasp. "Answer me when I ask you something."

"Yes Barou I want it! Please-" your voice broke off as he pressed his thumb against your clit.

"Good girl." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Gonna give you what you want." He pulled down your shorts, running his fingers through your wetness. "Soaked like a slut for me, huh?" He slid in two thick fingers inside you. "Gotta prep you for me."

Barou thrust his fingers hard and fast, but not unpleasantly. The pads of his fingers brushed against your gspot, making your cunt throb and spasm. Your ass wiggled back against him, wanting more, to feel him deeper. You were on precipice of an orgasm when Barou yanked his hand away.

You let out whine. "If you're gonna cum it's gonna be around my cock." You peaked back as you heard him shedding his shorts. His cock huge - long and thick, veins running up the sides. Your cunt throbbed with anticipation.

"Fuck." You couldn't contain yourself as his fat tip pressed into you. It ached, but in a sinfully pleasant way. Barou ran his hand down your spine, arching you for him while he gave a few shallow thrusts to adjust.

He quickly picked up his pace, the weight of him behind every thrust. It stole your breath, your cunt drooling.

"Making a fucking mess on me," Barou growled, watching the way you coating his length, dripping down on the bench. "Dirty girl." He gripped your hips, holding you just how he wanted. Your fingers dug into the bench, holding on for dear life as he fucked up.

"Barou I-" You choked out. You couldn't form a sentence with the way he took you.

"Go on and cum, y/n," Barou instructed. "Wanna feel you squeezing me." You wouldn't have been able to hold on much longer anyway at this pace. Pleasure exploded through your body, hot and heavy. Barou growled at your cunt throbbing around him. He fucked you through your orgasm, releasing only at the tail end of your high. The feeling of his hot cum shooting ropes into you prolonging you pleasure.

Barou slipped out of you with a grunt. "We need to clean up." Though he was amused by the mixture of yours releases coating his cock and spilled on the bench, his drive to clean was kicking in. He picked up the towel he brought with him while work out, gently wiping between your legs. It was oddly tender compared to his prior actions.

"Hey Barou, would you mind if we didn't tell anyone about this?" you asked. "I don't want to get in trouble with Ego. Plus, I can only imagine what the other guys would say."

Barou could feel a headache coming just by thinking of what stupid shit his teammates he would say. "I'm not telling them shit."

That was a good enough promise for you. 2 down.

****

The first few games of the season went well. Everyone was happy with the team's winning streak. Well, everyone but Isagi. He has yet to score a goal, which was bugging him incessantly.

"You just need to relax man," Bachira, who scored in today's game, told him. "You stress too much. It messes with your game." You eavesdropped on their conversation, pretending to take account of equipment as they packed their bags to head out.

"That's easy for you to say when you've already scored twice this season," Isagi grumbled.

"Just play better," Nagi yawned, not even bothering to look back at Isagi's disgruntled face.

"Or get laid, that ought to calm you down!" Reo snickered, jogging to catch up with Nagi. Not a bad idea Reo...

"Gee, thanks," Isagi snapped.

"Hey Isagi! Ego wants to talk to you," you called to him.

Isagi sighed. "I'll catch up with you later Bachira." He trudged over to you, looking defeated. "Am I about to get yelled at?"

"Well, I sorta lied." Isagi's brow quirked. "Ego didn't want to talk to you, I did."

"Oh? What's up?"

"Bachira's right," you replied, "I know I'm not a soccer expert, but I've learned a lot from watching. I can tell your game is off from the stress. You're playing stiff."

Isagi sighed. "I know, but the problem is I don't know how to not be. Everyone's scored this season except me. I don't wanna fall behind."

"Maybe Reo was right," you suggested.

Isagi let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure he is. But I don't exactly have any women who are willing to hook up for the sake of my game."

"I would, you know, for the sake of your game," you replied.

Isagi looked shocked. "Are you serious? But Ego's rules."

You shrugged. "He'd never find out, it's not like he’d be there during it." Isagi shuttered at the thought. "Look, as a friend and manager who wants to see the team do well, I'm offering to help. If we don't tell anybody else there's no way we'd get in trouble."

You could see the gears turning in Isagi's head. Best case scenario, he was thinking, he has sex with the hot manager and goes on a scoring streak. Worst case scenario, his play doesn't get any better, but he at least got to fuck the hot manager. He liked those odds.

"Okay, sure. If you really don't mind."

It was just too easy.

You agreed to meet at your place, as your roommate was spending the night at her boyfriend's. Isagi looked anxious as you led him to your room.

"This is supposed to be helping to relax," you commented with an amused smile. You laid on your bed, propped up on your elbows. Isagi eyed you hungrily, but his body was still tense.

"I'm still half expecting Ego to pop out and lecture me," Isagi replied.

You chuckled. "Gonna spend the whole night thinking about Ego or are you gonna come over here and let me take care of you?"

The latter sounded much more appealing, obviously so Isagi crawled on top of you on the bed. "If you change you min-"

"Shh," you pressed your finger to his lips. "Don't stress, just kiss me." You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him into you. His kiss was tentative at first, but quickly melted into comfortable rhythm.

Isagi palmed your tits, lightly grinding against you. He was hard already, making you smirk. You slid down between your bodies, squeezing him through his sweats. He gasped into the kiss.

"So sensitive,"you noted. "It's been a minute, huh?

"Too long," Isagi replied, pulling his shirt off. You followed suit, stripping yourself from the waist up. He eyed you hungrily, body already relaxing at the sight of you.

"Let's not keep you waiting any longer, yeah?" You hooked your finger into his sweats, tugging them down. His size was average, but he was flushed a pretty shade of pink. He teased your entrance with his tip, nudging at your clit. You let out a pleasant hum.

Isagi pressed in sigh you with a satisfied size. "God, you feel good." His head fell back as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you. He felt like he had to warm up, afraid he would bust too soon after going so long without.

Eventually he picked up his pace. He cupped the back of one of your knees, pressing it up to your chest. The angle pressed him deeper inside you, hitting a spot that made you breathless. "Mmm, so good Isagi."

He cock twitched at his name on your tongue. It spurred him on, snapping his hips faster. The base of him brushed against your clit, building your pleasure with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his muscular back, letting your nails rake down his skin. The sensation sent Isagi over the edge.

He let out a low curse as his hips stuttered and he spilled inside you. The sensation of warmth filling you, along with the throb of his cock set you over the edge. You sighed contently into his neck as he slowly rode out your highs.

"Thanks for that," Isagi said later as you both redressed.

"You can thank me once you start playing better," you teased.

Low and behold, Isagi scored twice the very next game. He shot a lopsided grin as the team celebrated the win, though no one knew how you were the key to the success. Another one crossed off the list.

****

A few weeks later, your next opportunity arose. The team was lamenting about upcoming midterms, which they have to pass in order to be eligible play on the team.

"I'm screwed for my economics test," Bachira groaned at the end of practice.

"Don't ask me for help, dude. I gotta focus on my stats test or I'm screwed," Karasu replied, leaving Bachira to groan in the grass.

"Are you taking economics with professor Johnson?" you asked.

Bachira perked up. "Yes, he's the worst."

You nodded sympathetically. "For real, I struggled in his class last semester. I could help you, if you want. I still have some old notes."

"Seriously? That would be awesome," Bachira replied.

You met up the following evening at the library. You found a quiet spot deep into the stacks so you and Bachira could focus. He was not kidding when he said he was bad, but slowly you got him up to speed.

You weren't sure if you were reading into things because you had an ulterior motive, but you swore you felt tension. Perhaps it was the setting, the way you had to lean into to each other and speak in hushed voices. Your thighs brushed each others, fingertips brushing the other's hands as you pointed out facts on the page. The scent of him filling your nose, fresh and a little sweet.

"y/n," Bachira said softly, amusement clear in his voice. "You're staring."

You blushed, but used the moment to your advantage. "You're a little distracting."

"Oh yeah?" His hand brushed against your leg. "What should we do about that?"

You leaned in closer, allowing him to brush higher up your thigh. "You wanna take a little break, Bachira?" Your voice was a sweet hum in his ear.

"Was just thinking I need to thank you for the help," Bachira replied. He ghosted over your center, cat-like eyes flicking to yours for any signs of discomfort. When you should none, he applied a little pressure. "I've got some ideas, but might be better somewhere more... private."

"I like the sound of that," you murmured, already feeling yourself growing slick. "But we have to be careful, if someone sees we could get in trouble with Ego."

"Well, Isagi's visting his family tonight, so I have the place to myself," Bachira replied, lazily rubbing light circles over you. "As you for everyone else, it's late now and I doubt we'll see the guys on campus. Plus, I can keep a secret."

You smiled wickedly. "Let's do it."

You both scrambled to pack up your books. You weaved through the stacks, occupied by only a few devout studiers. It was later than you thought, night fully set in. You were grateful for the cover of darkness as you snuck to Bachira's car, both giggling.

Bachira drove with his hand on your thigh, teasing you lightly. Something about the gleam in his eye when he looked at you made you squirm, like you knew he had something good in store. Mercifully, the apartment he shared with Isagi was not far from campus.

You were on each other once the door closed behind you. Bachira kissed you as he led you back to his bedroom. Both your shirts were already off by the time you hit the bed. Bachira climbed on top of you, kissing you playfully as he continued to tease you through your leggings.

Bachira pulled away from the kiss, breathless and pupils wide. "Are you okay with toys?"

"Hmm?" you couldn't comprehend his question through the fog of lust.

Bachira dug through his nightstand, pulling out a little vibrator. You instinctively rubbed your thighs together at the thought of Bachira using that on you. "Can I?"

"Please."

Bachira grinned, sliding your leggings off and returning to you kissing you. He ran his hands up and down your body, giving extra attention to your tits and thighs. Eventually, he flicked on the vibrator, lazily dragging it from the valley of your chest down to the apex of your thighs. He stopped just above your throbbing clit before dragging it back up to the top.

He chuckled into the kiss as you squirmed when the vibrator ran across your nipples. He slid his tongue into your mouth, kissing you damn near stupid as the little bullet went back down your body.

You let out a little sigh into his mouth as he lightly pressed the vibrator to your clothed clit. He teased you with it, giving just enough pressure for it to feel good, but not enough to do anything. Any time he suspected pleasure was building, he pulled it away. Your hips bucked, desperate for more.

"Bachira," he name a plea on your lips.

"I'm being mean huh? Teasing you like this?" he pressed the vibrator harder into you for emphasis, savoring your gasp. "I'm supposed to be thanking you."

Bachira slid your underwear off, licking his lips at the string of arousal. "Fuck, I think I might need a little taste." He settled between your legs, licking up your slit. Your back arched as he sucked at your clit, messy and eager. He flicked the vibrator back on, alternating between licking at your clit and letting the vibrator do the work.

It took only a few moments of Bachira between your legs to send a surge of pleasure through your body. You clawed at the sheets, gasping his name as the feeling consumed you.

"Tastes so sweet," Bachira mused, licking his lips. He wriggled out of his pants, cock heavy and leaking. "Ready for more?" You nodded, eagerly pulling him closer. Bachira ran his cock leisurely through your slick folds. He flicked the vibrator on, running in down the length of him. He let out a low moan as it brushed against his tip.

He slid the vibrator between the two of you. You jolted as the buzz hit your swollen clit. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he continued to rut himself through your slick. You could feel Bachira's cock twitching against you and all you wanted was to feel that inside.

"Need you, fuck-," you gasped. "Inside, please."

Bachira obliged with a grin. "Can't say no to that." He slid into you with ease, on account of how wet you were. He groaned at the feeling of your wrapped around him.

Bachira snapped his hips, gradually picking up the pace. He loved the little sounds you made, proof of how desperate and sensitive you were. He wanted to push it further, flicking the vibrator on and pressing it against your throbbing clit.

You gasped, feeling over stimulated already. The feeling building in you was white hot. "Bachira I'm gonna-" you choked out a sob as gushed all over him, soaking his lower half.

"Fuck that was hot," Bachira replied, fucking you harder through it. He couldn't hold out longer, seeing you soaked and wriggling beneath him. You felt his cock throb as he filled you with a satisfied sigh.

"Sorry about your sheets," you said when you both caught your breath.

Bachira scoffed. "I'm not even slightly upset about that."

You ended up staying the night at his place, but went to practice the next day separately, as if nothing happened. A few days later, Bachira happily announced he passed his test to the team, throwing a sly wink your way. 4 down, 6 to go.

****

It had been a few weeks since the Bachira hook up and, honestly, you had half a mind to just forget the whole plan and go back for seconds. However, the competitive part of you couldn't give up a bet. Not to mention, you were interested in what the other contenders had to offer.

The semester was winding down and you found yourself at a party at the soccer house. Everyone was celebrating finals ending and a season that was successful so far. You wanted to get in one more before break started to put you in a good place to complete the challenge by next year.

As you were scanning the crowd for prospects, Reo caught your eye. He was chatting with Nagi, of course, and you got a weird feeling that they had been looking at you first. Talking about you. You gave Reo an inviting smile, who whispered soemthing to Nagi before jogging over to you.

"Hey, y/n," Reo greeted.

"Did I catch you staring, Reo?" you teased lightly.

He grinned, throwing his hands up. "You caught me. Nagi and I were talking about you, not going to lie."

"Oh? What about?" you asked.

Reo shifted on his feet, a nervous tell. His eyes flickered back to Nagi, who was watching with a flicker of interest across his normally bored expression.

"It's kinda weird."

You shrugged. "I like weird."

"Well," he began, "Nagi and I... we've always wanted to share a girl. You know, a bucket list sorta thing."

"Reo, are you asking me to have a threesome with you and Nagi?" you couldn't keep the smirk out of your voice.

Reo chuckled, "Well, yeah. I know it's random and kinda weird. Don't feel obligated to say yes obviously. We just... think you're hot and cool and were wondering if you'd be down."

What a gift you'd just been given. You didn't wanna look too eager though.

"I'm down, but..." you feigned concern, "Ego's rules... If people found out, it be a disaster."

"Nagi and I won't tell a soul, we promise," Reo assured you. "We're not trying to get you in trouble - or ourselves for that matter."

That easily, you found yourself in Reo and Nagi's shared place off campus. Most of the guys either rented little apartments or shared a house with 4 other guys, but Reo and Nagi a whole house to themselves. Unsurprising, given Reo's wealth. He could easily have the place to himself, but, again, unsurprisingly, he'd rather share with Nagi.

"Wow," you couldn't prevent the word from slipping out as you saw the massive bed Nagi was currently lounging on. He wore grey sweats and a t shirt and looked good enough to already get you excited.

"Glad I went for the king size now," Reo said, ushering you into the room.

"I'm glad you went for it too," Nagi replied, stretching his long limbs. His shirt lifted up, a sliver of skin above his boxers peaking out. Good lord.

"So, how do you wanna..." you trailed of as you sat down on the bed.

"Kiss Nagi," Reo instructed you, authority trickling into his voice.

"Yeah, c'mere," Nagi smiled lazily. Didn't have to tell you twice. You crawled over to the white haired man, who grabbed you when you were in reach. You let out a surprised giggle as he pulled you on top of him, before his lips found yours.

His mouth moved against yours with ease, tongue slipping to brush yours. His large hands settled on your ass, giving little squeezes every now and then. You wiggled your hips in approval, loving the feel of him beneath you. You could feel Reo's on the two of you, watching hungrily as his best friend slid his hands up your shirt.

You sat up, allowing him to pull it off you. You rolled your hips against him, getting him hard beneath you. "Hot," he said, running his hands up your sides before cupping you tits.

You glanced over at Reo, who was obviously hard at the sight of you and Nagi. The way he looked at you two made you cunt throb. "Don't keep us waiting, Reo," you beckoned to him.

The purpled haired man was happy to have an excuse to join. The bed dipped at he crawled over to you. You cupped his face and kissed him while Nagi toyed with you tits. You let out a little gasp as he squeezed your nipples.

"You're hoggin her," Nagi huffed, pulling you back to kiss him again. Reo laid down next to him and you went between kissing both men. Then, when you pulled back for some air, they turned and kissed each other. And fuck it was hot.

You couldn't resist joining in. The three of you kissed, a tangle of lips and tongues. Clothes were shed, hands across bodies, until everyone was breathless.

"Want you on my face," Nagi drawled.

"Think you could give me head during?" Reo asked. He'd been palming himself since you and Nagi started kissing and was desperate for some relief

You nodded eagerly and everyone shifted into a position that would allow everyone to be satisfied. Nagi licked a stripe up your cunt, making you gasp. He attached his lips to neglected clit, sucking. You tried to focus on Reo as you leaned over to kiss down his body. You swirled your tongue over his flushed, dripping tip. You licked up his length before taking him in your mouth.

Reo let out a content sigh as your cheeks hollowed around him. He ran his fingers through your hair, holding it out of your face as your bobbed your head on him. Meanwhile, Nagi continued to devour you, fucking you with his tongue. The moan the escaped you vibrated down Reo's cock, making him groan.

The sound of both of you being pleasured egged Nagi on, his tongue moving faster across your slit and your clit. It only took a few moments more for your to fall apart, cunt clenching around his wriggling tongue. The sensation of you cumming while sucking him off pushed Reo over the edge. His head feel back as he released on your tongue with a satisfied groan.

"Ride me?" Nagi asked when you caught your breath. It wasn't lost on you that Nagi found away to be involved in this without physically exerting himself much, but with what he could do with his tongue, you weren't mad.

Reo slid his hand down your body, wanting a taste of you. He lazily fingered your cunt open. "Fuck, you got her soaked Nagi," he breathed. "Bet she's gonna feel amazing." He sucked your release off his fingers with a pleasant hum.

You were straddling Nagi's hips, holding the base of his cock to line him up to you. He had his hands behind his head, watch you with a lazi grin as you slid down on him. You breathed through your teeth as you stretched around the size of him. He was easily one of the biggest so far.

"Mmm, just like that," Nagi drawled as you rolled your hips. Reo slid behind you, wraps his arms around to play with your tits. He tweaked your nipples, making you yelp. "Oh she liked that, Reo. Can feel her squeezing me."

Reo chuckled against your skin, continuing to palm your breast while your rode his best friend. Nagi cock twitched at the side of Reo kissing and touching you. "I think she'll really like this," nearly purred. His hand slid down your body, finding your aching clit.

"Fuck," you cried as he rubbed quick circles over the bud. Your hips stuttered as you tried to keep pace despite the bubble of pleasure growing in your tummy. Nagi finally decided to help you out, gripping your hips to fuck up into you. The sensation of him deep inside you as Reo toyed with your clit burst that bubble, euphoria flooding your veins.

Nagi fucked you through the orgasm, chasing his own high. You were totally spent, but that didn't stop of the boys from playing with you. A familiar sensation built up, but you didn't even have the voice to warn them before gushing all over.

"Fucking hell," Nagi groaned at the sight of you squirting on his cock. His release hit him immediately, pressing deeply into you one last time to fill you.

"God that was hot," Reo said. He helped you off Nagi, as your legs were like jelly. He ran to get a towel, helping you both clean up.

"So, did that live up to your bucket list expectations?" you asked.

Both men grinned. "Definitely."

Little did they know, they helped you with a list of your own.

****

You let out a sigh as you checked your phone. Isagi lost his wallet. Again. Practice had ended about an hour ago, but he knew you'd be around organizing all the equipment, which is why you got a text begging you to check the locker room. Of course you would, but not without telling him he's an idiot in desperate need of some air tags.

Typically you didn't go in the locker rooms, since that is where the guys changed, but with practice long over, you felt it was safe. You swept through the few rows of lockers, spying no wallet. You were texting Isagi as much when someone stepped out from the shower area.

"Y/n?" Otoya questioned. He was clad in nothing but a towel, which was hanging dangerously low on his hips. His hair was wet and messy, water droplets were rolling down his toned body. You fought the urge to lick your lips.

"Shit, I'm sorry Otoya," you said, "I thought everyone left. Isagi asked for me to look for something."

He chuckled, seemingly unbothered he was practically naked in front of you. "Let me guess, he lost his wallet."

You nodded. "You'd be right. I'm really sorry, though, I didn't mean to intrude."

He shrugged. "No worries, it doesn't bother me. Hell, I may have asked you to join me if I knew you were here." He tossed it out like a joke, but you could sense a current of truth.

You knew Otoya was a bit of a flirt, so you felt like it was worth the risk to be bold back. "That's too bad, I would have absolutely taken you up on that."

Otoya's eyes widened, clearly surprised his stupid flirting was actually getting him somewhere. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," you nodded, "I mean, look at you. I can't say no to that."

"I mean... I'm thinking I actually need another shower," Otoya replied, "If you care to join."

"Only if you think we won't get caught... you know how Ego is," you replied. This would definitely be risky, even though everyone should be long gone. It was a thrilling thought, pushing the boundary of what you could get away with.

"I'm the last guy here," Otoya assured you, "And I won't tell. I don't Ego on my ass more than he already is."

"Guess I won't be needing these, then." You slipped out of your leggings. "Or this." You pulled off your shirt, leaving you in just your underwear.

"Shit, I think I might be dream." Otoya eyed you hungrily. You giggled as he took your hand, pulling you to the showers. Luckily, Ego put a lot of money into the team's facilities, so the showers were actually quite nice - nothing like the typical grimy locker room showers.

Otoya stepped inside the stall, turning the shower on to a nice, warm temperature. He turned to you, beckoning for you to join him. You closed the curtain behind you, pulling him into the small dry are for a kiss. Otoya happily wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his body. His muscles were warm and firm against you and you could already feel him growing hard through the towel.

He pulled away from you, dropping the towel with a confident grin. You could see why - he was well endowed. He stepped under the water, reaching out his hand to you. "C'mon, I wanna get you wet," he said with a teasing smirk.

You laughed coyly as you shed your bra and panties, Otoya's eyes on you the whole time. The warmth of the water pulled a sigh from you as you returned to kissing him. He pulled away, grinning wickedly as an idea hit him. He lathered up some soap in his hands, rubbing it across your tits.

"You look good like this," he mused at the bubbles coating your skin. The soap allowed his hands to guide over you easily, making it more fun to play with your tits as he kissing you.

He pressed you against the stall wall, his thigh sliding between your legs. You mewled at the feeling of his strong muscle against your needy cunt. He slipped his free hand between you two, toying with your clit. You hummed pleasantly when he slid tow fingers inside, working you open for him.

"God, you're soaked," he said, voice strained. "Can't wait any longer."

"Don't keep me waiting then." You nipped at his lips as he pumped his length, before pressing into you. You gripped his shoulders as he split you open. He gave long, slow strokes as you adjusted to the feel of each other. His pupils flared open as he watched himself slide in and out of out.

Before you knew it, he cupped his hand under your knee, holding it up so he could get deeper inside you. You moaned in satisfaction at the feeling. You knew you should be quiet - you were still in the team locker room even if they should be gone, but you couldn't help yourself.

Otoya loved it, pumping into you harder to pull more noises out of you. His eyes flickered to the detachable shower head, a wicked gleam shining in them. He took it from the wall, aiming the gush of water at your clit.

"Shit," you cried out at the sudden surge of stimulation. "S-so good." You were breathless as your nails dug into him, desperate to hold on.

"Don't hold back," he panted. "Wanna hear you cumming my name." Your leg wrapped around him in response, pulling him closer as you tipped over the edge. Your orgasm hit you hard, the added stimulation of the shower head making it intense. If it wasn't for Otoya holding you up, your knees would have given out.

The sound of his name on your lips as your squeezed him broke his stamina. Otoya slowed as he milked his orgasm, filling you with all he had.

You were both flushed and giddy as you cleaned each other up in the shower. Otoya tossed you a towel after, grinning. "Any time you need a shower buddy, give me a call."

"Will do," you smiled. 3 more to go.

****

The second semester was progressing and while you only had 3 men left to get through, you felt the pressure to get this bet completed. You were still concerned about Rin, and decided you would tackle him last. You were keeping your eyes and ears open for opportunities for the other two, which Yukimiya thankfully gave you.

You shared a favorite band, who were dropping a new album. Yukimiya invited you over to his place to listen to it. He had record player and a great set of speakers, making the music sound heavenly. You both sat on his bed, letting the songs wash over you.

"I think this is their best album yet," Yukimiya commented as it came to an end. You nodded in agreement as you both launched into a discussion about the music. All the while, you drifted closer to each other, thighs and hands brushing each other. Even if it wasn't for the bet you were working on, you would feel drawn Yukimiya. He was handsome, sweet, and fun to talk with.

"What?" you asked when you noticed him staring at you.

"Nothing," he said with a sheepish grin, "You're just pretty."

You didn't have to fake the blush or the smile that crept across your face. "Thanks, for what it's worth, you're cute."

"Cute enough to break some rules?" Yukimiya suggested playfully.

You feigned offense. "Did you invite me here just for that?"

"Not just for that," Yukimiya teased back, "But I would be lying if I didn't it's something I wanted."

"And I said I wanted it too?" you dropped your voice to a slightly more sultry tone. Yukimiya shifted closer to you at the sound.

"I would say if no one finds out, it doesn't matter if a rule is broken."

"Mmm, I like the way you think." He cupped your face a pulled you in for a kiss. He was slightly more reserved than the other men you'd kissed, but still confident and purposeful. Like he wanted to enjoy himself, but not rush through it. There was something about the slowness that drove you mad, desperate for more.

"Someone's eager," Yukimiya mused as your ground against him. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, swollen from kissing. "Guess I should get you out of these." He took your shirt in his hand, pulling it off, before peeling off your pants.

"This what you wanted?" He asked as he rubbed light circles over your clothed cunt. A bemused smile played at his lips as he felt your underwear growing damp.

"Want more," you breathed, kissing at his neck as he toyed with you.

"Look at yourself," Yukimiya said, turning your so your back was flush his front. You were facing the mirror across from his bed. Your skin was flushed, the wet spot on your panties glaringly obvious. Yukimiya was peering at you from over your shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "So pretty when you're needy."

He pulled your underwear to the side, sliding his fingers through your wetness. He let out a pleased sigh as he slide two digits in, lazily stroking. Once they were coated in your slick, pulled them out to toy with your clit.

"You're good at that," you huffed breathlessly as he worked you up with his fingers. Going back and forth between fingering your cunt and stimulating your clit. The slow, steady increase in his pace had your cunt drooling and desperate for release.

"Fuck you're soaked," Yukimiya groaned, his eyes were glued to the mirror, watching his fingers slide in and out of you. "Gonna cum for me? Make a mess?"

"P-please, want it Yuki," you babbled, so close to the high you wanted. Yukimiya guided you there easily, cursing as your cunt clenched around his fingers and your body shuddered. He licked his lips watching you drip on to his lap.

He was already shifting beneath you, slipping himself out of his pants and boxers. Now he was feeling desperate, wanting to know what it felt like to be buried inside you. "Not done with you yet."

"Good, because neither am I," you replied. You leaned forward and arched your back, making it easier for him to slide inside you. You both mewled with pleasure. You rocked your hips, feeling his cock slide through your walls. You throbbed at the sight of you fucking yourself on him in the mirror.

Yukimiya couldn't tear his eyes away either, though he was looking down directly at where he slid inside you. He wanted more, to make you cum harder on him. You heard him spit before you felt it drop on your ass, warm and wet. He gripped your ass with one hand, while a finger of the other circled the tight hole.

"Oh fuck-" you gasped as he pressed his finger in your ass. That addition alone sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making each grind of your hips more intense. Yuki was transfixed at the sight of him filling you, loving the sounds you made.

You didn't last long after that, his name spilling from your lips as you practically collapsed from the intensity of the climax that hit you. It was light and heavy at the same time, making your head swim.

"Shit y/n," Yukimiya groaned, his cock twitching inside you. "You're like heaven." His head feel back with a groan as he spilled inside you, a beautiful sight for you to watch in the mirror.

Yukimiya helped clean you up before you parted ways with promises to discuss the album more when you weren't so... distracted. A surge of excitement hit you when you realized how close you were to winning.

****

The Blue Lock team made the playoffs, so, naturally, a party was in order. The house rented by some of the team members was filled with players and their friends, yourself included. Everyone was a bit drunker than normal, celebrating a successful season and boasting about all the goals they would score in the championship game.

You chuckled as you observed the scene, practically tasting the testosterone from all the posturing. Normally, you would have thought the team house was way too risky, given all the other guys around that could be potential witnesses. But tonight, there was enough of a crowd - and more than enough alcohol - that you were certain, given the right circumstance, you could pull it off. Your body tingled with excitement as you considered your options.

"Hey, y/n," Karasu grinned. He loved to be a little flirty with you, even though it's been months since you hooked up with him. "Were playing spin the bottle in the basement. Wanna come?"

Well, that was certainly an opening. "Sure."

You followed him down to the basement, where a sizable circle was formed on the floor. Some of the faces your recognized, some you didn't. Your eyes flickered Chigiri, who smiled shyly at you. You gave him a coy smile as you settled into a spot.

It took awhile for the bottle to work its way around to you. It was an endless cycle of spinning glass, teasing and giggling as the match made their way to the closet, where they spent 5 minutes kissing. Though, with the flush and panting of a few that left you wondered if they were using their time for a bit more.

When it was your turn, you had to hold in the cheer you wanted to let out as the bottle settled on exactly who you wanted. "Guess it's my lucky day," Chigiri flirted. You grinned; if only he knew how true that was for you.

You both made for the closet, sliding into a heated darkness as the door shut behind you. You felt Chigiri's hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His lips were soft and almost sweet. You wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing some sort of cherry chapstick.

Chigiri was a little shy and tentative as he kissed you, which somehow spurred you on more. You stepped forward, pressing him against the wall. He moaned into your mouth as your body rubbed against his. The sound of it - practically a whimper - unlocked something in you.

You pulled away, just barely able to see the needy look Chigiri gave you through the darkness. "Are you hard, Chigiri?" you purred, ghosting your hand across his jeans.

"S-shit, I'm sorry." he mumbled.

"No need to apologize." You traced circles over the bulge in his pants. "Makes me wish we had more time. I could take care of that for you."

"Really?" he perked up.

"Of course," you replied. You nuzzled against his neck, kissing him. "Wanna make you feel good." You could feel him gulp at your words.

"Maybe...maybe we could go to my room after?" he was struggled to keep his voice even with how your lips brushed against his skin.

"We'd have to be sneaky," you replied, "Don't want us getting in trouble, you know?" Chigiri, unsurprisingly, was on board with whatever you wanted. You a made to go back to the circle, where Chigiri would go back to his room after a round. You would wait 3 more rounds before joining him, as to not arouse suspicion.

That plan led you to Chigiri's room about 10 minutes later, where you found him waiting on the bed for you. You practically pounced on him, not holding back how deeply you wanted to kiss him. Chigiri settled on the bed beneath you, letting you take control.

You stripped him down to his boxers, peppering kissing along his exposed skin. You sat back, admiring how Chigiri looked: skin flushed, hair haloed around him, and a needy gleam in his eye.

"You're so pretty, Chigiri," you hummed, running your finger down his chest. You toyed with the waistband of his boxers, watching him squirm.

He blushed at your compliment. He's not used to being called pretty as a guy, but he liked how it sounded coming from you. He liked even more that you were dipping your hand into his boxers, running your finger down his hard length.

"Bet you'd look even prettier cumming for me," you mused, pulling his boxers off. His tip was flushed a pretty shade of pink and already leaking. "Would you like that?"

"Please," he urged, voice strained with anticipation. You obliged, spitting into your hand and pumping him. You paid extra attention to his tip, swirling your finger over the tip and spreading his pre. You leaned down to press a kiss to it, making him whimper. The sound, the desperation caused your own arousal to pool between your legs.

"So sensitive," you hummed. You pumped his faster, giving an extra squeeze to work him up. You pushed to the point of the edge, just to slow down and hear him whine. You could keep it up for hours, but the desperate way he looked at you wore through your patience.

"F-fuck y/n, 'm-m close," Chigiri stumbled over his words.

"Cum for me, Chigiri," you purred. You watched as his tummy dipped from the effort of his release. He whimpered loudly as he came all over you hand and his tummy. "Good boy."

Chigiri let out a little whine at your words. He already getting hard again as he watched you lick up his release. You made your way back to his lips. You finally started to remove your clothes, letting Chigiri catch his breath and feel your body. By the time you were bare, he was rock hard again.

****

The energy in practice was tense, despite the team having won the semi finals and punched their ticket to the championships the night prior. The game, however, had been way too close, entering over time. Blue Lock got won by the skin of their teeth, thanks to the tie breaking goal by Rin.

"You idiots better not play like that in the finals," Rin snapped at the end of practice.

Barou bristled. "I could win the whole damn championship myself."

"Oh yeah? We only won yesterday because of my two goals," Rin fired back. "If it wasn't for me you'd be watching the championship from the stands."

"We all contributed, Rin," Isagi intervened. "You acting like a pompous ass isn't going to win us the championship."

"Nobody asked you, Isagi," Rin practically spot.

"Don't waste your breath, Isagi," Karasu butted in, a mean glint in his eyes. "Rin's just miserable because the only place he can score is on the field."

The group snickered as Rin's scowl deepened. You were surprised at the insinuation - was Rin a virgin? It was somewhat hard to believe given his good looks as status as one of the best athletes in campus but that look on his face...

"Whatever," Rin grumbled, heading away from the group. "When you all have to watch me score a hat trick in the finals, you'll wish you trained more instead of acting like fools."

Everyone dispersed after that and you waited a few minutes before following Rin to where you knew he was heading - the yoga room. He was the only one on the team who used it, so you knew you'd find him alone. You joined him on occasion, which he tolerated because you were pretty good at it and didn't bother him.

You knew this was your only shot and, frankly, the only time you felt nervous in this whole ordeal. If anyone was going to say no to you and blow this whole thing it would be Rin. But it was now or never.

"Hey Rin," you greeted. He was already seated on a mat. He gave you a grunt in reply. "Sorry those guys were such assholes to you."

Rin shrugged. "They're idiots. I don't care." Something in his voice told you he might care despite his cool exterior, so you continued.

"They are," you nodded, "But if you wanted those idiots to be wrong, I could help."

His eyes slid to you. "What do you mean?"

"The whole not scoring off the field thing," you replied. "Maybe I'm overstepping, but if what they said it true and you don't want it to be, I would be down."

"Are you offering to sleep with me?" Rin asked. "I don't need pity, you know."

Shit. You had to stay calm. "It's not pity, you're a good looking guy and the best on the team. Why wouldn't I?" You could see the slightest shift in his eyes, so you continued. "Besides, these guys think they're so smart. It would make them look stupid if they were dogging you for something that wasn't even true."

Rin was silent, mulling your offer over. His gaze was intense, but you knew you couldn't look away, couldn't show weakness. Rin was a perfectionist, if he thought you weren't up to his level, he would certainly say no.

"Okay," he said finally. You bit back a cheer. "But I don't want them knowing it was you. I don't need them thinking I got pity sex."

You could have kissed him for making it so easy. "That's fine with me." You made arrangements to meet at his place later that night. He was not one for wasting any time, apparently. His apartment was just how you expected: neat and orderly.

He sat on his bed, looking up at you with a look in his eye you'd never seen before.

"Are you nervous, Rin?" you asked, incredulous.

His brow furrowed. "No." But he couldn't stop the tint from from rising in his cheek.

"We don't have to you, know you," you said. Sure, it would suck to lose, but you wouldn't want it at the cost of making him uncomfortable.

"I'm not nervous," Rin reiterated. "Let's just get it going, okay?"

You rolled your eyes, but sat on the bed next to him. "So romantic."

The kiss was a bit tentative and stiff at first, but Rin slowly warmed to your rhythm. You spent some time like that, just letting him get used to you and not forcing anything too soon. Eventually, Rin's hands ventured to your body, feeling you up. You took it as permission to put your hands on him, climbing into his lap.

This kiss became progressively heated as you explored each other. You ground against him lightly, pulling stifled groans from Rin. He grunted impatiently, pulling at your clothing. You obliged his silent demand, getting your top off. You leaned over him, forcing him to lay back on the bed. He kept his eyes cool and almost bored, but you didn't miss the bob in his throat as he took in the sight of your tits.

"How far have you gone?" you asked, sliding your hand up under his shirt.

"I've fingered a girl," he told you.

"Oh? So is the soccer guy good with his hands?" you teased.

"I guess you'll find out," he replied, pulling you into him. He was growing my sure of himself now, sliding his hand between your legs. He teased you through your leggings as your tongues tangled. Eventually, he found his way inside your pants.

He didn't disappoint by jamming his fingers into you, as you'd fear a virgin would. He took the time to work you wet, before slipping two fingers inside. He pumped them confidently, finding the spot that made your breath hitch.

"Sounds like the soccer guy is good with his hands," Rin mused. You didn't protest as you let him work you up to an orgasm. He rubbed your clit in circles as pleasure rushed your body, making you cry out.

"You know, I'm surprised you are virgin," you commented as you caught your breath. He was good at that.

Rin shrugged. "I was focused on soccer."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, which made Rin scowl. However, he didnt' seem to care anymore as your stripped both of you of the rest of your clothes. "I'm gonna need you to focus on me now," you flirted. "At least for a few minutes."

Rin scoffed. "I'll last more than a few minutes."

You grinned. "Well see about that."

You couldn't lie, it felt good to see the Rin Itoshi falter beneath you as you pressed him inside you. The warmth and wetness was like nothing he had ever felt before. As you moved your hips, there was a flare of panic in him that he would, in fact, spill in you immediately. However, he refused to give you the satisfaction, nor hurt his own pride.

"You feel good Rin," you moaned, putting a little extra emphasis on it just to tease him. Despite your teasing, Rin was holding together better than you expected. He quickly learned your rhythm, finding a way to match your thrusts and press deeper inside you. It shouldn't surprise you, given how Rin approaches soccer. He was never passive about anything, needing to be the best at any new skill he learned.

"Fuck," he huffed, a crack in his calm facade. The feeling of you squeezing him was quickly wearing down his restraint. You were egged on by this show of weakness, bouncing on him even faster. Rin, not to be bested, found your clit once against and circled the sensitive bud.

When your second release hit you, it broke Roin too. The feel of your already tight cunt clamping down on his aching length was too much. He cursed again, fingers digging into your skin as he spilled inside you.

"Honestly, I thought people were over hyping sex," Rin commented as you both redressed, "But now I kind of get why those guys are such idiots about it."

You snorted. "I'm just happy I could help." But even more happy that you just won yourself a bet.

****

"I have to know, who is the best!" Your friend demanded.

"I got a top five for you," you smiled wickedly, excited to share your findings.

In 5th place was Chigiri. You never thought you'd enjoy being the more dominant one, but you thoroughly enjoyed taking charge of Chigiri.

"Of course that pretty boy liked that," your friend grinned.

In 4th place Barou. A bit rough, but he knew how to make it good. Plus, he was by far the biggest on the team.

"Barou having the biggest dick is shocking to no one," you friend commented.

3rd place was a tie between Nagi and Reo. Because you had them together, it was too hard to place them individually. Despite how much you enjoyed yourself, it also felt unfair to rank them higher since they had partner. But fairness be damned they earned a spot on the list.

Your friend sighed wistfully, wishing that she too could find herself between Nagi and Reo.

2nd place went to Yukimiya, which did not shock your friend at all.

"He's so fine, I could have told he'd be up there. But, then who's number one?"

"The winner is..." you made a little drum roll. "Bachira." You had not been able to stop thinking about how he so easily he toyed your body. How easily he pulled out the best orgasm out of you.

"Damn, who knew he had it in him?" you friend commented. "Guess I'm not that surprised he's a freak, though."

"Definitely not surprising, but very appreciated." You smiled, not just because you were a couple hundred dollars richer from winning this bet, but because you were already plotting how you could get some seconds.

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brunchable · 8 months ago

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THIS, is your boyfriend, Mom? [4]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: The family went on a camping trip with Lucas' cousins. Warning: Lucas fell into a river but is unharmed.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad. ALSO, note I am still trying to fix the tag list for this.

The stars had just begun to shine as you, Bucky, Lucas, and a few of his cousins sat around the campfire, laughter filling the air as the kids toasted marshmallows and dared each other to make the strangest marshmallow combinations.

After a while, Lucas and his cousin wandered over to you, their faces lit with excitement. “Mom, can we go skip rocks by the river?” Lucas asked.

You nodded, giving them a warm but serious smile. “Alright, but don’t go too close to the water. Stay safe.”

They nodded, promising to be careful, and you watched as they bounded off toward the riverbank, their giggles mixing with the sound of the flowing water. Bucky was sitting next to you, his gaze steady on the kids as they skipped stones, trying to beat each other’s number of skips.

Everything seemed peaceful.

But after a few minutes, you overheard Lucas’s cousin daring him. “Bet you can’t skip one from way up close,” his cousin said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the water, where the bank was muddy and slippery.

Lucas hesitated, glancing back at you and Bucky, then shrugged, puffing his chest out a little. “It’s not even that deep. I’ll be fine.”

In that split second, he took a bold step closer, right to the edge, and threw his rock. But as he shifted his weight forward, the muddy bank gave way, and he slipped, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance—only to tumble forward into the icy water.

“Mom! Help!” Lucas screamed, panic overtaking his voice as the river’s current tried to pull him in.

His cousin tried to reach him, stretching out his arm, but the water was too strong, and Lucas was quickly losing his footing.

In that moment, Lucas looked up, his breath catching as he saw a figure racing toward him with unwavering speed and determination. Recognizing Bucky’s shape, he reached out instinctively, the word spilling out in sheer desperation.

“Dad!”

Before you could take a step, Bucky had already shot up, sprinting to the river with a look of pure terror etched across his face. Reaching the boys in seconds, he gently but firmly shoved Lucas’s cousin back toward you, his voice low and firm. “Get to your mom. Now.”

“Lucas!” you screamed, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, Bucky stepped into the river, his boots sinking into the cold, swirling water as it tugged insistently at his legs, urging him to stay back. But he moved forward, steady and sure, his eyes fixed on Lucas as if the world held nothing else. The river pressed against him, but he barely noticed, reaching Lucas in a few strides, wrapping a solid arm under the boy’s shoulders, and lifting him up with a fierce certainty. Holding Lucas close, Bucky turned and waded back to shore, his grip firm, his gaze steady, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious.

As soon as they were safely on dry ground, Bucky knelt down, gripping Lucas’s shoulders tightly, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“What were you thinking, Lucas?” he snapped, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go near the edge? Do you understand what could have happened if you’d fallen in deeper?”

Lucas glanced up at Bucky, then looked over at you. The sight of you standing there, tears streaming down your face, struck him like a punch to the chest. His mother, the person he always wanted to keep happy and safe, was crying because of him.

Lucas looked down, his face pale, but tried to stammer out a response. “I-I… I didn’t think it’d be that slippery…”

Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his voice grew louder, thick with emotion. “Exactly. You didn’t think! What if the current had pulled you in? What if you’d been swept away before I got there? What if… what if you had gotten hurt or worse?” Bucky’s voice wavered, but his tone stayed stern. “This isn’t a game, boy. You could’ve been lost to that river in an instant.”

Lucas’s cousin, standing nearby, shifted nervously, his face turning pale as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Bucky’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, his tone still unrelenting.

“And you,” he said, his voice just as firm as before. “Why would you dare him to go closer? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Lucas’s cousin looked down, guilt spreading across his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Bucky… I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just… thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t soften as he spoke, his tone filled with disappointment.

“Fun? What if he’d fallen in and the current was too strong? What if I hadn’t been here in time? You don’t push someone to take a risk like that, especially near the water. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not encourage recklessness.”

The weight of Bucky’s words began to settle over both boys like a heavy blanket. The “what ifs” replayed in their minds, each one sinking deeper, and they both suddenly felt small and helpless under Bucky’s fierce gaze.

Lucas’s voice shook as he whispered, “I… I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to make you and Mom worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it…”

“Wanting to prove yourself doesn’t matter if you’re putting yourself in danger. Bravery doesn’t mean being reckless, Lucas. Do you understand that?” Bucky’s stern expression didn’t waver as he looked down at Lucas, still gripped by the terror of almost losing him.

Lucas’s shoulders slumped as the weight of his mistake settled over him like an unwelcome shadow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his voice broke in a whisper, “I’m really, really sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to be this bad… I just didn’t think.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his face softening as he caught the guilt in Lucas’s tear-filled eyes. He let out a quiet, unsteady breath, the last of his anger dissolving like smoke. He pulled the boy into a fierce hug, an instinct older than words, holding him close as if, in that one embrace, he could keep the world and all its dangers at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest, his small hands gripping Bucky’s shirt like it was his only tether to safety.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Lucas’s head. “I know, kid. I know you didn’t mean it.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with something deeper than mere forgiveness.

He stroked Lucas’s back in slow, reassuring circles, feeling each shaky breath. “You scared me, you know? Really scared me.” The words were simple but carried a weight only Lucas could feel, pressing gently on his small shoulders.

Then, Bucky pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing a tear from Lucas’s cheek with his thumb. “Listen. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re already enough, just as you are. And I need you here with me. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

Lucas nodded, a fierce, wide-eyed sincerity in his gaze. “I promise.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small, warm smile, and he ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s my boy.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight to the moment. Then, Bucky gave Lucas’s shoulder a soft squeeze, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable note of resolve.

“Now,” he murmured, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “go apologize to your mom and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve given her enough to worry about for one day.”

× × × ×

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the clearing as the night deepened. The kids were finally asleep in their own tent, their quiet breaths rising and falling in a rhythm of exhaustion and dreams. You stayed by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the flames dance.

Bucky came up behind you, draping a blanket over your shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you beyond the blanket.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “For what you did for Lucas today.”

Bucky shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, settling down beside you. But as he looked into the fire, a quiet chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling with a mix of disbelief and something almost… tender.

You turned to him, curiosity in your gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still reflecting the firelight. “He called me ‘Dad,’” he said, voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, your own smile widening. “He did.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he leaned back. “Think that’s going to cost me the dad fee?”

You laughed, a warm sound that felt like it belonged to the night. Bucky grinned, clearly pleased to lighten the mood, and his hand found yours as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling as the stars watched over.

After a moment, Bucky’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, closing the space between you with a look of pure adoration. His hand cradled your face as his lips brushed against yours, warm and lingering.

Just as you melted into the kiss, a small voice pierced the quiet.

“Oh, wow. Seriously? Now?”

You and Bucky broke apart to find Lucas standing outside his tent, hands on his hips and an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. “Guys, it’s, like, bedtime. Some of us are trying to sleep here without… that in our minds.”

You stifled a laugh, and Bucky sighed, glancing at the sky as if asking for patience. “What do you need, kid?”

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I was going to the bathroom, but now I’m scarred for life. So thanks for that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees. “I’ll be back—try to keep it PG, alright?”

With that, he turned and shuffled off, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “Can’t believe I had to see that.”

When he was out of earshot, Bucky shook his head, chuckling softly. “That kid…”

You bit back a grin, leaning into him with a sigh. “So, where were we?”

Bucky pulled you close, a smirk on his lips. “Somewhere between dad fees and permanent interruptions, I think.”

× × × ×

Back home a few days later.

It was a quiet evening, and Bucky had been waiting for the right moment, nerves humming beneath his calm exterior. Lucas was sprawled out on the living room floor, building a small LEGO fortress, completely focused. Bucky took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then sat down next to Lucas, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, bud,” Bucky said softly, ruffling Lucas’s hair.

Lucas looked up, his face lighting up. “Hey, Bucky! Want to help me with the fortress? It’s almost done.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe in a sec, kiddo. I actually wanted to talk to you about something… something important.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“So… I’ve been thinking about your mom,” he began, his voice gentle. “She means everything to me, Lucas. You know that, right?”

Lucas nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I know. She loves you, too.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little harder as he reached out, resting a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Well, I was wondering… how would you feel if I asked her to marry me?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down, taking it in, before glancing back up at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean… you’d be my dad?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sass. “Like, officially? You’re not just trying to get a tax break or something, right?”

Bucky laughed, the tension easing out of him a bit. “No, not for a tax break, kid. I genuinely want to be there for you and your mom. I want us to be a family.”

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in thought. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he said, “So… you’re asking me for permission? Wow, you must really like us.”

Bucky chuckled, ruffling Lucas’s hair again.

“Yeah, I am. It’s important to me that you’re okay with this. You’re the most important person in her life, and if we’re gonna be a family… I want you to know that you’re part of this decision.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, like he’d just been struck by the weight of Lucas’s words. For a moment, he could only stare, his heart swelling with an unexpected, overwhelming sense of joy. He felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could say anything, he pulled Lucas into a tight hug, holding him close.

Lucas’s face softened, and after a brief pause, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug.

"You don't have to ask," Lucas whispered, his sass melting to something sincere, "I already know you're my dad."

As he closed his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Lucky,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

When they finally pulled back, Lucas wiped his eyes, his grin returning with a mischievous edge. “But… you still have to do it right. Like, you know, get down on one knee and everything. And maybe a big sign that says, ‘Will you marry me?’ in case you mess up your words.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going all out. Your mom deserves the best.”

Lucas nodded, looking proud. “Good. She does. And you better not make her cry… unless they’re the good kind of tears. Otherwise, I’ll have to come after you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Only happy tears, kiddo. I promise.”

Lucas gave him a firm nod, his eyes sparkling. “Good then it’s settled. Now, are you going to help me finish this fortress, or are you too busy planning your big proposal?”

Bucky grinned, feeling the last of his nerves slip away as he settled beside Lucas, picking up a LEGO piece.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s finish this fortress. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough to withstand all the big plans I’m about to set in motion.”

Lucas gave a mock-serious nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want you bailing on me halfway through.”

Bucky chuckled, nudging him gently. “Hey, I’m in this for the long haul. Fortress-building included.”

They both settled back down to work, side by side, focused on finishing the fortress together, each piece clicking into place as easily as their bond had over time.

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mercillery · 7 months ago

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ASL BROTHERS WITH A SHY S/O

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

CHARACTERS: Luffy + Ace + Sabo

NOTES: Do Luffy haters exist? It’s a dumb question, yes—but I’m genuinely curious. He’s so cute and dumb, I find it hard to not love him.

LUFFY

Luffy wouldn’t really “get” shyness in the conventional sense. But here’s the thing about Luffy: he’s all about accepting people as they are, no questions asked. He treats you with the same bright-eyed, wide-grinned enthusiasm he shows everyone. The idea of you needing to be more outgoing wouldn’t even cross his mind because, to him, you’re already perfect as you are. Shyness? Never heard of it. Just pass the meat, please.

Now, Luffy’s approach to social interactions is, well, 100% Luffy. He doesn’t really adapt his wild and carefree style to match anyone else’s comfort levels. If you're quiet and reserved, that’s cool—Luffy just goes on living life at full volume like it’s another Tuesday on the Sunny.

At first, you might be left wondering how in the seven seas you’re going to survive the endless hurricane of chaos that follows this rubbery captain around. But soon, and without realizing it, you start to find that his reckless antics and headfirst approach to life are... kind of charming. Sure, it’s like living next door to a tornado, but it’s a tornado that makes you laugh until your sides hurt and never lets you get too deep into your own thoughts.

What’s funny is that while he doesn’t actively try to make you feel more comfortable, he ends up doing it anyway. It’s his Luffy magic. You find yourself smiling more often, your shyness loosening its grip bit by bit as he does dumb stuff and throws himself into trouble that only Luffy would consider fun.

He’ll walk up to you, grin stretching from ear to ear, holding out some bizarre, questionably edible snack and say, “You gotta try this!” And just like that, the nerves you felt melt away—not because he’s making an effort to make you feel at ease, but simply because he’s himself.

And sure, sometimes his energy is a lot. We’re talking sprinting-across-decks, yelling-about-meat kind of “a lot.” But in the middle of all that noise, you come to realize that you feel safer and more at ease when you’re around him. Why? Because Luffy has this way of making everything fun and natural, and soon enough, that includes you too.

Before long, your shyness isn’t something you worry about around him; it’s just another thing Luffy accepts without blinking, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And in his eyes? It is.

It’s cute because you two really are like the sun and the moon, with Luffy as the blazing, never-stopping sun, and you being the more reserved, quiet moon. It’s like a cosmic duo—he’s all light and energy, and you’re the calm, cool reflection of it all. You balance each other out in the weirdest, most wonderful way.

And when people catch wind of the fact that Luffy is dating someone—let alone someone as shy as you—it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes bug out of their head. Yeah, they’re not wrong to be surprised, but Luffy doesn’t care. He’s already busy thinking about what’s next on the agenda, probably involving meat or some kind of treasure hunt.

Luffy is anything but shy. He could probably talk to a rock and think it’s the best conversation he’s had all day. So when it comes to affection, he’s not exactly one to shy away from it. He might not be the clingiest partner out there—he’s not going to be hanging off you like a koala (okay, maybe sometimes)—but you can bet he’s there, always.

Whether it’s randomly giving you a hug in or tossing his arm around your shoulder like it’s no big deal, he’s just Luffy—and that means showing affection wherever and whenever he feels like it, no matter who’s watching. Basically, he’s like a “here’s my arm, it’s yours now” kind of guy.

While Luffy doesn’t exactly get what makes you shy, he’s surprisingly good at picking up on your feelings. If you’re feeling anxious, or if you’re shrinking back into your shell a little bit, Luffy has this unbelievable ability to sense when you need a change of pace. Without even thinking about it, he’ll grab your hand and drag you off on some wild adventure, just to get your mind off things.

He doesn’t even need a reason—he just knows that you could use a distraction, and he’s the perfect person to provide it. Besides, that just gives him more time to spend with you! And, of course, he might offer you one of his beloved snacks or a full meal if you’re feeling off. Seriously, do you know how big that is? Luffy parting with his food is like a miracle in itself, so if he’s offering it to you, you better believe you’re special.

And let’s talk about the food thing for a sec. Do you even realize how big of a deal it is that Luffy shares his food with you? Like, do you know how many times he’s turned down offering a bite of his meat to anyone? Probably never. So when he hands you a piece of his prized food, you know it’s a huge honor. We’re talking sacred territory here.

If you ever doubted your place in Luffy’s heart, just remember: he shares his food with you. That’s a level of trust and affection that not even the grandest feast can outdo. Trust me, you’ve got a special place in his world, and it’s right next to the meat and maybe a little bit of the chaos.

Luffy’s naturally the type of guy who’d include you in absolutely everything—because why wouldn’t he? To him, you’re part of the crew, part of his world, and that means he’s going to drag you into every single bit of it.

You’d be minding your own business, maybe sitting quietly with your book or trying to sneak in a nap, when suddenly—BAM! Luffy's in front of you, grinning like a madman, already talking about the next big adventure or game that everyone’s playing. “C’mon, join us!” he’d say, and before you could protest, he’s already tossing you into the mix.

It’s not that he’s forcing you to join, though—Luffy just has this way of making you feel like you should be there, without ever putting you on the spot. His carefree, inclusive attitude makes it feel like the natural thing to do. You never feel pressure; you just feel... valued. Like you belong, whether you’re quietly cheering from the sidelines or joining in with your own brand of awkward enthusiasm.

It’s like Luffy’s energy is so contagious that you can’t help but want to be part of whatever insane thing he’s cooking up that day, even if it’s just watching him eat his weight in food and making random, nonsensical decisions.

If anyone ever crossed the line with you—teased you, made you uncomfortable, or said something that got under your skin—Luffy would flip the script faster than you can blink. That goofy, carefree grin would disappear in an instant, replaced by a rare, uncharacteristically serious expression.

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you like a human shield, ready to take down anyone who dared upset you. He’s usually a chaotic force of nature, but mess with his loved ones, and that’s when you see a side of him that is all about protecting you.

He wouldn’t hesitate to confront the person, his voice firm and unwavering. “Hey! That’s not cool! You don’t mess with my crew!” He’s not one for subtlety or second-guessing, so you’d know right away that Luffy’s on your side. If someone’s being rude or making you feel small, he’ll make sure they know they’ve messed with the wrongggggg person.

The crew’s used to this by now—because Luffy, despite his childish nature, would go to the ends of the earth to defend the people he cares about. You’d feel like the most important person in the world in that moment because, in his eyes, you are.

Luffy’s loyalty is on another level entirely. Once he’s decided he cares about someone, they’re in—no questions, no conditions, just pure, unfiltered loyalty. If you’re lucky enough to be someone Luffy loves, you’d know it in every grin, in every spontaneous gesture, and in every single, joyfully shouted “Let’s go!” You’d never have to second-guess where you stand with him, because Luffy’s affections are as clear as day, as honest and unwavering as the sea he dreams of conquering.

So whether you’re officially part of his crew or not, in his mind, you’re always one of them, and he’d tell anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re with me!” with a pride that’d make your heart swell.

The best part? Luffy would constantly invite you to tag along on whatever wild journey or ridiculous stunt he’s about to pull. There’d be no hesitation; it’d be, “Hey! Let’s go on an adventure!” as if going on an impromptu quest was as simple as taking a stroll to the market. It’s almost like Luffy has this unspoken rule: every exciting, crazy, fun thing has to be experienced with you.

From treasure hunts that end up in unexpected fights with sea kings to races through bustling ports (where he definitely has no idea where he’s running but is laughing the whole time), Luffy wants you there, right in the middle of it all. You’d probably sigh at the thought of jumping headfirst into another unpredictable situation, but Luffy’s enthusiasm is like a gravitational pull—it’s impossible to resist.

And thank goodness for that, because your timid self wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the lead in any of these wild endeavors. Luckily, Luffy’s the type to charge forward, dragging you along by the hand with zero doubts and zero plans. He makes all the decisions for both of you, which, sure, sometimes means ending up lost on an island full of very angry, very large monkeys because, “They looked friendly!”

You’d feel a mix of exasperation and endearment at his antics. He doesn’t realize it, but his willingness to be the fearless leader—even if his plans are sometimes made with the strategic prowess of a rubber chicken—takes the pressure off you. You don’t have to stress over decisions or worry about whether you’re doing the right thing, because Luffy’s already ten steps ahead (probably literally sprinting) and dragging you along with a confidence that borders on reckless.

And honestly? That’s part of the charm. His “plans” might be half-baked and a little foolish, but he makes up for it by being completely and unapologetically himself.

You’d find yourself smiling more than you ever expected, getting swept up in the whirlwind that is Luffy, and realizing that being with him means never feeling alone, even if you’re quiet or shy.

His laughter, his outbursts, and his impulsive decisions would all become things you cherish, because with him leading the way, life feels a little less scary and a lot more exciting.

ACE

Ace is all warmth and energy, like a bonfire on a chilly night, and he’d go out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in his presence. Despite his natural tendency for excitement and spontaneity, he’d be mindful of your shyness, making a conscious effort to dial down the volume when needed.

You’d catch him lowering his voice a bit, softening his laughter, or even sitting a little closer with a reassuring grin. His laid-back nature would do wonders for your anxiety, melting it away bit by bit like ice under the sun. He’d take a more casual, playful approach when he’s with you, balancing his liveliness with a kind of gentle attentiveness that makes your heart feel at ease.

Ace has a knack for starting conversations, even if the topic is completely random. He’d sense your hesitance and jump in without skipping a beat. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook for the crew and accidentally set a whole forest on fire?” he’d start, eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.

His stories are always ridiculous—stories of clumsy mishaps, epic pranks gone wrong, or that one time he fell asleep mid-battle. You’d find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realize he’s making himself the butt of the joke, just to make you feel more at ease. He’d keep talking until he sees that spark of amusement in your eyes, and then keep going, his smile growing wider every time you giggle.

And Ace’s teasing? Oh, he’d be a master of that fine line between making you laugh and making you blush. He’d lean in, smirking just enough to be charming, and say, “What’s this? A smile? I knew it was in there somewhere.” His playful comments would come with a wink and a laugh, just enough to make your face warm, but never enough to make you feel like you’re being put on the spot.

If he ever saw you growing quiet or noticed that hint of panic in your eyes, he’d immediately back off, switching to a softer tone and throwing in a quick “I’m just messing with ya” followed by that disarming grin of his.

Ace would be incredibly in tune with your reactions, watching for the tiniest signs that you’re feeling overwhelmed. The moment he picks up on it, he’d change gears—maybe suggesting a quiet spot on deck where you could sit together and watch the stars, or offering to take a walk to get some fresh air. He’d brush off the seriousness with a light, “Hey, it’s just us. No pressure, alright?” The way he says it makes you feel safe, like it’s just you and him against the world, no expectations or worries allowed.

Ace is the definition of a warm hug in human form, so being a tactile person comes naturally to him. But when it comes to you, he’d show an impressive amount of restraint—not an easy feat for someone who’d usually throw an arm around a friend without thinking twice. Well, you’re not just his friend but his lover, obviously—but what I’m getting at us that he’s a pretty affectionate guy.

He’d start small, easing you into it with light touches: a friendly pat on the shoulder when you share a joke, a playful ruffle of your hair that would leave you smiling and maybe a little flustered. You’d catch the subtle glances he’d shoot you afterward, as if he’s silently checking, Was that okay? Did that make you uncomfortable? It’s endearing how he’s so in tune with your comfort level, his natural affection turned into a gentle dance of patience and care.

As time went on and your confidence around him grew, Ace would start to introduce more meaningful touches. He’d sneak in side hugs when you’re sitting together, leaning into you with that easygoing smile of his that made your heart race. And when the day finally came that you leaned into him on your own, whether it was out of exhaustion or just because you felt safe, the soft, proud look on his face would be priceless.

Ace would make a big deal out of it in the quietest way possible, his hand finding yours in a reassuring squeeze as if to say, Hey, look at you, being brave. Eventually, he’d graduate to full-on snuggling when you were comfortable, and the first time he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close, you’d know just how deeply he cared.

And when social situations become too much—because let’s face it, Ace has a lot of friends and a magnetic personality that draws people in—he’d be the first to notice if you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.

In those moments, he’d spring into action without making it obvious. He’d tell a ridiculously over-the-top story, one that would steal the spotlight from everyone else and have the whole room’s attention fixed on him, leaving you a moment to breathe.

Ace would always throw himself into being the distraction, whether it meant cracking jokes or reenacting a failed stunt that ended with him pretending to trip over his own feet. He’d shoot you a quick wink in the middle of it, as if to say, See? I’ve got you.

It’s not that he wanted to be the center of attention—okay, maybe a little, but only when it’s for you.

He’d take on the role of court jester, chaos-maker, or even reluctant hero if it meant taking the pressure off you for a while. If anyone questioned it, he’d brush it off with a laugh and a shrug, all while keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.

And if things really got too much, Ace wouldn’t hesitate to steer you away from the noise altogether, leaning in close and saying, “Let’s get outta here for a bit, yeah?” He’d lead you somewhere quieter, a hand on your arm or fingers interlaced with yours, the simple touch grounding you as you walked.

You’d both end up somewhere peaceful, maybe under the stars or by a flickering campfire, where he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and say, “You don’t have to explain. Just take your time.” And you would, with the steady thump of his heartbeat right next to yours, knowing he’d take on the world just to make sure you felt comfortable and safe.

Ace would be your number one cheerleader, hyped beyond belief over every little victory you achieved. You managed to say something in a group conversation? He’d beam at you like you just solved world peace. “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” he’d shout, probably a bit louder than necessary, with that signature grin that lights up his entire face.

If you reached out to touch his arm or, heaven forbid, initiated a hug, there’d be a solid five minutes of him staring at you in delighted disbelief before breaking out into an excited, “Did you just—? You did! You did!”

What you might not notice is that whenever you step even half a toe out of your comfort zone, Ace is in the background punching the air with all the subtlety of an over-caffeinated kid at a birthday party.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny thing, like making eye contact with someone new, or a big step like saying a few words in front of the crew—Ace is celebrating it like you just discovered the One Piece itself.

He might look a bit unhinged to anyone passing by, but he’s never cared about that. You’re his person, and your wins are his wins. He’s just out here being the proudest guy alive, punching invisible foes and mouthing, That’s my partner!

And the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the most priceless treasure in the world, and not just in the fleeting, pirate-wants-your-gold way. No, Ace’s gaze is full of warmth and genuine awe, the kind that makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a blanket of sunshine.

When you speak, whether it’s a confident statement or a hesitant mumble, Ace is all ears. His eyes would fix on you with this almost comically serious expression, nodding along like you’re revealing some ancient, life-altering secret.

You could point to the sky and say, “That’s the sky,” and he’d respond with a deep, earnest nod and a wide grin, “Exactly! I love that you noticed!” The rest of the crew might shake their heads and mutter things like, “Here they go again,” but Ace doesn’t care. If it matters to you, it matters to him—simple as that.

It doesn’t matter how mundane your observation is or how shyly you say it; to Ace, every word is golden. He’d hang on every syllable as if you were weaving a tale worthy of a bard’s song. You’d catch him repeating things you said back to you later, just to show he’d remembered, saying things like, “Oh yeah, like you said the other day, the sky really was a perfect blue.”

It’s almost ridiculous, but that’s Ace—he’d make you feel like every tiny thing you did was extraordinary, because in his eyes, it truly is.

SABO

Sabo is the calm breeze compared to the whirlwinds that are Luffy and Ace, which makes him the perfect blend of approachable and comforting.

With his natural ease and warm, diplomatic demeanor, you’d find yourself feeling more at peace around him sooner than you’d expect. Sabo’s the kind of person who could have a conversation with anyone, but when he’s with you, you’d feel like you’re the only one in the world that matters.

He’s just got this knack for making everything feel safe, like he’s a sturdy anchor in a storm. If you ever started to feel overwhelmed, Sabo would be the first to notice, with a quiet attentiveness that doesn’t scream I’m watching you but more like I’m here if you need me.

He’d be a master of subtlety, paying close attention to what made you nervous and what helped you open up, all without making it seem like he was analyzing you. You’d catch him making mental notes when you shifted uncomfortably or lit up at something specific. He’s probably like, “Write that down, write that down!” in his head.

And he’d use those observations to make your interactions more comfortable. If he noticed that certain topics or big crowds made you anxious, he’d steer conversations towards lighter things or find a reason to take a quiet walk somewhere less crowded.

Sabo would never rush you into sharing more than you were ready for. He understands that trust is built slowly, like adding logs to a fire, not dumping gasoline on it and hoping for the best.

Sabo would show his affection in the most considerate ways, taking into account what you’d find comforting rather than overwhelming. That being said, grand and dramatic gestures aren’t his style when it comes to you; he’d save those for his other acts of rebellion.

With you, he’d stick to smaller, more intimate actions. He’d brush his fingers across yours before holding your hand, always making sure it was welcome. He’d lean in a little closer when you’re talking, eyes fixed on you with that soft, attentive gaze of his that makes you feel like you have all the time in the world.

There’d be moments when he’d reach out with a light touch on your arm, or just the simple press of his shoulder against yours when you sat side by side, enough to let you know he was there but never too much to make you uncomfortable.

It’s like he has a sixth sense for what was just the right amount of closeness. And if you ever looked unsure or nervous, Sabo’s eyes would catch yours, full of warmth and encouragement, like he was silently saying, Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.

The patience he’d show would be unmatched; you could almost hear him mentally cheering you on even if you were just picking your words slowly or taking a deep breath before saying something important.

And the way he’d support you? Subtle but powerful. If you ever found yourself second-guessing or fumbling, he’d quietly step in to help redirect the conversation or offer a reassuring comment. “I think that’s a great point,” he’d say with genuine enthusiasm, giving you that extra boost of confidence.

And when you’d catch him watching you speak, the look in his eyes would always be one of admiration—never judgment, never pressure, just pure, patient support. And whether it’s a simple chat or a quiet walk together, Sabo’s presence would be your reminder that you’re valued, seen, and cherished, just as you are.

When it came to conversations, Sabo would be your guy for deep, meaningful talks, but with a healthy dose of humor to keep things light. He’d pick the coziest, quietest corner on the ship or at a café, leaning in with a thoughtful smile and saying, “Alright, you ready to hear some top-secret stories about Ace and Luffy’s greatest flops?” And he’d be off, recounting tales of Luffy trying to eat something he really, really shouldn’t have or Ace’s legendary nap times that ended in near-disaster.

His stories are designed not just to make you laugh, but to remind you that even these larger-than-life brothers were and still are total dorks sometimes. And before you know it, you’re easing into sharing a few of your own stories, prompted by his gentle encouragement and the safety his presence provided.

If there was ever a moment where you hinted at wanting to join in on an activity or step outside your comfort zone, Sabo would light up like someone just told him there was free cake on deck. But instead of jumping up and down and looking crazy, Sabo’s celebration would be the dignified, internal kind.

Picture a boardroom in his mind filled with 10 tiny Sabos all jumping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other, and throwing confetti in the air. On the outside, he’d just offer you that calm, reassuring grin and a simple, “You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll laugh about it later, yeah?”

He’d be your biggest silent cheerleader, always ready with a patient hand to guide you or a subtle nudge if you needed it. If you wanted to join in on a game or join a conversation but hesitated, Sabo would seamlessly include you, making it feel natural and not like he was pointing out your shyness.

He’d say things like, “Hey, I think Y/N would be perfect for this—what do you think?” and then shoot you a wink that says, See? Not so bad, right? And when you took that first step, whether it was a comment or a hesitant laugh at a joke, Sabo’s inner cheering squad would be losing their collective minds.

So while Ace might be punching the air and Luffy would probably shout, “You did it!” at full volume, Sabo would play it cool—at least on the outside. But don’t be fooled. The minute he see’s you trying something new or making a move outside your comfort zone, those 10 tiny Sabos in his head would be throwing a full-on carnival, complete with fireworks and dancing.

And he’d just keep giving you that look that said, You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Because to him, you’re always worth celebrating, no matter what.

If there’s one thing Sabo doesn’t tolerate, it’s someone messing with the people he cares about. So if he spotted you feeling uncomfortable or noticed someone trying to be intimidating, he’d swoop in with the subtlety of a master diplomat. Sabo wouldn’t make a scene, but instead, he’d redirect the situation like an absolute pro.

Maybe he’d throw out a well-timed joke, ask a question that shifts the focus, or suddenly develop an urgent need for your opinion on something random, like, “Hey, didn’t you say you know a lot about… apples?” The offender would be left blinking, and you’d find yourself in a new conversation before you even realized what happened. Crisis averted, all thanks to Sabo’s suave social maneuvering.

And then there’s Sabo’s sweeter side—his covert operation of affection. He knows that grand, dramatic proclamations can sometimes make you want to dive head-first into the nearest bush, so he’s perfected the art of subtle, heartfelt gestures.

He’d leave little handwritten notes tucked in places he knows you’ll find, maybe in your favorite book or slipped under your plate at breakfast. Each note would be filled with the kind of genuine, thoughtful words that would make your heart do an embarrassing little flip. They’d say things like, I know you’re stronger than you think, and I can’t wait for the world to see it, too, or The stars were beautiful last night, but not as much as seeing you smile today.

And don’t even get started on the letters. Oh, the letters. Sabo would write you these intricate, beautifully crafted notes that read like they came straight from the heart of a poet who’s just returned from a victorious battle.

He could have just finished a day of intense Revolutionary Army missions, covered in dust and exhaustion, but you’d still get a note that starts with, Hey, you. I’m thinking about you, and ends with some metaphor about how your presence makes the world brighter, even when he’s knee-deep in chaos.

You’d find trinkets, too—maybe a small charm he found that reminded him of you or a pressed flower from somewhere he thought was pretty. It’s the little things that would make your day and remind you that, no matter what chaos he’s wrapped up in with the Revolutionary Army, you’re always on his mind. And when you’d look up at him, cheeks flushed from finding yet another one of his notes or small gifts, Sabo would just grin that charming, lopsided grin and say, “Did you find it? Good. I meant every word.”

He’s protective, thoughtful, and romantic in a way that feels like it’s tailored just for you. And even if he’s balancing the weight of revolutions and strategic plans, Sabo makes sure you know that you’re not just part of his life—you’re the best part.

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robin-evry · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐕𝐔𝐈𝐊𝐀 𝐘𝐔𝐔 🔥🏍️

Natlan's Archon and leader, the everlasting flame of hope for all living beings, and the cleansing flame that incinerates all evil.

The big sibling of all savanaclaw dorm, they admired and adored mavuika!yuu more than Leona himself which make him grubby and one sided rivalry with them.

Mavuika!yuu never backs down from a challenge, standing firm in their beliefs. Their conviction is unshakable. So during lunch Leona and them enter an arm wrestling competition unfortunately it was cut short due to the staff, both of them received detention in the end.

They despise restrictions and oppression, always pushing boundaries. Rules? They’ll follow them… if they make sense, causing a disagreement with riddle who blindly listen to them whenever or not how ridiculous it sounds.

Has a laugh like rolling thunder—deep, full of life, and capable of shaking a room. When they find something truly funny, they throw their head back and cackle.

Knows how to make a grand entrance, every time when they arrive at school with a motorcycle making a grand entrance with grim in the front looking smug as always, and when they're running late mavuika!yuu fly towards the class using their motorcycle with grim screams echoing throughout the halls.

Despite showing to be reckless, they care about people and would make a calculation before moving always deciding which action is better. As well willingly sacrifice themselves for the greater good even leaving them hurt in the end.

At sunrise they would ride their motorcycle or workout to get a head start or admire the sun for awhile before getting ready for the day.

They hate Uniforms, they always alter their NRC uniform—rolling up sleeves, leaving buttons undone, or wearing accessories with flame motifs, wearing it loose.

Mavuika!yuu metabolism is insane, and they always eat huge portions. Trey and Jamil are horrified at how much they can devour. Always wins a eating contest, the first years would encourage them whenever they're competiting.

Theoretical lessons? Boring. Show them a challenge, and they’ll learn on instinct. Loves gym class but hates magic history they would always find ways to not get caught sleeping.

Epel and many other students would look for mavuika!yuu needing their expertise over physical strength, mavuika!yuu is insanely strong able to lift a clay more with one hand without any issues when epel saw them wielding it he immediately starstruck and asked them to train him, As would also love to try to ride their motorcycle their biggest idol by far mavuika!yuu due to them being respected by vil and strong, strong and beautiful.

Nobody wants to spar with them because they always go too hard and make things explode. An absolute beast with overblot battles, would immediately throw hands without hesitation punch an overblot riddle thru multiple bush ending the fight instantly. As well during combat their hair would light up like fire as well growing hotter similar towards the sun.

Constantly challenging professors. They argue with Trein just to see if they can win. They negotiate with Crowley like a warlord dealing with an incompetent king.

Would love to go shopping with the pomifiore trio, vil respect their ways of fashion and as well discussing outfits with them.

No sense of personal space. They lean on people, throw arms around someones their shoulders, or grab their hands without hesitation. As well very energetic idia is afraid of them curious where they did find the energy to be this active everyday....

Likes collecting small trinkets. Their room is full of random keepsakes from battles, pranks, and adventures.

Sneaks into places they shouldn’t be. The rooftop, the botanical gardens, or even Diasomnia’s dorm—nowhere is off-limits. And this is how they manage to meet malleus, he calls them a blazing star due to their personality never stop shining.

#twisted wonderland #not canon #twst scenario #disney twst #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst yuu au #twst x reader #twst x genshin #genshin impact #mavuika #genshin mavuika #mavuika!yuu

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sh4nksslvt · 2 months ago

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Hello, hello, hello, beautiful, gorgeous, divine

I love your story Marco nooo I love all your stories you are fantastic

I love you, please beg for something. Can you create a Marco the Phoenix story for y/n? Where y/n saves Thatch's life by stopping Teach's attack? Thatch was injured, but not seriously, losing the yami yami nomi. However, y/n was seriously injured protecting her nakama. Marco and Ace, his brother, are very worried. More so Marco 😏 Since the young woman wasn't waking up, When she regained consciousness, she played a joke on Marco for being so worried, Pretending not to recognize them 🤣 Later, Y/n spoke to Whitebeard, discussing the traitor and how dangerous he would become in the future. When she returned to Marco, she lay down next to him, thanking him for taking care of her all that time, and that even though she couldn't answer him, she always heard him calling her. Please, I implore you.

lmaoao this is funny i like it! dahaha u can support me through ko-fi, but please know that tips are never expected but always deeply appreciated! also I hope this is to ur liking!

Teach Tried It, I Survived It

After stopping Teach’s betrayal and nearly dying, you wake up in Marco’s arms—and decide that pranking him with fake amnesia is exactly what he deserves before finally falling into the comfort of home and love.

Marco the phoenix x reader tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence, happy ending, betrayal, a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun blazed high over the open sea, casting golden light across the deck of the Moby Dick. The battle was well underway — a scrappy band of pirates had made the monumental mistake of challenging the Whitebeard Pirates. Bad for them. Good for everyone else who needed a bit of exercise.

You ducked under a wild swing from some random enemy pirate, spun on your heel, and delivered a solid punch to his gut. He crumpled with a satisfying oof.

"Oi! Y/N!" Thatch shouted from a few feet away, grinning like a maniac, a strange fruit in his hand. "Check this out!"

You sliced another pirate across the side with your blade (nothing fatal, you were feeling merciful today) and jogged over.

"What did you find this time?" you asked, breathing hard, a spark of excitement lighting your eyes.

Ace clambered over a fallen mast to join you. "Yo, Thatch, whatcha got?"

Thatch held the thing out like it was a newborn kitten. The fruit was round and black with swirling violet patterns, almost like the night sky had been trapped inside it.

"I found something interesting," he said proudly.

Ace squinted. "Ohhh... is that a Devil Fruit?"

You leaned closer. "Looks like one. Wonder what it does."

Behind you, a presence stiffened. You glanced over your shoulder.

Teach — good ol' big, laughing Teach — was standing there, his usual grin stretched way too tight. His forehead was shiny with sweat despite the easy fight. When he noticed you looking, he barked out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Heh! Devil Fruit, huh? Zehahaha! Who knows? Maybe it's a lame one, like making your farts turn into explosions!"

Ace snorted. "Wouldn't put it past the sea."

You shook your head, laughing, not noticing the way Teach’s hands clenched at his sides.

That night, the Moby Dick was peaceful. The waves lapped lazily against the hull. Most of the crew was sprawled across the deck or below, snoring, laughing, or drinking.

You had just curled up in your hammock when a strange noise cut through the stillness.

Scuffle.

You bolted upright, instincts screaming. Without a second thought, you grabbed your weapon and padded silently toward the sound.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

There, in the dim lantern light, was Teach — stabbing Thatch through the side.

"Teach?!" you gasped.

Thatch grunted, struggling, but Teach was too strong. His eyes were wild, desperate, like a man possessed.

Without hesitation, you leapt into action.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! TEACH! HOW DARE YOU!?" you roared, slamming into Teach with everything you had.

The two of you crashed into the deck. Your blade flashed; Teach snarled and swung a fist, and you met it with a grimace, blocking the worst of the blow. It was chaos — wood splintered under your feet as you battled, the sounds waking a few of the closer crewmates.

But Teach was slippery. He was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose, and with one last shove, he pushed you back, making you stumble.

Your foot caught the edge of a broken beam, and before you could react, Teach's fist landed squarely on the side of your head. The world spun instantly, your vision going blurry as the impact sent you crashing to the ground.

“Y/N!” Thatch cried weakly from where he was still slumped, blood dripping from his side.

You blinked hard, trying to regain your senses. A searing pain throbbed in your head, and the edges of your vision blurred even further. You could barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears as your body felt like it was on fire.

Just as you tried to push yourself up, Teach took his chance, grabbing the mysterious fruit from Thatch’s weakening grip. His sinister laugh filled the night air as he turned and bolted into the shadows, vanishing before anyone could stop him.

You couldn’t chase him.

Your body was failing you.

With a grunt, you collapsed to the floor, dizziness consuming you. Your world tilted, everything spinning as blood pooled beneath you. The last thing you heard was the frantic sound of footsteps.

When you cracked your eyes open, it was to the blinding white of the infirmary ceiling. Everything hurts, your head hurts.

The room was filled with silence, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. Marco sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed in exhausted vigilance. He hadn’t left your side in days — barely eating, barely sleeping. Even Ace, who was normally a ball of chaotic energy, was quieter than a graveyard at midnight, sitting against the wall and anxiously tossing a small ball between his hands.

Then, finally, the miracle happened.

You groaned.

Marco was upright so fast he nearly knocked over the chair. "Y/N?!"

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. Slowly, you turned your head, taking in the sight of Marco — disheveled, wide-eyed, hopeful — and Ace, who had shot to his feet, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

You blinked a few times. A mischievous thought bubbled up. You couldn't resist. Then you tilted your head in confusion.

"...Who are you?" you rasped, your voice hoarse from disuse.

The world froze.

Marco actually stumbled back a step, his mouth parting in horror. "W-What?"

Ace dropped the ball he'd been tossing — it hit the floor with a pathetic little bounce. "No way," he muttered, eyes wide as saucers.

You frowned, genuine confusion painted across your features. "Where am I? What happened? Are you... my doctors?"

Marco choked on air. "Doctors?! w-well, I am! but..." His voice cracked, his wings briefly puffing out in shock. "Y/N—it's me! It's Marco-yoi!"

You gave him a pitying, bewildered look, like he was some delusional lunatic. "I'm sorry, I... I don't know any 'Marco.'"

Ace ran a hand down his face, whispering to himself, "Oh my god, oh my god, Pops is gonna kill us."

Marco dropped to his knees by the bed, panic etched into every sharp line of his face. "Y/N, please, listen! It's me! You—you always called me 'birdbrain'! Remember? And Ace—he's the loud one! You always yell at him!-yoi"

You gave a tiny, skeptical squint at Ace. "He does look like he yells a lot," you mumbled thoughtfully.

Ace put a hand over his heart, wounded. "Hey!"

"Y/N..." Marco reached for your hand, his own trembling. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pulled your hand away, shrinking back against the pillows dramatically. "S-sir!, I don't even know you! Why are you touching me?!"

Ace looked between you and Marco, starting to sweat buckets. "She really doesn't remember us?! Oh my god—I'm not ready to raise someone! I can barely keep my plants alive!"

Marco paled. "Ace, this isn't about raising—"

"We'll have to teach her everything again!" Ace wailed. "How to walk! How to talk! Oh no—do you even remember how to eat?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. "I don't know... can you show me?"

Ace immediately picked up a banana from a nearby fruit basket and started dramatically demonstrating how to eat it, like some crazed tutorial video.

"First you PEEL it," he said loudly, yanking the peel down and waving it in your face. "Then you put the FOOD PART in your MOUTH—"

"Enough!" Marco barked, his voice cracking with desperation.

He turned back to you, gripping the edge of the mattress. His eyes were so blue and so full of heartbreak that you nearly cracked right there.

"Y/N..." he whispered, voice raw. "Even if you don't remember me... I'll stay with you. I'll protect you until you remember. I swear it."

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him for a long, tense moment.

Then you cracked a wicked smile.

"...Dumbass," you wheezed, voice croaky but full of teasing mischief. "Of course I remember you, pineapple head!"

The silence was so thick you could hear a pin drop.

Ace's banana hit the floor.

Marco stared at you, eyes wide, processing... and then, "WHAT?!"

You burst into a fit of raspy laughter, clutching your sides painfully. "Oh my god, the LOOK on your face—!" you cackled, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

"You little—!" Marco sputtered, half lunging at you and half hugging you at the same time.

"You should've seen yourselves!" you wheezed. "Ace was about to teach me how to chew!"

Ace pointed an accusing finger at you. "You gave me a heart attack, Y/N! I was ready to start teaching you object permanence!"

Marco collapsed onto the side of the bed, groaning into your blanket. "I can't believe you did that-yoi. I was ready to—!" His voice broke again.

You smiled softer now, reaching out and brushing his messy blond hair back from his face. "I'm sorry, Marco... couldn't resist. You were just too easy."

He lifted his head, cheeks flushed slightly, a trembling smile forming. "You're the worst," he said hoarsely, voice thick with relief.

"And you love me for it," you teased.

"...Yeah," he whispered back, no hesitation at all.

You blinked.

Your heart fluttered.

Ace, oblivious as usual, was still dramatically re-enacting how he was going to "re-educate" you with flashcards and alphabet songs in the background. You and Marco stared at each other, soft and quiet amidst the chaos, and for a moment, the world was right again.

You were safe. You were alive. You were home.

Later, once the fuss had died down (and Ace had finally been dragged off to sleep), you found yourself summoned to Whitebeard’s quarters.

The old man sat on his throne-like chair, the steady pulse of his IV a soft, constant background noise.

"You fought well, little one," Whitebeard said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze was heavy, serious. "But you were lucky."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully.

"Teach..." you began.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed.

"He was after that fruit," you said grimly. "It wasn’t random. He knew what it was. And if he went so far as to attack Thatch, his own crewmate..." You shook your head. "He's dangerous. More dangerous than we realized."

Whitebeard grunted, the sound low and displeased.

"A traitor among my sons," he murmured, anger flashing in his gaze. "We will hunt him down."

You hesitated. "He has the Yami Yami no Mi now. I don't know much about it, but I saw enough. That fruit... it's not normal. His power—"

"—Will be immense," Whitebeard finished.

You nodded grimly.

There was a long silence.

"You did well protecting your brother," Whitebeard said at last, his expression softening. "Rest now. Heal. We have a long road ahead."

You bowed again and left, heart heavy but determined.

When you returned to the infirmary, Marco was there, perched like a golden phoenix on the edge of the bed.

He looked up, immediately easing when he saw you.

"Hey, yoi," he said softly.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you limped over and, without asking, slid onto the bed beside him.

Marco froze, startled — and then melted, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders so you didn’t jostle your injuries.

For a while, you just lay there, breathing together.

Finally, you spoke, voice quiet against his chest.

"Thank you."

He tilted his head down, puzzled. "For what-yoi?"

"For staying," you murmured. "For talking to me even when I couldn’t answer. For calling me back."

Marco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You heard me?" he whispered.

"Every word," you said, smiling faintly. "Even when I was somewhere dark... you were there."

Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You scared me so bad," he whispered, voice raw. "I thought I'd lost you-yoi"

"You didn’t," you promised.

He kissed your forehead, the gentlest brush of lips, barely a touch.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said.

Marco smiled — a real one, full of love and hope and lingering fear.

"Good," he said, pulling you closer. "Because I’m not letting you out of my sight-yoi."

You chuckled softly, your heart full despite the pain.

"Guess you're stuck with me," you teased.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Marco said against your hair.

And for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt truly safe.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #fluff #slight angst #marco x reader #marco one piece #marco the pheonix #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard one piece #whitebeard crew #op whitebeard #idk what im doing #idk man #first division marco

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antinousletmehit · 6 months ago

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Okay hear me out, you don't have to do this: Antinous x Reader one shot, where they're already dating excwpt reader decides to prank him by doing all the obnoxious shit he does for a day. Like jealousy, PDA, touching, all that and spins it on him for once

୨୧┇Pairing: Antinous x reader

୨୧┇I like the way you think anon

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Antinous prided himself on his composure, even during chaos. Being a leader among the suitors meant carrying himself with an air of dominance and confidence. But today, that composure was hanging by a thread, and the culprit?

You.

The day started with you interrupting his conversation with Eurymachus in the hall.“Antinous!” you called, striding up to him with an exaggerated smile, ignoring the puzzled look Eurymachus shot you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around Antinous’s waist and pressed a loud, lingering kiss to his cheek.“Missed me already?” you cooed, giving him a pointed look that screamed mischief. Eurymachus raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Trouble in paradise?”

Antinous shot him a glare before prying you off him. “What are you doing?” he hissed, his tone low enough for only you to hear. “Just reminding everyone who you belong to,” you said sweetly, patting his chest. Antinous narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “Don’t test me.”

But you were far from done.

Later, when he was overseeing the servants in the main hall, you struck again. He was discussing wine arrangements with one of the palace servants when you marched over, placing yourself between him and the servant. “What’s going on here?” you demanded, your voice sharp with mock jealousy. “Who’s this?” Antinous’s brow twitched as he exhaled slowly, trying to remain calm. “He’s a servant,” he said through gritted teeth. “What does it look like?”

“Hmm,” you said, looking the steward up and down. “Well, don’t get any ideas. He’s mine.” The servant looked thoroughly confused, and Antinous’s patience snapped. Grabbing your arm, he pulled you aside, his grip firm but not rough.“What in Hades are you doing?” he growled, his tone low and dangerous. “Just treating you how you treat me,” you said, your tone dripping with faux innocence.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little,” you admitted with a sly grin.

He took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “Let me make something clear, love,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “I don’t have the patience for games today. So unless you want me to lose what little restraint I have left, I suggest you stop. Now.” The warning in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, but you weren’t ready to give up just yet. Your final came in the evening, during a feast in the great hall. Antinous was seated at the head of the table, his usual smirk in place as he bantered with the other suitors.

You walked over, plopping yourself down in his lap without warning. “Comfortable?” you asked, draping an arm around his shoulders.

Antinous froze, his smirk slipping as the other suitors stared, some chuckling under their breath.“Get up,” he said, his voice quiet but seething.“Oh, come on,” you said, leaning in closer. “Don’t be so serious all the time.” He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to make your breath hitch. “I said. Get. Up.”

The room went silent, the suitors sensing the shift in his demeanor. You hesitated, realizing too late that you might have pushed him too far. Slowly, you stood, your playful grin faltering as Antinous rose to his feet. “Everyone out,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The suitors exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare argue. One by one, they filed out of the hall, leaving you alone with him.

Antinous turned to you, his eyes blazing with anger. “Do you have any idea how close you are to crossing a line you can’t come back from?” he snapped, stepping closer. “Making a fool of me? Testing my patience?”

You swallowed hard, your confidence crumbling under his intense gaze. “It was a joke…”

“A joke?” he echoed, his voice laced with venom. “You think it’s amusing to humiliate me in front of everyone? To act like some jealous fool when you know I’d never look at anyone else?”

“I was just trying to—”

“To what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Make me feel the way I make you feel? Is that it?”Antinous exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he paced in front of you. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the torches on the walls.

When he finally stopped, his expression softened ever so slightly, though his eyes still burned with frustration. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I care about you. But if you ever try to pull something like that again, I won’t be so forgiving. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

Antinous sighed, stepping closer and tilting your chin up to look at him. “Good. Because next time, I won’t just let you walk away.”

Antinous stood there, his dark eyes burning into yours, his frustration still palpable as you muttered your apology. You could feel his intensity radiating off him, and though you were sufficiently chastened, a spark of mischief still flickered within you.

“Alright, fine,” you said softly, lowering your gaze as if in surrender. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

Antinous raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious, but didn’t say anything. He stepped back, giving you some space. You turned as if to leave, your footsteps light against the stone floor. But just as you reached the doorway, you spun back, your hand darting out to deliver a sharp smack to his ass. The sound echoed through the empty hall, loud and unmistakable. Antinous froze, his head snapping toward you with an expression of pure disbelief. His mouth fell open slightly as if he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

“See you later, love!” you called, grinning like a child who had just gotten away with stealing a cookie from the jar. Then, without waiting for his reaction, you bolted, your laughter trailing behind you as you ran.

“Are you fucking insane!?” Antinous roared, down the hall.

#antinous x reader #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #antinous #epic antinous

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27spoons · 6 months ago

Text

CRUSH | ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: You're studying on a Friday. Natalie doesn't like that.

wc: 4200 (blaze it) (im not funny)

warnings: none. I think.

a/n: happy birthday 2 me. here is another chapter. lowkey i wasnt planning on have two chapters in a row with a ? in them but oh well yolo and all that fun stuff. anyways this chapter is basically just two losers yapping (next one will b longer promise)

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: HOW CAN I MAKE IT OK?

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE ONE

The thing about Natalie Scatorccio is that she always seems to find you when you least expect it. It’s like she has a sixth sense, some radar that tells her exactly when you’re trying not to think about her—and then she shows up, smirking like she knows all your secrets.

Today is no different. You’re sitting on the steps outside the library, flipping halfheartedly through a history textbook, when her shadow falls over you.

"Studying on a Friday, Princess?" She lets out a low whistle, "Now, that's tragic."

You roll your eyes and let a scoff fall from your lips, "Listen, not everyone can afford to just… throw caution to the wind or whatever. Some of us actually need to study."

Nat snorts as she fishes a cigarette out of her pocket, bringing it to her lips and lighting it, "I do study, just not on Fridays, like a nerd." She gives you a pointed glare, but it lacks any actual heat.

Without giving you a chance to object, she throws her duffle bag down on the steps next to you and sits down with a grunt. "Seriously, though." She ashes her cigarette, "Why're you sittin' alone out here, head in your…" She glances at the cover of your textbook, "history book when you could be doin' anything else?"

You shrug and close your textbook with a sigh, "I dunno. I guess it's just… the way things are, or whatever. Never really been the type of person who goes out on Fridays." Nat nods in understanding as she takes a slow drag from her cigarette, "Yeah, I get that. Nothin' wrong with that. But it gets boring after a while, yeah? Doin' the same thing every week, set in some constant routine?"

"I guess," You sigh and move to put your textbook into your backpack, "But don't you have routines? I mean, soccer and all that?"

"Yeah, I got some routine. Some days, I get up earlier than others to make it to practice. Some days, I spend some time after school kicking around a ball in the field. But that's not my point." Another drag of her smoke, "My point is that you can have some routine, but life is so fucking boring if that's all your life is." She rolls the end of the cigarette between her thumb and pointer finger for a few seconds before looking at you, squinting against the harsh light of the sun that beats down from behind you. "You gotta have something to shake it up every now and then, yeah? You don't gotta go to a party every week, but what's stoppin' you from goin' to one now and then?"

"It's just never been my scene, I guess. My friends and I don't really… do parties, you know? Like, we have small get-togethers or whatever, but we don't party. Never really seen myself as a party person, either." You shrug, zipping up your bag and moving it to rest on the step in front of you, "I dunno. I guess the…" You wave your hands around as you think of the proper words to use, "loud music and annoying people isn't exactly what I consider fun." A fond shake of your head and a gentle laugh, "But, hey, all the power to you if that's what you do find fun."

"You ever been invited to a party?" Nat chimes in after considering your statement for a few seconds.

You have to think about that question for a few seconds. "Yes." You finally manage, which earns you a skeptical look from the woman sitting next to you.

"Then why'd you have to think about it?"

"Oh my God." You roll your eyes, "Because it's been a while since I got invited to one, alright? Like I said, I don't hang out with the type of people that go to parties. So…"

Nat hums at that, seemingly accepting the answer you've given her. "Alright. So what do you do on Fridays? Or the weekend? Or whenever you aren't with your nose in some book." She gestures to your backpack and the textbook inside of it by extension. "Nothin' wrong with it, but you gotta do something else, yeah?"

A huff leaves your mouth before you can stop it, "Well, you've caught me sketching once or twice, yeah? I'm a pretty big fan of that. Uhhh…" You think for a few seconds, feeling like this is an awkward first date where the person is asking, "What do you do for fun?" and it takes everything in you not to give out the most generic answers possible. "I think I mentioned meteor showers to you before? I, uh, I like stargazing. And I guess I kinda play games sometimes? Although it's usually just… simulation games or whatever. The mindless stuff."

"Right." The girl smirks to herself as she muddles over your hobbies in her head. "Drawing, stargazing, and simulation games. Yeah, you, my friend, are a walking funfest, you know that?" One last drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the step, "That stuff is fun and all, but you need some more excitement in your life."

"What? Like… stealing BuzzBalls from corner stores?" A faint smirk tugs at your lips, "Or taking joyrides in stolen Maseratis?"

"First of all," Nat cuts you off before you can continue, "It was a Mazda. There's a huge difference. Second of all…" She hums and leans back, resting her elbows on the next step up.

She looks over you in a curious sort of way, appraising your form and being. "You could skate. Could convince Kev to teach you a thing or two at the skatepark, as long as you aren't gonna cry if you fall. If you play simulation games, you might not be half-bad at pool or darts. Hell, even thrifting or something. Refresh your wardrobe. I swear, every time I see you, you're basically wearing the same thing, just in different variants." Then, a sly grin. "But the fun stuff? Bet I could teach you to tag stuff without getting caught. You're already an artist; you should leave your mark on some places, yeah?" Her grin widens, "Maybe I could even convince you to bust into an old factory with me." A beat, "Unless… you're afraid of ghosts?" Then, she's laughing to herself.

You try to fight the grin on your face, but it's hard when you find her smile to be one of the most contagious things you've ever seen. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you." A dramatic roll of your eyes earns another laugh from Nat, her smile wide and plastered on her face like she's having the time of her life. "But, also… I dunno. Maybe I could be convinced to try something new." "Maybe?" Nat parrots, still half-laughing. "Nah. I will convince you to "try something new"; you just haven't seen how convincing I can be yet." A self-satisfied grin replaces the smile she was wearing, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "And I can be real convincing, Princess."

And… yep. You're blushing again. Nat, of course, notices this. Her grin gets ten times toothier, clearly satisfied with herself, and she leans back again. "But," She shrugs—as if she didn't just fluster the shit out of you with a single sentence. "That's for a later date."

Before you get a chance to respond to that, you catch sight of two girls wearing practice uniforms approaching—a simple grey shirt with the mascot's name on it and some shorts. You've seen them around before; it's a small town, after all.

Jackie Taylor—homecoming queen and captain of the girl's soccer team. Beside her, Shauna Shipman—who you… honestly don't know much about. You're pretty sure the two of them are best friends despite the fact that they seem like polar opposites.

Something something opposites attract, or whatever.

"Nat." Jackie stops in front of the two of you, regarding you with a half-assed smile for a fraction of a second before turning back to Nat, "You will be at practice today, right? You aren't gonna ditch again to do—"

"Yes, Jackie. I will fucking be at practice, alright?" Nat cuts her off with a scowl and a roll of her eyes. You swear she's gonna add something else but opts against it.

"Well… good." Jackie nods, then glances at you for much longer than she did initially, a curious expression on her face.

You don't have to guess why the expression is there, either. You aren't that dumb. You don't really look like the type of person Natalie Scatorccio hangs out with—not with your textbooks, sketchbooks, and meekness. No, you've seen the people she hangs out with. Misfits, mostly. There's that one goth kid, that guy with curly hair, and the redhead chick—who also plays on the soccer team with Nat. Then there are the… less than savoury characters. The people who she isn't seen around as much, but everyone knows she is around. Not hardened criminals per se, but people who are very, very rough around the edges. People who have longer rap sheets and far more "experience" being criminals than Natalie does.

Either way, Jackie doesn't comment on the stark difference between Natalie's usual crowd and you.

You give the team captain a tense smile as she looks at you, which she quickly returns before looking back at the girl sitting next to you, "We start in thirty."

"Yeah, I know, Princess." Natalie rolls her eyes, "I'm well aware what time practice starts, thank you."

"I was just trying to—" Jackie huffs and crosses her arms, "Whatever. Be there." Then she walks off, seemingly pouting, and Shauna gives Nat a shrug in apology before following.

Once the pair are out of earshot, Nat groans and pushes a hand through her bleached hair, "See, that's someone I call a princess in a derogatory manner."

You snort, "But it's not derogatory with me?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, "With you? It just… feels right. Dunno. Like that one chick we called "Crystal the Pistol" a few times. It's an affectionate nickname, or whatever." She waves a hand dismissively, "Not my point. Point is, when I say it to you, it's…" A beat of hesitation as she tries to find the right words, "Ugh. I don't know. I'm not good with words. Just know it's a good nickname, not a bad one."

"Right." Your eyes narrow slightly at that, but you don't push the topic further.

Which Nat seems grateful for, anyway. "Anyways. What the hell were we talking about?"

"Uhhhhh… hobbies, and how mine are, apparently, drastically boring?"

"Oh. Right." She nods, thinking about the previous conversation for a minute, then she gives a fond roll of her eyes and turns to you with a soft grin, "I mean… you said it. Not me. I just said you need some excitement. I'm not the one that goes stargazing for fun."

"Right. And most of your suggestions were…" You hum in mock thought, "Illegal, no?"

"'s only illegal if you get caught, actually." Nat shoots back, "And where's your sense of adventure, huh?" She nudges you with her elbow, "Gotta live a little, Princess. I know that BuzzBall was probably the first time you've ever… partaken in something illegal."

You roll your eyes and lean your back against the railing as you turn at the waist to face her, "Sorry, I don't willingly rob stores for fun in my free time. My bad."

You think you see Nat's jaw twitch at the comment, making you think you said the wrong thing, but before you can dwell on it too long or too hard, she lets out a hollow laugh. "Yeah, well, certified adrenaline junkie and all that. What can I say? Robbing stores gives me a rush." But the words come out slightly strained—like she's not telling you the whole story.

She clears her throat, clearly eager to move on from that particular line of conversation. "Whatever. Still. Like I said, I can… get Kev to teach you how to skate. Or… hell, you ever kicked a soccer ball around before?"

"In PE, yeah. But that's about it."

"Hmm." The blonde considers this, "You any good at it?" You snort, "Hardly varsity material, but I'm not, like, terrible at it or anything."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I can show you how to be junior varsity material. Shouldn't be that hard to play better than a few freshies, yeah? Maybe I'll even teach you some soccer tricks." She grins to herself, "Teach you the basics of freestyling soccer balls."

"Mm, promising a lot here, Nat. First, you're saying that you'll teach me to play good enough to beat some "freshies" in soccer, then telling me you'll teach me tricks?" You click your tongue, "How do I know you aren't gonna completely bail on me?" "Oh, make no mistake, I don't go back on my word. If I say I'm gonna do something, then you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna do it, yeah?" A toothy grin, "And that's the Scatorccio guarantee."

You snort, "Yeah, you say that like your last name holds a lot of value when it comes to trust—"

The words are meant to be teasing, they come out in a teasing tone, but you still feel like a piece of shit the second they leave your mouth.

"I… I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I wasn't thinking—"

"Nah, no," Nat shakes her head and waves her hands, "no. Don't worry about it. I'm not mad at you or anything." A grin, likely to ease your nerves, "You're not exactly wrong either. But I'm giving you my word anyway. Which… you should take."

"Hm." You take some mock consideration to that, "I will take it for now. But I make no promises for whether I keep it or not."

"Won't regret it." Her grin becomes slightly more genuine, "Promise."

You spend the next… ten, fifteen minutes? talking to Nat on the steps of the library, actually getting to know each other, rather than those single-minded adventures that the two of you have been on the past little while.

You trade off on the typical "first date" questions: Favourite food (Hers is apparently pizza, which you said was boring, then she rolled her eyes and dropped "Ribollita" and refused to actually tell you what that means.), fast food (Said "Taco Bell" immediately.) music (Matches her. Veruca Salt, Blondie, Nirvana, The Pixies… you get the idea. You asked her if she played the music on tape decks. She said yes. You don't know if she's joking or not.), books (She called you a nerd. Then proceeded to say, "The Anarchist Cookbook".), least favourite teacher (Mr. Miller, who teaches Auto Shop and keeps telling her repair work is sloppy.), and most importantly: the meaning of life ("ask me after I've had a tab or two"??).

After spending the past three minutes trying to convince her you don't get straight A's in every class, you decide just to show her your most recent in Physics and you… realise you left your binder in your locker.

"Crap." You sigh as you peer into your backpack, "I think I left my Science binder in my locker."

Nat snorts, "Didn't you open your bag earlier to put away your textbook? How didn't you notice it then?" "Because I wasn't thinking about it then." You sigh and close your bag, "I need to grab it from my locker. I don't—" "I'll come with you. Need to head to the locker room and change into practice gear." She cuts you off, pushes herself off the stairs, and, much to your surprise, actually waits for you before she starts walking. You try not to act surprised by this as you grab your backpack and throw it over your shoulders. When she does catch you acting surprised, because of course she does, she grins and rolls her eyes. "I said I was coming with you. Which means I am following you, and you aren't following me. Therefore, I have to wait for you. I still don't wait for people to follow me, Princess."

You can't fight the way your eyes roll and lips purse at that comment, "Right." Once you're standing, the pair of you head off in the direction of your locker.

"Dude, your locker is all the way in the old science hall? Who the fuck goes here anymore? There are zero classes near this place anymore. It must take five minutes to walk from class-to-fucking-class." She mutters, more to herself than you, and shakes her head as you two reach your destination. "Yeah, if I could have chosen my locker, it would be in the English hall. Right in the center of all my classes. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only person who has their locker in this hall." You sigh as you start to fiddle with the lock, "I've basically only seen the janitor up here. I don't know what I did to piss off whoever assigned lockers, but here I am." A sigh leaves your lips as the lock clicks open, "Admin won't even let me move lockers." Nat snorts and leans on the locker adjacent yours, "Yeah, sounds about right. They don't actually give a shit about the students here. I mean, for all the money going into athletics, you'd think they'd give us uniforms that don't chafe." An exasperated roll of her eyes, "So stupid."

"Sounds about right. Didn't the money go to the boy's baseball team or something?" She seems slightly surprised you know that but gives a nod of her head. "Uh, yeah. That's right. Which makes no sense considering we won states last year, and this year we actually have a good chance of—"

Her eyes zero in on the binder you're grabbing. "Holy shit. Is that colour-coded?" Her jaw drops in awe (or shock?), and she takes it from your hands, flipping it open. "H-o-l-y s-h-i-t. It is."

"I like having things organized by unit, whether it's a worksheet or notes!" You defend yourself, grabbing the binder back from her with a huff, "Sue me, okay!"

"Shit, I should." She lets out a low whistle, "Damn. All this for a…" She peers at the test you were going to show her, "B? Damn, Princess. That's unfortunate."

"You're making fun of me." You murmur petulantly, slamming the binder shut and shoving it into your backpack, "What's your GPA then, huh?"

Nat hums as she considers that answer, "Three point three."

"Wait." You turn to look at her, "Seriously?"

She laughs, "Yeah, seriously. I can't play soccer if I'm failing all my classes. Just because I don't show up to class doesn't mean I don't do the work for them." A roll of her eyes, like it was an obvious answer.

"Mm. And do you do the work for them, or do you pay some unsuspecting nerd—"

"What makes you think I have the money to pay anyone to do anything?" The girl cuts you off with a snort and crosses her arms, "Trust me, I do all my work myself."

"Hey, who said anything about money?" You grin at her, "You have… dubious tendencies. For all I know, you're paying them some other way." You offer a teasing shrug, "Like stolen BuzzBalls or…" A faux gasp, "Oh my God. Am I the unsuspecting nerd?" Nat scoffs once and looks away, "Yeah, right." Another scoff. Then another.

…wait. Is she blushing? Did you just fluster Natalie Scatorccio? On accident?

Between the way she won't meet your eyes, fiddles with the hem of her shirt, her usually pale cheeks now with the faintest hint of colour in them, and she swallows nervously? Wow. You think you did. How the tables…

You don't get too long to reflect on that before she's seemingly recovered and trying to act unaffected. "What if I am, nerd?" She leans into your personal space, "Maybe I'm looking for an unsuspecting nerd to do more than just my homework."

Now you're the flustered one. Again. "Uh—"

"I mean, think about it." She licks her lips, "The unsuspecting nerd and the resident burnout. Talk about opposites attracting. I could show you so much shit." A feral grin crosses her features, and your entire body heats up without your consent, "I could make you feel real—"

You take a step back, putting up both a metaphorical and physical space between you two. "Natalie. I don't—"

"Don't what? Oh, come on, Princess. Don't act like you haven't been thinking about it. I'm not dumb. I've seen the way you've been looking at me. Don't act like—"

You look visibly uncomfortable. Flustered, yes, but also uncomfortable. You're wringing your hands together in a subconscious act of anxiety, and whether that's because of her proximity or the situation, you aren't quite sure. Either way, Nat notices this.

You swear you see something like guilt flash behind her eyes once she realises she made you uncomfortable, but no outward attempt at an apology is made.

Natalie clears her throat and takes a small step back, the bravado dropping in an instant. "Whatever." She crosses her arms again, "Whatever. Let's just…" Her jaw tenses, and she shakes her head. "Nevermind."

There's some very tense air that passes between the both of you as you awkwardly close and lock your locker, neither of you bothering to glance at the other, letting the awkwardness fester.

It probably would have kept festering, too, had the sound of Natalie's phone vibrating not broken the silence.

"Goddammit, I swear to God if Jackie is—" Her mouth snaps shut as she looks down at her phone, and a slow grin finds its way onto her mouth. "Ooooh, fuck yes." She looks up at you, "Say, Princess, you doing anything tonight?"

"Uhhhh…" You shake your head, "No? I was just planning on staying at home and…" You shrug, "I dunno. Relaxing, or whatever."

"Mm. I have a better idea. You should come to a party tonight."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?" Nat rolls her eyes, "Come on. What was it I said about needing to get out of your comfort zone? A party is the perfect time and place to do it!" She shakes her head (and hands), "Look, it's a bonfire. If things go poorly, you can just… sit and stare at the fire and ignore everyone."

An unsure breath leaves your lips as you consider all the possibilities in your head. Of course, your mind heads to the worst-case scenario first, like a completely normal person would.

"Dude, seriously." She says, softer this time. "No pressure. It's just… a bonfire party… no, get-together, with some friends. That's it, yeah? Not like the entire town is gonna be there." She reiterates, throwing some emphasis on the fact it's "just a bonfire get-together," as if that will soothe all your nerves.

More hesitation on your part, but you can't deny the curiosity that seeds its way into your mind at the idea of seeing Nat in her element for once. "I… I don't know, Nat. It really isn't my scene—"

"It doesn't have to be your scene. It's just gonna be the place you spend a single Friday night. That's it. Don't ever gotta come to one again if you decide you hate it. Won't even bring it up again. Promise."

Even more hesitation. Even more curiosity you can't shove down and hide, for better or worse.

You don’t belong in the scene she frequents. Not really. But the way she grinned—like you were some project she couldn’t wait to take on—made you want to, even if it was just for one night.

"Come on. Drinks are free. Maybe they'll have more coolers you can try. Really dip your toes into the world of alcoholic beverages." She snickers.

Man, peer pressure does work, doesn't it?

You’re not a party person. But then again, Natalie Scatorccio isn’t just a person—she’s the reason you’re even considering it.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this…" You shake your head and sigh, "But… fine. Fine. I'll… I'll go to this stupid party."

A wide grin crosses her face. Wide and very pleased with herself. "Perfect. Good choice. Best choice, really. Won't regret it, promise." She pushes herself off the locker beside yours, "I gotta get to practice. But I will… see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." You sigh reluctantly, "I will… see you tonight, Nat."

"Hell yeah, you will. Maybe I'll even convince you to crack a beer or two. Smoke a cigarette. Real delinquent shit." She laughs at that as she begins walking off toward the gym, "See you tonight, Princess!" Nat calls from over her shoulder, "I'll text you the address!"

You watch her leave, blinking a few times in shock that she was able to convince you to go to a high school party so quickly.

"Well." You mumble to yourself, "Guess senior year isn't the worst time to go to your first party." You rub your forehead, mildly frustrated with yourself and your ability to say no, "Goddammit."

Well. Guess you have a party to prepare for, huh?

a/n: can i be so real with yall for a sec

every time i type in "natalie scatorccio" on pinterest i start feeling weird after the first few minutes cus I'm like "damn I'm fr just staring at photos of sophie thatcher rn" but I suppose it could be worse. could be staring at photos of (insert ugly celebrity name here)

#natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #(brief)#shauna shipman #jackie taylor #ladles (fics/blurbs)#butter knives (sfw)#crush #from the cutlery drawer #taco bell was a heretic reference btw teehee

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its-avalon-08 · 11 months ago

Note

omg I love the protective Daniel post you just did, I feel like max would be so protective too, could I please request max and rival driver reader who always bicker but have undeniable tension..and after a race they’re celebrating at the club and mad max comes out seeing a really creepy guy hitting on her and manhandling her across the dance floor. Reader is a bit shaken up cause she hasn’t had things like that happen in a while since becoming more famous and the creepy guy was a lot bigger than her

and max drives her home and comforts her - I feel a hug from his big strong arms would fix all my problems lolz, maybe leading to some spice?? Thank you!!

hi bubs! im sorry im not super gr8 at writing spice so i didnt include any, myabe in the future! so sorry but hope u enjoy

hands. off. (mv1)

✦ pairing - max verstappen x female!driver!reader

✦ genre - enemies to lovers, angst, creepy guy, confessions, happy ending

The tension was palpable in the team garage as Max and Y/N prepared for the race. Mechanics bustled around, making final adjustments to the cars, while the two drivers stood on opposite sides, glaring at each other.

"You know, Max, just because you have a world championship doesn't mean you're invincible," Y/N said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she adjusted her gloves.

Max smirked, not looking up from his car. "And just because you're fast doesn't mean you're good enough to beat me. You should focus on keeping up."

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing with anger. "Maybe if you stopped acting like you're the king of the track, you'd see that I'm right on your tail. You're not as untouchable as you think."

Max finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a challenging look. "I'll believe it when I see it, Y/N. Until then, you're just another driver trying to take my spot."

She crossed her arms, standing her ground. "You better watch out, Max. One mistake, and I'll be there to overtake you. And believe me, it'll happen sooner than you think. Until then fuck off."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Bring it on. Just don't cry when you can't handle the pressure."

Their team principal stepped in, sensing the rising tension. "Alright, you two, save it for the track. We need both of you focused if we're going to win today."

Max and Y/N exchanged one last glare before turning their attention back to their cars, the hostility between them lingering in the air.

post race

The race had been fierce, with Max narrowly edging out Y/N for the win. As they walked back to the garage, Y/N's frustration boiled over. She threw her helmet down in exasperation, drawing Max's attention.

"Nice job blocking me out there, Max. Real fucking classy," she snapped, her eyes blazing with anger.

Max shrugged, a smug smile playing on his lips. "It's called defending my position. Maybe you should learn how to do it."

Y/N stepped closer, her fists clenched. "Or maybe you should learn to win without playing dirty."

Max's smile faded, replaced by a cold stare. "I play to win, Y/N. If you can't handle that, maybe you're in the wrong sport."

Y/N's heart raced, not just from anger but from the proximity. She could feel the heat radiating off him, their faces inches apart. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with proving you're the best, you'd realize you don't have to be such an asshole all the time."

Max leaned in, his breath hot on her face. "And maybe if you stopped trying to compete with me, you'd see that I actually respect you."

Y/N's eyes widened, the air between them crackling with tension. "Respect? You have a funny way of showing it, Max."

Max's gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. "It's called tough love sweetheart. You wouldn't want it any other way."

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't need your respect."

Max's hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he held back. "Maybe not. But you have it, whether you like it or not."

The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming, making her head spin. For a moment, all the anger and frustration seemed to morph into something else, something neither of them was ready to admit.

"Why do you always have to make everything so complicated?" Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

Max's voice softened, the hostility fading. "Maybe because I don't know how else to deal with you. You're... different."

Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. "Different how?"

Max's eyes softened, and for a moment, the walls between them seemed to crumble. "Different in a way that scares me. And I don't scare easily."

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard, and she felt a surge of emotion she couldn't quite name. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them, their bodies almost touching.

"Max..." she began, her voice trembling.

Before she could say anything more, Max leaned in, his forehead almost resting against hers. "Y/N, I..."

The moment was electric, the world around them fading away. For that brief second, all the rivalry, the anger, and the hostility melted into something raw and undeniable. But just as quickly, Max pulled back, the moment shattered and his rough facade was back up.

"We should get back to the team," he said, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her heart still racing. "Yeah. We should."

As they walked back to the garage, the tension between them was stronger than ever, but now it was laced with something more—something neither of them could ignore.

time skip

The club was alive with music and dancing, the perfect place to celebrate after a hard-fought race. Y/N tried to shake off the lingering tension from her earlier confrontation with Max, letting the music take over as she moved with her friends. But even in the crowded club, she could feel his eyes on her, a constant presence that sent shivers down her spine.

Max sat at the bar, nursing a drink, but his attention was entirely on Y/N. She danced with an easy grace, her movements drawing the eyes of everyone around her, but Max's gaze was different—intense, focused, and filled with the unresolved tension from their earlier confrontation.

As she danced, Y/N's eyes found Max's across the room. The connection was electric, the tension between them palpable. She locked eyes with him, her movements becoming more deliberate, more provocative, as if she was challenging him, daring him to react.

Max's grip tightened on his glass, his heart racing. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a silent, charged exchange. He wanted to go to her, to close the distance between them, but something held him back.

Suddenly, a large man approached Y/N on the dance floor, his intentions clear. He moved too close, his hands reaching out to touch her. Y/N tried to step away, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him with a force that made her stumble.

"What the fuck? Let go!" Y/N shouted, trying to free herself.

The man's grip tightened, his voice slurred with alcohol. "Come on, baby, don't be like that. Let's have some fun."

Panic flashed in Y/N's eyes. She was used to handling herself, but this man was larger and stronger, and the situation was spiraling out of control. She looked around for help, her gaze finally landing on Max.

Max's vision turned red as he saw the fear in Y/N's eyes. He pushed his way through the crowd, his protective instincts and anger flaring into his "Mad Max" persona.

"Get your hands off her," Max growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The man looked at Max, clearly unimpressed. "Who the hell are you?"

Max stepped closer, his glare icy. "I'm the fucking guy who's going to make sure you never touch her again. Now, let go."

The man sneered, but Max's cold fury was unmistakable. He released Y/N, but not before giving her a rough shove. She stumbled back, and Max caught her, pulling her close to him.

"You okay?" Max asked, his voice softening as he looked down at her.

Y/N nodded, but her eyes were wide, and she was clearly shaken. "Yeah, just... let's get out of here."

The man, not ready to back down, took a step towards them. "You think you can just walk away?"

Max turned back to him, his expression darkening. "I warned you."

Without another word, Max launched himself at the man, delivering a hard punch to his jaw. The man staggered back, and Max followed up with another punch, knocking him to the ground.

"Stay the fuck down," Max spat, his voice filled with anger.

The bouncers quickly moved in, grabbing the man and dragging him away. Max turned back to Y/N, his expression softening once again.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Let's get out of here."

The ride home was silent except for Y/N’s quiet sniffles. She stared out the window, her hands still trembling. The events of the night played over and over in her mind, and she couldn't shake the fear that had gripped her. She let out a silent sob, tears streaming down her face.

Max glanced over, his heart aching at the sight of her distress. Without saying a word, he reached over and grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Y/N looked at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She squeezed his hand back, drawing strength from his presence.

They drove in silence for a while longer before Max finally spoke. "You don't have to be scared anymore, Y/N. I'm here. I'll always be here."

Y/N nodded, unable to find her voice. The tears kept coming, and she leaned over, resting her head on Max's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as she sobbed into his shirt.

When they arrived at her apartment, Max turned off the engine and gently lifted her out of the car. She clung to him, too exhausted and shaken to protest. Max carried her inside, navigating the familiar path to her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and sat beside her, brushing a stray hair from her face.

"Max," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was so scared."

Max's heart clenched. "I know. But you're safe now. That guy will never touch you again. I promise."

Y/N looked into his eyes, searching for the strength she always saw there. "Why are you always there for me? Even when we fight, even when we're at each other's throats, you're always there."

Max took a deep breath, his gaze intense. He wordlessly pulled her into a warm, protective hug. His strong arms enveloped her, pulling her close against his chest.

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her voice a barely audible whisper. "I've dreamed about this."

Max’s heart skipped a beat. He held her tighter, his own emotions surfacing. "You’ve dreamed about this?"

She nodded, her voice muffled. "About being held like this… safe and cared for. I didn’t think it would ever actually happen."

Max tilted her chin up gently, looking into her eyes with a serious expression. "Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes filled with vulnerability. "What is it, Max?"

Max took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly. "I’ve been trying so hard to deny it, but I can’t anymore. I care about you more than I ever wanted to admit. The rivalry, the arguments—they’ve been a cover for what I really feel."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over her. "Max, I’ve felt the same way. I’ve been pushing you away because I was scared of these feelings. I didn’t want to admit how much you mean to me."

Max’s fingers brushed a tear from her cheek. "I’ve been so caught up in the competition and the fights that I didn’t realize I was falling for you. But now, seeing you like this, I can’t ignore it any longer."

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. "It’s like everything else fades away when I’m with you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before."

Max’s gaze was intense, filled with affection. "You mean everything to me, Y/N. I don’t just want to win races with you; I want to be with you. I want to be the one who’s always there for you."

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness. "I want that too, Max. I want us to be more than just rivals. I want us to be together, through everything."

Max’s smile was tender as he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Then let’s make it real. Let’s be together."

Y/N nodded, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yes. I want that more than anything."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss filled with all the emotions they had been holding back—passion, relief, and a deep, unspoken love. When they finally pulled away, their eyes locked, both of them knowing that their feelings were finally out in the open.

Max brushed a strand of hair from her face, his smile full of promise. "We have a lot to figure out, but we’ll do it together. I’m in this for the long haul."

Y/N nodded, her heart full. "Together. Always."

Max wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close as they lay down together, both of them finally at peace with the love they had discovered.

#formula 1 #f1 imagine #formula one #max verstappen imagine #red bull racing #y/n #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen angst #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x female reader #requests #ava speaks

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witchybitchycrybaby · 11 months ago

Text

Enemies in public, lovers in private

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, it's basically porn without plot, suggestive language, fighting

Words: 3k

Also this is my first ever attempt at writing 18+ content, I hope I did well

✨✨✨

It was a perfect day for another traditional clash between Blackwoods and Brackens. It wasn't too hot nor cold, it didn't rain at all and the sun wasn't shining in their faces, hidden behind clouds.

Maybe it was hiding because it no longer wanted to see the unresolved conflict between the two houses.

The air was thick with tension and hatred at the boundary line. Davos Blackwood, with a handful of his men, stood at the edge of their territory, the Red Fork River murmuring softly nearby. Opposite them, you and your brother Aeron approached, flanked by a few Bracken soldiers.

Your eyes locked with Davos' brown ones with a mix of frustration and longing. That was the only way you could communicate something more than insults without anyone paying attention to you. You blinked quickly, hiding every one of your feelings behind a cold, resentful mask.

"Blackwood," Aeron sneered, his voice, though a little bit unsure, was dripping with disdain he didn't even try to disguise. He then looked the dark haired boy up and down. "What brings you to our lands? Lost your way like a stray dog?"

Davis gritted his teeth at the insult. He took one step closer to where the bracken stood. “Just making sure you craven lot aren’t overstepping your boundaries, Bracken. Your family has a knack for moving boundary stones.”

"Funny thing, Blackwood," you barked back, his name a stinging venom on your tongue. "We were just discussing how often those stones seem to wander towards our side. Must be the wind, perhaps, or the dragons. Surely, you wouldn't have any share in that, would you?"

One of the Blackwood men, until now staying a pace behind Davos, took a step forward and looked at you with so much hate and anger you had to suppress a shiver. You stood still however; you would rather die than cower before them.

"Careful, you Bracken wench. Watch your tongue before we cut it out."

Before anyone could react, Aeron's face twisted with fury, and he drew his sword. His grip was however a bit uncertain. You really appreciated this, his want to always protect you. He was the more delicate one among the two of you, not suited for battle. And yet, he was very stubborn to prove himself.

You saw the way Davos' jaw tightened as his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. Davos Blackwood instantly unsheathed his weapon, eyes trained on the blond boy. "Looks like little Bracken is shaking in his boots. Did your sister drag you out here to play knight?"

"I've got more honor in my little finger than you have in your entire body, Blackwood."

Davos stepped closer, his eyes darkening. "Honor? You wouldn't know honor even if it bit you."

With a war cry on his lips Aeron lunged at the Blackwood boy. The metallic sound of the sword struck the otherwise quiet air like a thunder. The clang of steel against steel echoed through the trees as they clashed with a fury borne of centuries-old hatred. Their hits were brutal and fast; their movements swift and well-practiced. You watched, your heart aching with every strike, knowing you had to play your part.

The fight was intense but brief. Both men landed a few cuts, blood staining their clothes but nothing fatal. As Davos prepared for another strike, you decided you were fed up with this fight and stormed between them, your eyes blazing with anger. You put a hold on both of their arms, stopping them from doing something they would later regret.

"Stop this, both of you, or I’ll take my sword and kill you myself,” you said with ice in your voice. Your gaze wandered from one boy to the other.

They both well knew you could and would do it; you weren't the one to make empty promises. They could play their little war all they wanted, but not on your watch. You'd faster claim a dragon than let them kill themselves over some stupid boundary stones.

Your grip on their arms remained strong until both of them lowered their swords. You could feel Davos' muscles twitching beneath your touch. He huffed with anger and wrenched himself from your grasp.

For a brief moment, Davos' eyes softened as he looked at you, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Listen to your little cunt of a sister, Bracken. Fuck off to your side of the river.”

As he walked away to his men, you tugged at your brother and pulled him to yours. He would bitch about it later, you knew it. But oh well, you'd take it.

Aeron glared at you enraged and also pulled his arm away from you. "What are you doing, (y/n)? They deserve to be taught a lesson."

"And you'll be the one to learn it if you don't back down," you retorted, your hand closing to the hilt of your own sword. "This pathetic Blackwood isn't worth the blood on your blade."

His jaw tightened but he had enough sense in his head not to speak.

You heard Davos sheathing his sword so you turned to him. There was a small cut on his cheek and your heartbeat quickened. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and stared right into your eyes. You lifted your chin just a little and crossed your arms.

"Tell your men to stop moving the boundary stones, and we won't have to keep coming here to correct your mistakes."

"Perhaps if your men had the integrity to keep to their own lands, we wouldn't have this problem."

A scoff came from one of the Bracken men. "You're saying you have integrity, Blackwood?"

Davos smirked, you practically could see the glint of craze in his eyes.

"It's not us who's always trying to take more than what’s ours.”

The Blackwood and Bracken men exchanged hostile glances, muttering curses under their breath. You balled your hands into fists, your knuckles white.

"Enough!" yelled Aeron. "We'll leave your precious stones alone if you do the same."

There was a moment of silence on the hill. You knew how much Davos loved those little battles between your houses and that no matter what he might now say will stop them.

Finally, Davos gave a mocking bow, his dark eyes flashed with something very opposite to the want of truce. "Fine. But don't think this is over, Blackwood."

Aeron nodded curtly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, Davos Blackwood shot you a final glance and ordered his friends to retreat. There was promise in his eyes that only you could understand. You watched them go, your heart thudding in your chest. You played this meeting well, your love-hate relationship still sealed and hidden.

"Next time, dear sister," Aeron hissed. "I won't back down so easily."

You sighed when he moved away. Maybe you won't stop him next time. Maybe you should just let them kill themselves and they'd be rid of this callow feud.

As the Brackens turned back to their lands, your thoughts lingered on Davos. Your love was a dangerous game, one that could cost you everything. But for now, you had survived another day, your secret safe for a little longer.

~•~

The Mill stood at the edge of Blackwood and Bracken lands, silent and dark, shrouded in shadows. It wasn't precisely a mill anymore, truth be told. Nobody used it, so it stood empty and alone.

And it was just perfect for Davos and you. The Mill became your sanctuary, its walls one of a very few confidants of your love and late-night trysts.

Davos waited inside, not daring to light any candles for fear of drawing unwanted attention. His breath was steady, but his heart racing. He knew you'd come. You always did.

He fixed his eyes on the wooden door when he heard the soft and cautious footsteps. Your footsteps. You quietly slipped inside, the door creaking when you closed it behind yourself. You barely had time to turn around and properly look at him before he surged forward, and in seconds was on you, pushing you against the rough wall. You yelped in surprise, but it was quickly swallowed by Davos' hungry mouth when his lips crashed against yours in a hard, desperate kiss.

You instantly melted into him with a fervent response. Your hands threaded through his silken, dark locks, pulling him even closer. His hands roamed over your clothed body, caressing the curves of your waist and hips, which he knew so well.

Finally, you broke the kiss, panting heavily, both completely out of breath. There was a string of saliva connecting your lips. You leaned back, resting your head against the wall.

"Cunt?" You asked rising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd have some more sophisticated terms up your sleeve, Blackwood."

He laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My apologies. Had to keep up the appearances." he murmured, his voice anything but apologetic. He pressed a kiss to the column of your neck, and you shivered. "Would you prefer 'Bracken witch' instead?"

Your eyes narrowed in mock-serious resentment, but your body betrayed you, arching towards him. "Bastard." You whispered with a smirk on your lips. Just like that, he was forgiven.

He'd kneel if you'd asked. He would beg, and he wouldn't find any trace of shame it that. Seven Hells, he'd crawl if that was what you wanted. He'd do everything without a second to lose, because you were his Brecken. His and nobody elses.

"And you love me anyway." He gave you one more peck on the lips and grasped your hand in his. He pulled you further into the Mill, towards the makeshift bed of hay and blankets. As you moved, he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his hands moving to the laces of your shirt. You could feel his impatient fingers grazing over your sternum and stomach. You sighed with contentment when the material slid from your shoulders and fell to the ground.

"I hate how much I've missed you too," you admitted, your hands clasping his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Davos attacked your lips with a new wave of desire, he kissed you like a man starved, and you were the sweetest of fruits. His hands slid down your waist to the lacing of your breeches and slipped them off. He picked you up, and you crossed your ankles behind his back. His body was so hot; in every place you touched, you felt fire.

He laid you gently on the blanket and quickly discarded his own breeches somewhere in the corner. He then climbed on top of you, careful not to put his whole body weight on you. You opened your legs to accommodate him and you gasped when his half-hard cock brushed against your inner thigh.

"I was a bit disappointed seeing you fight today, Blackwood. I've seen better fighting from children. Do you train with toddlers in Raventree Hall?"

"You vixen," Davos rasped and bit your lip and didn't let go until he tasted warm metallic liquid on his tongue. "My fighting is better than whatever pathetic excuse for training do Brackens do. I bet even a blindfolded squire could best you or your brother."

His lips wandered down your body, leaving open mouthed kisses in their wake. Down the column of your neck, to your collarbone, and to your breasts. He eagerly took one nipple in his mouth, teasing it into hard peak. He then continued his ministrations on the other one, all while you were a squirming and whining mess under him.

You threw your head back and dug your nails deep into his shoulders when Davos put his hand between your heated bodies. He was sure that the marks you'd leave would stay on his back for quite a while. His finger travelled between your folds and stopped right at your entrance. You pushed your hips to seek any type of friction but he just released your nipple with a soft pop and shook his head, a crazed smirk on his face.

"You know, Bracken," he whispered slowly, leaning above you, his face mere inches from yours. "I used 'cunt' on purpose. Because yours is just divine.

And with that he thrusted one of his digits inside you. You moaned, and all he wanted to do was freeze the time and capture the sound in a bottle. His perfect Bracken, all pretty and pliant for him. He could do whatever he wanted to you, and you'd let him. His ethereal lover.

You buckled your hips once more when he pulled and pushed two fingers. In and out, in and out. He could see the unshed tears on your lashes when his thumb started to tease your clit.

"Fuck-.Davos..." You whimpered. "You lousy teaser."

He captured your lips in his again, a low groan escaped from him when your soft, warm walls started to tighten around his fingers.

"You are so eager, my dear Bracken, so unsated. You will come on my fingers and then I'll fuck you stupid, I promise."

And it didn't take long. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear; whispered how good you were for him, how good you were taking him, heaven-sent just for him to have and take care of. He pushed his fingers and continued his assault oh your clit until your legs started shaking. Your back arched into him, and with his name on your lips, you climaxed. And even after that, he didn't stop because that's what he was there for. To make you happy, to worship you, your body and the ground you walked on.

You panted when he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips. You watched as his tongue darted around them, licking up your juices.

"You will be the death of me, Blackwood," you moaned and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your head spin. You locked your ankles behind his back to keep him in place. As if Davos would rather be anywhere else than right here.

"Will you give me another one?" He asked and positioned his cock right at your entrance. You shivered some more when you felt his already leaking tip tease and push at you. "Will you," he pushed more until he was inside your warmth. "be a good girl to me?"

You writhed beneath him and it made him swell with pride. He made that. He was responsible for this state you were in. His sweet, sweet girl.

"If you don't put it in right now, I'll do it," you blurted.

"As the lady commands." He grinned at you and bottomed out in one smooth thrust.

He groaned at the feeling and hid his face in the crook of your neck. He needed a moment to compose himself and not come right away. You were so warm and tight, he truly didn't mind dying like that, inside of you.

You gasped for air and looped your arms around his neck. One of your hands tangled into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp. Did you know how much he loved you? Did you know that he would kill for you? Gods, he would start a war in your name, all you had to do was ask.

Davos tightened his jaw and rolled his hips just a little. Both of you moaned in unison. You didn't believe in heaven or hell, but you sure knew that heaven was right here, with him between your legs and inside you.

"You chicken out, Blackwood? Are you just gonna lie there and look pretty, or will you move already?"

"I should've put this mouth of yours to a better use," he muttered but did as he was told. He pulled out almost completely and then thrust back in. Hard. You yelped and cried out in pleasure.

He did it again. And again. And again. It was a torturous tempo, and everything in him screamed to be faster and claim you already. But you were a brat today, a spoiled brat, and he wanted to punish you for it. Yet, your sweet mewling and moaning made him grit his teeth and go faster.

He placed his hands in the bend of your legs and brought them to your chest to give himself even better access to your pulsating core. You were so beautiful like this, so hauntingly beautiful he could cry. His Bracken, his, his, his and he accentuated it with each deep thrust he made.

You moved together, your tempo more erratic with each push. The world outside the walls of the Mill stopped existing; there were no more lands, no more Blackwoods and no more Brackens. There were just you and your desire.

Davos knew he wouldn't last much longer, and neither would you. He left open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck and collarbones until he felt the climax building up within himself. He could feel it in you too by how your walls were tightening around him. You had this serene, fucked-out expression on your face, your eyes glassy. And it tipped him over the edge.

You came together. His milky spent filled your insides, some starting to leak out as soon as he pulled out and turned around to lie on his back beside you. Your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, the smell of sex filling the air.

You panted heavily for a while, and then Davos pulled you on top of him, your hair pooling around you two. You placed your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You then pulled yourself up and leaned on your elbows. Your smile was sated when you looked into his eyes, but it faltered when your gaze fell on the cut on his cheek. You gently traced it with your fingers.

"Does it hurt?" You asked softly.

But he just turned his head and kissed your wrist. "It's not bad. Blackwoods are tougher than Brackens, I assure you."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Stubborn as mules, more like."

"Maybe," he replied and caressed your cheek. "But we know what we want."

"And what do you want, Davos Blackwood?" You whispered leaning into his touch.

"You, (y/n) Bracken. Always you."

#english is not my first language #davos blackwood #aeron bracken #davos blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x you #x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #davos blackwood smut #hotd smut #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader

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rubywillkins · 5 months ago

Note

Mocha, hazelnut mocha, shot of espresso, almond and soy milk, Bruschetta, beef diced potatoes, Habenaro BBQ shrimp, Potato gnocchi, Ham carbonara, Sparkling water

Ln4 x fem reader pls!

Sure darling ♥️

Lando Norris |

One bed, No exit

Pairing Lando × female reader

Mocha enemies to lover(rival) hazelnut mocha only one bed shot of espresso Rough sex almond milk vaginal sex soya milk oral sex Bruschetta Edging beef diced potatoes "do you need to use your safe word, darling?" Habenaro BBQ shrimp "its my thigh or nothing, I'm not helping you get off" Potato gnocchi "shh, just look at me baby" Ham carbonara "its hot when you talk back" sparking water after care

The Monaco Grand Prix weekend had been as dramatic off the track as it was on. Lando Norris, the quick-witted and perpetually sassy Formula 1 driver, found himself sparring all season with his fiercest rival, Y/n . The two were infamous for their public squabbles, trading sharp words in interviews and pointed glares in the paddock.

That’s why, when Lando arrived at the hotel after a grueling day of practice sessions, the last thing he expected was to find y/n standing at the check-in desk looking equally annoyed.

“What are you doing here?” Lando asked, his British accent laced with mock horror.

“Checking in, obviously,” she snapped, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder.

The receptionist cleared their throat nervously. “I’m terribly sorry, but there’s been a mix-up. We’re fully booked, and… well, the only available room is a double that you’ll have to share.”

Y/n’s jaw dropped. “You must be joking.”

Lando smirked. “Oh, this is rich. Guess the universe loves irony.”

“I’d rather sleep in the pit lane than share with you,” she shot back, her brown eyes blazing.

“And I’d rather sleep on a bed of Pirelli tires, but here we are,” Lando retorted, tossing his bag on his shoulder.

After a lengthy standoff and some heated whispers, they reluctantly agreed to share the room—for one night.

The room was undeniably luxurious, but the centerpiece—a singular king-sized bed—made them both groan in unison.

“Great. Of course, there’s only one bed,” Lando said, flopping onto the mattress dramatically. “Looks like I win the bed lottery.”

Y/n crossed her arms. “Get up. I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

Lando propped himself up on his elbows, a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, I’m not sleeping on the couch either. So unless you’re planning to arm-wrestle me for it, I guess we’re sharing.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Fine. But stay on your side.”

“Darling, if I cross the invisible line, you have my full permission to smack me,” Lando quipped, winking.

By the time Y/m emerged from the bathroom in her tank top and shorts, Lando was sprawled on his side of the bed, scrolling through his phone with an exaggerated look of disinterest.

“Try not to snore,” he said without looking up.

“Try not to talk in your sleep,” she shot back, sliding under the covers.

“Why would I need to talk? You’d argue with me even in my dreams.”

“Good night, Lando,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” he replied, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

The silence stretched as they lay in the dark, neither able to sleep.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Y/n finally said, breaking the stillness.

“Do you ever stop pretending you hate me?” Lando countered, turning to face her.

Y/n blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, smirking. “You’ve been mad at me since day one, but let’s be honest—you don’t hate me. You just hate that I’m better at banter.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Better at banter? You think that’s what this is about?”

“Absolutely,” he said smugly. “And maybe because I look better in a race suit.”

Y/n sat up, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are. Sharing a bed. Life’s funny, isn’t it?”

The corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re gorgeous when you’re mad,” he said softly, the playful edge in his voice giving way to something more sincere.

She froze, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. For the first time, the teasing melted away, leaving something raw and unspoken between them.

It started with a kiss—tentative, questioning—but it quickly spiraled into something far more consuming. Months of biting words and unspoken tension came to a head as they gave in to what they had both been too stubborn to admit.

Lando made you sit on his lap... You both were in lotus position... You were half naked at this point.. and he was just in his boxers..

He both were kissing each other like there is no Tommorow... His one hand on your ass.. pressing your clit and dick... You can feel his alredy hardening dick... It was hot.. I mean he was hot.. you were burning hot..

His another hand unclasped your bra... And than he teared your panty... "Lando what... Did you do? You said a bit annoyed still enjoying the moment and his hand massaging your breast..

"shh, just look at me baby". he removed his boxers and inserted his whole dick in to your pussy... You nearly gasped... "Lando... Argh.."

"put me off..it hurts"..

"its my thigh or nothing, I'm not helping you get off"

He said thursting in to you hard... He was pounding into you like his life deoends in it...

He puts you the bed a bit roughly and inserted into you again this time in missionary..

"do you need to use your safe word, darling?"

He said with a teasing smile on his face more

like smirking...

" yea it's fuck Lando" you said while sinking your nails on his bare back... enjoying the pleasure...

"its hot when you talk back" "but now you have to pay back" he said while pulling his dick from you just when you were about to come... " Lando no... Put it in again.. I need you so bad"

You said pleading for orgasm..he put it again and the whole show starts again... But its lando obviously he won't let you cum again...

"lando stop...just let me cum pls"

"Are you sure? You wanna cum?" He said still in a teasing tone... "Yea..." Even before you could complete the sentence he inserted you.. he started poundinh into you roughly... He was fast very fast.. you were a moaning mess by this time...

"argh... Lando it feels so good"

And finally you came.. but he won't left you so easily.. he licked you...from above to down...every part of you. From head to toe.. from breast to your clit.. like hungry man.. he licked your pussy... And cleaned your cum from his mouth...

And than.. he kissed you again.. this time it was soft and gentle...

Y/n traced lazy circles on Lando’s chest, her mind reeling. The biting arguments, the sharp jabs—they all seemed so distant now, replaced by something softer, something fragile and uncharted.

Lando’s hand slid along her back, his touch light and soothing. “You okay?” he asked softly, his usual sass replaced with genuine concern.

She looked up at him, surprised. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t sound convinced.”

Y/n rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “I just… I didn’t think this would ever happen. You and me. It feels… surreal.”

Lando propped himself up on an elbow, his expression serious for once. “Well, surreal or not, I’m glad it did. And I’m not about to let you overthink it.”

He slipped out of bed, grabbing one of the plush hotel robes hanging by the door. “Stay there,” he said, wagging a finger at her when she made a move to sit up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, amused.

“Taking care of you, obviously. Sit tight.”

She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm, damp towel and a bottle of water.

Lando perched on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her hair back as he wiped her skin with the towel. His touch was tender, his usual teasing nature replaced with a quiet focus.

“You don’t have to do this,” Y/n murmured, her voice soft.

“I know,” he replied, grinning. “But I want to. Besides, if I don’t, you’ll probably hold it against me next time we’re on track.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” he quipped, handing her the water.

After making sure she was comfortable, Lando slipped back under the covers, pulling her close. His hand traced gentle patterns along her arm as she rested her head against his chest.

“Lando?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re… not what I expected.”

He smirked, his hand pausing. “Oh, don’t tell me I’ve ruined your image of me as an insufferable idiot.”

Y/n chuckled, nuzzling closer. “A little bit.”

“Good,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep surprising you.”

The tension that had once defined them was gone, replaced by something new. It wasn’t perfect—neither of them were—but for the first time, it didn’t matter.

Lando’s voice was soft as he whispered into the quiet room, “Good night, Y/n”

She smiled against his chest, her fingers lacing with his. “Good night, Lando.”

The rivalry would always be there, but now, it came with something else—a connection neither of them had seen coming, but neither of them could deny.

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elryuse · 7 months ago

Text

MY CHAEBOL BULLY, IS CRAZY OVER ME

YANDERE SOHYUN X MALE READER

The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day. Students poured out of classrooms, chatting and laughing as they made their way home. Sohyun, the queen bee of the school, leaned against her locker, surrounded by her usual entourage of admirers. Her designer bag hung casually on her shoulder, a testament to her family's wealth and influence.

"Yah, new kid!" she called out, her sharp voice cutting through the chatter.

Y/n froze mid-step, his heart sinking. He had been hoping to avoid her today, but it seemed fate had other plans.

"Yes, you!" Sohyun smirked, walking toward him with a confident swagger. Her friends giggled behind her, eager to see what she had planned.

"What do you want, Sohyun?" Y/n asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Sohyun tilted her head, pretending to think. "Hmm, let's see... I just remembered how funny it was when you tripped over your own feet during gym class. What was that about, huh?"

The group burst into laughter, and Y/n clenched his fists, biting back a retort.

"You're pathetic," she sneered, flicking his forehead. "Try not to embarrass yourself tomorrow, okay?"

Satisfied, she turned and sauntered off, her laughter echoing through the hallway.

Later that evening, as Sohyun walked toward her family's sleek black car parked in an empty lot, she felt a chill run down her spine. The sound of footsteps echoed behind her, too many to belong to just one person.

"Hey, princess," a rough voice called out.

Sohyun spun around, her heart racing. A group of older boys stood behind her, their expressions leering.

"What do you want?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You've been flaunting that pretty little face around for too long," one of them said, stepping closer. "Thought we'd give you a reality check."

Panic gripped Sohyun as they surrounded her. She tried to scream, but one of them clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Let her go!"

The voice was unfamiliar yet firm. The group turned to see Y/n standing a few feet away, his fists clenched and determination blazing in his eyes.

"Oh, look who it is," one of the boys sneered. "The little hero."

"Leave her alone," Y/n growled, stepping closer.

"And what are you gonna do about it?"

Before Y/n could respond, one of the boys lunged at him. The fight was brutal and one-sided. Y/n swung wildly, managing to land a few hits, but he was no match for the group.

Sohyun watched in horror as they punched and kicked him, his blood staining the pavement.

"Stop it!" she screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the chaos.

The fight only ended when the sound of a police siren cut through the air. The boys scattered, leaving Y/n crumpled on the ground. Sohyun ran to his side, her heart pounding as she knelt next to him.

"Y/n?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

His face was battered, his lip split, and his breathing labored, but his eyes fluttered open. "You... okay?" he rasped.

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. "Why did you do that? Why did you risk yourself for me?"

He gave her a weak smile. "Didn't want to see you get hurt."

At the hospital, Sohyun sat beside Y/n's stretcher in the ambulance, her usual confident demeanor shattered. Her hands trembled as she reached out to his, hesitating before finally resting her fingers on his bruised knuckles.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/n, too weak to respond, closed his eyes.

As the siren wailed and the city lights blurred past, Sohyun found herself staring at him, her mind racing. This was the boy she had mocked, tormented, and humiliated. And yet, he had protected her without hesitation, sacrificing his own safety.

Her heart ached in a way she didn't understand. For the first time, Sohyun felt something other than contempt toward someone.

She tightened her grip on his hand, her voice shaking as she murmured, "I'll make this up to you. I swear."

The days that followed were different. Sohyun found herself replaying the moment Y/n had stepped in to save her. She remembered his bloodied face, his quiet strength, and the way he had smiled at her even in his pain.

It was maddening.

And yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him. The boy she once saw as beneath her was now the center of her world.

"I'll protect you now," she whispered to herself, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Her lips curled into a smile. Y/n didn't realize it yet, but he belonged to her now.

Y/n groaned softly, the throbbing pain in his body dragging him out of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open, the bright white of the hospital ceiling blinding him for a moment. Slowly, the room came into focus—the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the faint smell of antiseptic, and...

Sohyun?

He blinked again, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized her. She was slumped in a chair beside his bed, her arms crossed and her head resting against them. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled, her expression peaceful in sleep.

LWhy is she here?

Y/n shifted slightly, the movement making his sore muscles protest. The slight sound of the bedsheets rustling was enough to wake her. Sohyun stirred, blinking groggily as she lifted her head.

“Y/n?” she mumbled, her voice soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

He didn’t respond immediately, too stunned to say anything.

As she fully woke up, her eyes softened, and a small smile spread across her face. “You’re awake.”

Y/n nodded weakly, unsure of how to process this version of Sohyun. She seemed different—gone was the sharp, mocking edge he had grown accustomed to.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

“For what?” he croaked, his throat dry.

“For saving me,” she replied, her gaze dropping to her hands. “If it weren’t for you...”

She trailed off, her words hanging heavy in the air.

“I-i-it's... fine,” Y/n said hesitantly, forcing a small smile despite the lingering fear in his chest.

But Sohyun wasn’t done. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing against his bruised cheek. Y/n stiffened at her touch, his instincts screaming at him to pull away, but his body refused to move.

“You’re still afraid of me, aren’t you?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a strange mix of regret and amusement.

He didn’t answer, his silence confirming her suspicion.

“That’s okay,” she murmured, her fingers lingering on his face. “I don’t blame you. I haven’t exactly been kind to you, have I?”

Y/n’s heart raced as her gaze locked onto his. Her usual fiery confidence had shifted into something softer, yet infinitely more dangerous.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “About what happened. About you.”

“Sohyun, I—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted gently but firmly. “That night... seeing you like that, seeing what you were willing to do for me... I realized something.”

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, panic bubbling in his chest.

“I want you to be mine,” she said, her voice steady but filled with an intensity that made his stomach twist. “And there’s nothing that will stop me from making that happen.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Sohyun, you don’t mean that. You’re just—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, cutting him off. Her fingers trailed down to his jaw, holding him in place as her eyes bored into his. “Don’t try to tell me how I feel. I know what I want, Y/n. And what I want... is *you.*”

He stared at her, his mind racing. The girl who had tormented him, humiliated him, was now confessing her feelings with an intensity that left him speechless.

“You saved me,” she continued, her voice softening again. “No one’s ever done that for me before. And now that I’ve seen what you’re willing to do for me... I can’t let you go.”

“Sohyun, this isn’t—”

“Fair?” she finished for him, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Maybe not. But I don’t care. I’ve already made up my mind.”

Her hand lingered on his face for a moment longer before she pulled back, her expression softening.

“You’ll understand eventually,” she said, her tone almost soothing. “You’ll see that this is what’s best for both of us.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing lightly against his forehead.

“Rest for now,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of everything.”

As she sat back down, her eyes never leaving him, Y/n felt a chill run down his spine. He had saved Sohyun that night, but now he wondered if he had doomed himself in the process.

Y/n finally returned home after being discharged from the hospital. His body ached with every movement, but the relief of being in the safety of his own space soothed him. He dropped his bag by the door and shuffled toward his room, muttering a soft greeting to his parents before collapsing onto his bed.

But his peace didn’t last long.

The doorbell rang sharply, echoing through the house. Y/n’s parents exchanged a confused look before his father opened the door. Standing there, smiling as though she owned the place, was Sohyun.

“Good evening,” she said sweetly, bowing slightly. “I’m Sohyun. I wanted to properly introduce myself.”

Y/n’s mother appeared at the door, her eyes widening as she recognized the name. “Sohyun... You’re not the daughter of *that* chaebol family, are you?”

Sohyun smiled politely but with an edge. “Yes, my parents own the Daehan Group.”

Y/n’s parents froze. Their mouths opened, then shut, their expressions flickering between shock and forced cheerfulness.

“Oh, what an... honor,” Y/n’s father stammered. “To what do we owe this visit?”

Sohyun’s smile widened, and her voice turned honeyed yet possessive. “I’m here to let you know that Y/n and I are dating now.”

The announcement hung in the air, shocking everyone but Sohyun.

“D-d-dating?” Y/n’s mother repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” Sohyun said firmly, stepping into the house without waiting for an invitation. “I care deeply for him, and I wanted to make sure you knew how important he is to me.”

Y/n’s parents exchanged a glance. It was clear they were unnerved, but the weight of Sohyun’s family name pressed heavily on their shoulders.

“Well,” Y/n’s father said after a tense moment. “That’s wonderful news.”

“Yes, wonderful,” Y/n’s mother echoed, her smile forced. “Please, come in. Can we get you anything?”

Sohyun shook her head politely. “No, thank you. I just wanted to check on Y/n. Is he home?”

“Oh, he’s resting,” his mother said quickly, but Sohyun’s determined expression left no room for argument.

“Good,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “I’ll just check on him myself.”

---

Y/n was half-asleep when his bedroom door creaked open. He stirred slightly, his body too exhausted to react. He assumed it was his mother checking on him, so he mumbled a faint, “I’m fine.”

But then he felt a hand brush against his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open, and he froze when he saw Sohyun leaning over him, her face mere inches from his.

“S-Sohyun?” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and panic.

“Shh,” she cooed, her fingers trailing down his jawline. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his heart pounding.

She smiled, her eyes soft but glinting with something far darker. “I told your parents about us. They were so supportive. Isn’t that nice?”

Y/n’s mind raced. “You... what?”

Sohyun leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I couldn’t wait any longer, Y/n. I needed to be near you.”

Before he could protest, she cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. The kiss was deep and lingering, a mixture of passion and possessiveness that made Y/n’s head spin.

He tried to pull away, but her grip on him was firm, her fingers threading through his hair as she held him in place.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were filled with a terrifying intensity.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. “And nothing will ever change that.”

Y/n stared at her, his body frozen in shock and fear.

Sohyun smiled sweetly, brushing his hair back like he was the most precious thing in the world. “Rest well, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As she stood and left his room, Y/n’s heart raced, the weight of her words sinking in. He was trapped in her web now, and no matter how much he wanted to escape, he knew there was no way out.

Sohyun’s devotion was absolute. And in her mind, they were destined to be together—no matter the cost.

The halls of the school were eerily quiet as Sohyun strode through them, her hand gripping Y/n’s wrist like a vice. Students parted like the Red Sea, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and awe. Sohyun’s aura, already commanding, now radiated something far darker—an unspoken threat that no one dared to challenge.

“Move,” she barked at a group of underclassmen blocking her path. They scrambled aside without hesitation, their heads bowed.

Y/n trailed behind her, his expression blank but his eyes betraying his unease. Every so often, he glanced at the people staring at them, but he knew better than to resist.

Sohyun stopped abruptly, causing Y/n to stumble slightly. She turned to him, her expression softening only for him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice dripping with concern.

“I-i-i'm fine,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Her grip on his wrist loosened slightly, but she didn’t let go. “Good. You need to eat. Let’s go to the cafeteria.”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

Sohyun frowned, her eyes narrowing. “Y/n,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to take care of yourself. For me.”

Y/n sighed and nodded, knowing there was no use fighting her.

As they entered the cafeteria, the atmosphere was electric. Whispers spread like wildfire, students craning their necks to watch the school’s queen bee and her new “boyfriend.” But the curiosity was laced with fear, especially after the recent news.

The criminals who had attacked Sohyun that night had been found dead, their bodies dumped near a ferry harbor. The police called it a "gang dispute," but the rumors swirling through the school told a different story.

“She had something to do with it,” one student whispered.

“Of course she did. Did you see how protective she’s been of him?”

“Don’t mess with her, or you’ll end up like them.”

Sohyun ignored the whispers, her focus entirely on Y/n. She led him to a table near the corner, where they could sit in relative privacy.

“Eat,” she said, placing a tray of food in front of him.

Y/n hesitated, but her expectant gaze forced him to comply. As he took small bites, Sohyun leaned closer, her fingers brushing against his arm.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, her voice low and possessive. “No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/n didn’t respond, but his silence didn’t bother her. She smiled, satisfied, and leaned back in her chair, surveying the room like a queen overlooking her kingdom.

Later that day, Sohyun stood by the window of an empty classroom, her phone pressed to her ear.

“Is everything handled?” she asked, her voice calm but cold.

“Yes, Miss Sohyun,” the voice on the other end replied. “There won’t be any loose ends.”

“Good,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done well. Keep the rest of the team on standby. I’ll have more tasks for you soon.”

She ended the call and turned to see Y/n standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“Come here,” she said, her tone softening instantly.

He approached cautiously, his shoulders tense.

Sohyun reached out and took his hand, pulling him close. “You’ve given me purpose, Y/n,” she said, her eyes filled with a dangerous mix of love and obsession. “Together, we’re going to build something incredible. This is just the beginning.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” she whispered. “Forever.”

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Sohyun tightened her grip on his hand and led him out of the room. The whispers followed them, but Sohyun didn’t care.

This was her empire, and Y/n was the center of it. Nothing—and no one—would ever take him away from her.

- The End -

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