#so they end up sharing space and hoping that it’s enough to be present

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Is it possible to wish to be in the embrace of someone who makes you want to throw them off a cliff? You seem to think so, and the same goes for Gojo. But alas, good things always come to an end, even when not meant to be...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied fwb relationship - catching/awakening feelings - oral (m! receiving) - ball massaging + sucking - sex in a shared room; college dorms (alone) - cowgirl position on a chair - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - protected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, pretty, princess) - heavy depiction of a blowjob - cameos: Haibara and Ijichi - fluff + angst; misunderstandings - humor bc i'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: second part, let's goooo!! i loved ur support and comments from the first story, so hope y'all are excited for this part :DDD and ty so so so MUCH for 5.5k like??? i kiss you on cheek, every single on of you, hehehe~

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“If you’re not gonna help, then leave my dorm!”

“Ehhhh, hell no! It’s cold as fuck outside; you want me to freeze to death?”

“They’re…still going at it.”

“Yeah…give it a minute, and we’ll just go to the library without them?”

It’s coming down to the last week of January; university students are finally settling in with their new schedules and getting used to the groove of the spring semester. Or some run around trying to keep up with the new semesters and the change of weather already getting on people’s nerves, wanting nothing more than spring to come quickly.

Three weeks in, and you already have stuff to do, one of them being an argumentative presentation assigned by Professor Yaga in your Contemporary Issues class. You and three other people are tasked to find sources for a topic issue you find interesting and then present a discussion-based presentation on two sides of the topic (two people in favor and two people against).

Unfortunately, the groups were to be randomly assigned. Luckily, two friends you knew in the class, Haibara and Ijichi, were picked to work alongside you! However, the bad part was that another person you knew was assigned to work with you, and he happens to be the guy getting on your last nerves right now, sitting on your couch while clicking through the television channels with the remote. 

Your roommates weren’t home today. The club fair was occurring at the quad, so Mei Mei and Utahime had to go out and represent their clubs for the afternoon. Shoko is having an intense study session with Geto for an exam on the first of February, so they’re at the library now. 

That leaves you alone at your dorm, using this as a perfect opportunity to invite your group over to work on the project. 

“You can freeze your nuts off and become the next Jack Frost for all I care; if you’re not going to do your part of the work, get out!”

Well, minus you yelling at your partner, who clicks his teeth before turning to you. His round sunglasses shone from the light reflected from the living room windows.

Satoru Gojo was your number one nemesis within these campus grounds; this was a known fact to everyone, especially the other group members who nervously examined you two bicker. Being in the same space as him is enough to make you wish you could pull your hair out or put him in the nastiest headlock you could do. Worse, being assigned to the same group as him for your project almost made you want to rip your ears off. 

But you had to suck it up; at least you were the first group to start a presentation. Better now than worry about it later, right? 

“Pssh, fine, I’ll get up and—Oh! Wait, you guys have Digimon on Hulu? Ahhh, sick!” 

Nevertheless, you can’t say that when your supposed partner acts like a child glued to your TV screen instead of doing the work he promised to do. You grit your teeth with a twitching brow, “Why you…”

Across from the common area was the kitchen, where Haibara and Ijichi sat at the dining table. The two sophomores could do nothing but feel the tension between you and Gojo grow with every passing second, suffocating the younger duo. Haibara eyes Ijichi from across the table and whispers, “Wanna make a run for it now?”

The black-haired second-year didn’t reply, only a hurried nod before the two grabbed their coats and stuffed their laptops back into their backpacks. The sound of their zippers alerts your ears, turning to them to question, “Huh? Where are you two going?” 

Haibara takes it upon himself to deliver a half-lie as he zips up his jacket. “On second thought, Ijichi and I are thinking of taking the shuttle to the library to work instead.”

Huh? The library? Were they leaving because of the belligerence between you and Gojo? God, you hoped not. “Wait, you guys don’t have to do that. I already made you guys walk all this way here; it’d be rough to have you leave for somewhere else…”

Ijichi comes with the assist after putting the sling of his messenger bag around his shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/n. We found material from the library we could use as sources, so we’re heading up there to take some notes while they’re there.” 

“Yup!” Haibara exclaims in agreement, and the two walk past you to put on their shoes by the front door. “Maybe you guys can find sources of your own while we’re gone, and then we can converse and share what we found when we come back. Sounds good?” 

“I suppose so…” you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were leaving to avoid being in the same room as you and Gojo. The guilt is hard to endure since you didn’t mean to make the younger boys uncomfortable. “See you guys, then.”

“Cya!” And with that, the door closes on their way out, leaving you and Gojo alone in your apartment. 

Well, this is just great; you’ve driven your group members and friends away and are now stuck with the nuisance of a partner who still keeps his attention on the television. It takes everything in your power not to pop a vein. But with one calm breath, you steady yourself and stand tall. 

You walk in front of the TV, blocking it from Gojo’s view. The white-haired boy throws his hands up in exasperation, but you couldn’t care less. “What’s the big idea?” He questions you as if he has a right to at this moment. 

You cross your arms across your chest with narrow eyes. “Haibara and Ijichi just left.”

“Uhh, yeah, I heard the door,” he maneuvers his body to try and see the children’s show blocked by your figure. “Doesn’t have to do with me—“

“It does have to do with you.” You interrupt him, taking two steps and bending to stare him down. Your face is a foot away from his. “You’re supposed to be here to work with Haibara on the ’no’ part of the argument while me and Ijichi do our part. You’ve only been here for thirty minutes, and the only thing you’ve done successfully is take off your shoes at the door and read your manga books on the couch. 

Gojo chuckles – oh, how you hated his laugh – as he puts his hands behind his head, spreading his long legs from their crossed form. “You heard them, no? They’re going to research on their own and then come back. Besides, you know I’m not one to start stuff right away. I’m a procrastinator, remember?”

“You’re annoying; that’s what you are.” You straighten up with a heavy sigh.  God, I wish Utahime and Shoko were here. They’d help me out with this white garbage…

“Ahhh, lighten up, Y/n. It’s not like the presentation is on Monday; we got until Friday to come up with everything.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, smartass. And you’re right: I do know you. And I know you tend to do things at the last fucking minute. But not this time!” You watch him try to put his feet up on the coffee table, and you quickly intervene by kicking them off. 

“Tch. Look, you knew what you were getting into being partnered with me. And relax; those two said they’ll be back to discuss the material later. They already left – nothing I can do about it.”

Your hands rest at your hips, tapping your foot with visible frustration. “Oh? And I wonder why they left in the first place, Gojo. Mind telling me how?”

He quirks up a brow with a smug grin — a telling sign that you’d get ticked off with whatever he’s about to say. “I don’t know, Y/n. Why not ask the nagging control freak talking to me right now, huh? Maybe their short height and angry temper are affecting the mood of those around them to be miserable like them.” 

You almost did it — your hands nearly gave into your intrusive thoughts and were about to lunge at the snow-haired guy’s neck to wring around like a rag doll. But you played it off with a clap, rubbing the palms together to distract your temporary violent thoughts.

You sucked your teeth and turned on your heel. “Forget it. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He scoffs, “Good, maybe your tiny brain needs it to calm down.”

“Choke and die, Gojo!” You say down the hall, already at the door of your shared bedroom. Before slamming the door shut, Gojo’s patronizing laughter can be heard to your dismay. With gritted teeth, you march to your bed to throw yourself on the mattress. 

“Ughhh. That Satoru Gojo,” you curse his name under your breath as if he’d hear you through the walls. “So unserious���”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To be quite honest with himself, Gojo doesn’t necessarily hate you.

The white-haired boy lies on his side on Utahime’s bed, watching you nap. He did knock on the door – believe him, he did. He even gave you the good old ten-second rule, waiting for your response. But then you didn’t, which gave him the initiative to waltz in and see you in your slumber.

You slept so peacefully; your face at peace, and your faint snores were the only things his ears picked up on. It was as if your little nagging show from earlier was hard to comprehend when seeing your tranquil state in front of him. It used to be rare to see you like this. Keywords: used to be.

For the past two to three weeks, your relationship with Gojo has become more…intimate. Ever since he took your first kiss and drew your virgin curtains, the two of you have gotten a little closer than before — both platonically and physically. Something that Gojo never thought he’d experience with you, his tiny, cute frenemy. 

Gojo has known you since freshman year; you were two in the same enrichment group to prepare you to transition into college life. Personally, he wasn’t much for the program; he found it a waste of time, a mandatory prerequisite that he felt he didn’t need. He’s all about experience, wanting nothing more than to get on with his day, go to classes, hang with friends, and repeat. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n. It’s nice to meet you all!”

And then came you, the person sitting across from him at the round table your group would always meet at. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enamored by you the second he saw you. Gojo rarely finds someone who could easily pull his eyes to them — not saying the girls who’d usually crowd and admire him weren’t pretty. There was something about you that kept him wanting to know more – to engage more – about you. 

One thing he knew from you was that you carried your character with pride. Your achievements, your personality, your kindness, and your mannerisms — all of which were displayed elegantly and were a breath of fresh air to look at. You stood out to him more than all the other kids in the group, his eyes always finding a way to steer from the professor’s advice to your alluring, listening face. 

Another thing Gojo liked about you was that you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when discussing with your peers or him. Sure, you were always respectful and would respect other people’s arguments. But, God, the way you said things so constructed and nuanced, it had the tall other glued to you whenever you spoke.

He’s not going to lie; he’ll admit that he’d try to tick you off and get you to get a little angry with him when it came to arguing. He couldn’t help it. He just liked the thought of you layering out of your poised appearance to the point you’d glare at him whenever you saw him in the halls. And it had him giddy knowing he’s the one that made you angry because you looked cute. 

And that was the other thing he really liked about you. The more you two interacted, argued, hung out with his friends, or attended classes together, the more Gojo’s fascination for you turned into that of a school-boy crush. He wouldn’t admit to anyone of this (minus Geto and Shoko if his life depended on it) because it certainly wasn’t something to be known. He was okay with what you two had right now, being the friend who loves to push your buttons to see you nag at him. 

That was until you two started sleeping together. Because holy fuck, the past weeks you two have been sneaking time to have each other’s bodies close made Gojo’s mind go crazy. So fucking crazy like the feeling of you on him is borderline addicting. Your whiny cries calling out to him when he scrapes your sweet spots, your nails scrape on his chest, your half-lidded eyes when you look at him, or how you whisper his name only for him to hear.

This was the kind of relationship you two brewed, a secret thing only between you two. And Gojo was satisfied keeping it like this because it was what you wanted. No need to flaunt it around; it was no one’s business. Besides, he likes having you to himself, seeing a side of you that only he could imagine and experience.

The sensations of your body under his touch, the various tunes of your voice, and the beauty exhibited in your gaze. It was all addicting. You were addicting.

“Who told you to lie on my roommate’s bed? You know she’ll kill you if she ever saw you.” 

It was so addicting that he didn’t even notice you awake until you spoke to him, the erotic memories of you clouding his brain dissipating at the indication of your voice. He smirks, “Oh, I’ll be fine; not like she can hurt me with her tiny self.”

You’re too groggy to roll your eyes, sighing as you turn to your side to face him from across the room. “How long was I out for?”

“Almost an hour,” he replies, switching to sit criss-cross on Utahime’s bed. “I got bored watching TV and knocked.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Just watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “Weirdo.”

He snickers at you for recognizing his silliness. “Whaaat? There’s not much to do aside from looking at you. I got bored of the TV.”

“What about your manga?”

“Got bored of that, too.”

“Anyone on your socials that you’d wanna talk to? Girls? Friends? Your teammates?”

“Mmm, nah, none I’d wanna talk to right now.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean ‘right now’? You make it seem like I’m keeping you from interacting with your outside life. If you’re bored, talk with whoever you want. Maybe bother Geto…No, nevermind, he’d probably be annoyed since he’s studying.”

Gojo examines you, silently removing himself from your roommate’s bed and treading towards yours. He takes off his sunglasses and places them on top of your dresser before sitting on his knees on the floor. He rests his hands and chin on the edge of your bed, his sky-blue eyes locked in with yours. God, you were so beautiful to look at. 

“I meant that I don’t want to talk to anybody.” Now that he’s closer to you, his voice dials to a whisper. “Not when I got you here to myself.”

He notices your brows drawing upward at the sentence. “To yourself?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, bringing a forefinger to trace your brow. A sensual touch not to startle you. “Just you and me.”

You give him a look as if you think he’s trying to pull something. “Don’t tell me you were making me mad at you earlier just so Haibara and Ijichi could leave, and I’d be stuck with you.”

His smile broadens with every word, his dimples out to see. “No, although I hate that I didn’t think of that myself.” His hand goes to your cheek for his thumb to stroke gently. “Would it have been a bad thing if I did?”

You don’t reply, only placing your hand on his. Your eyes are still on his blue orbs, and – you don’t know this because Gojo has the perfect view of you – the light from the window made them shine charmingly as it highlighted your face. 

“No…I don’t think so,” you murmur, gaze gradually venturing down to his lips. “I like being around you…Satoru.”

He heard his name leave your lips, an invitation to what he wants to do, his eyes fixated on your lips before closing them and drawing in closer. “Me too…”

The kiss was soft and gentle like he always starts with, waiting for you to give him the okay to kiss you again. And when you meekly lick his bottom lip, he gives in to your request and claims your lips again. 

Your moans were so sweet to his ears — his favorite thing to hear — especially when he becomes a little devilish and sucks on your tongue to make you whimper a little louder, turning him on even more. It serves as the perfect distraction for him to snake a hand into your shirt, his hand already making itself home and cupping your breast in your bra. 

You break the kiss with a gasp, and massages to your mound make your breath shaky. “Mmmah…you sneaky pervert,” you name-call him sweetly. 

“Can’t blame me; I just know that you like to have your tits played with.” Gojo sneers, tweaking your nipple to hear you gasp again. “Hey, remember you said you’d suck me off next time?”

“Huh?” The question threw you off before you could fall deeper into a euphoric haze. 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you promised!” He whines to you like a hurt puppy. “After I ate you out for twenty minutes straight last time, can I just have your mouth on my dick once?”

“I never told you to eat me out for twenty minutes!”

“You crying and telling me not to stop said otherwise!” He stands his argument, even if you warn him with a glare. “Just suck it, please. I haven’t felt your mouth in a while.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t expect to deal with his childish tendencies, but it is Gojo we’re talking about. You sigh, “…Fine, Satoru.” And then the white-headed boy beamed at the confirmation, immediately standing up and heading to your desk. It was an abrupt change of pace for a second until he brought your desk chair out. 

With glee, Gojo flings his jeans and boxers with ease, his half-hard cock out for you to see. He sits on your chair with spread legs, “I’m ready~.”

You roll your eyes, yet the smile on your face sneaks without you knowing while leaving your bed and crouching between his legs. “You’re such a big baby sometimes…”

Your hand finds its way to the body of his dick, gliding it up and down to feel the veins under your palm and fingertips. Gojo hums to your cold fingers, hitching his breath when you tease him with a blow of air. 

Your free hand comes to his balls, massaging his testicles in a way that has his leg jerk. He tries to fight it, but the squirm on his legs says otherwise. “Hahhh, fuck…quit it…”

“Hmm? What, you don’t like it when I tease you?” You peer up at him with a smug grin before using your tongue to lick on the glans slowly, and he covers his mouth before a gasp comes out after lapping on his frenulum. “But when you do it to me, it’s not a problem, huh?”

“Mmmph, shiit, Y/n—Ohhh…!” Another jolt of the hips after you lick and kiss one of his balls, teasing the skin with a kiss and tiny chews that would have him choke on his breath. “Jesus, fuck! Y/n, baby, you’re driving me crazy….Aishhh!!

“Oh, really?” God, you were such a fucking tease. But he fucking loved that so much. “What should I do?” You ask him before sucking on his balls again, and a hand comes to your shoulder to grip. 

“Mmmm…Blow me off, princess,” shivers crawl up his spine as you place kisses from the base of his cock towards the tip. “Please, I wanna feel you…” 

You giggle at his reply, finally taking in his cockhead to your pretty lips and sighing through your nose as you hollow your cheeks to take in more of him. 

Gojo sighs at your licks and sucks on his girth, his erection becoming accommodated to your oral cavity wonderfully. You unhurriedly prompt yourself to take in more of him until your lips reach his pubes, your throat now full of him, and the warmness of your gummy walls makes him squirm more. 

Bobbing your head at a moderate pace, you suck him off to that of a pleasurable cadence. You still use your hands to stroke him, Gojo melting to your touch even more. He throws his head back when you attack his tip again with the onslaught of licks and laps, the hand on his balls roughly kneading them jerks him to moan aloud. 

Fuck, it feels so fucking good having you suck him off like this. How your tongue moved up and down on him was so dangerous, prompting him to place a hand on your head for support. As if that would help, you don’t show him mercy when you suck him harder and faster. The noises coming from your mouth sounded so erotic and pornographic, the heat on his face brewing out more. 

“—Khhmm, fuck, man, I can’t…Ahhh! Y/n, I’m gonna cum if you keep licking it like that. Stop, st—Ahhaaa!!” 

But like he said before – you’re a tease (if not worse than him). You remove Gojo’s dick from your mouth and throat at once, the groan he exerts fueling the fire in your body. You stand to withdraw your shirt, bra, and panties to the ground, knowing Gojo’s watching every move. “Don’t get mad at me; I know how much you wanna cum inside.” 

You pull out the condom from the pocket of your skirt, placing the rubber on his cock after removing it from the wrapper. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Seems like you’re more of a pervert than me if you had that ready while those two were here earlier.” 

“Shut up,” you playfully kiss him with a sneaky bite to his bottom lip. Then, you mount and align your cunt on his dick, the glans kissing your wet labia. “Hmmm, fuck…”

“Relax, cutie,” he kisses you on the cheek while his hands fondle your breasts. 

You slowly descend your slit onto him, the tip of his cock pushing into the entrance of your vagina. A couple of exhales and inhales keep you steady when inserting him into you, not letting the pain distract you from the task at hand. And the both of you moan in unison when it makes it in, your hips leisurely coming down on him until your ass rests on his thighs. 

You grind on him with the roll of your hips, evoking choked intakes of air from him as a hand goes to your ass with vigor. His face to your chest while the other hand plays with one mound. His lips found a nipple to pop into his mouth to suck on. 

With a slow pace, you rock your hips onto him. Your legs bent for your feet to be on his knees, the chair solid enough to withstand you bouncing on Gojo’s dick with repetition.  

“Hoohhh, ohhhh, mmmm,” your hums are expressed in tunes. The curve of his cock is so fucking good, scraping your insides with precision. You couldn’t help but increase the speed just a little bit. 

Gojo keeps sucking on your nipple; the grazes of his teeth and pushing the bud up to the roof of his mouth only fuels more quivers to travel down your bouncing figure. Both of his hands now under your skirt to feel the flesh of your ass under his hungry grasp. He kneads your asscheeks with every thrust to your chasm, and your shrieks get louder by the second. 

“—Mmmph! Shit, shit, you feel so good, pretty,” he finally lets go of your hardened nipple, burying his face to your chest. “So fucking good for me…fuhuuuucck!

You could feel your cunt contract around him; every graze to your sensitive spots prompted your walls to grip around him. He hisses, looking up to see your expression as you ride him out. Fuck, you looked so good on top of him like this. He’ll add this position to the list of things to do again with you.

You peer down to see that Gojo is staring at you, and you quickly bring a hand to cover his eyes. “—Ahhahhn, d-don’t look at me like that! Yer soo embarrassing…!” 

He only chuckles at your shy demeanor, especially during this. But he humors you, not fighting your makeshift blind for him to see you wholly. He’s seen it all already — felt it all, too. And he could never get enough. 

“Ooooh, Satoruuu—Nnaaahh!” He loves how you say his name, your hand traveling to his hair to grab in tuffs. “Oh, fuck, ‘toruuu, I’m gonna cummm…!”

“—Hnngh! Yeah, baby?” Oh, he knows. The way you’re grinding to and fro on his pelvis tells him so. “Go ahead, princess. Clench on me and ride it out.”

And with that, your hips go to an erratic pace that has the both of you holding for dear life. The squeeze of your inner walls clenching on him almost makes him choke on his spit, the nails of his fingertips forming crescents on your skin. And you scream at it, slamming your ass onto him as you both climb up to orgasm. 

Within seconds, it hits the both of you like a train. This had to be Gojo’s favorite part of the entire thing, experiencing having your folds clamp and flutter around him as you cry for him. It took everything in his power not to come with you because he wants to have you on him a little longer. You just felt too good to let go — too addicted to your body to be done with one round.

When the contractions subside while your slurred howls get quieter, Gojo gives you a few minutes to let your body be free from the aftershocks. He knows your body is extra sensitive now, rubbing circles on your back and placing chaste kisses on your clavicle. You hum under his lips, letting the wave of your crescendo exude out from you quietly. 

However, since you wanted to be such a tease, why not be a tease back? At least, that’s what Gojo thought before he threw your cunt another snap of the hips, his cock jabbing into your delicate walls that haven’t recovered yet. A sharp cry comes from your puffy lips, the hand covering Gojo’s eyes finally freeing him to see you. 

He grins with hooded azure eyes, “Sorry, cutie, but I didn’t get to finish. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to have fun of my own, right?” 

You chew on your lip with trenched brows before bringing your face to his. “Don’t you get carried away like last time, Satoru.”

“No promises, princess~” he sings to your ear before humming into your lips. 

As mentioned before, Gojo doesn’t hate you — he just hates that he can’t fully express liking you. 

But having you on top of him like this, in his embrace, is a nice change of pace he’ll happily get used to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Okay, everyone, class dismissed! Thank you for your time, and see you all on Friday.”

Professor Naga closes up the last class for today, and the students all get up from the seats of their elevated rows to pack up and leave. The clock is ten minutes before seven o’clock, the winter darkness already claiming the sky with a sheet of night. Students are either famished and heading to the dining hall for food, going straight to their dorms or homes, or staying behind for last-minute conversations.

Gojo was one of the latter, deciding to stay behind to chat with the group for a bit. After packing his backpack and putting on his coat, he slings from the table to jump to the row below him, where you were talking with Haibara and Ijichi. 

You watch his stunt, ready to lecture, “Jesus, Gojo, what’s all that for? You could’ve just walked around.”

“Ehhhh, why would I do that? That’s so lame.” He comes and bends close to you enough to slang his arm around your shoulders. 

But you click your teeth and try to maneuver away from his tall figure. “You’re lame,” you mutter under your breath.

However, Gojo’s ears perked with furrowed brows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, you lame white furby!” You repeat yourself with a huff and the snow-haired student gawks at your brazenness. 

The two of you argue again; students passing by silently exit the class, others stand and watch, and Professor Yaga can only sigh at yet another altercation between you two. 

However, it quickly dissipates when Haibara laughs from his seat. “You two, there’s never a dull moment.”

You and Gojo blink at the dark brunette before removing Gojo’s hand from your shoulders. “Hmph, it’s not like it’s my fault; he’s the one who starts it.”

“Oh, what could I possibly do to make Y/n so upset with me this time?” He pushes up his sunglasses, snickering at the scowl you send him. 

Ichiji, being the passive second-year he is, meekly changes the topic from the row below you three. “On some brighter news, at least we did well on the presentation.” 

“That’s right!” Haibara happily agrees with the statement, leaning against the chair with his hands behind his head. “Professor Yaga seemed really pleased with our arguments; I don’t think he intervened even once. Plus, he said many good things about how we handled the topic. Nice one, team!” 

The raven-haired one hums at the other’s exclamation. “I think most of it goes to how Y/n and Gojo bounced off each other’s arguments. How you two pulled up examples from the articles yet remained dignified with your viewpoints was cool to witness. I even saw some students be engaged with the conversation, many amazed with how Y/n refuted Gojo’s arguments elegantly and respectfully.”

But most of all, what the two sophomores wanted to mention was that there was no yelling. To them, the professor, and all the students of this class, you and Gojo presented your presentation without a single tone of malice, no pointless teasing, no name-calling, nothing! It was a civil conversation between two opposing sides. To everyone’s surprise — and thankful stars — today was a success.

You chuckle nervously at the praise. “Oh, come on, you two, don’t let me and Gojo take all the credit. You guys did your part. Especially you, Ichiji; you were an exceptional help for my side and finding sources I could build off from.”

Gojo, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Psssh, don’t butter them up like that; without us, they would’ve failed this presentation big time. No offense.” He was forced to say that when you called him by his last name and hit him with your elbow.

None taken, the two younger friends say to themselves unbeknownst to each other. 

The tall one continues, “Besides, you were the one who did most of the work. I slacked off until the last minute when you whipped me into shape.” Gojo brings his hand on top of your head for a pat. The action surprised you enough to flinch a bit. “Nice work like always, Y/n.”

Were the stars aligned differently, or did Gojo just compliment you? It certainly took you aback, especially the two others who silently kept their observation to themselves. 

You could only look at his complacent look for a few seconds before you realized the warmth of your cheeks became stronger. Averting your eyes, you remove his hand from your head. “Thanks, Gojo…” you express gratitude. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

A cheeky smile, his dimples prominent to blind you. “Awww, would you two look at that? They’re complimenting me, too~” Another bump to the chest has him cackling like a child, and you shake your head with rolled eyes.

The two younger students observe the scene before Haibara forcibly stretches and yawns to catch the two’s attention. “Man, I’m so hungry; I skipped lunch to prepare for this presentation. Me and Ijichi are gonna meet up with Nanami at the dining hall. You guys wanna come?”

You instantly beam at the proposal; who are you to refuse a dinner with your friends? “Sure! I’d love to…Oh! Wait, let me use the restroom and fill my water bottle.”

You rummage through your backpack for your water bottle before exiting the classroom. The boys watch you descend from row after row, and Gojo says, “Don’t take too long; I’ll convince them to leave without you.”

“Hmph, go ahead and try! They invited me; I don’t know who told you to invite yourself.” You stick your tongue out at him before opening and closing the door behind you. 

Gojo watches you with a smile still plastered on his face for a few seconds before Ijichi makes a tiny cough to catch his attention, the sunglasses-wearing junior turning to look back down to the other two. He notes the albeit cheesy-smiling faces they harbor, and he lifts a brow. “The hell are you two smiling for?”

The raven-haired sophomore squeaks at the sudden firm tone, “N–Nothing!”

“Pfft, oh come on, Kiyo; let’s not act like we didn’t see what we just saw.”

Gojo catches the nuance of Haibara’s comment. “Saw what?”

“You’re over here talking about our faces, but you’re the one who’s smiling at Y/n as they leave the door?” The brunette sophomore sends a wink to his junior, whose face doesn’t change at the comment.

“And your point is?”

“Well, it seems — to me, at least —  there might be something going on with you and Y/n?” 

Gojo was prepared for that, opening his mouth to interject quickly. However, the dark-haired other beat him to the punch. “Now that you mention it, Gojo and Y/n have been kind of…stable? There's still the usual arguments, but those haven't happened as much since last week…”

“Right!?” Haibara points at Ijichi with exclamation, making the other second-year flinch. “For some reason, things seem to be a little quieter with the two of them now, not to mention them hanging out way more often. Everyone’s been talking about it; even Geto and Shoko asked if Gojo had done anything that made Y/n passive?”

“I asked Nanami about it on Monday; he thinks maybe Y/n finally knocked some sense into Gojo’s childish brain to have him be so civil to engage without yelling their head off.”

“Pffthaha, I wouldn’t go that far. Y/n did just kick him in the shin yesterday for scaring them from behind.”

“Ahh, yes, well, that was deserved.”

“You two realize I’m still standing right the fuck here, right?” No, they hadn’t because the two discerned the twitch of Gojo’s brow after conversing about the tall, white-haired boy. 

“But it’s true!”

Another voice enters the set, making Gojo raise his head, and the other two turn to their left. It was some girl and her friend. Gojo knew of her; she sat next to him during class. Again, he knew of her, meaning she had no significance to his knowledge.

And yet, she speaks to the three boys. “You and Y/n have gotten a lot more close these past weeks compared to previous semesters—“

“Real close, too!” Their friend adds on from behind. “It’s as if you two are like a couple.”

“So…Are you two….a thing?”

Gojo could tell from a mile away what this was. Obviously, the first girl has a thing for him — he can see the anxiousness from the twiddle of her thumbs and avoidant eye contact. Although he wasn’t interested, he couldn’t even answer the question the way he wanted. What the hell could he say: that you two are in a secret relationship? He knows you’d have his grave ready before he could finish that confession.

And he can’t say the two of you are in any relationship either; it’s not what you would’ve told them. To everyone else, you and Gojo are friends who would preferably be caught dead rather than lying in bed together. So, might as well keep that facade up.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he starts with the push of his sunglasses. “Y/n is a pretty good friend, and I’d like to keep it at that.”

Haibara and Ijichi turn from Gojo to look at each other and shrug. Before turning back, something caught their eye that caused the two sophomores’ skin to turn white.

Ijichi tries to prevent Gojo from speaking further. “G-Gojo—“

However, the tall one doesn’t listen. “I mean, sure, they got a nice personality and are independent…Kinda pretty, too, not gonna lie. But they’re not really my type. I mean, have you seen them? Just a little person who likes to find trivial stuff to yell at me over. Angry at the world around them, I’d say.“

“Go. Jo.” Haibara says the junior’s name through gritted teeth, bringing his hand up by his neck and drawing an imaginary horizontal line back and forth — a gesture for Gojo to not say anymore. But unfortunately, the sign wasn’t seen, and the words kept pouring out.  

“And to be honest, can you imagine? Me and Y/n, a couple? Jesus Christ, that would be fucking exhausting to deal with, especially with someone so boring and too uncute like them. I’ve seen prettier, been with better. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them—“

“SATORU GOJO!”

Now — that sudden burst of yell from a loud, masculine voice — that was what got Gojo’s attention. It’s what got the attention of everyone else in the room. The snow-haired student jerks to look at the professor standing at the front, the older man with a deep frown. “What?

The professor doesn’t answer him. Instead, he points to the left of him with his chin with a huff. With common sense, Gojo turns behind him to see where the older man points. And at that moment, he felt his very being drop to the soles of his feet. Haibara and Ijichi took a slow breath in unison at the immediate tension.

Behind him stood you, a lone figure holding their water bottle within three arm’s length away from the group. But that was sufficient enough for you to have heard everything said. 

Breathing suddenly felt impossible for Gojo; his entire body was stiff under your gaze. His shades could hide his eyes, but he wasn’t sure it could shield the instant shame that slapped him across the face from you. 

And that was another thing: the look you harbored was indecipherable — the true definition of disengagement. There were no widened eyes, quivering lips, or shaky hands. You stood plainly and looked as though you were detached from the entire situation. And that was what scared him the most.

This was strike one.

He dared not move when you began walking up, and your eyes then shifted to ignore his presence. “Hey, Yu,” the brunette straightened his posture at the use of the first name. “I think I’ll have to decline on that dinner offer. I’m a little tired and have a paper I need to work on…Maybe next time?”

“Uhh, yeah, sure, no problem.” He answers with a sweat.

Wait a second. Gojo tries to call for you, “Y/n—“

“Ijichi,” but you immediately shut him down and directed your attention to the other sophomore friend as you put on your coat and stuffed your water bottle back into your bag. “Be sure to submit the presentation template and sources to the course site before the end of the day, please.”

“U–Uhh, already done, Y/n.” He squeaks while reassuring.

Wait, please. The tall one tries again, “Wait, Y/n—“

“Good.” You sling your backpack on, refusing to look at the person trying to talk to you. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.” And with that, you turn on your heel and head down the row to leave.

No, wait, stop— “Y/n, wait!” This was strike two. 

Gojo doesn’t hesitate to call out to you. At that moment, he follows you to the class steps where you were a row down left from the door. He grabs your hand without thinking, the size of your palm captured by his slender fingers. He knew it was a risky move, but he had to — he had to get you to talk with him right now, if not ever. Because the latter is something he isn’t ready for, something he didn’t think would be a possibility.

And yet, he will learn this lesson of being prepared for the impossible when you rapidly turn to him. Strike three.

SLAP!

Have you ever seen someone get smacked in the face so hard that their sunglasses come off? The remaining two girls who witnessed it know for sure now. Haibara and Ijichi won’t admit to it as they immediately turn to the other side of the room when they saw your hand move. But please believe they winced at the sound of the impact. The same goes for Professor Yaga, who was too stunned to speak, yet it was a valid outcome. 

Gojo didn’t move a single limb, allowing the stinging feeling on his cheek to course through his facial muscles. His eyes were glued to the carpeted ground; he knew that’s where they were supposed to be. And you snatched your hand away from his grasp, leaving his fingers to suffer in forced loneliness.

“You…you think it’s all fun and games to say stuff like that when I turn my back for a few minutes, huh?” He can see your hand palpitate from his peripheral; the anger depicted alone was enough to interpret. And the tremble in your voice? It felt like an arrow to his being. “…Look at me.”

He’d be a fool to have you repeat yourself; he has lost that right to toy with you now. With a slow inhale, Gojo rotates his head at you, azure eyes tracking up your figure to your face. And when it lands at that destination, his heart is shot down.

Tears stream down vexed, watery eyes. Your brows furrowed, and your bottom lip chewed in a terrible attempt to stop it from quivering. The rise and fall of your shoulders as you moderate your breathing, trying so hard not to let your temper dwell into a deeper phase of ugly. It was bad enough you’re crying in public, in front of your peers, your teacher — and it was because of him. 

“From this day forward,” you fight your sniffles to say your statement as clearly as possible. “Don’t you ever talk to me, Satoru Gojo. Enjoy your life without something as boring as me.”

And with that, you dismiss yourself from him and the class altogether, the room silent even after the slam of the door closed. No one says anything, too shocked from the event to utter a letter. 

The silence aids the ringing in Gojo’s ears, his breathing still having trouble maintaining a balanced front. The cheek you slapped burned with pain; he’s sure the skin is as red as a cherry. 

Oh, fuck.

He brings a hand to his face, his body fighting the trembling. The ringing in his ears worsens, along with the pounding in his head that beats like a drum. His eyes stuck to the ground below him, choosing to focus on something inanimate and not living. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

All he could think of in this time and place was you. Memories flashing right before him, of you and only you. He can hear the way you say his name, both in vexation and in sweet tunes. Your smiles, your frowns, your huffs, your whispers. When your eyebrows scrunch whenever you express worry for him, how you’re never afraid to stand up against him when making a point, the smile that’s been blinding him for many days and nights — the smile he wouldn’t mind seeing for eternity.

All those memories were one stab to his heart after another. And every time a recollection ended, a flash of your crying face would return to haunt him. Tears that weren’t meant to be there but were, and warm feelings you expressed with him were gone the moment he saw your eyes void of feelings for him. At least, that’s what he saw.

He hurt you. That was the only revelation that haunted him where he stood, making his voice falter from confidence. It was a revelation he never meant to bring about. And now that it exists and he sees the damage, nothing would be better for him now than the ground beneath him swallowing him whole.

“What…the fuck…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[shotoh]

all mine

SYNOPSIS: Bakugou decides to put his delusional secretary in their place.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k+

genre: fluff, SMUT, maybe a smidgen of angst

tags/warnings: 18+! minors dni! reader is not the secretary, basically this other lady is trying to seduce your man but katsuki isn’t falling for it! marking, exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), riding, soft!bakugou but also mean!bakugou, humiliation (not really at reader), a couple spanks, office sex, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, princess, angel), crude language

author’s notes: this is very overdue, like incredibly overdue LOL i started this wip last year but could only continue writing during random bouts of inspiration. so i apologize if the smut is a little half-assed and if the characterization is questionable. but enjoy my late kinktober 2022 present to y’all 

The sound of Dynamight’s heavy boots hitting the floor resonate throughout the wide hallways of his agency, drowning out the heels clicking behind him. A woman quickens her pace in an attempt to catch up to the impatient blond hero, rushing into his peripheral vision.

“Sir? Oh Bakugou sir~” The dulcet chime calling him is sickly sweet, enough to make him grimace. “I need you to look over these reports before I file them away.” She whips out one of the thick packets of papers clutch to her chest, bringing his steps to a halt which makes the hero point a glare at her.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you that you’re suppose to call me by my hero name.” Malice coats his words, dripping off his tongue as he swipes the reports from her fingers. The woman, to the hero’s annoyance, indulges in his feisty attitude.

“Aw, but ‘Bakugou’ is more fitting given how closely we work together!” She waves off his displeasure, hoping her excessively cheerful personality can tone him down. “I am your secretary, after all.” She leans into his space, too damn close for his liking by how he could get a whiff of her pungent perfume. The overbearing scent has him side-stepping to create more distance between them.

The blond rolls his eyes before giving the papers in his hand a once-over, not even granting her the satisfaction of eye contact. “You work at a Pro-Hero agency, not some ordinary office job.”

Normally, he isn’t one to admonish any of his employees unless they’re his sidekicks. He’s always out and about on missions, never dawdling around the office long enough to find anything to scold them about. So long as they were competent at their job, he never had to give them any earfuls. But this woman here has been testing that resolve.

A month into her new position, his secretary has been greeting him every morning with far more energy than should be considered possible at such an hour. Her regular tasks shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. She was mostly tasked with filing villain reports and contacting other Pro-Hero agencies, but her enthusiasm warrants him to think otherwise.

She deliberately shares elevator rides with him, droning on and on about god knows what before getting off at her floor, ending their dull conversations with winks and wide-eyed smiles that make him want to gag. It’s one thing to be genuinely excited about your job, but it’s another thing to be attached to your boss at the hip. She’s at his beck and call when he doesn’t even ask for her.

One can chalk this up to her simply gunning for a promotion, buttering up her boss to garner his favor. However, Bakugou isn’t an idiot. He can read the air, deciphering the meaning behind her words and advances. Her deceptive guise of a hardworking secretary beneath those batting eyelashes is easily uncovered by him.

If she was really trying so hard for a promotion she’d approach him with more important topics in mind. Statistics, analysis, updates on villain activity and hero work. Y’know, discussions that would actually benefit his agency rather than waste his time.

Instead, Bakugou stands there listening to… this.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” her voice drifts off as she taps a finger against her bottom lip pensively, “we should consider holding a party to get to know all our co-workers better!” she proposes. The blond narrows his brows incredulously at her suggestion.

Oblivious to his lack of interest, she moves closer to him, caressing a hand along his hard bicep. She tip-toes her fingers up his arm before flattening her digits next to his ear to whisper, “Company members only, of course. But I’m sure we’d still have a fun time even if it was just the two of us, right?”

Recognizing the suggestive lilt in her tone, he shoves her off of him without even touching her, abruptly tossing his shoulder back. The secretary freezes and comes across the peeved expression on the explosion hero’s rough features.

“We’re here to beat villains and protect civilians, not throw dumb parties.”

“But–”

“Shut it,” he retorts harshly, not letting the bewildered look on the secretary’s face demur him. He shoves the reports back in her arms. “Just do your damn job.” With his brows taut behind his mask, the blond glares hard at her, watching her fumble with the papers before he resumes the rhythm of his combat boots stepping down the hallway. The hero gives her one last glance over his shoulder.

“And remember, it’s Dynamight to you.”

.

.

Man, what an annoying woman.

Is the thought that plagues Bakugou’s mind as he stands beneath the running water in his shower, washing away the sweat and grime accumulated from another busy day of heroics. Yet he still can’t get the irritating thoughts in his head to do the same.

His fingers weave the shampoo through his spikey locks, the pads of his digits massaging his scalp. Glancing at his reflection in the foggy, glass screen door, he meets his scowling mug.

“Tryna get in my pants and shit… Worry about keeping your damn job,” he grumbles to himself exasperatedly. What he finds especially annoying is knowing his secretary will start the day again tomorrow as if nothing happened. Even with Bakugou’s firm stance at wanting to keep things strictly professional, she’s going to continue getting up in his space, trying to caress her nails up his arm, and stink up the place with what he swore was five different kinds of perfume sprayed on her clothes.

But Bakugou’s not some oblivious fool. He can recognize from a mile away what her goal is and he absolutely wants no part in it.

Besides...

“Katsuki! Dinner will be ready when you’re done showering!”

His head swivels toward the door of the bathroom. “Yeah I heard ya!”

He’s already got someone deserving of his time and affection.

You.

“’Kay!” you reply, voice gradually growing louder. Bakugou hears your feet plodding toward the bathroom door just as the door creaks open slightly. “I’ll leave you a new towel to use after you’re done showering, too.” Even through the steam, he can recognize your silhouette peeking inside to drop the towel off. Unbeknownst to you, behind the cloudy glass door of the shower there’s a smile that finds his lips.

After washing the lather off his hair and body, he shuts the water. The last streams falling from the showerhead glide down his skin, joining the suds on the floor before they all disappear down the drain. As the thick steam surrounding him dissipates, he covers his toned body in the towel you left for him.

While patting down the excess droplets cascading his blond locks, Bakugou puts on some sweatpants, but forgoes his t-shirt for now, leaving it hanging over his shoulder. He continues rubbing the towel around his torso as he exits the bathroom.

The savory aroma of thick cheeses and tomato sauces hits Bakugou’s nose the moment he enters the kitchen. He stops in his tracks to take in the pleasant smells, along with the sight in front of his eyes that effortlessly forms a grin on his face.

Your soft hums accompany the harmonious atmosphere of the kitchen. Bakugou’s ruby eyes rove over you shimmying your way around an array of pans and plates like you own the place (which you essentially do), watching you finish piecing your dinner together with a generous sprinkle of garnish and spices.

Eyes never leaving you, an expression of admiration and fondness paints his usually hardened face. With arms crossed over his chest, he could just stand there, admire you, and be more than wholly content. You could do the most mundane things and still have him wrapped around your finger—not that he’d ever mention that to you out loud of course. Occasionally, Bakugou wonders how he ever got so lucky with you in the first place.

You’re so blissfully unaware of your hotheaded boyfriend lurking nearby. It’s all the more apparent by how you abruptly pause as soon as you discover him idling in the kitchen doorway in all of his half-naked glory.

The blond doesn’t let the fact that you’re practically ogling his hard muscle slip past him, and definitely doesn’t miss your moment of hesitation before you avert your gaze, your cheeks growing hot. It brings a smirk to his face and his ego through the roof.

Bakugou tosses his towel and t-shirt somewhere off the side before coming to you. “What? Getting flustered or something, babe?” he taunts. His deep tone hovers next to your ear as his chest touches your back. His hands are on either side of you, trapping you against the counter.

“That fuckin’ hot that I got you this speechless?” His breath is so close to you, he just knows you have goosebumps trailing down your spine. He can tell by the heat swirling in your cheeks just how much he has an effect on you and he absolutely loves how easily he can get you flustered.

Though he can’t say he’s all but immune to your charms, either. He trails a calloused hand up your bare thigh and hips, giving your ass a firm squeeze through your booty shorts which causes a yelp to flee your lips.

Fuckin’ hell.

The way you were dancing around in these things, tip-toeing to reach high cabinets that caused the shorts to ride up slightly and give him a glimpse of the plushness peeking past the fabric already had Bakugou half-hard simply standing behind you. But being able to touch what was essentially his started to make the material of his sweatpants absolutely suffocating.

In a single motion, he spins you around. Your back is pinned against the counter as you’re forced to face him. The cocky grin plastered on his lips greets you.

Finally grasping your composure, you raise an eyebrow at him. “For someone who wanted to take a shower as soon as their stinky-self got home, you sure are eager to get dirty again,” you retort, tracing your hands up his arms to place them on his broad shoulders. “Work didn’t get you sweaty enough?”

The blond chuckles lowly at your cheekiness. His face inches closer, mere centimeters away from your lips. “I could go for an extra workout,” he says huskily, voice dissipating with the shortening distance between you.

His eyes are lidded as he targets your lips, hands leaving the edge of the counter in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist. To his surprise, when he darts forward he meets nothing but air.

Hearing your giggles beside him breaks the tension between you. He opens his eyes and discovers that you’ve tilted your head out of the way. Before he can open his mouth to spit a retort, you rest your head against his shoulder, arms winding at his neck.

“Food’s gonna get cold, big boy,” you hum.

The noise that leaves his gritted teeth is practically a growl. “Dun care about the food–” His hands at your sides play with the waistband of your shorts. “Would rather eat you out on this counter.”

He watches you gulp down the lump in your throat, finding the idea tempting as a dull throb aches between your legs. But to his dismay, you don’t want to let him indulge in you just yet.

You lean forward to kiss his cheek to prepare him for your next words, “First and foremost, dinner. And then I'll let you do whatever you want with me. How’s that?” You tiptoe to peck his nose one more time for good measure before wriggling free from his clutches. You shuffle away to the steaming hot food you left on the other end of the counter.

Pink swathes his cheeks as Bakugou stands there dumbfounded. He rubs the back of his head, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“You’re killing me here, dammit.”

You let out another dulcet giggle. The urge to sneak up on you again to try to get you all hot and bothered lingers until it’s interrupted by a piece of fabric thrown in his face. “Also, shirt on we please.” You turn back at him with two plates of stuffed ravioli perched on each hand. “No shirt, no service.”

He yanks the white t-shirt off his face, grimacing as he begrudgingly pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah. You love it though.” Nonetheless, he follows behind you while the savory aroma of your food creates a path toward the dining table. The scent alone makes his stomach growl, the effects of a long day at work making themselves apparent.

Despite the antics he has to put up with, he can’t help but soften around you. It’s as if you possess an innate ability to effortlessly get him to shed his notoriously rough exterior.

He takes a seat on his side of the table, his stomach now growling loud enough for you to hear. You tease a wry grin before placing the ravioli dishes on the table, letting the delicious aromas waft around him, his mouth watering.

“I know it’s been a long day for you so you better eat up, hero.”

The blond’s eyes flicker for a second, chest enveloped with pride as he meets the look on your face that awaits for him in anticipation to dig in. “Yeah… Thanks for the meal,” he murmurs, mild gratitude woven in his words as he picks up the fork and finally chows down.

Again, what did he ever do to deserve you? He knows how hard you work each and every day. The fact that you’re still willing to love and take care of him is enough for him to want to cherish you for an eternity. Coming home to the person he loves and sharing meals with them is a blessing to him as it is and he absolutely wouldn’t trade this for anything else.

Which just makes the matter of his secretary all the more annoying to him.

The damn woman has walked in his office plenty of times to see the framed picture of you two on his desk, even occasionally interrupting his phone calls with you that would end with him mouthing low “love yous” before he’d have to turn around to acknowledge the petty expression resting on her face. He’d watch as her demeanor quickly shifted into a full 180—from a bitter frown to a forced grin to keep up her facade. She definitely knows he’s in a happy, committed relationship. The real question is whether or not she cares enough to acknowledge the fact.

He could just fire her for unprofessionalism. That seems like an obvious solution, but knowing her, she’d probably feed the media some false rumors about alleged abuse towards his employees. Of course, that wouldn’t at all be true. Far from it, but the news loved to twist the truth so long as it got them clicks. Given Bakugou’s naturally rugged demeanor, it wouldn’t be hard for the public to buy their shit and for his ranking on the hero chart to plummet. Which Bakugou could not afford right now considering how close he was to the top.

“’Tsuki, stop playing with your food.” He hears you chide, tugging him from his contemplation.

Bakugou huffs, jamming his fork onto the plate. “I’m not a damn kid.”

“Right, tell that to the ravioli you’re mangling with your fork.” You raise your brow and point at his stabbed and defeated pasta, the filling oozing out from the punctured holes. He keeps his gaze suspiciously fixed on the ravioli.

Does it taste bad? You wonder warily. “If you don’t like it then you don’t have to eat it, y’know.”

“What? No– The food’s fine.” He stuffs three pastas in his mouth one after the other. “Fucking delicious,” he mutters through ungracious chewing, cheeks puffed profusely, bringing a grin to your face.

“What’s wrong then? Bad day at work?”

He swallows his food. “Could say that,” he answers, resting his head against his propped arm. “Just some employee causing trouble.”

“Hopefully it’s not one of your sidekicks,” you pick at the raviolis while stuck in your musing, “I remember your first batch of recruits when you just started your own agency. You nearly scared half of them away by the end of the week.”

“How else was I supposed to whip those newbies into shape?” He lounges in his seat. “If they can’t take some yelling from a Pro, then they’re definitely not ready for the real hero world. Besides, they were the ones that came to my agency knowing that I’m the best,” he boasts with confidence, shoving more pasta in his mouth, and munching at his leisure.

“Also, it’s not a sidekick. Just some lady who can’t do her fuckin’ job.”

“Aw, cut her some slack, I’m sure she’s trying her best.”

Bakugou almost scoffs. If you knew the real reason for her lack of work ethic, you’d be on the same page as him.

Either way, he really needs to get this secretary off his back before shit blows out of proportion. If pictures, phone calls—hell—even lunch dates can’t get her to wake up, then what?

To his surprise, the idea actually comes to him quicker than he anticipated, red eyes perking up at a scheme forming in his head.

Of course. Heh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?

This is how he’s going to do it, he thinks. His lips barely resist the urge to quiver into a smirk that will no doubt have you questioning whatever was riling him up. Swallowing his final piece of pasta, Bakugou pushes his plate away but aims his fork in your direction.

“You free tomorrow?”

“I just have to drop off some papers at work in the morning. Why?”

“Good. Come by the agency for lunch.”

Your brows furrow at how sudden the request is, however, you go along with it. “Okay, should I make lunch for us?”

“Nah, don’t. I’ll order something,” he assures, but in his head he’s sure lunch would be the last thing on your mind tomorrow afternoon with what he has planned for you, him, and his secretary.

Bakugou scoots his seat back, leaning over on your side of the table. “Now, I remember a certain brat made a promise to me after dinner was done.”

“Hold it, I still have a piece–”

“Nuh-uh, c’mere–” He lightly pushes your hand away, and with effortless strength, pulls you out of your chair and over his shoulder. “Already waited too damn long.”

“Whoa..!” Your last piece of pasta falls back on the plate, forgotten. You watch as the distance between you and the dining table diminishes, the impatient blond leading you two into the hallway. At your fidgeting, he swats your thigh, warning you to stay fucking still unless you want to accidentally fall on your face.

With a squeal escaping your lips, you comply. As a reward, he presses his lips against the side of your ass as you’re still hanging over him, nipping at your curves. Your yelps are replaced by laughter. The ticklish sensation nearly makes you squirm again if not for Bakugou dropping you unceremoniously onto your bed.

“You better make it up to me for having to make me wait, Princess.” His emphasis on what is supposed to be your endearing little pet name comes out as a snarl as you’re cornered against the sheets. Expecting this kind of intense reaction from him after your meal, you grin slyly.

“I mean the ravioli was good, wasn’t it?”

Well that he can’t deny. Still, the blond smirks, showing his pearly canines. “Yeah, but,” he moves away from you, kneeling while grabbing at the hem of his shirt to pull it off,

“I’m still fuckin’ hungry.”

.

.

There is no doubt that the next day, you woke up incredibly sore. Sore yet also just as happy.

The tension in your muscles had dissipated as a result of being repeatedly fucked into your own mattress last night, allowing you to sleep soundly. So soundly that you don’t even notice your boyfriend leaving for work that morning. But it can’t be helped given how ungodly early his hero work starts every day.

Some hours after Bakugou has already left, your alarm goes off to remind you that it’s about time to begin your day. Even after a spent night, you can’t bear the thought of lying in bed anymore, especially with how cold the sheets had become, devoid of the blond’s natural warmth. Plus you had something to look forward to this afternoon—your lunch date.

Once you get washed and dressed, you grab your business files from your desk and dash out the door to drop off your papers at work.

Before you know it, it’s noon and you’re standing in front of the receptionist’s desk at Dynamight’s agency.

While you wait for the receptionist to finish their business call, you think back on the employee Bakugou mentioned yesterday. You note in the foreground how busy the entire place looks, which doesn't surprise you. The agency runs like a well-oiled machine. With all the hustle and bustle going on, it seems like everyone is doing their job with peak efficiency. Honestly, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to test the wrath of the explosive Number Two Hero, but you assume such people existed.

“Thank you for waiting! Here to see Mister Dynamight?” The receptionist greets you after hanging up their call, immediately recognizing you from your prior visits.

“Yeah, just coming by for lunch.”

“He’s in his office right now so I’ll let him know you’re here then.”

You mouth a thank you, followed by a farewell wave as you make your way to the elevator.

“’Suki’s office should be on… this floor…” you murmur, pressing the corresponding button on the panel. While you wait for the doors to close, you spot a figure approaching from a distance. You can see the person’s wrinkled professional attire, disheveled hair, and slightly smeared makeup as she approaches the elevator clumsily.

“H… Hold the door!” she pants.

Hearing her frantic request, your mind catches up with you. You jam your index finger on another button on the panel, keeping the doors open just long enough for the woman to slip inside and catch her breath.

You watch her ungraciously drop to the floor, lungs gasping for air. “That was a close one.” You bend down to extend a helping hand.

She sputters as she reaches out to you, “Yeah, thanks, I– Wait, you’re...” When she looks up, her eyes squint to get a better look at your face, brows knitting together as she recognizes your features. Dismissing your help, she abruptly retracts her hand before getting up on her own. You cock your head suspiciously when you notice her change in demeanor.

“Oh, I’m just stopping by to have lunch with my boyfriend. He’s your, uh,” you piece your words as eloquently as you can, “boss.”

It’s always difficult for you to tell any of Bakugou’s staff that you’re his girlfriend. You’d done it before in front of his group of sidekicks while waiting outside his office and as a result they all flipped, bombarding you with questions about your relationship before falling dead silent when his door suddenly swung open.

You’re expecting the same, if not, a similar reaction here, but you’re surprised to see a deadpan look in the woman’s eyes. She averts her gaze. You glance over at her, taking note of her fists shaking at her sides and how she bites the inside of her cheek which forms a pout on her lips.

You’re beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have disclosed that information. “Are you okay?” you inquire, your voice filled with genuine concern. She eventually turns to look at you straight on, her expression teetering between a smile and a scowl. In any case, she tries to steer you away from the elephant in the room.

“Yep! Just peachy!” she assures through a strained grin that makes you all the more suspicious of her. Even if you want to question it, she has no intention of continuing the conversation. Her lips press together in an effort to maintain her smile, or else risk blurting something that should’ve stayed in her mouth. You keep to yourself in the elevator so as not to bother her, but the prolonged silence, combined with the elevator’s incessant dinging throughout each ascending floor, creates a suffocating atmosphere.

With every floor you pass you soon realize that despite keeping your distance, she’s still looking in your general direction. You notice her sneaking glances at you and your neck grows hot as you follow where her eyes wander. You press your palm against your jugular, the spot you recall Bakugou laying his teeth on last night.

I thought I covered that…

You want to chastise yourself for not spending enough time this  morning to conceal the blemishes on your neck. Your coworker had even commented on them before you left for Dynamight’s agency, to your embarrassment.

You settle for letting out an uneasy chuckle while adjusting the collar of your shirt. Though the majority of Bakugou’s staff are already aware of your relationship, you’d rather hide any detail of your sex life if possible. You’d prefer not being the hot talk amongst the whole faculty.

You expect to be the brunt of the woman’s teasing next, anticipating her wiggling her brows or whistling, but she keeps her mouth shut and her expression even appears offended.

Fortunately, the elevator saves both of you from any more uncomfortable silences. Right on cue, the doors slide open for the woman to exit on her floor. She doesn’t spare you a glance on her way out, but you overhear her mutter under her breath, “Enjoy your lunch or whatever.”

She stomps in the opposite direction until her figure disappears behind closing doors. Your face scrunches. “What’s her deal?”

You’ve gotten used to the bitter reactions some people would give over the fact you and Bakugou are in a relationship. You kind of have to, considering who Bakugou is and the hoards of fans he’s accumulated over the years as a Pro-Hero. But any of the backlash you receive is mostly posted online by petty netizens. No one has the guts to confront you in person. Mostly because if they do, Bakugou has no qualms about retaliating with equal venom and more. This lady, on the other hand, works for Bakugou. When it comes to greeting her boss’s girlfriend, she should be professional, right?

You brush those thoughts away, recalling that no one should ever have to suck up to you simply because you're a Pro’s significant other. “She’s probably on the PR team.” You laugh off, remembering how much trouble it is to manage Bakugou’s public image and how she must be tired from working overtime.

The elevator dings one last time to indicate that you’ve arrived at your destination. When the doors part, the entrance to Dynamight’s office is directly across from you, passing a short corridor. Normally, sidekicks and employees had to press the button on the side of the door, or page him ahead of time before entering. However, you have the luxury of just swinging those doors open whenever you like.

“Heya, Katsu–”

“For the last fuckin’ time, there’s no way I’m going on that mission as his fucking standby.” The voice booming at the other end of the room behind a wide, wooden desk drowns out your voice. “Tell Grand that if he can’t find another B-rate hero agency like his to do his damn dirty work, then he can just fuck himself,” he spits into the receiver. He slams the phone down and hangs up the call without a second thought.

You announce your presence once more with a low whistle. Another one for the PR team. “Vulgar as usual,” you joke.

He sighs loudly, “The only way to get the message across their thick skulls is to beat it into their heads at this point,” he says, leaning against the large glass windows behind him. “That Shindou needs to get off my back. I thought I told everyone I wasn’t taking anymore calls from that asswipe.”

“I’m sure Grand will finally get the idea after he receives your message from his manager.” Slipping in next to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers delicately crawl up to his chin, tilting his head to face your smile. Bakugou reciprocates the gesture, his gloved hands gripping your waist and pulling you in as your lips briefly meet. When you part, you rest your forehead against his.

“How was patrol this morning, hero?” you whisper, playing with the tufts of hair above his neck.

“Same old shit,” he tells you quietly as you hum at his response, an amused grin tugging at the seam of your lips. Just as you’re about to separate, his hold at your sides tightens, locking your body against his.

“Bet you missed me, didn’t you, princess?” He leans in to nibble your jawline, causing laughter to tumble from your lips. “Bed got cold without me?”

Your answer is interrupted by a hand brushing up against the waistband of your pants, ruffling your tucked-in blouse. The man growls in the crook of your neck. “Didn’t have my cock to keep you nice and warm?”

Your nose scrunches at his unfiltered tongue. “Katsuki, I came here for lunch, remember?” You push at his chest, attempting to get him off you, but his teeth lock onto your clavicle.

“Food’s on the way,” he assures. Fingers play with the loops of your pants, dragging your shirt out slowly. “Might as well kill time–” His lips suddenly collide with yours, stealing your breath and drowning out any protests. He scuffs his teeth against your bottom lip, looking for a way in. You whimper in response at his persistence, stumbling backwards against the edge of his desk as he finally pries through your lips.

After an intense moment of kissing, his attention shifts to your jugular, nipping at the tender skin again. Every time his canines make contact with the broken skin, you wince. “Still got my marks all over ya,” he boasts, but the more skin he tries to unveil, the more he has to pull at your shirt’s collar which quickly annoys him. “Though I don’t understand what the hell you’re covering them up for.”

“D-Don’t want people to see…” you fumble with your excuses yet tilt your head to grant him better access. He scoffs at how your actions betray your words.

“Why does it matter when I want them to see? Let those fuckers look and know we’re together.” He licks one of the patches of broken skin. His harsh words make you shiver in his hold, but beneath his rough exterior, you sense a tender possessiveness in the amount of attention he pays to your body.

Your fingers brush through his hair, gently pulling him off of you so you can look him in the eyes, “You’re so damn insufferable, you know that?”

“Heh, you like it though,” Bakugou counters. You click your tongue, feigning ignorance. With his hand wrapped at the nape of your neck, he thumbs at your blemishes. His ruby eyes take their time to admire every inch of his claim on you. “You were clenching whenever I marked you. Screaming nice and loud too.”

“I bet the neighbors hate us now…” You sigh quietly.

“Took them that long?” He grins, almost proud of being a menace to those extras next door despite being a heroic figure. “Besides, not my fault you let me do whatever I wanted to you.” You pout, but accept it’s a fact you very well can’t deny.

As his deft hands unfasten each button of your blouse, he switches your positions. He yanks your shirt, dragging the fabric down your shoulders to reveal your skin and the bra hugging your chest. Licking his lips, he removes his thick gloves before hoisting you up to sit on the desk with him, making you straddle his thighs. Another pause of appreciation for the blossoms adorning your chest makes him blurt out, “Maybe I should let you mark me up just as much.”

You look at him precariously. He doesn’t take back the grin on his face. Seeing your wide-eyed expression, he cups your jaw, pulling you toward him. “What’s the look for? I know you’ve thought about it, princess.” Bakugou reads you like a book. He revels in your flustered face, telling him how right he is.

The image of his scarred, toned skin covered in hickeys has crossed your mind more times than you can count, but you’ve always been too engrossed in the intoxicating sensation of his teeth grazing every stretch of your skin to ever have an opportunity to bring the thought to light. Bakugou never gives you an inch when it comes to taking the reins in the bedroom. But now he’s practically granting you the opportunity on a silver platter.

You point a dubious look at him. “Are you serious, or did you bump your head somewhere earlier on patrol?” Anticipating your skeptical response, a chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He scoots back to remove his tank top, letting your hands lay over his chiseled physique. Your fingers immediately trace the scars and cuts lining his muscles, each one standing as a testament to every one of his battles. The idea of your own marks joining his adonis of a canvas has your eyes fluttering.

“’s no joke, babe,” he clarifies, a wicked grin plastered on his face. He then remembers why he made this whole arrangement in the first place. “Aren’t you tired of those fuckin’ extras always ogling me—looking at me up and down like they even have a damn chance to touch all of this?” He grabs your wrist and guides your hands above his chest, your fingertips brushing his collarbones.

You bite your lower lip. “Well…”

Hearing your voice linger, he snarls, “Are you seriously hesitating?”

It’s not like you hadn’t ever clenched your fists in front of the TV whenever your boyfriend was being interviewed by some mischievous news reporter or journalist. They never make it subtle when casting one too many glances at the Pro’s sweaty, skintight attire, staring into his red eyes for so long that they started looking dumb. Though as much as dark green jealousy occasionally takes root in your subconsciousness, you never act on your displeasure.

In the back of your mind, you always saw it as a sign of clinginess. But Bakugou sees it differently. To him, he’d want nothing more than his girl staking their claim on him. For you to get needy, jealous, possessive. Let the entire world know that you both belong to each other and no one else.

You fix your gaze at his cynical expression that eggs you on. Before you know it, you lunge forward. Your mouth latches onto his neck, arms curling around his shoulders. Bakugou draws you skin-to-skin, his low chuckle reverberating in the depths of his chest.

“Ooh, that’s it,” he encourages, rubbing your back. His other hand palms your ass, rocking you both back and forth, grinding his bulge against the crotch of your jeans. Your teeth cling to him, sinking into his skin. Your lips vibrate against his collarbones while you whimper at the delicious friction on your clit.

“Harder. I wanna see nice ol’ purple marks here,” he orders, relentlessly rolling his hips. You want to slap him on the wrist, your concentration waning as heat quickly pools in your abdomen. As if the grinding isn’t enough, Bakugou effortlessly undos the button of your jeans. He pulls down the zipper before reaching inside and touching you through your underwear.

“Fuck, already this wet from a little grinding? Nasty girl,” he hisses, running his index and middle finger across the ruined crotch of your panties. “Or maybe marking me is getting you all riled up?”

“Shut up–” you mutter half-heartedly. With a pop, your lips leave him. You lean back to evaluate your work. They’re not as noticeable as the marks Bakugou usually gives you, but they’re visible, and they’re purple as requested.

A small trail of violet hickeys adorns the crook of the blond’s neck and collarbones. Your finger traces the path, eyes capturing the sheen of your saliva over the marks. His skin gleams in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Reaching inside the pocket of his baggy pants, Bakugou pulls out his phone to turn on the front-facing camera. He gets a clear view of your work on the screen, and his smirk appears on the display. “My girl did that, huh?” He cranes his neck to examine the blemishes from different angles. Soon after, you hear his camera’s shutter release, capturing the image and adding it to his gallery. He should really consider making an album out of these.

Tossing his phone to the side, those piercing red eyes return to you, and your assertiveness fades. He grabs your wrists and leans in to kiss your temple.

“You did well, princess.”

His hushed voice makes your cunt clench and your ears warm. “I'll be sure to show these off later,” he promises, his tone dripping with smugness.

God, you realize how little his hero costume does to hide any of those hickeys. Given that he has to go on patrol again soon, you can expect his neck to be a hot topic in the media. Regardless, you can’t deny the satisfaction that wells up in your chest at the thought.

Katsuki was right. You really are possessive over him. And of course, it goes both ways.

While you’re distracted by your epiphany, he uses this opportunity to unhook your bra, happily discarding the garment. You exhale as he roughly cups the underside of your breast. His breath tickles your perky nipple, strong arm hooking you into him.

The pattern of his breaths are erratic, excitement coursing through his veins. His carmine eyes are lidded as he flattens a tongue against the hardened nub. As Bakugou fully wraps his lips around the stiffening bud, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, mewls part your mouth.

“Your tits still taste fucking amazing,” he mutters, mouth caught between sucking and spewing obscenities. “These tits gonna give me some milk too, princess?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” you quip before biting your bottom lip. You concentrate on moving your hips back and forth against his thigh, trying to find the right angle that provides you with the delicious jolt of pleasure you craved between your thighs. With a smack, his lips leave your nipple.

“Guess I didn’t give you enough attention down here since you keep rutting against me like a needy slut.” He swats your ass before gripping the plushness harshly. The mild sting has your pussy clenching. “My baby doesn’t feel satisfied unless she’s getting stretched open by my cock, huh?”

Just a little bit of dirty talk from him is enough to make you whimper pathetically, “Please, ‘suki…”

“Please, what? Gotta tell me more than that, princess.” He tugs the waistband of your pants, teasing you. Never breaking eye contact, Bakugou’s hand sneaks under the edge of his desk. “Use your words, I want to know what I’m doing to you. Don’t skimp on the details.”

A light click goes off, but if you hear it you don’t make it apparent, too focused on the hot blond in front of you that was making your head spin.

“Fuck… ‘Suki, I feel so hot… Need you right now…” You grab his hand showing him your ruined panties by letting the pads of his fingers trail your wet pussy. “See? Look what you did, I’m soaked.”

Bakugou mutters curses under his breath, applying more pressure to your panties to thoroughly inspect the slick saturating the fabric. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, finding your pleading to be incredibly sinful and all-too-tempting. He considers it a waste that he isn’t recording anything. Well, maybe it isn’t an entire waste.

“Damn, how are you this messy? This pussy’s fucking sobbing for me.” You nod, sloppily gyrating on top of his hand. For once, Bakugou is considerate to your needs and slides your panties to the side to slip his digits across your bare folds. You both moan in unison, you at the extra relief and him at the slippery honey dripping down his knuckles.

In his eyes he was being generous, granting you his thick fingers prodding your silky walls rather than reduce you to pitifully grinding against him. But, being greedy, you thought he wasn’t being generous enough.

Bakugou’s fingers leave your cunt to sample you, wet digits laying flat on his tongue. “Fuck, I need to lick you clean right now.”

“N-No, ‘suki, jus’ want your cock in me already,” you whine with a pout. However, Bakugou is insistent on stealing more than just a little taste from your sweet cunt.

“Not gonna even let me indulge a little? Must have spoiled you with too much dick last night.” He scoffs, but doesn’t move to discard his uniform to free his hard cock. Instead, he motions you to step down and stand in front of him while he remains perched atop his desk.

He eyes you up and down. “What are you waiting for, princess? I want it all off already.”

Your fingers start moving toward your disheveled blouse. As fabrics pile the floor, you catch the blond licking his lips, lewdly eyeing your panties that slip down your legs to reveal your juices coating your inner thighs.

“Turn around and kneel on top of my chair.”

At his blunt tone, you obey. Dynamight’s luxurious office chair cushions your knees as you carefully lift your body onto it.

“Bend over.”

Without question, you use the arms of the chair as leverage to safely lean forward, spreading your pussy in front of him. As half of your face presses into the cushion of the head rest, you steal a glimpse of his reaction from your peripheral vision.

With a guttural hiss between his teeth, he gets off the desk, pulling the chair closer for an even better look at your glistening center. He palms your ass, rolling the globes in his hands before spreading them, exposing your slick folds.

“You seriously trying to deny me this angel cunt?” His words are emphasized with a quick smack before his tongue dives between your folds. You whine at the contact, his lips fluttering around your clit as it works its way up your slobbering hole.

Knees shaking, you subconsciously muffle your sounds as you press your face into the headrest of the office chair. Not satisfied with your muted cries, Bakugou reaches one hand toward your head. He cups your jaw, turning you more to the side so you aren’t hiding in the cushion. When his tongue swivels around your sensitive bud, your moans resonate across his office with euphoria.

“‘suki! I’m gonna–!”

“Gonna cum? Do it then you slut.”

At your warning, he works his mouth vigorously against your pussy, even adding two fingers into your walls. Your toes curl behind you as your grip on the arms of the chair tighten.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over my damn office chair.”

Maybe you would’ve issued a half-hearted apology, if not for his tongue and its unrelenting intensity across your sensitive bundle of nerves. You only offer a string of moans that Bakugou happily accepts, smiling into your pussy as he feels you tense up against him.

“Ka..tsuki!!” You practically scream, electricity coursing through your skin as your orgasm shakes your entire body.

“That’s it, princess. Want your taste all over my tongue… So fucking good,” he drones against your folds, not letting a drop go to waste as you slowly come down from your post-orgasmic bliss.

“Ah! ‘Suki, I’m already too sensitive…” You gasp, still feeling him drunkenly licking up and down your slit despite you just coming. Reaching behind you, you weave your fingers through his ash blond hair, nudging at his scalp to try to push him away, but Bakugou’s strength clearly outweighs yours. He grips your wrist, lifting his face off your sloppy pussy of his own volition.

“That sensitive just from my tongue? Oh, sweetheart, I plan on ruining you in my office chair alone.” Keeping his word, he replaces your pliant body with his own, planting himself right on the cushioned seat with his legs spread thoughtlessly. He dashes for the hem of his pants, unfastening the zipper, and pulling down enough articles of clothing for his cock to spring out, stiff and glistening with his arousal.

Lust blown eyes admire the thickness of Bakugou’s shaft, rightdown to the veins on the ridges of his cock. A smirk and chuckle follow in the wake of your heady gawking, swearing that you look like you were about to pounce and give him the best head of his life. Sadly, as he glances at the digital clock perched behind you, he realizes there’s no time.

“Sorry, babe, food’s gonna be here any minute and I need you on my cock right fucking now.” He rolls the office chair closer to get a firm grasp of your hips, motioning you on top of him with rousing urgency. Thighs on either side of his own, you reach over your body to level his cock over your dripping folds.

The blond’s lips curl into a sneer beneath you, hands fondling your breast and ass—the latter spreading your cheek to help you accommodate his size. “Besides, this what you wanted, right? To be–” As you begin sinking down his length, your mouth opens in a soundless mewl. “–split open on me, even after I fucked you into the mattress last night?”

Your teeth tug at your bottom lip while you do your best to bottom out. Katsuki isn’t amused by your muted reaction, pinching your nipple as punishment and spurring his desired noises from you. “What did I say? Answer me, slut, you wanted to get fucked dumb again, didn’tcha?” His words are harsher this time, demanding your attention.

“Yes, yes! Wan’ you to make me your little cockwhore, ‘Suki…” you confess, moaning when you feel his dick fully impale you. At the same time, Bakugou hisses at how your walls mercilessly hug his shaft.

“Yeah princess, I’m going to give you exactly what you need– Fuck! How are you so damn tight?!” It hasn’t even been ten hours since he had sex with you, stretching you into his shape last night until the sun shined, and yet you still had the innate ability to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of him and then some. At this rate, he’s not going to last. “Need you to move, baby. Ride me already.”

Hearing the urgency in his tone, your hips begin moving on their own, dragging yourself on and off his cock. Hands on his shoulders, you leverage yourself to maintain a steady rhythm that had you both delirious and panting in pleasure. The blond’s thick fingers dig into your soft flesh, growls leaving his lips as fire flares in his veins, threatening to ignite his last ounce of willpower to allow you to keep this sustained tempo.

“F-Feeling good, ‘suki?” you question, looking down at him with a sinful expression painted on your gorgeous face—pretty eyes half-lidded and needy just for him.

“Yeah… God you make me act up all the damn time I–” His cock twitches between your tight folds, eyeing you from below and watching you clasp his hand that’s pawing your breast to gesture to him to play with you some more. The sensual yet genuine smile you give him ultimately breaks his resolve.

Oh, fuck it.

As if chains have snapped around him, Bakugou suddenly shoots up, carrying your body against him. He lays you across his desk quickly but carefully, with little regard for whatever else tumbles and falls off of it except for you.

You squeal in surprise, your arms and legs attempting to find purchase around him before you’re reduced to jelly by the new quickening pace of his cock pounding your insides.

“Oh my god… Katsuki!” The obscene slapping of skin on skin accompanies your desperate cries throughout his office. Arms that were wound around his neck lose their hold on him, pathetically dropping to your sides to clasp Katsuki’s wrists, where he’s pulling your thighs apart to spread you open for his unrelenting thrusts.

“Sorry, princess… you looked so damn hot I couldn’t hold back anymore. Needed to feel you deeper and make you cream already.” His tepid apologies don’t reach your ears as you’re overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his movements, followed by a searing knot welling up in your abdomen.

By the looks of it, you have no objections to the turn of events, gazing dreamily at him as his hardened body hovers over you. From your point of view, you get glimpses of the sweat dotting his forehead, his nose scrunched in concentration, and narrowed ruby eyes glimmering with feral desire.

With stars in your eyes and features all flushed with warmth and lust, you sing a euphony of I love you’s between whimpers. Your voice catches in your throat when his cock repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

Bakugou can’t get enough of you, heart swelling with his affections that he can’t help but flick his wrist to intertwine his hand in yours. Despite his progressively carnal thrusts, he possesses contrasting tender devotions in his voice.

“I love you, princess. It’s been you and no one else. No other bitch can compare,” he repeats over and over like a mantra, a declaration of his loyalty to you and only you. You swear there’s an extra weight behind his words, but you’re too engrossed in the feeling of utter euphoria this man gives you in mind, body, and soul to give it a second thought. It’s as if you’re walking on Cloud 9 as your pussy clenches around him, back arching in the moment that’s pushing Bakugou to the breaking point

“So damn perfect, you were fucking made for me, baby. Give it to me, cum on my cock,” he pleads, “I know you’re almost there, princess.”

“Yea, ‘suki… Wanna cum for you, you make me feel so good,” you murmur brokenly, voice splintering into an incoherent babble that he finds so endearing, caressing your cheek while deepening his brutal pace. That knot in your tummy tightens and when the cord eventually snaps, you cry out, clutching onto his hand.

Katsuki insists he’s never seen a prettier sight than you finally losing yourself all because of him. It urges him to reach his own high and claim you in the only way he knows how—coming in your pretty cunt and dedicating himself wholly to you.

“Pretty angel, you’re making me crazy over here. Fuck! ‘Bout to blow my whole load inside you. That what you want?”

“Mhm! Please..!” You manage a few urgent pleas before Bakugou finally reaches his limit, groans resonating in the wake of his cock stuttering between your silky folds. His growls reverberate from the depths of his chest, thick with rapture as his body is bathed in the sweet sensation that is your entire being swallowing him whole. Ribbons of his cum paint your insides. You feel so full, both physically and spiritually, your heart bursting with love for the man that was spilling his adoration for you merely seconds ago.

Bodies spent and chests heaving, you lay on the desk with Katsuki on top of you. You don’t notice his hand sneaking under the desk, a click going off that goes equally overlooked, enveloped by your collective pants echoing in the stillness that is his hero office.

After a moment, the sensations catch up to you and the weight of his sweaty, heavy torso makes you squirm.

“Feel sticky…”

“There’s a shower and bath right there.” Bakugou grunts, but there’s playfulness behind his deceptively gruff mannerisms.

Your hands trail over his back at his response. “I know, but can you carry me?”

“Fine. Such a princess…”

“I’m your princess though.” You giggle, a teasing lilt in your carefree tone.

The blond can’t help the grin that finds his features. “Hell yeah you are.”

Bakugou pulls on his uniformed cargo pants to scrounge together some semblance of decency as he cradles you against him. Your body is like jelly in the Pro Hero’s strong arms, barely exercising the strength to hold onto him properly as he moves you to the unnecessarily luxurious bathroom built in his office. While setting you down on the counter next to the sink, the pager in his pocket rings.

“Food’s finally here.” He reaches for a hanger on the door, finding a bathrobe to blanket you in. “I’ll be back.”

You raise a brow. “Going out like that?”

“Relax, I’m putting a shirt on obviously.”

“A shirt, huh?” Not at all convinced, you cross your legs. You and him both know he absolutely reeks of sex. The marks you gave him are also an obvious giveaway. No doubt he’ll be an eye-turner to anyone he crosses paths with at the agency.

“Fine, I’ll have someone bring it up.” He meets you in the middle and you happily oblige, shoo-ing him to go about his business once again. The blond rolls his eyes, exiting the bathroom and out the large double doors of his office to wait at the elevator for his delivery.

And when those doors open with a ding, he’s greeted by the very last person he wishes to see. Swathed in the overbearing odor of her pungent perfume, his secretary stands heel-to-heel in the elevator, eyes crossed and a furious blush penetrating the matte layer of her foundation. Her steps traverse the threshold between the lift and hallway. With hands balled into small fists, she jabs the plastic bag of take-out food into the hero’s chest before wagging her finger at his disinterested demeanor.

“You..! You! How dare you?! Why, I should charge you for sexual harassment for what you did! So uncouth! Barbaric even!” She lectures vehemently, voice dripping with malice akin to the insults she practically spits at his face. The benevolent facade she dons everyday to garner his favor crumbles to pieces before his eyes and Bakugou can’t contain his laughter at the pathetic display.

“What’s so funny?!”

“Oh man, you’re a riot aren’t ya? You coulda very well just turn off your speaker if it bothered you so damn much,” he suggests, but the glint in his expression tells the woman he can see right through her. “But you didn’t, did you? You listened in on the whole thing like a fuckin’ pervert.”

At his deduction, the secretary blushes even harder. The fists at her sides shake with an anger that boils under her skin, melting her composure like the wicked witch of the west.

“Why you..! You’re the pervert here! Don’t think you can turn the situation on me when you’re the one who instigated this!” She points an accusing finger in his direction, an empty threat to the indifferent blond.

The hero barely offers her a scoff. “Me? The instigator? You got some fucking nerve saying that when all month you’ve been coming onto me practically on all fours despite knowing I’m a taken man.” Now it’s his turn to retort with equal venom and then some. His sudden switch in demeanor quickly overwhelms the woman as with every step he takes forward, she grows smaller and smaller.

“What’re you going to do? Tell the media? Report me to the authorities? Make a bunch of baseless rumors on your online blog? Well news flash—unlike you I’m irreplaceable. There won’t ever be another hero that has left as big of a mark on this country as I have, and you know it.” He holds his chest proudly after every word. In his presence, the secretary shrinks, gradually cowering back toward the elevator. Any semblance of nerve she held vanishes in front of her.

“Now start packing your things. If I don’t see your station left spotless by tomorrow morning I’ll make sure your days working for the hero industry are numbered.” It’s a threat she doesn’t dare challenge, wordlessly pressing a button on the panel to descend the floors and flee with her tail between her legs. The flabbergasted expression on her face is the last he sees of her.

And just like that, Katsuki feels a weight evaporate from his shoulders, releasing a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He bounds back to his office with your lunch in tow.

When he returns, he overhears the water running in the bathroom before it’s soon shut off.

“Ah, ‘Suki, you’re back! I just filled the tub with water for our bath.” Your sincere smile meets his eyes which soften at the mere glimpse of you kneeling next to the tub, patiently awaiting his arrival.

“Fuck, babe, you weren’t suppose to move. Should be too sore after what I did t’ya.” He hoists you off the floor and into welcoming arms.

You pout cutely. “C’mon now, I’m not helpless you know.”

“‘Course not. But you’re my princess, remember? All mine.” He settles you both into the depths of the soothing, warm tub, nestling your body against his chest as he presses kisses in every area of tender skin he laid his claim on.

“And I plan to treat you like one for the rest of our lives.”

.

.

The very next morning, he finds a letter of resignation on his desk—the very place the two of you had fucked.

copyright 2022 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated elsewhere so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[harmonysanreads]

Hello !!! I hope you’re doing fine and enjoyed last patch quest! I really really love your writing, and especially like the way you write Ratio,,,,, that yandere Drabble you posted a while ago with Ratio and Aventurine sharing reader has been haunting me in the best ways <33

Since your request are open, could I ask for a one-shot of yandere Ratio and Aventurine? If it’s fine I’ll ask for reader to be shy/introverted but otherwise I’ll leave it up to your inspiration! Maybe about life at home, or visit in Penacony? Maybe they’re tormenting Reader through strip-poker? Maybe Ratio was inspired by the shrinking device and now they’re having fun with their pocket-sized darling? Anything you fancy I’m not difficult, I only ask you have fun!! <3

(I assumed your no-sequel rule only applied to one-shot, I deeply apologise if I was wrong fjekjdksjd)

Inure

yandere!aventurine x reader x yandere!dr ratio

cw(s) : yandere, forced proximity, slight dehumanization (but everything is sauteed in humor so bon appetit ✨)

wc : 1k

hi nonnie!! thank you so much for your sweet words<3 tbh every idea you presented was very enticing and i'll definitely keep them in consideration for later. for now though, i really wanted to write something soft for these two, i hope you don't mind :>

Inconveniences come in many forms.

Some more candid than most, while others lurk in the shadows of carelessness like hyenas ; ready to pounce on the unsuspecting prey at the opportune time. Trouble and tribulation eclipse the course of human life, masquerading as two sides of the same coin. What they are, in truth, a pair of mischievous twins who are always watching, evaluating and trapping their victims in elation-filled jumpscares. It is also true that woes differ based on the individual, some even see fit to opine that the source of misery is the individual themselves.

Your vexations however, are dictated by two idiosyncratic persons with interests as farther apart as two solar systems. Which isn't a lot if one considers the magnificence of the universe, but distanced enough to be the tillable land of your miseries. Said inconveniences usually arrive dressed as revoked privileges, confiscation of entertainment items and... movie nights.

A night where you're supposed to be enjoying a film as a group shouldn't have been such an adversity if the aforementioned individuals respected the bare minimum of being normal. On usual occasions, who you end up accompanying is maintained through a strict schedule as opposed to the much friskier notion of rolling-dices that was favored by a certain blonde (in which he always emerged victorious and was thus declared irrationally imbalanced by Veritas) — but, an unforseen lapse of management and chaos was bred.

In matters that concern you, it seemed as though even the most seamless co-operations failed to reach a simple consensus. So when the erudite Dr Ratio expressed eagerness to spend a ‘relaxing afternoon’ with your person, it clashed quite clamorously with Aventurine's desire to have you participate in one of his many adrenaline-high games. And because of the decrease in release of dopamine that came from being a frequent observer of their arguments, you ended up suggesting this dreadful activity ; Ratio's silent perusal by your left and Aventurine's equally quiet phone browsing by your right are all that remains of the earlier fiasco.

You consider it a shame, because unbeknownst to them, you actually were plotting ways to watch this particular film. But, when at approximately fifteen minutes into the story you realized you were the only one among you three that was paying it any attention at all — you felt, quite blatantly, deflated. Surprisingly though, that was not the main source of your current misery at all, no, no ; what was causing you distress was the deplorable portion of space that they alloted to you from the couch.

At least Ratio has the habit of crossing his legs subconsciously, making your life just a miniscule easier. Unlike Aventurine whose default setting is to be attached to any patch of your skin anytime you're within his radius and when he brings that to the cauldron of being compressed between him and Ratio — it perfectly justifies why you're dancing between the provocative lines of mild annoyance and a meltdown. You'd believe they forgot about your existence altogether if not for Ratio's definitely-not-intentional shifting and the without context headpats from Aventurine.

Their treatment, although (probably) not deliberate, suggest you to be the equivalent of the pampered housecat and if one was to generously point out the expression on your face at present, that allegation would be right.

You stifle a sigh that transitions into a yawn with your only friend in this dreadful world, your plush pillow. The dialogues exchanged by the actors in the movie gradually become unintelligible as your vision morphs into a kaleidoscope of black dots and patterns. You draw your knees closer until they become parallel to your chin, musing a scenario where you lean so into the couch that it swallows your form and hurls you into a wonderland free of covetous hands or hearts. Where you could roam without eyes attached to every move you make and most importantly, where the notion of inconveniences would cease to exist.

You've seen it happen in shows a younger you indulged in and a passing thought makes you smile sardonically ; the world is so bizarre that you've effortlessly found yourself in a situation as complex as your current one but, not bizarre enough to make fantasies such as these a reality. The noises from the screen, Ratio's nonchalant page turning and the fragrance of Aventurine's cologne make your lucidity sway, until darkness cradles you close.

That night, you found yourself having a rather tender dream. In your dream, the blonde promptly busied himself in positioning you more comfortably on his lap upon feeling your slumbering head hit his shoulder. You felt succinctly amused upon the ‘place the pillow under their head, moron!’ that left a certain virtuoso's lips. Said virtuoso, shifted the rest of your body to be rested on his lap with a gentleness that baffled even Aventurine. Some say that dreams are manifestations of the desires that stay stagnant within the crevices of our minds. If that theory holds even a fraction of credence, then the percipience of what your subconscious desires, leaves you feeling as solemn as sated.

By the hour you gain awareness of the waking world again, there is but silence surrounding the living room. Your first blink is followed by a series of more and your sense of feeling works faster before your sense of sight, it sticks quite insistently just above your knees and atop your head. You roll a bit and realize they are in fact the hands of Ratio and Aventurine respectively, holding you away from kissing the floor and cracking your nose. As your vision gains more clarity, you notice the purple-head, supported by the palm of his left hand and the arm of the couch. You rise up and notice Aventurine mirroring Ratio's position, you conclude them both to be asleep judging by their collective inertia despite your movements.

Your eyes shift downwards towards the pillow on which you rested moments before and seeing it positioned exactly atop Aventurine's lap, confirm your suspicions that the scene you witnessed in your sleep had, in fact, happened in reality. Perhaps the universe heard your hopeless plea and bargained it with this speck of generosity.

They really didn't move an inch — but the bubbling warmth was soon pushed down by — as if I was a cat they didn't want to disturb!

being treated like a cat by two of the most cat-like characters in hsr lol

[macabr3-barbi3]

DoubleTrouble No 1 🖤❤️

Myself and the delightful and talented @fraugwinska have been working on something tasty and present to you: a DoubleTrouble fic!

A single prompt from my Ao3, shared between two writers, one POV each ❤️

I tackled the reader's perspective, and you can find one from Alastor's POV right here! So many thanks for FrauGwinska for being an absolute superstar and working with me through this new and exciting experience <3

We hope you enjoy!

Tags: period sex, cunnilingus, mentions of blood (obviously), rough sex <3

Minors DNI🔞

The Blood is Rare 🩸

The fact that you still had a period in Hell was bullshit, but you suppose they needed to give people something to be miserable about. That was probably why people ended up in the situation you were in now, seated across from Alastor with a deal on the tip of your tongue; sheer desperation, because somehow the cramps were even worse than they had been on Earth and the only thing that helped was a good old fashioned orgasm. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t even consider asking- a lot of demons, except the really-weird-even-for-Hell ones, were still squeamish about blood being involved with any kind of orgasm.

If you were right though. Alastor would relish the opportunity you were about to present to him.

Fresh to the hotel just a few days after your last Hellish period, Alastor had startled you in the kitchen with a knife in your hand. The resulting jump had caused the blade to slip, gash in your thumb bleeding steadily over the apples that you had planned to fry up. Rather than allowing you to fetch a bandage, Alastor had chuckled, said “no need, dear,” and popped your thumb into his mouth. It was probably some ploy of his- strike fear into the hearts of new residents, give them a reminder that he was a cannibal and that he wouldn’t hesitate to eat them if they stepped out of line or caused any issues.

It backfired on him. At the taste of your blood his eyes grew black, staggering away from you with the shock of it, antlers extending so quickly they smashed the glass front of a nearby cabinet and he ended up trapped between the wooden dividers.

“More,” he had snarled, but his antlers stuck in the cabinet had been enough of a delay for you to make an escape. 

He apologized, of course, a couple days later, explained his nature as a cannibal, a predator, had reacted before his mind, and that such a thing would not happen again. He had ended the awkward conversation with a statement of, “should you feel the desire to spare some of that tasty treat in your veins, do be a dear and let me know!”

And, well. Here you were. Letting him know. Ready to make a deal with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell to get a little relief from the torture chamber that was your body in ovulation, even when there was nothing to fucking ovulate.

Alastor was tense when he phased into the hotel conference room to meet you as you had asked. His spine is stiff when he settles into the chair across from you, not having been alone in a space since that time in the kitchen. “What is it that I can help you with, my dear?”

“I want to clarify something- do you want to like, eat me?”

“Oh!” Alastor’s eyes widen with his smile. “I wouldn’t have been so blunt about it, darling, but if you’re asking- yes. That little taste that I had a few weeks ago was… inadequate, to say the least. But naturally staying here at the Hotel, Charlie would have been terribly upset had I consumed you.” He flicks his gaze over your form. “Why do you ask? Surely you don’t mean to let me indulge.”

A deep breath as you brace yourself. “Hah, not exactly. But uh, I do have a proposition of sorts for you. In regards to that. Kind of.”

He fades out of sight, rematerializing a couple seats closer to you. “Color me intrigued! What do you have in mind?”

You almost call the whole thing off- then a monster bolt of pain rips through your abdomen, nearly forcing you to double over the table with the ache of it. Any thought of embarrassment or hesitation flies from your head. Alastor is the only one that would be willing to help you in this way, you’re sure of it.

The groan of pain escapes you before you can stop it, and his eyebrows raise. “I have a deal to offer you that would allow you to- um. Sample my blood, if you’re amenable. Once a month.”

His head cocks to the side before his expression clears and he understands what you’re implying. “You’re referring to menstruation?” You nod, face red. “I see. Please provide me with more details of what this proposal would entail on my end then.” His claws are digging into the table, wood splintering beneath them and betraying his interest before even hearing what he would have to do.

“Right. I don’t know if you’re aware or not but periods can be crazy painful. Just on Earth too, but down here they’re basically unbearable when the cramps get bad. One thing that can help is having an orgasm.” You’re trying to resist the urge to hide in some way. You know this is what needs to be done. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course- just, you know. Uh, collecting on your benefit would probably do the trick.”

His eyes narrow. “I see. That is the… service I’m to provide, then?” A nod, flushed face dropped into your hands. “Well, I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to do my best! I’m never one to turn down a challenge- certainly not when the payoff is so enticing.” His eyes go dark, not quite black yet but the air between you changes, antlers going long and jagged. “I’m open to your proposal.”

“I need terms,” you breathe out, pleased that he’s still willing to help with the sexual nature of your request. “I need- just, something confirming that you won’t actually eat me for real. The blood is all that I’m willing to part with- no flesh.”

He sighs, eyes rolling. “Less exciting,” he says with a wave of his hand, “but not a dealbreaker. Anything else?”

“Only once a month- during this time. You can’t just be making me bleed whenever you want.”

“Done.” He’s in the chair next to you then, eyes black, grin so wide it threatens to split his face open, clawed hand held in your direction. “Do we have a deal?”

You take his hand in yours, green light filling the space between you and a screeching feedback sound assaulting your ears. When it fades Alastor is watching with hooded eyes. “Would you like to begin now?”

“Oh God. Uh, if now is a good time for you I guess. If you want to do it now.”

He laughs low and dangerous, his tall frame rising from the chair to tower over you. “Darling, I’ve wanted some semblance of what you’ve proposed for weeks. I’m not a man that makes a habit of denying himself a treat when it’s offered to him so sweetly.”

Your hand is still in his, and there’s a strange pull behind your navel as Alastor yanks you into the shadows with him, rematerializing in his bedroom. “Feel free to sit on the bed,” he offers, gesturing to the mattress and manifesting a large dark towel. “Or lie back- however will be more comfortable for you.” 

He releases your hand once you’ve sat, and you stay upright as Alastor sinks to his knees in front of you, fingers coming to the top of your skirt and pulling everything down in one fell swoop, his expression darkening at the scent of you exposed before him before ducking his head. You can’t see what he sees with how close he has already come to your skin, his enlarged antlers blocking your vision, the muscles of his back flexing with the force of his inhale as he breathes you in. A jolt of pain hits you again, deep in your core, and your whimper at the feeling has him bringing his eyes back to your face.

His eyes are hooded and dangerous, feral smile on his face while your fingers dig into the bedsheets. “Feel free to hold on, dear,” he says with a gesture to his antlers, before dipping his head to your bare cunt and slicking his tongue between your folds, angling his head just so to slip into your heat.

You can almost forget that Alastor is only doing this to satisfy some carnal desire of his with the fervent way that he pushes his mouth against you, slick muscle delving deep into you and brushing his nose against the firm nub of your clit. There’s a reverberating rumble as he moans at the taste, clawed fingers coming up to grip at your thighs, spreading them wider so he can get even closer to the source of his obsession. You can feel where he flicks his tongue inside you, brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves with every strong push and pull. The pleasure curls in your gut, keeping the worst of the cramps at bay while your body tenses and releases in rhythm with the demon’s ministrations. Every so often he pulls out, brings what he’s collected back into the haven of his mouth and savors it, eyes closed and his throat rumbling with a satisfied groan.

“You’ve no idea,” he growls, “how I’ve thought of tasting you. Consuming you.” The sharp points of his teeth brush against your clit and your body jolts, hands finally flying up from the bed to clutch at his antlers, grip tight on the tines of them as he looks up at you. 

The look on his face is nearly your undoing- more animal than man, and his claws dig into your flesh, tiny pinpricks of pain dragging you forcibly back to the moment. Your orgasm is just out of reach, not enough focus where you need him but you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you ask him for more.

“Fucking divine,” he whispers against you, and when his tongue brushes your sensitive clit with the words you shudder, the motion drawing his gaze to your face, flushed and hot. He smiles wide, expression smug as he leans in and does it purposely this time, licking up your folds and finally focusing where you need him to be. He circles it with purpose, pressure so sweet and sadistic, a light suck making you cry out his name and fist your hands on his antlers.

“Fuck! Alastor, yes, there- oh god, please, more…” He tenses under your hands and you worry for a moment that you’ve done something wrong. Then he’d sliding his hands under your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice sending heat flooding through you, overriding the painful ache of a cramp that tries to make itself known.

“Alastor,” you moan, and his tongue resumes its residence in the tight grip of your cunt, a hand coming up to brush a clawed finger over your clit. He works you quickly, his efforts paying off as your body tenses, invisible string inside you drawing tight and snapping with a force you’ve never felt before. “Alastor- A-” You try to say his name again, hear it come out as as a choked off whimper and a near scream as you reach orgasm, legs tightening on his shoulders and pulling him as closer, your walls clenching down on the length of his tongue before be pulls back and licks you through the remainder of it.

You release your grip on his antlers and fall back against the mattress, eyes closed while Alastor removes his face from between your legs, licking along the tiny pinpricks of blood from his claws before you shoot him a halfhearted glare. 

Your abdomen is blissfully absent of any clenching of your internal organs seeking revenge. Sated, you sit up from the mattress to see Alastor still knelt before you, faint lines of dried blood- your dried blood, your brain supplies- around his mouth. He looks like a predator fresh from his kill of the night, antlers jagged and long, eyes still dark and frantic as he looks at you.

“Was that sufficient, darling?”

“God, yes, it was perfect. I- I really appreciate your help.”

“Hmm. Of course. Though I must admit, only part of my… appetite for you has been appeased.” He rises from the floor, knees perched on either side of your thighs now and leaning in. You can smell something metallic on him as he approaches, know that it's your own blood as he stares down into your eyes hovered over you.

“Oh?” You become aware of a hard length pressing into your thigh. “Oh! I didn’t think that was something you would be interested in.”

He shrugs, rolling his hips and hissing at the friction. “Nor did I, dear. That does seem to be a theme with you, though- having a taste and finding that I crave more against my better judgment, against all reason.” He places a hand on your hip and runs his claws along the bare skin. “Would you allow me to help ease your pain once more?”

“God, yes,” you breathe out, “please, Alastor.” He takes a moment to undress, trousers removed along with his boxers before he climbs back over you and presses against the still slick folds of your cunt. He pushes in, hot and hard length opening you up and settling deep inside of you with a harsh exhale of breath against your neck. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

Alastor growls, the sound reverberating through his chest as he thrusts into you. A pulse of arousal shoots through you, the thought of bringing such a well spoken man to his baser instincts, so thoroughly invested in you that he can do little more than snarl like an animal into your skin, pushing you ever closer to the edge again. You’re already soft and sensitive from your first release, the cresting wave of a second hustling towards you. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at the tendon he finds there and moaning. “I could devour you,” he whispers, and you feel yourself clench down on him at the broken crack in his voice.  He drags his tongue up the length of your neck, hesitates like he’s trying to savor it. “I could feast on you for centuries and never tire of the taste of your flesh, whether coated in blood or sweat.”

A whimper escapes you as he sucks on the skin of your shoulder, leaving a trail of harsh bruises along the path he takes. A hand comes up to twist into his hair, something to ground yourself, to draw this out as long as possible. Your other hand digs into the flesh of his arm pinning you to the mattress. “Fuck, more, please,” you beg him, and he pulls back from your neck to watch your face twist and contort in pleasure while he slams against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Say my name,” he demands, fingers on your hip digging bruises into the soft skin, his other hand tangled in the bedsheets, tearing them to shreds to avoid sinking his claws into you. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Oh God, Alastor-” You angle your hips, the movement bringing him even deeper into your body, the length of him so sweet and sinfully delicious that a whine escapes your throat before you can think to stop it. “I need- I don’t know, Al, I can’t-”

“You must,” he commands, and he lets go of your hip to slip his hand between your bodies, fingers pressing against the taut skin of your opening where your bodies are joined. The stimulation is foreign and new and has your walls tensing and releasing rhythmically around him, release so close now that you were seeing stars behind your clenched eyes.

“Look at me.” Your lids fly open to meet the sight of Alastor above you, his face contorted in something like pain. “You must,” he says again, fucking into you with vigor now, sweat beading on his forehead. “I need it around me, I have to feel it. Please, darling, give it to me-”

Fuck. How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly? Not that you had any control over it- your body breaks beneath him, cunt wrapped around him like the softest of silk and tightening its grip. Your limbs seem to go numb for a moment, pleasure warping your reality for a few blissful moments, your vision focusing in a tunnel on Alastor’s face before it vanishes, burying once again in the space between your shoulder and neck.

With a final cry of his name he sinks his teeth into you, not tearing back as one might expect but content to simply let them rest there as he spills into you with a broken moan, hips bucking hard and fierce and then easing into something softer as your walls pull and push, wringing every drop from him.

A breath of silence as you both catch your breath, interrupted by a hiss of faint pain as Alastor pulls his teeth from you and licks at the wound he’s created like a satisfied cat. “You promised you wouldn’t try to eat me for real,” you mutter, voice soft from the strength of your cries.

Alastor hums against you, tongue still moving against you. “Hardly my fault.” He’s mouthing greedily at your skin, claws traipsing on the flesh of your hips and roaming wherever he can reach. “You’re delicious,” he groans, taking one final taste of your blood before pulling back and collapsing next to you, “a delicacy. How am I meant to live without this at every moment of the day? I think I shall starve.”

You huff out a laugh, stretching your muscles as well as you can without really moving. “Don’t be dramatic. You get it once a month, at least.” You roll onto your side, ignore the feeling of something slick and wet between your thighs and focus on the fact that your body is limp and pliant and not seeking revenge on you. 

“You raise a valid point, my dear.” He throws you a sideways look, his antlers now having returned to their normal size and his ears relaxed against his skull. “Though I’m not at all opposed to repeating this aspect of the experience outside of your… monthly allowance to me. Deals always have room for negotiation, do they not?”

“Let’s get through this one first and then we’ll talk.” You yawn and try to rise from the bed, but an arm from the demon beside you is thrown haphazardly over your waist, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he says, his eyes lidded and peeking at you. “There’s more to come yet, right? May as well stay where we can easily access one another for the duration.” His crimson eyes close the rest of the way and you settle back into the mattress, allowing your body to relax and slip into a peaceful sleep beside him.

[tainsan]

misfits (college!ateez x reader)

When your world comes crashing down, the only people who are able to comfort you are the notorious group, Ateez. You’ve heard rumour after rumour about the eight males who are ice cold, yet for some reason, they are the warmest people you know.

Please read me: {hello! so finally i have wrote enough for me to release the first chapter and i really hope it is good enough for the lovely people who have been patiently waiting. there will be more chapters to come in the future so please do look forward to them! just so you all know there is a few trigger warnings i have to go through so just in case you are uncomfortable with certain subjects to read with caution and with your own comfort in mind. at the start of every chapter i will put the warnings that correlate with the said chapter. in this story there are topics of swearing, depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicide, negelection and mental abuse. so if you are not comfortable reading these please either avoid this story or read with extreme caution. your wellbeing is more important than anything. 

Now like i said in my previous post, this is going to be a poly!ateez story so hence there will be future smut and suggestive themes (which i will also put in the warnings before the chapter starts) but the message in the story is very much about past trauma and finding people who can help, heal and love you despite your imperfections.

With that all said! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of ‘Misfits’ and thank you kindly for waiting. 

do not steal my work or repost on places other than tumblr. 

with thanks to @musicdork and @moraxology for the help and ideas shared with me. thank you <3

-----THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT-----

Misfits, Chapter 1

⇢ masterlist ⇠ 

⇢ next chapter

warnings: anxiety attack, swearing, mentions of a house fire.

word count: 8.8k

Heart dropping to your stomach, you attempt to make sense of the words that are displayed on the small illuminating screen sat in front of you. Devastation hits you like a ton of bricks as you realise once again, it feels like the world is trying to punish you. Reading over the email once again, you let out an exasperated groan and let your head fall down onto your arms relaxing on the table.

“You’re homeless?” Your best friend almost screeches, scanning over the email present on your small laptop screen. 

“Okay a little louder Jisung and the aliens on the Saturn will fucking hear you,” You react, your voice muffled by your clothes.

“What happened? I thought your place was in one of the nicer areas?” 

Looking up from the desk, you see Jisung peering at you with a concerned expression.

“Do you remember those new tenants that moved in below me?” you ask, causing Jisung to nod his head, "Well they accidentally started a fire, and it burnt down half of the place because the owners weren’t smart enough to install fire hydrants around the residence.

“Isn’t it illegal to not have designated fire hydrants in a building?” 

“Probably, I mean that’s what I get for going for the cheapest available housing I could find, they say it's going to take at least a year to repair the damage.”

"Are all of your belongings okay?" 

"Not really, I managed to save most things like my books and some clothes but everything else is burnt. They say they are going to give me some money back for the damage, but I doubt it’ll be much."

"Then where are you staying now?"

"Yeji said I could stay with her for a few days, but she has a roommate moving in soon, so I have to get out before the end of this week."

"You have to start looking for a place to live __, I wish I could help you," 

Jisung lives with his boyfriend and friends in great student accommodation, there are only four rooms, yet they manage to fit eight grown men in there. Sadly, there's simply not enough space for another person.

“I’m aware of that, but all the school properties are full, and I’ve seen no flyers from people searching for roommates. There’s no way I'm looking for housing outside of the area, I would have to sell both my kidneys to afford a month's worth of rent. This apartment was the only place that was in my budget if I didn't want a roommate. At this point, I should probably start looking for a nice cosy bridge to live under.” 

Jisung lets out a stifled laugh before quickly covering his mouth realising the two of you are residing in a library. Being in a secluded area, noise isn’t really a problem, yet three other people are sitting near you, resting on the opposite side of the large wooden table. Two huddled next to each other, sharing a laptop, likely watching YouTube and one with striking blonde hair resting his head on his arms, undoubtedly sleeping.

“How many days until you have to move out?” Jisung inquires, laying his head on his hand and gazing at you. 

“Uh, I think like a week,” 

“Oh, so it’s not like you have to move out right now,” your best friend replies, a calm smile covering his features.

“Yeah, but I doubt that somebody is abruptly going to need a roommate out of nowhere,” 

Then, you hear rustling, then suddenly the guy who was sleeping on your table abruptly stands up, grabs his things, and rushes out of the library. 

“Probably had a nightmare or something,” Jisung chuckles, lighting up your mood.

“When’s your next lesson?” You ask, hoping he doesn't have to leave too soon. 

Observing as Jisung whips out his phone and looks at the time, he lets out a sigh.

“Starts in seven minutes, it takes like five minutes to walk there. I better get going,” Jisung replies, grabbing his books and laptop.

“Must you leave so soon? You can’t leave me here to tutor for three hours straight.” You let out a fake cry and hang onto his arm, pleading for him to stay. 

“You're the one who wanted the extra credit, don't blame me!” 

Bickering for a minute more, you eventually let Jisung get to his class, the two others across the table departing as well, leaving you alone.

Grumbling to yourself, you wonder why you even offered to tutor people, the extra credit is little to nothing. Alas, it’s too late to back out now as you have two people arriving soon. Typically, you only take people who you know personally, but Jisung’s boyfriend, Minho, said two of his classmates requested him to ask you to tutor, telling him they really needed assistance in maths. You hope they are pleasant because you are not about to be spending the next three hours with two arseholes.

You also typically only take one person at a time but due to your current tight schedule, you decided to just do two at once. You need the time later to look for new places to live anyway. The unknown two needed teaching in the same subject at least, works out fine.

Returning to your laptop you start typing, trying to finish as much of your lab report as you can before they show up.

“No Yeosang said she was around this corner.” 

A hushed voice breaks you out of your concentration, yet you pay no interest and hurriedly get back to typing.

“You’re __ right?” A monotone voice speaks out from your left.

You turn upon hearing your name and see a guy standing next to where you are sitting. Quickly you scan over his face, noticing the way his cheeks display small dimples as his face shifts and the slit in one of his eyebrows.

“I’m San, Minho told you about us, right?” 

Noting the way he said ‘us’, you turn fully backwards and see a noticeably built man standing by San, his face holding little to no emotion as he stares blankly towards you. In your mind, you hope these aren’t the two you are tutoring, noticing how intimidating their presence is.

“We are here for tutoring lessons,” the unnamed person speaks, and you curse upon your luck.

“Oh right, you can take a seat where you’d like.”

You mentally cuss out Minho for not informing you about how intense and handsome his classmates were, you let out a scoff under your breath as you start to pull out your maths textbooks.

“So, what were your guy's names, I’m not too good with names so if I forget, please don't take it personally,” you shyly confess, hoping they are not going to take it the wrong way. You detect the way some sort of stunned expression goes across their faces, but it disappears as soon as it had appeared.

“I’m Choi San, good to meet you.” San nods in your direction, his emotions still unreadable, a subtle glare still present along his features.

“San, I see. You too,” You mumble, slightly scared by his strong character. You attempt a small smile and shake his hand, trying to ignore the way you feel his eyes boring into your skull. Moving your attention to the man sitting next to him, you smile gently, noticing the way his cheeks are dusted with a light pink colour.

“Choi Jongho,” He reaches out his hand and you gladly take it, feeling slightly less intimidated by the seemingly kinder man.

Replying with your own name, you realise they already knew it, making you curse yourself for the sheer awkwardness emitting from your body as you notice Jongho and San are neither looking at you.

Slightly glancing up at you, San notices your flustered state and a faint smile ghosts his face.

Shaking off your clumsiness rapidly, you start to focus on the task at hand.

“So, what are you two looking to go over today?” you ask, opening your notebook that was conveniently placed in front of you. What you don’t expect is Jongho and San immediately look at each other with wide eyes, almost as if they are taken aback by the question.

“You guys don’t know what you want to go over?” 

“No, sorry, we have been having problems with our two recent algebra assignments.” Jongho replies, his tough exterior cracking ever so slightly as he ruffles his black hair. 

“Okay then,” you answer, a little puzzled at the two's sudden and strange gestures, yet you pay no mind to it as you reach into your backpack to grab your mathematics textbook. You’ve seen much stranger things in this college anyway.

When you proceed with the session you are surprised by the two men sitting in front of you. Although being very intimidating, the two are very good listeners and attentive to everything you say or do. Writing notes and nodding at almost every word you say. After an extensive explanation, you let Jongho and San try to solve a practice question. During this time, you take the time to admire the two in front of you. You can see they are extremely close by the way their bodies face each other naturally, and the way they look at each other. Meanwhile, you can’t help but wonder why you haven't seen them on campus before. Certainly, you would've heard or seen something about these two very good-looking men, knowing how much the people here like to gossip. Well after all, you have never been one for gossip and fangirling over the popular campus heartthrobs. Brushing your thoughts to the side, you start to read over the same page for the fifth time.

After the second hour, it intrigues you how smart they are, only needing you to once go over something and they already have the answer or even occasionally you swear you see one of them write an answer without you describing how to find it. Perhaps they are fast learners? Due to the fact, they are so quick, it only takes two of the three hours for you to cover everything they wished to go over, and their assignments are almost finished, just needing the final touches.

"There we go,” you exclaim, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a content groan as you let your back straighten up, "if you need future help, you can always call me." Even though it’s perhaps pretentious to offer this to such tough guys, you’re happy to be able to have such good students who actually listen. Unlike your last session which you spent way too many hours on.

Jongho looks up from his laptop with a wide eye look, "that’d be helpful," 

"Can you take my number?" San holds his hand open, expecting your phone and you are shocked at his utter forwardness. Even though you know it’s not intended in a flirtatious way, your heart quickens at the gesture, never having been asked for your number before. 

Passing your phone to the male in front of you, you notice San observing the Sanrio stickers stuck to the back of it. The male lets out a short burst of air through his nose, and you don’t know whether he’s mocking you or scoffing. As you look at him to analyse his reaction, you see a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but it doesn’t seem in a taunting way. You continue staring at him as he puts his number into your phone.

Unexpectedly he looks up and straight into your investigating eyes, catching you by surprise, immediately looking away from him and at the open book in front of you pretending to read it, even though you know he knows you have already read over the page multiple times in the past ten minutes.

“Wait, what time is it?" Jongho asks San. Watching San pull out his phone, you see a glimpse of his phone case, it looks something like a character, but you can’t see it as he places his phone face up on the table.

"Quarter to twelve," San responds, his phone screen lighting up for a split second, you manage to catch a quick sight of his lock screen. It appears to be a group photo, with numerous faces smiling brightly at the camera. So, they have more friends.

"We have about thirty minutes till ecology, do you want to go to the canteen?" Jongho questions as he begins to put his belongings into his bag. 

"I could use a snack,” San answers, stretching back into the chair, his arms above his head just as you did earlier.

"Coming with us?" Jongho asks as he stands up from his chair and pushes it back beneath the table.

Bewildered by the question, you wonder as to why they want you to come when they have been nothing but distant this entire time. Glancing back at your unfinished lab report displayed on your laptop, you feel conflicted. Yet a break from the tedious work would be rather nice. There's no harm in pulling another all-nighter.

"I could also do with something to eat," Your smile is bright as you stuff your laptop into your bag, happy to have a reason to escape the tedious work on the small screen of your laptop. 

It is a rather fast walk to the canteen; it is conveniently on the same wing as the library. Expecting the canteen to be full to the brim of students getting lunch, you’re surprised to see the canteen completely empty. You are rather pleased with the serenity of the canteen, feeling at ease that there are no judging eyes watching your every move. Pacing over to the cooled section of food, your footsteps echo in the large room, then you notice San and Jongho trailing after you, looking quite lost. 

"Have you guys never been to the canteen before or something?" You inquire, chuckling at their antics before grabbing a carton of banana milk and an apple.

"It's not particularly our scene, we eat our meals at our place." San answers, staring down at the banana milk in your hand. So, they live together, it makes sense seeing how close they are.

“You guys don't live in student buildings?” You question, that does explain why you've never seen them around, knowing most people who reside in the student dorms. You resume walking towards a table to sit, you grab two more banana milk before sitting down and popping a straw into your drink.

"No, we live near the new park, Eastwood Drive," Jongho replies.

This information almost makes you spit out your drink. Eastwood is not only part of a huge real estate area but one of the richest areas near our school. Absolutely no students would be able to afford that. It's an area full of houses like mansions or condos bigger than a regular house.

"Are you okay?" Jongho asks, hurriedly rushing to your side and patting your back, San chuckles at the scene and passes you a bottle of water from his seat. 

"Yes, I'm fine," You say between coughs, "thank you," you take a gulp of water from the bottle before handing it back to him.

"Sorry it's just, how on earth do you afford that house there's no way you guys just have it. Did you have to sell your soul to the devil or something?" 

Both males let out soft laughs and for the first time you see something other than scowls on their faces, instead replaced by gentle amusement.

"No, we didn't, one of our roommates' mothers is the owner of the real estate and she lets us live there," San answers your question.

"We do still have to pay rent, which is above average, but it's not anything like the rent we would have to pay if we were actually living there," Jongho adds, "plus we have quite a few roommates, so it's spread out pretty evenly." So, they have multiple roommates.

"I see," you hum as you let the information in. Of course, they have several roommates, the house is big enough for ten people, most likely. 

"And you?" Jongho questions looking at you. His expression is back to his resting face, until he realises his question, eyes going wide he continues, “not in a creepy, I'm sorry please don't take it the wrong way!" he rambles on. 

Laughing out, you wave your hands in a friendly way to dismiss his thoughts.

"No no, it's okay," you chuckle, not really sure how to explain to them that your house was recently made into a fresh stock of charcoal.

“It's kind of complicated I'll be honest," you start, San and Jongho’s expressions twitch in curiosity, "Well I was living at Coast Lane," 

"Oh, the one near the shopping centre?" Jongho inquires. You nod your head back in confirmation.

"Wait but wasn't that place burnt down a few days ago?" San asks, looking at Jongho and then back at you with a worried look. Their hearts fill with worry for you.

"Yep," you say, popping the p at the end, "that's why I said I was living," you say looking down, chucking dryly.

"Where are you living now then?" San asks, his voice laced with something similar to worry. 

"I'm staying at a friend's house, but they are getting a new roommate at the end of this week, so I need to move out by then." 

"Have you found anywhere to live yet?" Jongho questions, looking sorrowful. You are surprised by the amount of worry you suddenly feel from San and Jongho. However, you shake your head as 'no' and proceed to take another sip of your drink. 

"I have an idea." San abruptly says standing up from his chair, catching your and Jongho's attention, "Excuse me I have to talk to someone, Jongho. Joong." 

Jongho's eyes light up with some sort of awareness and he also rapidly stands from his chair, leaving you even more confused, unsure where the sudden energy comes from, you also wonder who the fuck 'Joong' is and why do they need to see him so suddenly. 

"See you soon, __.” Jongho’s smile is warm and contagious, he then turns to leave with the taller man.

"Wait, guys!” You exclaim, "here," you hand them both a cartoon of banana milk that you grabbed earlier. "Drink these, you can't focus if you're dehydrated, " you say, heat rising up from your chest. 

Both of the men look at you shocked at the kind gesture, surprised someone actually cares about their well-being. Giving you a thank you, the two men leave with red subtly covering their cheeks, both trying to immediately force it away before someone sees them with a giddy expression.

 ----

"Then they just stood up and left," You replay the events from earlier today to Jisung, who is sipping on a mojito. After the busy day you both shared, Jisung and you decided to go to a bar that recently opened not too far from campus. It is small and cosy, not too full of people, mostly students from your school rewinding from the day, just like you.

"Psycho behaviour," Jisung jokes whilst you take a sip of your drink. Laughing, you push Jisung's arm gently.

"I don't know, they were certainly intimidating but I could tell they were okay people," you exclaim truthfully. If you said that the three hours you spent with the two weren't pleasant you’d be lying.

"Do you have a crush on them or something?" Jisung inquires, rather loudly, getting far too excited. Hoping that no one heard him through the low jazz music resounding in the small bar, you quieten down your best friend quickly by covering his mouth with your free hand.

"Ji the entire bar does not need to know about my personal endeavours, and no I do not have a crush on them, they are just simply cute," you say exasperated.

“So, you do find them cute! The last time you had a crush as back in high school, this is big news,”

“There is no news dumbass, they are just cute. I find kittens cute, and I don’t want to date them.”

Jisung’s face contorts into a mixture of disgust and humour.

"Wait, what are their names?" Jisung questions his voice back to a reasonable volume.

"Choi San and Choi Jongho, I've never even heard of them, to be honest. You'd think I would've seen these handsome men bef, what is with that look on your face?" you stop your ramble as you see the very obviously shocked look on Jisung's face. 

"Are you fucking serious?" Jisung says slowly.

Confused, you simply answer, "yeah they needed help with maths. it was your boyfriend who set the tutor session up."

"Yeah, because they probably threatened him?" Jisung says tensing up.

"What do you mean threatened, they were huge sweethearts," you say amused at Jisung. Your laughing momentarily halts when you see the serious look on Jisung's small face.

"What is it?" 

"___, Choi San and Choi Jongho are part of that group." 

Your baffled expression remains on your features, clearly unfazed by this information.

"What is that like a cult or something?" you joke.

"Girl, are you living under a fucking rock? Ateez, the group called Ateez. The super scary ones practically haunt this school. I'm surprised they talked to Minho. I'm pretty sure he's going to be scarred now."

Slowly but surely, your brain starts to put things into place.

"Wait, that group Sola told us about?”

As Jisung confirms your question, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. A few months ago, you had been told by some classmates about them briefly, they were talking rather loudly about them. Apparently, they had done some terrible things when they were in high school then just disappeared for a few years. Most people thought they dropped out or moved abroad. The year they returned, they started this university out of nowhere together and have been a notorious group ever since, being known for staying foul and bitter towards everyone except themselves. Yet, nobody seems to know the reason for their ice-cold hearts. You never really bothered to keep up with the rumours or gossip, it wasn’t necessary for you to know, however you start to think maybe you should pay more attention due to your recent interaction with two of the people in the group.

"But they were nice?" your question, more to yourself than to Jisung.

"I don't know about you, but you probably got the wrong people." 

You don't believe Jisung is lying but at the same time… The two men you had tutored earlier today were definitely not members of the notorious group. 

Surely not. 

Yes, they were intimidating, but nowhere near as bad as anything people say about them. From what you've heard about the group, they are cold, heartless, selfish, and miserable. Staying only in the group of eight, others not even daring to look them in the eyes as they pass them.

"If they were the people that you were tutoring yesterday, you may have gotten yourself into something you can't get out of. They have hundreds of fangirls, who are very possessive over them and people who want them dead. I don’t know of a single person who is fond of them. It’s best if you stay far away from them." Jisung says with a nervous expression. 

Unexpectedly, his phone lights up and you see Minho's caller ID appear. Jisung glances back up at you with a questioning look, requesting if he can take it.

"Go ahead," you push your smile and watch as he leaves to find a quiet place.

Your heart beats heavily against your chest and you feel your throat tighten. ‘Come on’ you think, this isn't the best place for you to have an anxiety attack. Possibly, it's that the new information is far too overwhelming. You are barely keeping up with your classes, your apartment just burnt down, and now you’re somewhat engaged with an apparently dangerous group that has no good stories. Feeling your breathing getting jagged and your heart getting heavier by the second, you attempt to focus on your breathing. Trying to remember the breathing exercises your mother taught you when you were younger, you attempt breathing in deeply, but it doesn't work, leaving you to breathe in and out in a fast manner. It's okay, it's okay. You repeat yourself, in an attempt to comfort yourself, but your brain is yelling 'it's not okay, look how stupid you've been and got yourself into a senseless situation again. Fucking idiot'. You put your head in your hands and start gently rocking on the barstool, tears threatening to fall out of your eyes. Unexpectedly, a presence appears next to you and before you know it, their warm hand is rubbing up and down your back in a soothing manner. 

"Shh it's okay, it's all going to be okay." a deep voice speaks from your right. You don't care to look up, only basking in the way the figure's hand caresses your back in a comforting way. To your surprise, it works miracles. Your breathing is back to a reasonable state within the next minute. Only then do you look up from your hands, your eyes lock with a beautiful man. He wears a comforting smile, his eyes full of sympathy and something else you can't quite put your finger on, his hand not slowing on your back. Trying to smile back at him, you wipe the tears you didn't even know had fallen, with the sleeves of your sweatshirt before regaining the words to speak.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you say, abruptly embarrassed that a very handsome man just had to see a small breakdown of yours. 

"It's perfectly okay. I've had enough anxiety attacks to know you can't control where you have them." the man admits, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward smile on his face. The voice of the man is deep, yet soft, making you feel awfully relaxed.

"You have anxiety?" you ask, sniffling your nose.

The man chuckles and looks down at his hands, "longer than I can remember, yeah," he looks back up at you, "rubbing my back is how my friends comfort me, so I hope it somewhat worked for you too." 

"It worked amazingly, it's actually how my mother used to comfort me," you express, still slightly ashamed to be sharing this information with a stranger, let alone such a good-looking one. Yet knowing he goes through the same things as you, comforts you more than you realise. The male looks around him, almost as if he’s worried someone will see him, he then looks back down to your smaller figure which is closer to him than he remembered. Clearing his throat, he steps away a little bit, concerned you would feel uncomfortable with the closeness of your bodies. 

“I do need to go now, but it was nice to meet you," The man says whilst leaving the barstool to your right. Not sure why, but you feel sad that he has to leave so soon. Feeling so relaxed around a stranger has you shocked, wishing you could stay with this unknown feeling.

"Thank you," you say, grateful to have him there for you.

"Anytime.”

"I’ll see you around." You return his smile.

Nodding his head, he gives one last smile before departing the bar's exit, a growing smile adorning his features as he exits the bar.

“Hey I’m back.”

Whipping your head to the left, you see Jisung sitting back in his stool. Opening your mouth to tell him about what just happened, you attempt to get the words out but for some reason, you are unable to find the words. Not wanting to worry your best friend with your sudden onset anxiety attack, you decide to stay quiet.

What are these unexplainable encounters you've been having with handsome men recently?

----

Climbing over bags and coats, you find a seat in a calmer area of the stadium you just arrived at. Spotting Minho in the field doing some warm-ups with his team, you feel relaxed to see someone you know. When he sees you, he waves happily. Smiling, you reach for your phone to quickly text Jisung asking where he is. All of a sudden, a rush of cold air gets swept in by the wind, causing you to freeze up. Never liking the cold, you debate heavily at this moment whether you should just leave. However, you travelled all the way from Yeji’s to here in the cold. It seems like a waste to just go back, even if it freezes you to death to stay. After all, you need to support Minho, him being one of your only friends, for the football game. Jisung is supposed to be joining you but you’re sure he's busy picking out a cute outfit to swoon Minho. 

Over the past few days Jisung has been trying to teach you the names of Ateez so you know to run if they approach you. Seemingly stupid, but you do need fewer distractions in the hope to graduate with honours. From what Jisung has told you, there are eight members, and they are all of similar age, the youngest being in the same classes as he managed to skip a year due to him exceeding the level of people his age. However, Jisung teaching you their names doesn’t really stick to you, never being good at names it doesn’t help that you don’t know what they look like. It would be much easier learning their names if you actually had photos so you can put a name to a face, but of course they don’t have Instagram accounts, and if they saw people taking photos of them, they’d likely murder you on the spot. Or that’s what Jisung says.

You are suddenly brought out of your thoughts when a voice sounds in your ears.

“Could I sit here?” a soft, yet deep captivating voice speaks out. 

Curiously, you look to your left to see who the owner of the voice is. Surprisingly, you see a blonde male with a mask covering his face. He is standing next to the seat where you have placed your bag, and you realise he is asking for the seat.

“Oh yes, of course, sorry,” you hurriedly grab your bag and place it between your legs, allowing the male to take a place next to you.

“Thank you,” he says, a very small smile on his lips. When he sits down, he takes off his mask, and you glance at him one more time, taking in his visuals. With his fluffy hair and red tinted cheeks and a small mark of pink next to one of his eyes, he is truly a work of art. Yet, for some reason, you can't help but feel like you've seen him before.

“I'm sorry have I met you before, you seem really familiar?” you ask inquisitively, not being able to match a name to a face.

“We may have run into each other once or twice,” the blonde male puts his hand out for a handshake.

Gladly taking his hand in yours, you shake with a small smile on your face.

“It is a small world, I'm __.” 

The male takes his hand away and back into his coat pocket, shivering in the icy air.

“Are you Jisung's girlfriend?” he questions.

Rolling your eyes, slightly annoyed at the question, you go to answer. It has been thousands of times that people have asked about your and Jisung's relationship, mistaking you for a couple and not just a couple of friends. After a while it gets rather irritating, the question being asked countless amounts of times.

"No, we aren't, we are just best friends, I'm pretty sure Jisung came out as gay like two years ago. Plus, he's literally dating the quarterback, Lee Minho." you chuckle slightly.

"Oh sorry! I didn't mean to offend you in any way." 

"No! It's really okay, it's just I get asked a lot, so it becomes annoying after a while. I mean look at Jisung, he has baby girl written all over him." 

“Cold?” he questions.

The blondie next to you lets out a small chuckle acknowledging the man you are always with isn’t your boyfriend.

Sensing a gaze on you, you turn back to the blonde male whose eyes are looking at the goosebumps on your exposed arms.

“I probably should’ve brought at least a jumper. I've been so wrapped up with exams and tutoring I’ve been forgetting everything,” you say, laughing slightly, embarrassed that you went outside wearing just a t-shirt in the middle of November.

The male lets out a laugh before speaking, “it’s okay, I understand. If I’m being honest, I've also been having so much struggle with studying, my stress is all over the place.” He wonders for a second why he even shared this with you, concerned for a second you will see him in a bad light.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” you contemplate for a moment, “Look I have these if you want,” reaching into your pocket, you grab some rescue drops. “These help me a lot,”

You place the small bottle in his hand, and a giant smile covers his face. “What? I’ve actually been looking for these everywhere and I can never find them! They’ve been sold out in every shop.” Blondie looks back up at you, “but you have anxiety you need these more than me,” 

Pausing for a second, you wonder how he knows you have anxiety, nonetheless, you continue “It’s perfectly fine, Jisung’s parents work at a pharmacy back in my hometown and they send me a few of these whenever they are in stock, you can keep them.” you inform him, his smile brightening your cold mood shockingly fast. You’re not even sure why you gave him them, it was your last bottle. You guess that’s what happens when you are a people pleaser. The smile on the male’s face only grows wider, his heart jumping at your kind action.

“Thank you so much __,”

“It’s no worries, if you ever need some more, look for the loud group of small guys acting like four-year-olds.” you laugh, and he chuckles along with you, making a mental note, even though he knows he will likely never approach the group.

Before you can focus back on the starting game, you feel a soft material cover your shivering body. It is a large zip-up that smells of rich, sweet perfume. Turning quickly to the blonde guy with confusion covering your features, you hurriedly dismiss the action, seeing his arms exposed to the winter air.

“I can’t take this; you’ll get too cold.” you stop your words as he pulls out another sweater from his bag. 

“I've got my friend’s sweater, you keep mine until you’re warm.” he turns to face the game, "or until Jisung sees and freaks out and tells everyone you have a secret boyfriend." he jokes.

“You seem to know Jisung?” you ask, wondering how he knows Jisung’s personality quite well.

“Well, we know each other, but we aren’t particularly friends,” blondie turns fully towards you, “are you sure you don’t know me at all?”

“I'm sorry but I really only have like two friends, I don't really go out.” 

“But Jisung is super popular, aren't you in his huge partying friend group?”

“Not really, his friends are lovely but I’m only close with him and his boyfriend, I'm not too good at making friends.” you quietly mumble the last part. You look over at the blondie and see he has slight confusion on his face.

“You are so kind, I’m sure anyone would want to be your friend." 

"You’d be the first to think that" you dryly admit, which causes the male to feel a twinge of pain and guilt in his heart, "I would rather stay inside all-day binge-watching television whilst eating away my stress,"

"Well, that’s one thing we have in common." 

Sharing a warm smile with him, you start to get lost in your thoughts again, but then you realise a question you never returned.

“I’m so sorry I never got your name.”

“No worries, I’m Yeosang.” he has the same smile on his face, making you feel warm despite the bitter winter air. Then his familiarity dawns on you.

“Kang?” you inquire, your voice rising ever so slightly.

“That’s me,” he smiles at me, and you don't know if your heart rises because of how beautiful his smile is or because you recognise the name from Jisung’s teaching session with the members of Ateez.

“Like from Ateez,” you question, watching your words, if Ateez is as bad as Jisung is saying then you definitely need to watch your words.

Yeosang turns to you, almost looking baffled.

“I thought you didn't know about Ateez?” he questions, shocked.

“What made you think that?”

“Just a guess I suppose, being that you don't really go out I assumed you weren’t really interested in the groups and stuff.” 

“Ah well not particularly, but recently I suppose I’ve gotten to know about it better.”

“You're not scared, are you?” you see Yeosang tense up a little, his eyebrows furrowed. He hopes for the best, not knowing how you will react. Surprisingly, your heart softens at this question, he seems upset for some reason, as if he doesn't want to be seen this way. You feel bad for ever acting stressed towards him.

“Don't worry, the only person that scares me is Jisung when he's hungry.” you joke out, relaxing the tension and calming him. From what you can see, Yeosang is just kind and calm. The only thing that's menacing about him is the fact he’s drop-dead gorgeous.

Yeosang lets out a small chuckle, “well I guess now I know I need to avoid Jisung if he’s hungry,”

You agree with the blonde man, whilst lightly laughing.

“Wait, but why are you watching? Aren’t you supposed to be on the pitch?” You ask him, confused, remembering Jisung informing you that Yeosang is a part of one of the school's football teams, along with someone else whose name you can’t remember at the moment. For a moment Yeosang’s chest fills with pride, knowing you know something about him.

“Someone is taking my spot today, I was told to analyse the opposing team to find out their habits and stuff, hence the notepad.”

Looking down, you notice the small notepad with doodles all over the cover, making your heart swell. Yeosang continues to talk,

“Don’t tell my tactics to Minho,” he jokes with a grin on his face, knowing Minho is on the other team.

“I would never betray you like that,” you place your hand over your chest acting offended. 

Both cracking up, you speak up again, “don't worry, your secrets are safe with me.”

“Sang!” You hear a voice call from the left, and your eyes lay on another attractive man, “Coach told us to sit with him,” this male also has a notepad in his grip. 

You know this guy. He works in a small café not too far from campus, it is down a narrow alleyway, covered by vines and moss. It was a very hidden spot and only locals really knew the place. Only knowing it because you walked past it every day for a year as the alleyway was a shortcut to your housing from the campus. Barely anyone goes there, the regulars being either old women or businesspeople quickly rushing in to get a coffee before work starts. Back at the beginning of the semester, you used to go to the café a lot because of the raspberry muffins, yet they stopped selling them thus forth you stopped going as much. It was also due to the fact you had barely any time to sleep, so you cut it out of your morning schedule to be able to sleep in a little. You think the guy’s name was Wooyoung if you can remember his name tag correctly. You notice he sees you sitting next to Yeosang, with his friend’s hoodie over your shoulders and a smile consumes his entire face. 

“Muffin?” he looks confused, yet somewhat glad to see you once again. The nickname extremely takes you aback. “Why did you stop coming to the café?”

As far as you can recall, back when you visited the café, this server was rather distant and limited to saying little to no words whilst waiting. Seeing him like this confuses you severely. Alas, you let out a giggle and both of the boys' grins widen visibly.

“You two better get going, I'm not sure your coach wants to wait any longer.” 

Yeosang stands up and straightens out his pants before turning to you,

“Hopefully I’ll see you around.” he smiles warmly. Smiling back at him, you nod. Yeosang starts to leave with Wooyoung before he turns around.

“I better see you at the café tomorrow! Plus, that sweater looks good on you, Muffin.” he winks and Yeosang slaps the back of his head.  You can’t help but giggle yet feel flustered. 

Yeosang and Wooyoung walk towards the coach’s section, Yeosang slightly more affected than the male next to him. Hopefully he will get his hoodie back, and hopefully it will smell like you. After this interaction, your mind was even more confused. If you remember correctly, Yeosang and Wooyoung have a very big reputation for being some of the rudest and coldest towards people. Yet they were so friendly when you were with them. Is everything all these people are saying about them true or maybe the group of eight is just deeply misunderstood?

Whatever it is, you need to talk to Jisung about this, but you will wait until the game is over.

----

The night of the interaction between Yeosang and Wooyoung, Jisung, Minho and you reside at their apartment, eating chicken and watching a shitty romcom for background noise. The rest of his roommates are out celebrating the start of the football season. You have no idea why it started mid-way through November but okay.

“I said I would come; they were too sweet to say no to!” You exclaim, throwing your head back against the couch, regretting saying yes. 

“It was definitely Yeosang and Wooyoung?” Minho questions, not believing any part of my story.

“Yes! Yeosang has the birthmark next to his eye like Ji described and Wooyoung was the guy who works at that one café I used to go to all the time,”

“Well, I never knew Wooyoung worked at a café, that doesn't really match the hardcore scary image they are going for, are you sure you’re not going delusional?” Jisung admits, chuckling.

“What are you going to do?” Minho questions, passing you a drumstick. 

You take a big bite, before speaking, “I should just go, if I don't show up, they might murder me as you two say. Which is very unbelievable seeing how fucking cheerful they’ve all been.”

“Well, you’ve only met four, the rest are probably a nightmare,” Jisung says, his mouth full of chicken, Minho humming in agreement next to him.

“You two are supposed to be comforting me.” you groan, throwing your head into your hands. 

“Okay, don't worry __, if they have been as nice as you’ve been saying then just show up and if they aren't nice then call Chan and Changbin and I’m sure they will gladly sort them out for you.” Minho laughs.

 ----

Keeping your promise, you showed up at the café the next day. 

Opening the painted door, the bell rings notifying your entrance. Immediately you spot Wooyoung relaxing against the counter, scrolling through his phone, visibly bored. There are only a few people in the café, mostly reading books or typing on laptops. You see a flash of pink hair in the corner, yet you lose focus as quickly as you had it as you continue to walk further in.

“Welcome to Veranda Café,” Wooyoung says unbothered, still staring at his phone as you walk closer to where all the cakes were on display. Much to your dismay, you fail to see a raspberry muffin on display.

“I see you still don’t have any raspberry muffins.” You speak out in front of where Wooyoung is standing, making his head immediately snap up.

“__! I was starting to worry you weren't going to show up.” He exclaims, a contagious smile wide on his face. Immediately putting his phone in his pocket, giving his attention to you. He leans on the counter. Extremely happy you showed up.

“I never break my promises,” you grin at the black-haired man.

“Oh, one moment.” He speaks out excitedly, like a puppy, and turns to where he was sitting. Opening up a small fridge, he brings out the biggest, most beautiful raspberry muffin you have ever seen.

“Yeosang and I made this morning for you.” he gestures over to the corner, and you see the blonde male from yesterday, he is sitting next to someone, yet you can’t see them from where you’re standing. Yeosang shyly waves and you smile and wave back. Heart beating faster and cheeks warming up, you take the muffin happily. Wooyoung smiles brightly at you, feeling prideful at the way your eyes light up from the muffin.

“We stopped making these muffins because the owner didn’t think anyone was buying them, it made me upset because I knew you liked them,” Wooyoung says, making direct eye contact with you, making you weak at the knees. Wondering how he even remembered you, you still feel thankful he thought of you, even if it was a long time ago.

“It’s a shame but I'm sure there are lots of other tasty things here too. Anyways, thank you so much, you guys are the best.” you say, sincerity dripping in your words. Wooyoung just shrugs like he doesn't care, but the big smile on his face and the redness dusting his ears tells a different story.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, getting out your purse.

Swiftly, Wooyoung grabs your hand halting its actions, “it’s on us, for being so kind, Yeosang and one of our friends really needed those rescue drops.” He lowers his voice, “between us, their anxiety has been really bad recently, and the stuff works wonders. Plus, you were always my favourite customer anyways.” Wooyoung admits, smiling, his cheeks get a deeper colour of red. Your heart warms up once again, which is strange to you. You haven't felt this happiness in a very long time. Maybe things are starting to get better. Happily taking the muffin, you make your way to Yeosang who is reading a book.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you inquire, repeating his words from yesterday, yet when your eyes meet the figure sitting next to him, they light up as you recognise him.

“I know you!” You exclaim, a little too loudly, causing people around you to glare in your direction. Feeling overwhelmed by the sudden attention, you quickly sit down in a shielded area, away from all the glares. 

“You two know each other?” Yeosang asks, intrigued by your sudden remark.

“It is you, right?” you ask just in case you’re mistaking him for another pink-haired male.

The tall male smiles widely, “Yeah, it’s me. I’m Mingi,” he turns to Yeosang, who is visibly confused, “we met briefly in a bar the other day,” 

Yeosang lets out an ‘ah’ in realisation, yet you fail to see the jealous look he points at the pink haired man as he turns back to his book. Reaching for a dessert fork placed in the middle of the table, Mingi quickly grabs it and hands it to you. Quietly thanking him, you start to cut your muffin into four pieces. You acknowledge a gaze on you, so you halt your movements and look up, noticing Yeosang and Mingi’s eyes on you. Suddenly feeling awfully small, you start to feel your heartbeat rise and your breath deepen, never really liking people watching you eat, the stares from the two make you anxious. Luckily, they seem to immediately notice your change in behaviour and start apologising.

“I’m sorry, we will look away. We were just wondering whether you were going to like the muffin,” Mingi explains, his voice stumbling over words.

“It’s okay! I’m sorry, I’ve always been kind of awkward when people watch me eat.” you confess, your cheeks heating up. The two males nod trying to remember this information for the future. Instantly, the two men completely look away and focus on their own things, not paying any attention to you. Their antics make you giggle slightly, and you look back down at your muffin. Slowly, you pick up a quarter and place it on Mingi’s empty plate in front of him. You then do the same for Yeosang. They both look up at you with wide eyes.

“This is your favourite, we can't take it,” Yeosang says hurriedly, trying to put the cake back on your plate. 

“Stop, stop! I want to. I want to share it with my friends!” You blurt out before you can control your mouth. The wide eyes on both Yeosang and Mingi, make you realise what you said. You have to remember that even though they seem normal they are very clearly part of a group who apparently can kill people with their stare. What the hell are you doing? Of course, they aren’t your friends, you met them both once for less than ten minutes.

“Wait, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to say that I didn't intend to push your boundaries, we have only met like twice I didn't just assume we are friends!” You start to ramble, scared they will take it the wrong way, trying to fix your words as quickly as possible so you don’t get on their bad sides.

Before you can say anything more, Yeosang cuts you off by taking a bite of the muffin, “it tastes amazing! Thank you,”

“Woo!” Mingi’s voice calls out, ignoring the angry glares of people around him, “come get some cake!” Watching Wooyoung jump over the counter towards the three of you, you smile to yourself, glad you haven't done something that would cause future problems. Yeosang feeds Wooyoung the cake and makes an over-exaggerated reaction, “the flavours are melting on my tongue!” he exclaims in a funny voice, making Yeosang and Mingi cringe but you just laugh at his amusing antics. You can’t help but imagine how the whole group is when they are together. 

For the remainder of the hour, you are just conversing with Wooyoung and Mingi, sometimes Yeosang if he wants to add to the conversation, but more focusing on his book, yet looking up intently whenever you speak. You are broken out of your conversation as you hear the bell of the entrance ring, notifying the entrance of new customers. Wooyoung groans and stands up from his chair next to you. It seems to be three girls from our school. You recognise one of them from your calculus class.

Then the next thing that happens confuses you more than any other thing that has happened. As Wooyoung reaches the counter to take their order, his demeanour changes almost immediately, you would've missed it if you had blinked. 

Mingi and Yeosang seem to notice your confusion but blatantly ignore it, their smiles quickly disappearing from their faces. The atmosphere turns from warm and friendly to cold and foreign.

“What do you want?” Wooyoung asks bluntly. You furrow your eyebrows, confused out of your mind as to where the sweet friendly Wooyoung disappeared to.

“You know you should be nicer to your customers, it would help with business,” one of the girls speaks out, looking smug as if she has immensely hurt the man’s feelings.

“You should probably focus on your studies rather than going to cafes, sitting with a random document open and pretending to study when we all know you are miserably failing all your classes.” Wooyoung says monotone, whilst scrolling through his phone, not even looking at the three girls who now have shocked and offended looks on their faces. Some curses are thrown before the girls end up storming out of the café without even beginning to look at the menu. As soon as the girls leave, Wooyoung returns to the table nonchalantly, acting as if nothing had happened. Opening your mouth to say something, it gets caught in your throat before you get the words out.

Are you going insane?

{feedback is always appreciated and i love hearing from all of you. remember you are loved.} 

part two is out now!!!

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 01

note: this is part 1 of a series (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, strangers to friends to lovers, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, a bit of pining, kissing, slight suggestiveness but sfw (eventually nsfw)

summary: after the past three years you’ve had, whether or not you make it through the fourth all comes down to a single thread. fortunately, you find that thread, with chan on the other end. now, it’s just a matter of who needs it more—you, or him.

word count: 15.7k

By the time the spring semester of your senior year rolled around, you were coming apart at the seams.

It was subtle, not something anyone else would notice—you wouldn’t let them. Angling and maneuvering yourself so that it could never be visible to others was a skill that came all too naturally.

Still, you knew it wasn’t a question of if those seams would ever come completely loose, it was a question of when.

The past three years had been a near-constant fight to keep yourself afloat, with each one lining up to present a brand new, life-altering event tailored just for you. Two of which seemed like the end of the world, and one that truly was.

A heartbreak of your own volition. The loss of someone irreplaceable. Another heartbreak for good measure, also of your own volition. With the number of lessons the universe had packed in for you, you were certain that you’d be able to pass on to your next life without any problems.

Third time's the charm.

That was how the saying went, but for your own sake, you had to enter your final year of university stubbornly clinging to the hope that surely, fourth time would be the charm instead.

Incidentally, charm did come, in the form of Bang Christopher Chan.

It had begun with the most trivial of interactions. On the first day of your PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics course, out of breath and—despite the cool February air—nearly working up a sweat from racing around the physics building like some kind of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman, you’d made the very innocuous decision to take the first empty seat you could find. Near the back of the class, close to the door; the perfect spot for someone looking to get their credits in and clock out.

What you’d failed to notice until after you’d sat down, however, was the brooding statue of a boy occupying the chair right next to yours, resting his cheek on his hand and staring at the whiteboard with a look so fierce you would think it had personally wronged him somehow.

Seo Changbin. You’d seen him around more than once, having shared a handful of classes with him over the years, but never daring to approach him. You weren’t exactly someone you’d describe as faint of heart, but something about his muscular build and intense gaze, always made darker by the shadow of a cap, had you wary enough to keep a distance.

Not that it was difficult to steer clear of him, anyway, when he was the last to arrive and the first to leave as soon as each lecture hit its designated time limit—and that was if he’d even shown up to begin with.

You still remembered the first thing you’d noticed after settling down next to him, that being, that he was surprisingly much shorter than you’d initially thought. All those times you’d spotted him from afar, tapping along to the beat of his music or killing time in the activity center between classes, had given you the impression that he was as gifted in height as he was in muscle.

That didn’t change the fact that his intimidating presence more than made up for it, and you had taken great care to not veer into his personal space when you slipped your notebook and pencils out of your bag to prepare for what was sure to be a grueling learning experience.

The second thing you’d noticed about Changbin, was that he himself didn’t have a bag—or any kind of work materials, for that matter. There he sat on the first day of class, with nothing but a caseless Samsung S23 Ultra, a pair of headphones, and a ridiculously large bottle of what you’d assumed to be some kind of energy drink. It was almost impressive, in a way, how he hadn’t even tried to fool himself into thinking he’d be productive this semester.

You’d heard horror stories from your upperclassmen about this Thermodynamics professor. His strict grading criteria and endless list of hyper-specific rules were enough to make anyone with your degree plan dread taking his course; the most notable of said rules being that he prohibited any and all forms of technology in his classroom. It hadn’t taken long for him to single out every student who had dared to present even the tiniest flash of fiberglass around him, and Changbin was no exception.

In retrospect, it should’ve been inevitable to you that twenty minutes into the introductory lecture, he’d lean over and awkwardly ask you if he could borrow a pencil.

Wordlessly, you’d nodded and passed him a complimentary sheet of paper along with your pencil bag, allowing him to choose for himself. To your astonishment, he’d reached for your pink, Sanrio-themed mechanical pencil without a single moment of hesitation, whispering his thanks.

You’d never thought a smirk could be described as shy before you saw his. It was unexpected, coming from someone who looked like he bent iron bars for fun, but a welcome surprise regardless.

What had been even more surprising, was that this strange affinity for cuteness wasn’t a one time thing for him—not even close. With every passing Tuesday and Thursday morning you spent in his company, you soon came to discover that the Seo Changbin you’d created in your mind and the Seo Changbin existing before you were two very, very different people.

“You’re here!” he piped, loud enough to turn a few heads in his direction. “I saved you a seat.”

The flimsy, neglected notebook occupying your chair as some kind of placeholder was such a pitiful sight that you couldn’t help but snort.

“The seat I’ve sat in every day since our first class?” you hummed. “Thanks, Bin.”

“You’d better mean that,” he complained. “This place is lawless, someone might get bold one day and take your spot.”

“They’d beg me to take it back after five minutes of your nagging.” You passed his notebook back to him with a grin. It was hardly used and horribly undersized for a course as rigorous as this one, but you still considered it an improvement over the sorry state he’d been in when you first met.

You slipped into the familiar spot, unzipping your bag and preparing your study materials. “Shouldn’t I be the one surprised that you’re here, anyway?” you pointed out. “To what do we owe the honor of Seo Changbin having perfect attendance in an 8:00 a.m. class?”

“You know exactly what,” Changbin shuddered. Beneath the visor of his cap, you saw his eyes dart towards the podium, landing briefly on your demon of a professor. “Besides, senior year and all. It’d be pretty sad to take an extra semester just ‘cause I slacked off.”

You made a small noise of agreement. “So, fear and pressure,” you dropped your pencil bag dramatically on the table. “Now you sound like a real college student.”

Changbin perked up as he spotted the coveted flash of pink amidst your sea of pens and highlighters. “There she is,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thought I’d have to make it through this quiz without my lucky charm for a sec.”

“You keep calling it that,” you mused, fishing the pencil in question out from your pouch. “What makes it so special?”

Solemnly, he took it from your hand, curling his fingers around the pink plastic with all the grace and delicacy in the world. He gestured for you to lean in closer, as if preparing to share some deep, profound secret with you.

“It never runs out of lead.”

You nodded, putting on your best fascinated face. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d been the one refilling it.

“Plus, I’ve aced every quiz I’ve taken with it so far.” Changbin’s eyes gleamed as he continued. “It’ll get me through midterms for sure.”

You reached out mischievously, threatening to swipe it from his hands. “In that case, I might just use it for myself.”

“Don’t even joke about that!”

Though your mood was light, it still soured the slightest bit at the mention of grades. Of the three quizzes you’d taken so far this semester, Changbin had scored better than you on two of them. It was a silly thing to be bothered by. You knew by now that he wasn’t lacking in intelligence by any means, but you also knew that intelligence alone wasn’t enough when it came to this course—or astrophysics in general. Certain levels of discipline and hard work were just as essential to your success, and it was difficult to ignore the question of what you seemed to be missing in those departments, especially when Changbin came across as so carefree about his studies.

With the way everything else had been crumbling around you since you’d begun university, the last hope you could cling to was at least maintaining your GPA until graduation. It had been the one constant in your life, an oddly comforting escape that you could pour your focus into when all else failed. You couldn’t afford to slip up—to be anything less than exceptional—for even a moment, not when your field of study was so fiercely competitive.

“You’ve definitely been doing well for yourself,” you commented. “It can’t all be thanks to Cinnamoroll, can it?”

“Oh?” the corner of his mouth curved up into a smirk. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

You rolled your eyes, immediately accepting that you wouldn’t get anywhere without buttering him up first.

“I just think it’s unfair to give my pencil all the credit instead of that genius mind of yours, that’s all.”

Your tone was far too sweet to be natural, and you were sure that Changbin could see right through it. Even if he did, he played along anyway, lifting his chin proudly and letting out a satisfied hum.

“It’s true, it’s true,” he boasted. “Keep going.”

“Beauty, brawn, and brains,” you marveled, throwing a hand over your heart to really sell the idea. “You’re living proof that a guy can have it all.”

It was hard to describe the strange, high-pitched sound he made in response. Whatever it was, it helped your efforts feel just a bit more justified. Changbin scrunched up his nose, suddenly at a loss for words, and you were once again reminded of how utterly laughable it was that just two months ago, you’d found him intimidating.

“Ah, seriously,” he cleared his throat, trying to recover from the momentary lapse in bravado. “Alright, I’ll be honest. I get a lot of help from my friend.”

Your interest piqued, and you inched a bit closer. “Your friend?”

He crossed his arms, looking contemplative, and for a second, you thought he might demand more compliments before going into any further detail.

“He’s a couple years older than us, but still studying. He used to be on the astrophysics track before switching to music composition senior year.”

Your eyes widened a bit, half-perplexed, half-impressed. Astrophysics to music. It was a bold change to say the least, not one you could ever imagine yourself making, especially if it’d been close enough to his graduation that he had to take extra semesters.

A lightbulb flickered to life in your head, effectively cutting off whatever you’d planned to say next. “Wait a minute, music composition? Don’t tell me—?”

Changbin clicked his tongue, that same, sheepish expression creeping its way right back onto his face.

“Yes.”

“The same guy you—?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “Chan. The same guy I make music with.”

No matter how hard you tried, you could never suppress your amusement when you remembered the deeply unserious name Changbin and his friends had chosen for themselves.

“So, he’s one third of the famed 3RACHA,” you said it with a bit too much glee, your smile only widening when he shushed you as if the word were some kind of bad omen.

“Why are you embarrassed? The stuff you’ve shown me is really good.”

“I know.” A genuine compliment amidst your teasing only seemed to fluster him further, and he averted his eyes with a grumble. “Ah, forget it. Can’t believe I was gonna be nice and ask if you wanted to study with us.”

You paused. It was easy to forget sometimes that Changbin could be more observant than he let on. Still, you wondered if your earlier shift in demeanor had really been that obvious.

A part of you, the more prideful part, wanted to dismiss his offer right away. It would be like admitting that you were struggling with the course—which, realistically, you knew was ridiculous to care about when every one of your peers was going through the same thing. If the average class scores that your professor so proudly made known were any indication, it’d be a miracle if you weren’t struggling.

Before you could open your mouth to respond, however, the dull, lifeless voice of Dr. Choi rang out through the room, signaling the beginning of the lecture. You put away your study materials begrudgingly, cursing yourself for becoming too immersed in your chat with Changbin to get any last-minute cramming in.

Changbin, on the other hand, looked relaxed as ever, tapping your pencil lazily against the tabletop while the quizzes were passed out. You braced yourself, mind racing with all the knowledge you’d accumulated over the past weeks as a copy of the deceptively short quiz was slid over to you. It was a mere three questions long, but you’d be lucky if you finished them all in the time given to you.

Your eyes landed on the first Gaussian Probability Distribution word problem, and your head went blank. That was all it took for you to lean over to Changbin and whisper.

“I might have to take you up on that.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Noon couldn’t come fast enough.

Your Thermodynamics quiz, not to mention the lecture that followed, had effectively drained your energy before the clock had even struck 9:00, with a full day of classes and assignments still lined up on the horizon.

As anticipated, you’d barely managed to complete the set of problems, even with all your preparation and practice. It could’ve gone much worse, but it was still enough to solidify your decision to join in on the study sessions Changbin had proposed.

He’d eagerly sorted out the details with you after class, planning to meet later this week at his and Chan’s apartment. It hadn't dawned on you until that moment that the latter of the two would probably be expecting some kind of payment for his tutoring services. After all, him helping Changbin out was one thing, but you were a complete stranger.

Changbin, however, had shut the possibility down as quickly as you’d brought it up. According to him, not only would Chan not ask you for any compensation, he’d outright refuse to accept it, even if you tried.

“The only thing Chan loves more than meeting people is helping them,” he’d told you, sounding so sure of himself that you were inclined to believe it.

Even so, it was a bit odd. A former astrophysics major, making a degree switch as drastic as music composition, and still being willing to revisit the same, headache-inducing subjects he’d so narrowly escaped, for free? The more you learned about this Chan character, the more you began to question what kind of person he really was.

Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you were, in fact, ravenous.

You picked up your pace, drawn in by the welcoming aromas wafting from the campus food court. The feeling of your cell phone vibrating against your thigh made your steps falter a bit, and before you even slipped it out of your pocket, you already had a good idea of who the caller might be.

“Hi, Iseul.”

“Where are you?” she sounded expectant and slightly annoyed, sending your brain on an urgent mission to recall if you’d somehow lost track of plans with her.

“In the student union?” you answered cautiously. “Why?”

You were met with a dramatic huff crackling through the phone speaker.

“I’m outside your place,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Please tell me you didn’t have lunch already. I picked some up for us.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused for what was neither the first nor the last time as to what this girl’s thought process could possibly look like. After two years of friendship, you could confidently say that you had no idea.

“Sorry, did you text me or something?” You pulled your phone away from your ear to open your messages.

“No,” came her reply, tinged with the slightest hint of defensiveness. “But is it so crazy for me to expect you to actually be at your apartment? Y’know, the place where you live?”

“At noon on a Tuesday? A little,” you said plainly. You chose not to bring up the fact that she had to be well aware of your schedule to organize this meeting the very instant your lunch break started.

Another huff. “Well, are you coming or not? There’s a million things I need to talk to you about and I don't know how much longer I can wait here before that security lady accuses me of loitering again.”

You checked the time. It was only a short, ten minute walk to your apartment complex, you could definitely make it before your next lecture.

“Alright, alright. I'm on my way.”

“You’re the best,” her tone changed so abruptly that you almost laughed out loud. “See you soon!”

The call ended before you could get your own goodbyes in. With how quickly she’d hung up, you’d think she had something else to do besides stand around waiting for you to arrive.

Regardless, you hardly felt irritated, well-acquainted with Iseul’s behavior by now.

Your friendship with her had blossomed by pure accident, even with some reluctance on your part. One too many times sophomore year, you’d encountered her in the computer lab at the same ungodly hour as you, battling an army of technical issues with no one around to solve them considering that even the lab assistants had long taken their leave for the night. The first two instances you’d spotted her, slamming her mouse against the desk and cursing violently at her monitor, you’d kept to yourself—albeit with a tinge of guilt—and focused on your own approaching deadlines. After the third time, however, you’d figured the universe was trying to tell you something, and decided to help her out before she rendered every piece of equipment in the lab unusable in her academia-induced fits of rage.

From there, she’d latched on to you in a heartbeat. After all, someone who could help with tasks as incomprehensible to her as troubleshooting Microsoft Excel was sure to be reliable in other areas. On top of that, her newfound interest in you had only doubled when she’d found out that you happened to be living in the newest phase of apartments on campus. Suddenly, she had made the executive decision that you were the best of friends, and that every waking moment of your free time should be spent together at your place.

You might have been offended by her comically transparent motives if you hadn’t discovered soon after that your floorplan was just a few square feet bigger than hers. What she probably wanted most, you’d figured, was a friend.

Your initial misgivings aside, you were grateful to have Iseul in your life. She was someone who could be kept at a safe distance. Not physically, (her constant barging into your space would never allow that) but emotionally. A bit too preoccupied with herself to ever delve into personal matters that you’d rather keep to yourself, but still considerate enough to care about you. At least, in the bare minimum of ways, which was really all you needed from her. She was convenient and comfortable, and you’d long found your rhythm with her despite many labeling her a pain to get along with.

As you began making your way out of the dining hall to meet her, the sight of someone entering from the far side of the building made your heart drop to your stomach.

You froze, suddenly rooted in your place, feet heavy as cinderblocks. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you. You were bound to see him again, eventually, whether on campus or through some other unfortunate crossing of paths later down the line. You’d known this and braced yourself for it, too.

Still, no amount of time would’ve ever been long enough.

A very specific type of dread crept up on you, one you hadn’t felt so intensely for almost a year now. But the way it filled up your chest and spread through your skin was all too familiar, like it had never left your system to begin with. Like the kind of person you were before was still inside you, lying dormant.

Resentment and remorse fought for their place in your mind. Somehow, they both felt unjustified. He didn’t deserve to be the target of those emotions, and you didn’t deserve to have them. He hadn’t done anything—that was exactly it: he hadn’t done anything.

You told yourself that you had no right to feel this way. But it didn’t change the fact that he embodied everything you wanted to forget about the past three years.

He hadn’t noticed you yet; at least, you hoped desperately that he hadn’t. You weren’t going to stick around until he did, either. You shook your head, as if to forcibly expel the thoughts before they took root in your brain, and spun on your heels, making your way towards the exit located as far away from him as possible.

In that moment, you were more grateful for Iseul’s impulsive tendencies than ever.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

You rubbed your hands together in an attempt to warm them up, praying that the clouds would hold out until you and Changbin made it to his apartment. It was an unusually cold day by April’s standards, and the sharp winds and ominous gray sky promised a rain that was sure to be bone-chilling for whoever got caught in it.

“Right there,” Changbin pointed at the building you were approaching, finger landing in the direction of a balcony on its third floor. There was a soccer jersey for a team you didn’t recognize hanging off the railing, flapping in the wind so wildly that you were concerned it may fly away altogether. “See, the walk isn’t so bad, right?”

It had been nearly half an hour. Granted, the journey home took longer than expected thanks to Changbin, despite having lived in this complex for two years, still managing to lose his way somehow.

“I’m starting to understand why getting to class on time is so hard for you.”

“I told you, I’ve never taken this route before!” he objected. “I’m just not used to coming from the east side of campus.”

You relented, deciding you’d teased him enough along the way. “It’s alright, it was a bonding experience,” you gave him a playful smile. “I just hope Chan won’t mind that we’re late.”

Changbin waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry. He’s probably holed up in his room working right now. Doubt he even knows what time it is.”

It sounded like a dig at the older boy, but there was no hint of scorn in Changbin’s voice, just honest affection.

A strange feeling had been periodically bubbling up inside you all week, and at the mention of Chan, it made its presence known yet again. Whether curiosity or anxiety was at the root of it, you weren’t quite sure, but it grew stronger and stronger with each step you took up to their apartment. By the time you reached the third floor, you found it hard to focus on anything else.

Changbin fumbled with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and swinging it open. You made note of the plated number on the wall next to you as he did. 8-325.

“Well, we made it in one piece,” he stepped to the side, inviting you in. You accepted with an appreciative nod, and as you slipped off your shoes, your eyes scanned over the living room and kitchen areas in front of you. They were surprisingly neat, with just a few stray socks and water bottles scattered here and there. Even the state of the kitchen sink wasn’t all that bad. No rotting food, no mountain of dishes, no overflowing trashcan.

“Wow,” you murmured, impressed. “It’s clean.”

Changbin snickered at that, as if he’d anticipated your exact reaction. “Minho raises hell if we let it get any worse than this.”

Minho. You’d almost forgotten about their other roommate. Like in the case of Chan, you hadn’t met him, but you’d heard a few things here and there from Changbin. He was a year older than you—a Computer Science major, if you remembered right—but still an undergraduate due to him taking a gap year after high school to work. You wondered if Changbin was some kind of magnet for these people, with his unique balance of childish antics and emotional maturity giving any upperclassmen he came into contact with no choice but to take him under their wing, even sticking around until he graduated like true, responsible older brothers.

“Chan!” Changbin’s voice rang out through the apartment, louder than you thought was probably necessary. “Chan! We’re here!”

There was no response for a minute or so, and just as you shrank back in preparation for another ear-splitting shout from Changbin, you registered the faint sound of a door opening down the hall.

“Coming!”

For some reason, you held your breath.

Shrouded in a mass of black, from his hoodie, to his pants, to the beanie on his head, out shuffled Chan.

He was just an inch or two taller than Changbin, but similarly to him, he had a strong presence. Maybe it was the way his clothes made him look like a walking void, or maybe it was the way he appeared so friendly in contrast to them. His eyes were gentle and his face was weary, but kind. He looked like someone who smiled a lot.

“Sorry,” he pulled his headphones down, letting them rest around his neck. “I lost track of time.”

Changbin gave you a knowing look, as if to remind you that he’d told you so. “It’s okay, I figured.” He conveniently left out the fact that you and him had arrived beyond schedule.

Chan turned to you, tired eyes finding you for the first time. You introduced yourself with a quick dip of your head, and he did the same. You thought it would end at that, but to your surprise, he reached out his hand, wiggling it around slightly to push back the oversized sleeve that had been covering his palm.

“Nice to meet you!” he chirped.

You took his hand, unable to stop yourself from flinching the instant your skin brushed against his.

He was warm. Unnaturally so.

It set off every last one of your nerve-endings, seared through your veins. You might’ve attributed it to his clothing, but all three of you were dressed in thicker attire given the weather. Surely, he had to be cooking up a ridiculous level of heat in that hoodie for his skin to be burning the way it was. On top of that, he didn’t look sweaty or flushed in the slightest. There was just a natural, rosy complexion to his cheeks (which, upon second look, you noted were quite soft in comparison to the rest of his masculine features).

You blinked, realizing with a start how long you’d gone without returning Chan’s greeting.

Changbin bumped his shoulder against yours, and you cringed inwardly. That had to be some kind of record for how fast a first impression could crumble.

“Nice to meet you, too.” you tried to quell the awkwardness, but the way you pulled back all too quickly only seemed to make things worse.

Chan eyed you for a split second longer, his stare flickering down to your hand so briefly that you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. He flexed his fingers once, then the look of concern on his face morphed into a polite smile.

It was an unfortunate moment for you to notice that he had dimples.

“Is it too toasty in here?” He angled his head towards the thermostat. “I can change it if you’re uncomfortable!”

Just a minute ago, you would’ve told him that you were fine. You’d been perfectly content with your body temperature up until you’d come into contact with the human furnace that was Bang Chan.

You had half a mind to question if he was the uncomfortable one, with all the heat that was practically radiating off of him, but Changbin spoke up first.

“Have you been outside today?” He shivered. “Trust me, this is perfect.”

At that, he strolled over to the kitchen table and plopped down his belongings, looking more prepared to learn than you had ever seen him in class. Chan's smile didn’t waver despite the fact that he obviously hadn’t been asking for Changbin’s opinion, and he exchanged a glance with you, as if you were old pals rolling your eyes over a mutual friend.

You smiled back at him, determined to let this guy believe that you were, in fact, capable of understanding social cues.

“I'm gonna grab my old notes,” he informed you. “Make yourself at home!”

You thanked him quietly, making your way over to the table and joining Changbin in the seat closest to him. As soon as Chan was out of earshot, he nudged you curiously.

“What was that?”

You put on your best neutral front. “What?”

Changbin squinted, eyeing you up and down. “You were acting weird.”

You considered playing dumb, but quickly decided against it. Knowing him, he wouldn’t stop pestering you until you gave him the answer he wanted.

“He was hot,” you shrugged.

“He was what!?”

You tensed up. “No, no, not like that. I mean he was hot, like, physically.”

His mouth hung open, and you weren’t sure what to be more annoyed with: your abysmal choice in words, or his seemingly deliberate misunderstanding of you.

“He felt hot,” you clarified. “Like, his skin. That's all.”

The explanation only seemed to tickle Changbin further, and you elbowed his side irritably, trying to shush his delighted cackles.

“Okay, so, you weren’t acting weird. You just are weird.”

“I'm serious!” you protested.

“He's not better looking than me, is he?” he continued dramatically. “You didn’t do anything like that when we first met.”

You exhaled, composing yourself before you grew defensive over something so ridiculous. “Because your hand didn’t feel like the surface of the sun.”

Changbin nodded solemnly as if he understood, but the look on his face was still completely unconvinced. “Yeah, yeah,” he clicked his tongue. “Just don’t go falling in love with him, alright?”

You snorted, not bothering to dignify him with a response.

That was the last thing you needed—the last thing you wanted, even. To spend another few years building something that you could already predict the demise of. Another few years constructing a tower that you would never even get to see completed, let alone make a home in. Because it was sure to crumble; that was the only thing it could do when its foundation was never fit to support anything to begin with.

The sound of Chan’s approaching footsteps snapped you out of your unpleasant thoughts. He'd taken longer to return than you’d expected, and you could only pray that he hadn’t overheard your conversation with Changbin. He did seem like the type, after all. To pretend like he was still in the other room so that you could be spared the embarrassment of getting caught in the middle of a conversation about him.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Two notebooks, a laptop, and the colossal textbook required for PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—co-written by Dr. Choi himself, of course—were all dropped on the table before you. You felt a glimmer of hope. Chan seemed to be serious about helping out, so much that you wondered if this arrangement truly could be the extra boost you needed to finish the semester with an A.

He settled into the chair opposite you and Changbin. “So, next up is the midterm, yeah? I guess we should start from the beginning.”

“Inexact differentials, please,” Changbin requested. “I still don’t get them.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement. “Since when are you so ready to study?”

“Since we got our new recruit,” he leaned back in his chair. “There’s less pressure on me now that your wrath is split between us.”

You let a soft chuckle slip at that, trying to imagine what it might take to anger someone who appeared as good-natured as Chan. Said boy cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I swear, I’m not that harsh.”

You nodded, fully aware of Changbin’s talent for exaggeration. “I don’t think anything can scare me after Dr. Choi, anyway.”

“That’s true,” he giggled. For how charming it was, it didn’t last nearly long enough.

You pulled your eyes away before landing yourself in another incriminating situation.

“Alright, inexact differentials it is.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Forty-five minutes into your first study session, you’d come to make two very important realizations about Bang Chan.

The first, being, that he wasn’t exactly the best at explaining things.

He’d typically start on the right track, but it wasn’t long before he’d veer off on tangent upon tangent, tacking on more and more information until it became a full-blown ramble, all loosely connected with a series of “um”s and “y’know”s before being clumsily wrapped up with a final “so…uh, yeah!”

You didn’t hold it against him. He was clearly a smart guy, and you knew firsthand what a nightmare these topics could be to teach to other people, especially taking into account that it had been two years since he’d learned them. Even with his less than articulate methods, you still found yourself grasping concepts exponentially better than you ever did in your thermodynamics lecture, and that was because Chan seemed to be gifted with what you could only assume was an endless supply of patience. He’d repeat himself as many times as deemed necessary, perfectly content with rereading his notes, checking the textbook, and even searching things up online until he was certain that both you and Changbin had understood.

The second realization you’d come to, was that your concerns about whether or not you might get to hear more of his laughter had quickly been put to rest.

He giggled at everything. At you, at Changbin, at himself. Sometimes, he giggled at nothing at all, just to fill the silence. It was admittedly fascinating to see the way his face would change, from the stern expression he wore when offering guidance, to the sheepish smile that’d appear when he stumbled over his words.

After hearing his laughter for the better part of an hour, infectious and melodic and, occasionally, ending with the faintest squeak, you still hadn’t gotten sick of it. Though, you did find yourself thinking that he had to be either an extremely self-conscious person, or an extremely giddy one for giggling to come as naturally to him as breathing.

“Does that make sense?” Chan tilted his head. “Let me know if you wanna go over it again!”

“I think I got it,” you smiled.

In truth, you didn’t, but it was a matter of dignity at this point. Enthalpy was one of the most basic properties you needed to know in order to build on concepts infinitely more complicated than it, and if you held up the review any longer to focus on something so mundane, you may not be able to show your face around this guy ever again.

It didn’t help that somewhere along the line, the looming clouds outside had broken at last, bringing about the downpour that you’d anticipated all day. Each explosive clap of thunder chipped away at your focus more and more, making you prone to stupid, easily avoidable mistakes that frustrated you to no end.

You thought your answer had been convincing, even making sure to look him in the eye when you’d said it, but Chan still didn’t let up.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s voice turned up in a whine, his earlier enthusiasm nowhere to be found. “If you explain this one more time I’m seriously gonna go crazy.”

Before Chan could respond, the sound of keys jingling amidst the steady patter of rain caught everyone’s attention. You turned your head just in time to see the door creak open, letting in a violent gust of wind, and, with it, the lean figure of a stranger.

He was soaked. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, clothes hanging off of him like heavy drapes, and sneakers forming small puddles on the wooden floor.

“It’s raining,” he announced.

Changbin broke out into a fit of laughter, and you bit your lip to prevent yourself from doing the same. Chan, though clearly on the verge of losing it as well, still rose from his chair like a reflex and grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen. He tossed it to the other boy, who you could only guess was Minho.

“I was starting to wonder where you were,” Chan remarked, voice shaking with barely contained glee.

“I got sick of waiting for the rain to stop, so I made a run for it.” Minho dumped the water out of his shoes and shut the door in disgust. “Then I remembered why I don’t run.”

The small towel didn’t do much for his drenched state, and after a few moments of shaking it haphazardly in his hair, he gave up and let it rest around his neck instead.

“You should shower and dry off,” Chan told him. “You’ll catch another cold.”

Minho grunted in acknowledgement, but rather than following through, he strolled over to the kitchen. As he did, his gaze landed on you for the first time, giving you a clear view of his face.

Every striking feature of his was balanced out with a soft counterpart. Sharp, intense eyes with puffy bags underneath, a sharp, prominent nose between full cheeks, and sharp, catlike lips above a round chin. It was a delicate combination that not only made him attractive, but interesting to look at, as well.

He studied you for a moment too long, just enough to spark a sense of unease inside you.

“That’s no good, Changbin,” he clicked his tongue at last. “Don’t tell me you’re such a hopeless case that Chan had to find you a second tutor.”

“It’s a study group!” Changbin cried indignantly. “And what the hell kind of introduction is that? Say hi!”

The corner of Minho’s mouth curved into a smirk, like it was made to do exactly that. Similar to Changbin’s, it wasn’t sultry, but unlike Changbin’s, it wasn't shy. It was mischievous and playful, like that of a child’s cheeky grin.

His attention shifted back to you, and he gave you a proper greeting. It was surprisingly polite, all things considered, even ending with a short bow.

He popped open the refrigerator door, leaning forward in a way that had to be uncomfortably cold given that he was still dripping wet.

“I had a few pudding cups left in here. At least two,” he called out.

“Wasn’t me,” Chan piped with the speed of someone who was accustomed to being the first suspect.

Minho pulled his head out from behind the door, accusatory glare locking right on Changbin.

The boy shifted guiltily next to you, unable to hold eye contact with Minho for longer than a few seconds.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Minho shut the fridge with a hum. “That’s alright.” His voice was breezy and sweet, a complete contrast to what came out of his mouth next. “Just sleep with your door locked until you buy me new ones.”

“Hey,” Changbin whined. “That’s scary.”

He tugged at your arm as if expecting you to rush to his defense, and you settled for giving him a comforting pat on the back, not nearly familiar enough with Minho to joke around with him like that. Given how Chan was watching in amusement, you figured this was a regular occurrence for them, anyway.

Following Minho’s arrival, your review session more or less fell apart. The idle chit chat eventually led into a full on conversation, and when Changbin shut his textbook with a luxurious stretch, you knew there was no chance of getting him to open it again.

You didn’t mind, really. The three of you had covered a lot of ground in the time you’d spent studying, and you were already worlds more confident about the upcoming exam. Your main concern, now, was how you were going to get home. It was well past sunset, and the thick sheet of clouds had darkened the night more so than usual, not allowing even a single drop of moonlight to break through. That, coupled with the fact that it was still very much pouring outside, complicated your plans a bit.

Sitting there as the odd one out among the group of friends, you couldn’t help but feel like you were overstaying your welcome, but any attempts you made at suggesting that you brave the storm and head home were emphatically shut down.

“It’s okay,” you tried to convince them. “I really should get back and have dinner.”

“Have dinner with us!” Changbin didn’t miss a beat.

You hesitated, uncertain as to whether it would be more rude to accept or decline.

“It doesn’t look like the rain’s gonna stop anytime soon,” Chan reasoned. “Why don’t we eat first?”

Minho, in vengeance of his fallen pudding cups, loudly declared that he wouldn’t be cooking dinner for anyone. It became clear to you in that moment that he was probably the only thing standing between his roommates and malnutrition, because their go-to second option (if not their only other option) was instant ramyeon.

So, there the four of you sat, crammed together on their living room couch, watching some obscure superhero movie that Changbin seemed to know every line of, and slurping away at your noodles.

They had turned out tasty enough, with the extra spices and sauces you’d added to make the flavor a bit more appealing, but with the way Chan scarfed down his share, you might’ve thought it was the best meal he’d ever had. He was all satisfied noises and delighted fist shakes, looking happier eating instant cup noodles than you’d seen some people look their entire lives.

He was cute, you decided.

Though the movie lessened some of the pressure you felt to socialize, a faint air of awkwardness still lingered around you, only ever really ebbing when you and Changbin would interact in between his passionate lore discussions with Chan and his bickering with Minho.

Chan seemed to sense early on that you weren’t fully relaxed with the atmosphere; at least, you assumed as much judging by his periodic efforts to pull you back into the conversation.

“Everything good?” he’d asked at one point, leaning over so you could hear his whisper above the movie.

Even with Changbin serving as a buffer between you two, his persistent warmth still found you.

“Oh, yeah.”

Not your most eloquent response. To be fair, you hadn’t anticipated his question. It didn’t seem to have convinced him, but he’d given you a smile, anyway.

“Alright. Just know that you’re more than welcome here, yeah?”

You were grateful for his kindness, but at the same time, it had caught you off guard. It wasn’t a regular thing for you, being read with such ease by someone you hardly knew, and you couldn’t decide if you were just being uncharacteristically transparent that day, or if Chan was too perceptive for his own good.

Changbin was Changbin. That in itself helped you loosen up a bit, as well. He behaved in virtually the exact same way around the older boys as he did with you—albeit, leaning more into his childish side—and it filled your chest with a pleasant sort of relief. He considered you a friend; close enough to treat you with the same intimacy that he treated people he’d known for years.

Minho, on the other hand, was more of an enigma. Not rude by any means, but not overly accommodating, either. The one thing you were certain of was that he was incredibly funny. Witty, too. He didn’t speak as much as Chan or Changbin, but when he did, it was always something memorable. His voice had a playful lilt to it that never seemed to go away, like nothing he said was meant to be taken too seriously.

As the night continued and the four of you had all eaten your fill—or, several fills in Chan’s case—your reservations slowly but surely melted away. You spoke more naturally, joked with Changbin the way you always did when you were together, and even found yourself comfortable enough to make a few snarky comments about the film’s ridiculous plot and cringeworthy special effects, to which Changbin took great offense and Minho had let out a few laughs.

As for Chan’s laughter, another few hours of it still hadn't made it any less endearing. In fact, the more you heard it, the more hooked on it you became.

By the time the storm had passed and you could finally head home safely, you found yourself a bit wistful that your impromptu gathering had come to an end.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“So,” Iseul’s eyes twinkled. “What’s the verdict? Is he cute?”

Straight to the point. It was something you liked about her, usually, but in this scenario, you almost wished she’d never asked.

Ever since that day, you’d felt an inexplicable sense of…well, you didn’t quite know what it was. Discomfort, unease, foreboding; they were all too extreme to describe the feeling. All you knew was that something peculiar stirred inside you whenever you thought back to Chan. Maybe it was because of your clumsy first interaction, or maybe it was because of that nagging, uncanny belief that he could see right through you from the very first moment you met.

It was unfair, in a way, because you knew for a fact that he’d been nothing but friendly every time you’d hung out with him—a delight to be around, really. You could easily see why he was the social butterfly that Changbin made him out to be.

“Hello?” Iseul complained. “I'm not gonna stop asking, even if you ignore me.”

In retrospect, telling her about your new study routine with Changbin and his mystery friend—however offhanded it had seemed at the time—probably wasn’t your smartest move.

“Yeah. Really cute, actually.”

You may as well have told her that he’d asked for her hand in marriage with the squeal she let out. “I knew it, I knew it! Tell me everything.” She nearly knocked her drink over in her rush to scoot closer to you.

It was hard to keep a straight face. Even when you knew it was short-lived, her enthusiasm over the simplest of things was contagious.

“What’s there to tell?” you feigned nonchalance in a way that was sure to annoy her. “I go to him and Bin’s place, we study, I leave.”

“Come on,” Iseul pouted. “There has to be more to it than that. What’s he like? Do you have a picture?”

“A picture?” you echoed incredulously. “You take a commemorative selfie every time you study thermo?”

“Like, his Instagram or something!”

“He has three posts, and none are of his face.”

Iseul deflated at that, and you broke out into proud chuckles. You were being difficult, sure, but the part about his profile was at least true. A picture of his hand holding up a peace sign at the beach, a picture of what you assumed to be his dog back home, and a surprisingly clear shot of the moon; those were the three precious images Bang Chan had felt compelled to share with the world, with the most recent one being from almost two years ago.

“He’s got a nice smile,” you offered.

Iseul took the bait instantly, perking back up. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Dimples, too.”

“Cute.” She clasped her hands together, looking lost in a dream. “That’s it, I have to see him.”

“What’s got you so interested, anyway?” you mused. “Aren’t you talking to someone?”

With the way her face dropped right back into a grimace, you knew you’d touched on a sore subject. “No,” she said curtly. “I mean, am I? Does it count as talking when you’re lucky to get a reply every six hours?”

“You’re just clingy,” you teased, already bracing yourself for when her hand flew out to swipe at you.

“I’m totally low maintenance!” she cried. “Anyway, I don't even want Chan for me. This is about you.”

You shifted in your spot, that same, strange feeling twisting in your stomach, stronger this time.

“Me? What do you mean?”

Iseul put her chopsticks to the side, giving you a look that was far too serious given the topic.

“I’m finding you a boytoy.”

You nearly laughed out loud, only stopping yourself in the nick of time when you caught that she wasn’t joking in the slightest. 

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!” she insisted, bravely holding her ground in the face of your disbelief. “What are you gonna do when I settle down and don’t have time for you anymore? I gotta make sure you have someone to entertain yourself with!”

Your amusement wavered just a bit. You knew she meant well, but when it came to Iseul—or anyone, for that matter—trying to do things for your sake, you’d long accepted that you’d prefer if they didn’t even bother. 

“There’s no rush,” you pointed out. “You have to actually get a text back before you can settle down, right?”

“Oh my God! I'm trying to help you and this is the thanks I get?”

“Thanks, Iseul.” You reached out to give her an apologetic pat. “But I don’t need any help with that.��

Suddenly, her lips curved into a devious smirk, and you had a sneaking suspicion that she’d misunderstood what you meant.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” she drawled. “Never forgetting that dreamboat you had following you around like a lost puppy all sophomore year. What was his name again—?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut her off a bit too harshly, regretting it as soon as you did.

Iseul frowned. “It was just a question.”

“You’re right, sorry.”

“What ever happened to him, anyways?” she continued, apparently not taking the hint. “Things ended so suddenly with you two.”

You tried not to bristle. After your near-encounter in the dining hall the other week, he’d been occupying your thoughts far too often for your liking. That, coupled with those peculiar feelings that had sparked within you upon meeting Chan, had you unreasonably on edge ever since. 

“I told you,” you tried to sound casual. “It just wasn’t a good match. I don’t think he really liked me all that much.”

Iseul scoffed, not buying it for a second. “Please, he was obsessed with you.”

The urge to tell her everything right then and there was more tempting than ever. To unload all the bitterness, the guilt that had been building up and weighing you down for the better part of two years now. You knew you couldn’t, though, not when it meant having to break the very same news to her that had led to the end of your relationship. The chances of her reacting the same way that he had were slim, but even the smallest possibility was more than enough reason for you to stay quiet. You’d kept it tucked away for far too long now, anyway. She’d only get upset if she found out now.

“Obsession isn’t the same as love.”

Iseul grew quiet for a moment.

“I guess,” she mumbled.

She turned her attention back to her soda, as if the conversation had suddenly become too heavy for her tastes.

You didn’t blame her, but it further solidified your decision to leave what you’d wanted to say buried in your heart.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Several doses of caffeine were in order.

Anyone who happened to witness the unfortunate sight of you and Changbin stumbling out of Room 118 of the physics building, spiritually battered and bruised and barely able to process your surroundings, might’ve thought you’d just gone to war.

It wasn’t much of a stretch, considering the exam you’d just taken. You felt ridiculous for ever thinking the two hour time slot was overkill; in actuality, it had been a rare display of mercy from Dr. Choi.

“I’m dropping out,” Changbin declared.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do it,” he insisted. “Before I lose my mind for real.”

He slumped heavily against you, and it took all your strength to support his muscular body so that the both of you wouldn’t be sent toppling to the floor.

“After everything Chan’s done for you? You might just break his heart.”

Changbin seemed to take your joke a bit too seriously, a horrified look crossing his face. “Can you imagine how that would’ve gone without his help?”

“Don’t even wanna think about it,” you shuddered.

For how excruciating the thermodynamics midterm had been, it was more because of the psychological torture aspect than the difficulty of the content itself—though, its difficulty was nothing to sneeze at, either. The one positive that had come from this hellish experience was confirmation that choosing to study with Chan had undoubtedly been the right choice for you. Every topic you’d managed to review over the few meetings you’d had so far stayed fresh in your mind during the exam, so vividly that you could even recall the inflections in Chan’s voice whenever he’d sing his sentences at random. You weren’t sure if it was intentional, or if it was even something he was aware that he did, but you’d caught on to it right away.

Because his melodies helped you remember better, of course, not because you found it endearing.

“We really need to thank him,” Changbin bumped his head against yours. “Let’s bake him a cake.”

“You can’t even crack an egg.”

“Who told you that!?” he bolted upright, miraculously regaining his energy.

You kept your lips sealed, but it didn’t take long for him to narrow down the suspects.

“Minho…” he muttered. “Who the hell shares that story with someone they just met?”

“I agree that we should do something for Chan, though,” you tried to stay on topic before Changbin could get riled up about Minho. He was already sour on him after he’d bought replacement pudding cups as threatened, only to smugly be told that they were the wrong brand.

“I’ll think of something when my brain isn't fried.” Changbin shoved his hands in his pockets, looking contemplative for a second. “You never answered my question, y’know.”

“Hm?”

“About him being better looking than me.”

His words caught you so off guard that you actually stopped in your tracks, turning to give him a look of pure disbelief.

“Seo Changbin,” you said plainly. “You can’t be serious.”

“What?” his tone grew defensive. “This is important stuff! You’re supposed to be around the same level of attractiveness as your friends. It’s scientifically proven.”

You so badly wanted to hold your unimpressed stare, but it was impossible when the man in front of you was speaking without an ounce of shame.

“First of all,” you began. “I've told you a million times that it had nothing to do with his appearance.”

It was Changbin's turn to look unimpressed, but he waited for you to finish.

“Second of all, you’re a very handsome guy, Binnie,” you tacked on the nickname for maximum effectiveness. “So if I were to fall in love with anyone, it’d obviously be you.”

You truly meant the compliment, but a little extra flattery never hurt when it came to him. A wide, embarrassed smile spread across his face like clockwork, and he reached out to smack your shoulder, giggling at an unnaturally high pitch.

“Geez, don’t say it like that,” he complained. “I wasn't ready.”

You shook your head. “You’re so simple.”

For both Changbin’s peace of mind and your own, you hoped now that the issue would be dropped. You had enough confusing feelings about Chan already without Iseul and Changbin blowing things completely out of proportion.

“Wanna get some coffee?” you suggested. “There’s a really good kiosk on the first floor of the library.”

“I think I’m gonna head home and nap, actually. I’ve got another exam tonight.”

You let out a sympathetic hum. “That’s rough. Good luck, Bin.”

“Thanks,” he sighed dramatically. “Treat me for all my hard work once midterms are over.”

“Sure, I’ll even save up so I can afford your rich kid tastes.”

Changbin grinned at that. “On second thought,” he pulled his hand out of his coat pocket to reveal your pencil; his lucky charm. “You’ve given me more than enough.”

He attempted to pass it back to you, but you nudged his hand away gently.

“Keep it. Maybe it’ll help with your next exam.”

From there, you and Changbin said your goodbyes for the day. You decided to head to the coffee shop on your own, in desperate need of some kind of energy boost so you wouldn’t crash the instant you returned to your apartment.

As you made your way over to the campus library, your mind drifted back to Chan. It seemed to do that a lot, recently.

You wanted to do something to express your gratitude to him, but it was difficult to decide on what when you knew so little about the guy. Changbin could always help in that department, of course, but then there was the issue of actually getting Chan to accept it.

Despite not having walked nearly long enough to work up a sweat, you felt strangely heated when you approached the library entrance. Not only that, your hands were clammy, and you had to wipe your palm on your clothes before reaching out for the door handle. The warm, addictive scent of coffee flooded your senses as you entered the building. You almost connected your sudden rise in temperature to its cozy atmosphere—that was, until your eyes zeroed in on a figure seated at the table directly across from where you stood.

He was hunched over his laptop, consumed by his dark clothes so that he was hardly visible to anyone passing by, but you’d already reached a point where you could’ve recognized that side profile anywhere. A distinctive nose peeked out from behind the hood pulled over his head, thumb brushing over his lips as he concentrated on the screen before him.

Driven by an urge you couldn’t quite place, your feet drew you in his direction, and you had to force yourself to come to a sudden halt. He looked busy—exhausted, too—it was probably best to leave him alone.

Just as you turned to continue over to the coffee stand, dark eyes flickered up to find you, as if on cue. Recognition flooded his face, lighting up with a smile.

You gave him a small wave, and to your surprise, he gestured enthusiastically for you to come over to him. You adjusted the strap of your bag, feeling unusually self-conscious, like you’d given too much away with just your stare. Still, you steeled yourself and padded over to his table.

“Hey!” Chan removed his headphones, hood slipping off along with them. “I was just thinking of you.”

You blinked. “You were?”

“Yeah, you and Bin had your exam today, didn’t you?”

“Oh, right. He just headed home, actually.”

He pulled out the chair next to his, inviting you to take it. You hesitated for a moment before accepting, giving him a grateful nod.

As you settled in next to him, it dawned on you that this was the first time you’d ever seen him without some kind of hat or beanie on his head. You hadn't even known that his hair was curly. It felt akin to a crime to have been robbed of the sight; soft, brown ringlets falling just above his eyes and swooping out at his nape, almost like the tail of a duck.

“How’d it go?” He tilted his head curiously. “Alright, I hope?”

“Well, let’s just say I understand why you switched majors.”

Chan’s laughter filled your ears, a blissful compensation for the past two hours you’d just had. He reached out to tap your shoulder lightly as he giggled, and you weren’t sure why it made your heartbeat pick up.

“That bad, huh?”

“It would’ve gone a lot worse without your help,” you confessed. “Thanks again for studying with us, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, of course!” Chan chirped. “I’m glad to help.”

“Are you sure there’s really nothing I can do in return? I hope you’re not holding back just ‘cause I’m Changbin’s friend.”

You were careful to ask a second time after your failed attempt at convincing him to accept some kind of payment—favor, anything—during your first study session. Just as Changbin had predicted, he’d brushed you off with a polite smile, insisting that it was the least he could do. Despite your best efforts, you’d ultimately stopped pressing the issue to avoid coming off as too pushy.

Chan waved his hand, dismissive, yet again. “Nah, you don’t have to worry about that. It’s no trouble at all!”

“How about I buy you a coffee?” You motioned in the direction of the kiosk. “Just one cup, and I’ll stop nagging.”

“Ah.” He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Sorry, I don’t really drink it.”

You stared, waiting for some kind of indication that he was just messing with you, but it never came. Suddenly, his perpetually worn-out state made perfect sense.

“A college student who doesn’t drink coffee? They should study you.”

He grinned, looking a bit embarrassed. “If you need me as the subject for your research next semester, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you giggled. “But then I’d owe you double.”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and you tried not to focus on the way his thumb came to run over his full lips again. You’d never seen lips shaped like his before; when you looked closely enough, they resembled a soft-edged heart.

“How about this? Give me your number and we’ll call it even.”

Your mouth nearly fell open. You hadn’t pegged him as the type.

“That way, we can say we’re officially friends,” he continued, completely oblivious to your shock. “And helping out a friend is normal, yeah?”

Friends. It was odd to hear him say that. You weren’t really sure if you could consider someone you’d spent just a handful of hours with your friend, but for what it was worth, he seemed to be speaking sincerely.

Your brief moment of panic melted away. Another case of unintentional flirtatiousness on his part, after all. It was relieving, in a way, because you could only imagine the effect someone like him might have on people if only he knew how to utilize his charm.

“Alright, you win. Just a warning, though, I’m not the best texter.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “But if you ever need anything or wanna chat, I’ll be there!”

As you exchanged phone numbers, every one of your instincts called for you to be suspicious of Chan, to believe that, surely, he must have some kind of ulterior motive behind his eagerness to befriend you. But you knew what ill-intent looked like by now,—you’d be a fool if you didn’t—and there was none behind his eyes, just an honest desire to help in any way that he could.

It was almost foreign to you, something you’d never really seen in any other person but one.

“There! You’re debt-free.” Chan handed your phone back to you. He’d taken it upon himself to add a wolf emoji next to his contact name, and you shot him an amused look.

“My friends say it reminds them of me,” his voice turned a bit sheepish, as if realizing how silly it felt to say out loud.

You softened. “That’s cute.”

“You think so?” He reached up to fiddle with his piercing, and you noticed for the first time how red the tip of his ear had become. Probably a side effect of his concerning levels of body heat. “What should I put next to yours?”

“A flame?” you joked. “So you can remember me as the girl who sucks at thermo.”

Chan flexed his fingers. “I like it,” he giggled.

You stole a glance at his laptop as he edited your contact, met with a sea of sound waves, audio files, and incomprehensible icons taking up his screen.

“So, were you working on something?”

He perked up. “Oh, yeah! Just messing around with some sounds, really.”

You leaned in a bit closer despite not understanding much of what you were looking at. Even with your lack of expertise, you could see that whatever he was doing was more than just messing around.

“Is it for a class?” your interest piqued. “Or for 3RACHA?”

Chan’s breath hitched, loud enough for you to hear, and you wondered for a moment if you’d said something wrong.

“You know about that?”

“Bin’s shown me a few songs! You guys are really good.”

He ducked his head, the flush on his ears creeping up to paint his cheeks the same shade. Oh. He really had been flustered the entire time. It excited you more than it probably should have.

“Ah, thank you,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Sorry, I’m just a little caught off guard, I think.”

You considered changing the subject for the sake of his comfort. What he said next, however, quickly quelled any concerns you had. “Which one did you like the most?”

He lifted his gaze shyly, looking so hungry for approval that you made a mental note to ask him more about his music in the future.

“Zone!” you didn’t miss a beat. “I especially love the lines in Māori.”

His face broke out into a grin so wide that his eyes almost squeezed shut from sheer happiness. “I sing that part,” he beamed. 

Of course he did. You tried to imagine it—the bubbly, unassuming boy in front of you delivering lines with such power and confidence. It intrigued you, just like everything else about him. From the first day Changbin had described him to you, he was like a puzzle that you were determined to collect all the pieces of, to bring your understanding of him to completion.

Your original goal in coming to the library now long forgotten, the two of you stayed at his table for at least another hour, chatting about all sorts of things. You learned that while all three members of 3RACHA had a hand in composing and songwriting (a fact that you made note of for future, Changbin-teasing purposes) Chan played the biggest role when it came to arrangement. With a bit of prompting on your part, he gave in and showed you a snippet of what he’d been working on before you arrived.

Placebo was the working title. It had a hopeful, upbeat melody that made you feel light and strangely nostalgic. There were no lyrics yet—Chan was still waiting on Jisung, the final third of the boys, to finish up his parts. As it turned out, he was the wide-eyed, messy-haired junior you’d spotted hanging around Changbin all those instances over the years, and one of the first people that Chan had befriended upon moving from Australia. How they’d come to meet when Chan was three years older than him, you had no idea, but you figured this guy could become best friends with his prison guard if he really wanted to, so it didn’t seem worth questioning.

Even with its half-finished instrumental and lack of lyrics, you could already sense a potential new favorite in Placebo. Though, if you were being honest, given the expression on Chan’s face as he played it for you—earnest and giddy and biting his fist in anticipation—you might've said the same regardless of which song it was.

“Do you really like it?” He kept his eyes on the screen, but you could see the glee plastered on his face.

“I do! It makes me happy.” You slipped his headphones off and passed them back to him. “You have to show me when it’s finished, okay?”

It didn’t seem possible, but his smile grew, cheeks rising and dimples flashing. “Okay, promise.”

He held out his pinky to seal the deal. You hesitated, wincing inwardly when you remembered what had happened the last time your skin touched his. Even so, you were determined not to fumble another interaction with him, and you braced yourself before hooking your fingers together.

The heat was still very much there, though not quite as drastic as before. It didn’t jolt through your nerve-endings like it had when you’d first met; instead, it kindled at your point of contact and spread steadily along your skin, from your pinky to your palm until it warmed your entire body. Gentle and intense, all at once.

Chan looked like he had something to say, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, your phone buzzed to life on the table. Reluctantly, you unlaced your pinky from his and reached for the device, unsurprised when you saw Iseul’s name in glowing white letters.

“Sorry, one sec,” you excused yourself, knowing that if you didn’t take her call now, many more were to come.

“Hello?” your voice came out winded, and you swallowed hard to steady it.

“Are you busy?”

Your eyes darted to Chan. He’d turned his attention back to his laptop, humming quietly to himself.

“Kinda, is everything alright?”

“Oh,” she paused. “What’s up?”

“Just in the library,” you left out the fact that you were with Chan, not keen on fueling her newfound desire for matchmaking.

“I need help planning my schedule for next semester,” she sounded stressed, but you knew by now that even the most easily-solved of problems could be the end of the world in her eyes. “Literally none of these marketing sections work for me and I need this credit to graduate. I’m going fucking crazy trying to move my other classes around.”

There was no excuse for you to say no, other than the fact that academics were the last thing you wanted to think about after the midterm you’d just had. That, and, you were enjoying your time with Chan more than you’d like to admit.

“Alright, I can help you figure it out. I’ll just need some time to get to your place.”

"You’re the best,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “Hurry, please.”

At that, she hung up, probably to get right back to abusing her laptop’s trackpad with furious clicks. You slipped your phone into your pocket, and when you began gathering up your belongings, Chan’s gaze shifted back to you.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah,” you wished you didn’t feel so wistful about it. “My friend needs help with her fall schedule, she’s kinda freaking out.”

A knowing look crossed his face, lip twitching with the faintest hint of amusement. It wasn’t lost on you, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he hummed. “Just think I understand now why you wanted to repay me so bad.”

You had half a mind to be taken aback, but it felt strangely expected of him, like you’d known that such a minor detail would be enough for him to catch on. That tendency you’d noticed from the first day you’d met him, making itself known more and more each time you crossed paths. 

“Think you’re the only one who can do people favors?” 

“Course not,” his smile mirrored yours. “I hope things work out with your friend.”

“Thanks.” You rose from your spot, wondering briefly if you should say what was on your mind before parting ways with him. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You, too.” He held up his phone, wiggling it around as a reminder. “We’ll talk more soon!”

In the end, you left the library without a single drop of caffeine in your system, yet somehow, you felt more energized than ever.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Six weeks and several study sessions later, you had come to make two more very important realizations about Bang Christopher Chan.

The first being, that he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d warned you about his texting habits. You’d always thought you were bad at responding in a timely manner, hell, you’d thought Changbin was bad; but when Chan said he wasn’t the best texter, he didn’t just mean that he could be dry or slow or forgetful, he meant that most of the time, he simply didn’t text at all.

Instead, he liked to call.

You didn’t really mind—you tended to prefer talking to people over texting, anyway, but you’d admittedly been stunned when, after a week of radio silence following your encounter in the library, he’d contacted you out of the blue for no reason other than to “catch up”. No warning, no opening text, just an unexpected call that ended up stretching into a thirty minute conversation before you had to hang up and head to your next class. Another short period of no contact, and then, it had happened again. This time, just a few days following your first chat.

His calls, you’d also noticed as time went on, sometimes came at the most ungodly hours of the night. Once or twice, you’d woken up in the morning to find a missed call notification followed by an apologetic text a few hours later.

chan 🐺 (5:23 a.m.) sorry haha, didn’t realize how late it was

It left you perplexed as to when this man ever got a wink of sleep.

Even with your conversations being so sporadic, you found yourself looking forward to them regardless. He always had something interesting to share with you, from stories about people he’d met and the places he’d been, to music discussions and recommendations, to a vast array of space knowledge that he seemed to have neatly filed away in his brain. He talked about space a lot, like it was his friend. The moon, especially. It was undoubtedly your favorite topic of conversation, not only because it was a shared interest, but because the pure wonder and adoration with which he spoke of it stirred a warmth inside you like no other.

On top of all that, he always made an effort to check in with things on your end as well—in fact, it was always the first thing he asked about the moment you’d pick up, which might have been the most confusing detail of all. He was simultaneously the most absent and the most attentive communicator you’d ever met.

Once it had been made apparent to you that this routine may very well become commonplace with Chan, your curiosity had piqued enough for you to finally question him about it. His explanation, however, almost had you wishing you’d never asked, because nothing could’ve prepared you for his simple, sincere, “It’s just nice to hear your voice, y’know?”

That led into your second, more troubling realization. Somewhere along the line, you seemed to have developed a bit of a soft spot for Chan.

It had dawned on you some weeks ago, when the two of you had visited a new ice cream shop near campus that you’d mentioned was your favorite. When you’d recommended the place to him, you’d never once considered that he would take it as a suggestion for you to accompany him in trying it out. In the end, he’d ordered not one, not two, but all three of the signature flavors you told him you liked the most, detailing his thoughts about each one, with plenty of delighted hums and vocalizations in the process. Much to your horror, you’d listened to him chat passionately away with the most hopelessly endeared, involuntary smile on your face, knowing right then and there that your fate was sealed.

For that reason, your limited interaction with him was more like a blessing in disguise to you. The moment you’d discovered just how often your thoughts seemed to be preoccupied with him, your first instinct had been to distance yourself, to cut off all unnecessary contact until the pesky, ever-present daydream of his melodic laughter was forcibly expelled from your brain. Your regular meetings with him and Changbin, however, had made your efforts increasingly difficult, and you couldn’t shake the fear that, with how naturally Chan seemed to tune in to your emotions, it was only a matter of time before he noticed you behaving differently around him.

Today brought with it another moment of reckoning, another test of your resolve in the form of a two hour study session. You’d managed to get by the last few without any major slip-ups, making you especially grateful that Changbin was around to ensure you behaved more like your usual self.

bin 😑 (5:36 p.m.) oh, i forgot to tell you i can’t make it today

You stared down at your phone in disbelief, nearly coming to a halt in the middle of the road.

You’d texted Changbin this morning to double check that you were still on for studying this evening, even making sure to reach out hours in advance so he could reply before it was too late. Clearly, you’d have to give him at least a day’s notice from now on, because you were just a minute away from his complex when he’d decided to graciously inform you that he wouldn’t be coming.

you (5:36 p.m.) are u serious??? i’m almost at your place

bin 😑 (5:38 p.m.) sorry sorry it’s game night w/ minho and jisung lol. but chan’s home dw

you (5:38 p.m.) game night...you do realize this is for the final right? why isn’t chan with you guys?

bin 😑 (5:39 p.m.) relax mom i’ll come to the next one ;;; and he said he’s fine studying w/ you instead

A sense of dread twisted in your stomach. Regardless of how kind-hearted Chan was, you knew there was absolutely no chance in hell he would’ve preferred to stay home on a Friday night, tutoring you on the most demonic subjects known to man, while his friends hung out without him.

bin 😑 (5:40 p.m.) are you mad ㅜ

you (5:41 p.m.) ur a bad kid

bin 😑 (5:41 p.m.) huuuu ㅜㅜ

you (5:42 p.m.) i’m just gonna head home and tell chan we should reschedule

bin 😑 (5:42 p.m.) noooo don’t do that chan doesn’t care i promise lol

bin 😑 (5:43 p.m.) he probably prefers it this way tbh

You paused, hand resting uncertainly on the stairway railing.

you (5:44 p.m.) what do you mean?

A minute passed, then another, and still no response. You huffed, assuming you’d reached your Changbin text quota for the day, and you locked your phone irritably. If Chan was expecting you, you supposed you had no choice.

It’s not a big deal, probably. You told yourself as you trudged up the stairs. Still, it felt like one. The prospect of being alone with him stressed you out as much as it excited you. No long-distance advantage of a phone call, no Changbin serving as a bridge between the two of you; just you versus Chan and his accidental charm for the next two hours.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door of unit 8-325. You wondered briefly if he’d even heard, considering his headphones were virtually glued to his ears most of the time, but you didn’t get the chance to worry much about it before the door swung open, much sooner than you’d expected.

“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully. “How’ve you been?”

No hoodie on today. It made sense, given how much the weather had warmed up, but you personally felt that the muscle tank he had on instead wasn’t really necessary. His curls were out, too.

So, it was safe to say you weren’t doing well.

“Powering through the end of the semester,” you flashed a quick smile, shuffling inside and slipping off your shoes. “You?”

Chan shut the door with a noise of sympathy. “Same here.”

Your eyes scanned over the apartment. It felt undeniably empty without Changbin’s steady, familiar presence next to you or without Minho slinking back and forth between his room and the kitchen, making sure to cause as many distractions as possible each time he did.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “Changbin just told me that he wasn’t coming. If you wanna do this another night and go hang out with the others, that’s totally fine.”

He looked surprised for a moment, turning to look at you properly. “It's all good! They’ve been obsessed with that game for weeks, I got kinda sick of it, anyway.”

“Oh,” you frowned.

Chan sensed that you were still unconvinced—of course he did—and he gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here because I wanna be.”

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but your heart still skipped a beat.

“That’s what I’m so confused about, I guess.”

He simply chuckled in response, as if that were enough to explain himself. Despite your lingering concerns, you decided not to press the issue any further, and you made your way over to the kitchen table as usual to set down your bag. You realized a moment too late that you had chosen the chair right next to where his laptop was placed. Just as you were debating whether or not you could get away with switching before he noticed, he slipped into the spot next to you, blissfully unaware of the impact it’d have on your psyche for the rest of the hour.

“I’m glad you came,” he commented, setting up his own study materials. “Feels like it’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

You wondered if that was his way of letting you know that he felt you’d been avoiding him. Well, avoiding was a bit of a stretch. More like limiting your exposure, taking him in moderation so you wouldn’t get addicted.

“It does,” you agreed. “And not just ‘cause you disappear off the face of the earth when I don’t see you in person.”

“Hey, hey!” It was defensive, but good-natured as ever. “I’m just not much of a phone guy.”

“Right, you’re more of a laptop guy.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“Speaking of,” you gestured to the device in question. “Have you made any progress on Placebo?”

He perked up, visibly brightening at your mention of the song. “A bit,” he chirped. “Actually, I rearranged some parts of it.”

“Oh?”

Chan’s eyes twinkled, and you got the feeling that something mischievous was brewing in his mind. “Not gonna show you yet, though.”

“And break our promise?” you feigned hurt.

“Our promise was for me to show you when it’s finished, yeah?” his grin was far too proud, like he’d been waiting for his chance to pull something like this. It was a newer side of him you hadn’t quite gotten used to yet—playful, cheeky.

“The fine print, huh?” you clicked your tongue in defeat. “Alright, you win.”

“That’s two for me, so far.”

With the way he giggled, it felt more like a win for you.

A good half hour had passed before the two of you began any actual studying, and it wouldn’t have bothered you—not in the slightest—if you weren’t already concerned about taking up too much of Chan’s evening. It didn’t help that he seemed to be a bit unfocused today as well, prone to veering off topic even more so than usual and leaving his attempts at explaining the material harder to follow than ever.

He pressed his lips together into an uncertain line, squinting at his laptop screen as he tried to make sense of the application of Sommerfeld expansion. Absent-mindedly, he crossed an arm over his chest to cup his neck, biceps bulging in the process. You’d learned from your talks with him that he was a swimmer, but you hadn’t quite expected him to look like that beneath the oversized jackets and hoodies that he wore so religiously. It was hard not to stare, to admire every toned curve and vein that protruded ever so slightly when he flexed his muscles. 

You wondered what it’d be like to touch them; if they were as firm and powerful as they looked, or if they were surprisingly much softer, just like his demeanor. You also wondered how they might look beneath you, held down by your grasp.

“Sorry,” he sighed at last, bringing you back to your senses. “I’m not really sure about this one.”

You tore your eyes away from his arms, face heating up despite not being caught. “No worries.” You put your pen down. “Do you wanna take a break? I feel like we’re both kinda out of it tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He looked relieved, and a bit self-conscious. “To be honest, I barely even understood this stuff when I was an astrophysics major.”

It was an offhand comment, but it caught your attention. You’d admittedly begun to assume as much after your second or third study group under his guidance, given the way consulted outside sources so often, but to have it confirmed brought about a whole new level of respect for Chan. And, maybe something else.

“Have you been learning thermo all over again just for me and Bin?”

His gaze fell, as if realizing in alarm that he’d inadvertently exposed himself to you.  “You could say that,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I actually think I’m studying more now than I ever did when I took this class.”

A part of you wasn’t sure whether or not to be bothered that you’d been tutored by someone who wasn’t exactly qualified for the past month and a half. But no matter how badly his act of selflessness could have ended up for all three of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but affection for the boy. Well, that, and a bit of guilt for even putting him in this position in the first place. He’d gone out of his way to re-teach himself concepts that were by no means easy to grasp, solely for the sake of helping you and Changbin out. And he had. You knew for a fact that you’d not only seen improvement in your scores since meeting him, but in your confidence in the subject as a whole.

“You’re seriously too nice for your own good,” you murmured.

He reached up for his ear, tugging at his piercing. “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not,” you said firmly. “Not many people would do that, especially for a stranger. So, thank you.”

“Of course,” his voice was light. “We’re friends, after all.”

“Right.”

Friends. The first time he’d said it, you’d been doubtful—both in regards to whether or not you could actually call yourselves friends, and in his intentions in doing so. Hearing it now, you felt just as strange about it, but not for the same reasons. You could safely say you were friends, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, you wanted to be more.

“Did you like astrophysics?” you asked the question before you had the chance to say something else, something far more stupid.

“I did,” he sounded genuine, but tense. “Well, for the most part. It just felt like the most…practical thing I could do, y’know?”

“Can I ask why you changed majors?”

It was a detail that had been nagging away at the back of your mind since Changbin had first mentioned it to you. You weren’t sure why it felt so important to know, like an essential piece of the puzzle.

Chan paused, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. It barely lasted a second, but it instantly had you wishing you’d curbed your curiosity and said nothing at all.

“It’s kinda a long story,” he said slowly. You could tell he was trying to sound casual about it. His body language, however, was more than enough for you to see that he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. “I guess it was just something I needed to do at the time.”

“I understand,” you decided to drop it, for his sake. “No need to get into it, if you don’t want to.”

He gave you a grateful smile. “Some other time, yeah? Can’t be telling you my life story when I’m supposed to be helping you prepare for finals.”

You hummed softly in agreement, and just like that, the atmosphere was relaxed again.

Still, the question lingered in your mind.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

It was inevitable to you, at this point, that any and all sense of time would be lost whenever you and Chan got to talking. What you’d intended to be just a short break from studying to recharge, eventually morphed into another hour and a half of you two chatting away—with a few failed attempts to get back to work here and there. That was why, when the clock struck 9:00 p.m. to mark your third hour with him, you were hardly surprised.

“Why don’t I walk you home? It’s late.”

You tried to ignore the way his offer made your stomach flip.

“Oh, no you don’t have to.” The words were out of your mouth like an instinct. It was tempting, so, so tempting, but you knew that any more exposure to Chan was sure to make your soft spot for him develop into something much more troublesome. “It's a pretty far walk.”

He tilted his head, confused as to why the distance was even worth mentioning.

“Ohh, I see,” his voice took on that same, unfamiliar quality from before. “You don’t wanna spend any more time with me, is that it?”

You blinked, scanning his face for some sign of hurt or offense. Instead, all you found was a playful smile, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing.

He was teasing you.

“You got me,” you played along, throwing your bag dramatically over your shoulder. “I only spend my Friday nights studying thermo with people I can’t stand.”

Chan giggled. It was shy and cute; the giggle of someone completely unaware of how enamored with him you really were.

“In that case, making me walk there and back shouldn’t be a problem, right? Since you hate me so much.”

You relented. It was a losing battle from the start, anyway.

The air had grown a bit chillier after sunset, which, much to your relief, meant Chan had thrown on a jacket and covered up his criminally distracting arms. You felt a strange sense of peace as the two of you strolled along the sidewalk out of his apartment phase, stealing glances at him as often as the streetlights would allow. He had his hands in his pockets, swinging them with each step he took and swaying his head along with the breeze that brushed through his curls.

It was hopeless. You were so hopelessly taken by him.

“There she is,” you remarked, slowing your pace to gaze upwards. “That moon you love so much.”

It reflected a pure, white light among the sea of stars, owning the sky in all its Waning Gibbous glory.

“Beautiful,” you heard Chan murmur.

You looked over at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes illuminated by the moon as he stared up in awe. Instead, you found him staring right at you.

He seemed taken aback for a moment. Even so, for once, he didn’t look away. He simply smiled.

Warmth spread through your chest, and you knew this time you couldn’t blame it on his body heat.

“I think you have us both beat,” you said softly.

At that, he broke eye contact. He ducked his head with a shy puff of laughter, pressing his cheek into his shoulder to hide his face. You rode the high of it for the rest of your walk home together.

The two of you were mostly quiet as you neared your apartment complex, letting the silence hang comfortably around you. Despite the long walk, neither of you were in any particular hurry, and when you approached the front gate of your building, you couldn’t help but feel that the time had slipped away from you all too quickly.

“Thanks again for walking me home,” you murmured. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he grinned.

Your hand rested tentatively on the handle, not yet wanting this moment to end.

“Not gonna try to return the favor, are you?” His eyes sparkled in the low light. Even when he was messing with you, he still sounded seconds away from becoming flustered himself.

You smiled. “I’ve got something in mind.”

Before he could say anything else, and before you could second guess yourself, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was quick and innocent, but it made his breath catch in his throat all the same. 

When you pulled back, Chan’s fingers came to hover over the spot your lips had been moments ago. You wished the lighting in the hallway was stronger, so that you could fully see the furious blush that you knew was spreading across his face.

His eyes flickered down to your lips. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it.

So, you leaned in again and kissed him.

The heat that surged through you was different this time. It didn’t make you flinch or jolt back in alarm; it drew you in. However soft you’d imagined Chan’s lips to be—plush and heart-shaped and irresistible—the reality was infinitely softer.

Your hands reached up to cup his face. His warmth fed into yours, and vice versa, and somewhere in the back of your mind, it became clear that the fire had been coming from both of you this entire time. He sighed sweetly into the kiss, tilting his head forward, trying somehow to deepen it even further, like he wouldn’t satisfied until you were completely melded together.

The two of you might have stayed that way if your lungs hadn’t begun to cry for air. Reluctantly, you pulled away, leaving you both breathless and longing for each other’s warmth again. All the efforts you’d made to hold yourself back around him seemed so laughable now. You didn’t want him in moderation, you wanted all of him.

Chan’s eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed. The sight made you want to pull him inside with you, to take him apart bit by bit and put him back together again, over and over until you knew him inside and out.

Instead, you brushed your thumb over his burning cheek, touch harboring a gentleness that masked the ache inside you.

“Get home safe, Channie,” you whispered.

[milswrites]

A thousand roses

~ Cassian X Fem!Reader

Summary: Every day you curse the books that gave you unrealistically high expectations of men. Sure you were going to be single forever until you meet Cassian. Adamant he wants to take you on a date, Cassian does his best to impress.

Warning: ⚠️ Reading this may give you unrealistically high expectations of men ⚠️

Actual warnings: Lots of sex talk and inferences to sex but no actual smut!

“And then he made her orgasm three times! Three! The last guy I was with didn’t even manage to squeeze one out of me!”

Upon finishing your latest read, you just couldn’t help but give a very detailed review of exactly what you thought about it to your co-worker. A packed cafe in Velaris during the middle of the day was probably not the most appropriate location to shout about your sex life, but you just had to share how the smut filled pages had left you more satisfied than any man had ever done.

Jadis snorted into the steaming hot tea she was drinking, liquid spilling everywhere, “I’m telling you girl, you just need to get out there, kiss a few frogs to find your prince. I don’t know how many more of your smut reviews I can take. It’s not natural to be this turned on at work.”

You hummed in response, fingers absentmindedly brushing over the pages of your book, “But that’s the problem. I’m too picky to go for a frog!” You blame the hundreds of books in your library at home for that, millions of perfect fictional men literally at your fingertips. “Real men just don’t do it for me anymore.”

This statement was confirmed as you miserably scanned your eyes over the customers in the cafe, none of the males present seeming to stick out to you meet any of your self-imposed standards. You only had yourself and your books to blame for your lack of a relationship.

“I’m just never going to find anyone! Forever reading in my house wishing I was at the mercy of one of my book boyfriends” you sighed, not wanting to seem downhearted but you just couldn’t help it. Velaris just so happened to be a haven for beautiful relationships, everywhere you turned you’d see interlocked hands, affectionate hugs and the occasional heated exchange of kisses. You could only wish that one day you’d be in the same boat as them, overwhelmingly in love with someone who you could call your own. There’s a reason the night court was so affectionately called the court of dreams.

Jadis reeled in your wandering mind, “Well darling, I hope you enjoy forever fantasising about sex rather than having it. I for one can’t wait to take Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome for a spin.”

She was referring to the moderately attractive male who had asked her out the other day during the preparation of his morning coffee. In your opinion, it wasn’t the most romantic scene. Though Jadis hadn’t been on a date in a long while and so in her own words she was going to implode if she didn’t get a good fuck in soon. So who were you to judge.

The bell above the cafe door twinkled, ending the conversation about your book and pathetic love life. Your eyes travelled to the cafe entrance and stopped when they landed on the biggest male you had ever seen. The Illyrian walked through the door, having to duck his head and draw his wings in to fit through the much smaller frame. His presence in the cafe was enough for you to lift your head from where it was sat in your palm, interest peaked.

There was no doubt that this Illyrian was one of the most attractive males you have ever seen. His long brown hair was pulled back messily into a bun. You didn’t normally like the rough, slightly barbarian-esque type, typically preferring your males to be more clean-cut. It was clear this man didn’t look like most males. No, he looked as if he had just stepped out of one of your deliciously sinful smut books.

He began to approach the counter, his body taking up so much space that he bumped into tables, displacing the drinks of customers who were grasping at the mugs and glasses to try and prevent them from spilling at the earthquake caused by this ginormous man. He apologised to each of them as he moved but kept his eyes locked ahead. Locked on you.

Your friend, noticing the effect this man had on you, spun around and immediately started acting as if she was busy with another job, leaving you to serve him in your hypnotised state.

“Just a coffee please love” he said, pulling you from your stupor as he finally came to a stop at the counter. Mother, even his voice was hot. It was resonant and also bore the twinge of gruffness which left goosebumps on your arms in its wake. There was no doubt everything about this man oozed pure sex appeal. You were too mesmerised to move, brain not registering that he had asked you to do your job. Instead, like a besotted fool, you stayed stood behind your counter, feet rooted to the ground.

“You alright there gorgeous?” The unbelievably good looking male asked, roguishly handsome smile growing on his face, clearly aware of the effect he has on you. This spurred you to move, the stacked cups surrounding you rattling at your sudden movement. “Coffee! Right. Yes, of course!” Managing to squeak a few words out, you turned around to busy yourself with making the coffee, hatred in your eyes as you glared at Jadis who left you stranded making coffee for this very handsome man who’s looks alone were doing very strange things to you and making you think very indecent things. Jadis, undeterred by your glare, wiggled her eyebrows at you, grin stretched across her face, beaming from ear to ear.

With shaky hands, you finish up with making his coffee and without turning around, afraid you’d accidentally start professing your undying love to him if you did, you ask, “any sugar?”

His honey coated voice replies, “No thanks, I’ve already got my eye on something sweeter.” You ignored the sight of your friend’s head snapping speedily to look at you in glee. Heat burning across your cheeks, you turn back to face him, avoiding the man’s eyes.

Hands still shaking, you place the coffee in front of him and wait for him to pay. The sooner he leaves the sooner you can gossip with your Jadis about him and moan about your inability to act normal in front of incredibly attractive men. He pulls out the money from his pocket and places it on the counter, pushing it towards you, but before you can take it from him he drags it back in his direction, finger holding it in place. “How about you and I go out together sometime sweetheart? You’re obviously desperate to.”

At this, the lovesick fog that had been swimming in front of your eyes since this man had entered the cafe dissipated. Rose-tinted glasses off you noticed that the smile that adorned his face was more of a cocky smirk. His confidence and tone of voice told you that he asks this question a lot and most likely always gets the answer he desires. It was clear this man wasn’t the personification of one of your book males come to life. He was just another playboy.

Not wanting to just be another name on the list for this man, you slid the money out from under his hand, sickly sarcastic smile on your face, and said, “I think I’ll pass thanks sweetheart.”

The males smirk promptly fell from his face in shock, clearly not expecting, nor used to rejection. He sputtered out a few buts and whats, flirty demeanour forgotten, a slightly pathetic butt-hurt one taking its place. This was definitely a man not used to losing.

“Have a nice day!” You enthusiastically, and very satirically, finished this interaction before walking away to busy yourself with clearing some now empty tables in the cafe. Wings hung low in defeat, the man at the counter left the cafe, bell ringing as he exited. This surprised you, having expected him to put up a little more of a fight, but nonetheless you were glad that it was over with. Cursing yourself for falling for just another pretty face, standards forgotten.

“What?!” Your friend screamed running over to you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you vigorously as if you had lost all senses. Unafraid of scaring off the customers who still sat in the cafe, some clearly entertained by the whole event which had transpired. “Do you know who that was? Oh Y/N he was totally into you! Why did you say no?”

“Because he was looking at me as if I was a piece of meat! And no, I have no idea who he was and unlike you I don’t go jumping on every stranger who asks me out at work” You brushed Jadis off of you and started taking the dirty glasses back behind the counter to be washed, your friend hot on your heels not wanting to finish this conversation just yet.

“That was Cassian!” She continued, expression as if it should have been obvious to you who the Illyrian male was. “Good for him” you replied, no idea why it should matter to you who he was, clearly if Jadis and the few interested by standers in the cafe knew who he was he had quite the reputation in Velaris. Surely that mustn’t be a good thing.

“Cassian? Lord of bloodshed? General and Commander of the Night Court’s army?” She continued, seriously not convinced you could have absolutely no idea about him.

You snorted, “I’m sorry, no one actually has that many titles unless they’re from a book… or if they just have a very large ego”.

Jadis groaned, hands fisting her hair in exasperation, “Y/N he’s like totally hot and totally loaded and super important! And he was so checking you out!” You could tell all this was upsetting your friend who was most definitely hoping you were about to get some much needed action, but all you could do was shrug, “I’m sorry babe but I’m a romantic, it’s going to take more than pet names and a stupidly attractive face to gain my interest.”

Giving up, Jadis dropped her hands from her head in acceptance, disappointment clear on her face, “I know, but don’t come running back to me to complain how unsatisfied you are when that Illyrian god was basically throwing himself at you.”

After the topic of the male was dropped, your day continued as normal, whilst Jadis had promised not to bring it up again but you couldn’t help but notice the angry glances your friend kept throwing your way during the last few hours of your shift, distressed that you had let a man go who had seemed perfectly acceptable in her opinion.

At the end of your shift, in an attempt to get her to understand where you were coming from, you slid your book towards her, “Here. Read it and then maybe you’ll understand what I mean.” She picked it up, looking at the cover eyes bulging at the title, “Bound in chains? Really?”

“Trust me, sit down with a large glass of wine and read it. You’re going to love it!”

With that the two of you locked up the cafe, book secure in Jadis’s bag. You said your goodbyes at the door and headed your seperate ways, all thoughts of the handsome man from earlier in the day long gone. Upon your arrival at home, you wandered to your favourite room in the house, your library, wanting to select a new read to cosy up with for the evening.

Approaching your shelf that you reserved exclusively for books you had bought but had yet to read, you pulled one out by its spine, eyes glancing over the cover. The cover which bore the image of a large, well-muscled man, whose long brown hair flowed freely over his shoulders. Eyes blowing wide and blush returning to your cheeks you shoved the book back onto the shelf. Thoughts drifting back to the Illyrian with the same looks who had been flirting with you earlier. Maybe you’d be better off reading a safe fantasy book tonight. Or better yet a book that had no man in at all, although that would be a rare find in your library.

~~~~~

“I am a changed women”

Returning to work the next day, you were greeted by Jadis smiling, bouncing up and down on her feet, and holding your book in her hands.

“I take it you liked it then?”

“Liked it?”Jadis squealed, “it was like reading pure porn. I loved it”

You laughed along side her, of course Jadis would read an entire book and focus on the porn rather than the actual plot of it.

“Truly I did,” she continued, rushing about and gathering her things, “and I would love to stay behind now my shift has finished to talk about it but I have to go home and get ready for Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome, maybe tonight I can try out some of those moves I read about!” She winked at you, handing over your book before rushing out of the cafe with an excitable “Wish me luck!”

Work had been very quiet today, allowing you time to sit and read your newest book. After finishing a simple fantasy last night you were left unsatisfied by the lack of enjoyment it provided when it came to the physical romance. Needing more, you had selected one of the filthiest books you could find.

Engrossed in the pages, plot thickening by the minute, you were absorbed into the book. Only to be broken from its spell when the familiar chime rang of the bell rang out, signalling a customer had arrived. Rushing to finish the page before they reached the counter, your eyes flew over the words before you finally reached the end of the page. Enabling you to look up from behind your book only to see Cassian standing before you, lips formed into a cautious smile. As if unsure of how you’d react to his presence after yesterday.

“Coffee?” You ask, eyebrows raised, placing your book down before standing up from the stool you were sat on behind the counter.

“Please if you don’t mind, but don’t let me stop you from finishing ‘Fated Frenzy’… cauldron do women really read books like this?” Cassian exclaimed, picking up your book and flicking through the pages, holding it out of reach so you couldn’t snatch it back.

Clenching your fists together as you glared at him you replied, “well if only men knew how to actually please a woman then we wouldn’t have to.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right man then,” Cassian mumbled, focus still on the book that was dwarfed in his large hands. He must have reached a particularly risqué part as his eyes widened slightly, tongue peaking out from between his lips. Now as he spoke, reading from your book, he wore a large grin, “I mean not every man has a cock that looks as if it was sculpted by the gods themselves.”

You scowled, now managing to take hold of the book grasped in one of his large hands and snatched it back. “I’ve certainly never met a man like that” you replied as you slammed your book back onto the counter and moved off to make his coffee so he could leave you to read in peace.

“Don’t want to check sweetheart?” He teased from behind your back, clearly trying to get you as flustered as he had managed to yesterday. Pleased at your banter. Not wanting to give him what he wants, and definitely not wanting to turn around to see his stupidly handsome smirking face looking back at you, you replied from over your shoulder while you were busy finishing his drink, “it doesn’t take a fool to know the spymaster has a larger wingspan. Now his I’d like to see.”

You heard the catch of his breath, causing him to choke on air at what you had said, clearly not expecting your confident retort, and not saying anything at the discovery you do indeed know who he is all thanks to Jadis. Cheeks stretching into a grin of your own at his embarrassment, you turn and place his drink in front of him. Unlike yesterday, Cassian didn’t even attempt to reach for his money before asking, “Please, let me take you out somewhere nice”.

Your smile dropped, head shaking slowly, “What classes as nice in your books? Other than a quick fuck behind the back of the building.” This comment made Cassian’s eyebrows knit together, not happy with the impression you had of him. “What will it take for you to understand I’m serious? That I want to take you on a date to get to know you.” He sounded earnest you’d give him that.

“I don’t know ok! I just know that I’m not going to say yes to a man I don’t even know who asked me out while I was just doing my job.”

He stretched out his hand, trying to meet yours which was resting on the counter but you pulled away before any contact could be made. “I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me. Likes, dislikes, good bits, bad bits, everything.”

“I- I don’t know Cassian, I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“What will it take?” He begged, eyes desperate.

“For you to be like one of them” you said, nodding your head towards your book.

“An overly sexual alpha male?” He said, confused as to what you were actually referring to. This made a small laugh escape from your lips, “No that’s just a bonus. I’m sorry Cassian, I just dream about being swept of my feet by a man that acts like one of them. Romantic, sweet, not asking out every other woman they see.”

“I can be romantic” Cassian said defensively, “I can be incredibly romantic”

Wanting to get this interaction over with you decided just to agree with him. “I’m sure you can Cassian, no doubt there’s a very lucky woman waiting for you somewhere”.

You weren’t sure it was possible for his brows to furrow any more than they already were, “I’ll prove it to you. Prove that I’m all in on this. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’m not going to let you go that easily.” Determined look plastered on his face Cassian grabbed his coffee and walked towards the door pulling the it open, bell chiming, and before he stepped outside he called back to you, “I’ll see you soon gorgeous, you better be ready for me” and with that Cassian left, the cafe silent apart from the bell still ringing, the sound helping you realise that Cassian was real and that interaction did actually happen.

It was only five minutes later, when your wild thoughts were tamed by another customer entering did you realise that Cassian never even paid for his drink.

~~~~~

“Y/N!” Cassian shouted bustling through the tables to reach you as he entered your work once more. Shock flooded your system, he had learnt your name from when you last spoke to him two days ago. After causing a ruckus, and spilling many drinks onto poor unsuspecting customers laps, he reached the counter where you were stood waiting for him.

“What are you-“ you started angrily, worried he would scare away valued customers. Though you were interrupted by Cassian whose arm, which was hiding behind his back, shot out revealing the largest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen.

He held them out expectantly, waiting for you to take them but your suprise had you rooted to the spot. Familiar with your freezing by now, Cassian impatiently shook the bouquet in your face, movement bringing your thoughts back to the present. Still not taking them, not quite believing something so beautiful could be gifted to you, you spoke, “They’re lovely Cassian but you just cut right in front of Matilda who was here first!” Cassian’s features faltered as he dropped the bouquet in disappointment.

Matilda , the lovely little old fae who frequented your cafe, leaned around Cassian’s broad figure so she could see you, “it’s alright Y/N! Take the damn flowers and talk to the man!”

Cassian thanked the older women and stuck out the flowers once more. “For you,” he said encouragingly, willing you to accept the gift, “I told you I’d prove myself to you. I’m here for a date.” By this point you had been stood there for a ridiculous time causing your Jadis to stretch her arm past you and grab the flowers smirking as she says, “Thank you Cassian, they’re beautiful, Y/N loves them. Lillies are her favourite, how did you know?” Winking as she walked off with the bouquet it was clear Cassian has been getting some insider information from the mouth of your best friend.

The Illyrian nodded his head at your friend gratefully and you finally rediscovered the ability to speak, “Thank you, but if you’re here for a date I’m sorry I can’t help you, this is my work Cas, I have to do my job.”

“Pfft bit presumptuous I’m here for a date with you”

At that your face fell slightly before you quickly returned you expression to normal, not wanting Cassian to know his words had an effect on you. Surely he wouldn’t bring you flowers just to have a date with another woman in your workplace. Was this some twisted way to try and make you jealous?

Flirty expression on his face Cassian adjusted where he was stood and flung his arm around Matilda who began to blush, “Have to find out everything I can about you from my beautiful date Matilda here! One coffee for me and one of whatever my darling date would like” he said, making Matilda giggle before asking for her usual. Relief flooding you body, your lips twitched and you began to make their order, “my, my, Matilda. I have to say I expected better in your taste of men”.

“Woah woah no need to tell her,” Cassian joked, “don’t want this hot commodity to leave me for something better” he finished, winking at Morgana who looked as happy as if it was Solstice morning. Grabbing the finished drinks you had placed before him, he headed to a table, coming back once the drinks were down to walk Matilda to her chair, but not before placing his money on the counter, saying, “Moneys there for the other day by the way, I’ll speak to you later.”

Cassian must have sat talking with Matilda for hours, watched closely by you from the corner of your eye as you worked, customer after customer coming and going. Finally when the rush had died down and your shift was coming to an end, the two who had been huddled together gossiping over more than a few coffees, hot chocolates and cakes stood to take their leave. Or more accurately, Matilda was taking her leave. Cassian had said his goodbyes bending down to give Matilda a big hug and then scooped their empty plates and cups into his arms before walking towards you.

There wasn’t enough time for him to place the items down on the counter before you watched as Matilda lay a firm smack to his backside before giggling, “I’ll see you later hot stuff.” Lucky not to break any cups, Cassian jumped, flying forwards and dropping them all onto the counter before you, eyes terrified.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, placing the cups the right way up before checking on the male, “you alright there hot stuff?”

“Oh don’t even start. That woman’s got one strong slap” he whined, hand rubbing his ass to relieve some of the pain.

“Don’t act like that’s not how all your dates end” you goaded, cheeks twinging at the effort to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Trust me gorgeous, if any of my actual dates ended like that I wouldn’t be complaining” he winked at you, all the while pulling a napkin out of its holder to help you clean his mess from the counter.

As you watched him clean, you couldn’t help but admire the way his brows slightly furrow when he’s concentration, noting the way his focused mouth tilts to once side, tongue slightly poking from between his lips. He was handsome there was no denying it.

“Will you walk me home?” You blurted, snapping your mouth shut and internally cursing yourself for asking such a ridiculous thing, digging yourself into an even deeper hole you continued, “it’s only that the flowers you got me are so big… and I have all my other things…and…uh..”

“Y/N, I would love to walk you home”

“Great! I’ll just um, go and grab my stuff”

You turned, heading towards the cloakroom, only to be met by Jadis, bag and bouquet in hand. She shoved them eagerly into your arms squealing, “go get him girl!” Hands pressed against your back, she forced you to move forwards until you were in front of Cassian, “don’t have too much fun you two” she said now guiding you both from the cafe, tripping and stumbling over each others feet as Jadis’s excitement led to some very firm shoving.

~~~~~

Once outside in one piece, no thanks to Jadis, Cassian plucked the flowers from your arms allowing you to swing the strap of your book-filled bag over your shoulders. Timidness now overcame you, what were you supposed to say to him now? Had asking him to walk you home seemed too desperate?

“So what are you reading now? Not another book about a poor sexually frustrated female?” He asked, breaking your panicked thoughts as he walked side by side with you.

“No sex this time,” you giggled lightly, “this one’s about a man who sacrificed his kingdom for his true love”

“You really like that stuff huh?” Cassian spoke softly to you, he sounded like he was truly interested in finding out exactly how your brain worked, “that true love and romantic gestures shit?”

“It’s not shit” you defended, “sometimes it helps me not feel so alone. Reading about all these grand gestures and things people do for the ones they love.”

Cassian cleared his throat awkardly, his hand which was not holding the flowers moving up to scratch at his head, “and you’re into that? Romantic gestures?”

“It’s hard not to be. Pretty sure it’s every girls dream to be swept of their feet and fall as deeply as characters do in books.” Cassian was nodding along to what you were saying but his eyes showed he was lost in thought. It was your turn to draw him from his head, “you never done anything romantic for your ladies Cas?”

His name on your lips seemed to work, the clouds of thought in his eyes fading as he turned his gaze from the road ahead to you, “I guess I’ve normally always thought that just me is enough”. He didn’t say this to be cocky or narcissistic, you could tell. You didn’t mean to make him feel shame over the situation, you had been genuinely curious. Perhaps a little jealous at the thought of Cassian putting in just as much work into chasing other women as he has been with you.

“That’s ok. I think romance is more reserved for the pages of books these days than in actual reality”

Not a fan of where this conversation had turned to Cassian did his best to lift the mood, “I’m not surprised you think that if all your books were like that one I caught you reading. Heck where are you meant to find a overprotective god of war with who hates everyone but the lowly daughter of an inventor and they go on to have insane - and totally not physically possible by the way- sex!”

You scrunched your face, “Cassian there’s no way you were able to get all that from one page…Oh cauldron! You read the book! You read Fatal Frenzy!”

As if only now realising what he said to you, a flustered Cassian tried to provide you with lame excuses as to how he knew that information until it was clear you weren’t going to let it go. After about five minutes of listening to your constant prodding, poking and teasing as you walked, Cassian caved, “Fine! Fine, I read it ok. I was curious as to how he was going to put his god level cock to use!”

By this point you were full on cackling, having to stop your walking to put a hand on your stomach at the thought of this mountain of a man sitting down to read a devilishly smutty book. “I have to say”, you gasped out in-between giggles, “I’m surprised you can even read”.

Cassian acted out the most overdramatic reaction to your words, his hands flew to his heart, bouquet still in his grasp, and released loud, exaggerated noises of pain and cries of just how horrible you were. People had began to stop in the street, wondering why the Lord of Bloodshed was acting as though he had just been shot. Rolling your eyes and wanting the attention off the two of you, you elbowed his side prompting him to stop, “careful you’ll crush my flowers if you die any wilder.”

Charming grin of his face, Cassian looked down at you, “we wouldn’t want that would we? Not when a super hot guy went through the effort of finding out your favourite flowers for you.”

“You’re crazy” you said in dismissal, continuing to walk in the direction of your home.

“Your kind of crazy?” A hopeful tone in Cassian’s voice.

“I haven’t quite decided yet” you said honestly. You couldn’t deny that Cassian was already proving himself to you more than any man has. No one had ever bought you flowers before and no male had ever attempted to read a book you were reading for your attention.

“Well you just let me know when you do” Even the way Cassian looked at you made you melt.

“You’ll be the first” gentle smile on your face. Nerves building in you once more as you thought about what going further with the man next you you would entail.

Content to let you walk lost in your thoughts, Cassian didn’t try to force any conversation. A natural peace fell between the two of you, the silence not an awkward one. It wasn’t until you neared the outside of your house that you broke the silence, “Well, this is me”.

Nodding Cassian passed you the bouquet. For the first time you looked at the flowers and really admired them, admired the fact this man had gone out his way to go to your friend and make sure he got your favourite ones.

“Thank you Cassian,” you said, laying a kiss onto his stubbled cheek, “they’re beautiful.”

Cassian’s usual confidence gone, it was his turn to blush. Shyly, he tried his luck again, “so about that date?”

You walked over to your door, pulling out your key, turning back to Cassian, twinkle in your eyes, you said, “ask me again tomorrow”.

“That wasn’t a no!” He said, confidence rushing back into him. As you entered your house and peaked through the window behind your curtains you couldn’t help but watch Cassian, beam on his face, as he jumped on the spot. A small celebration that you hadn’t fully rejected him once more. A matching grin on your face as you observed him, you stayed watching until he took off from the ground, large angelic wings spread, wondering what in Prythian was this man doing to you and what sinful things you’d like to do with those wings.

~~~~~

You were sorely disappointed over the course of the next week. Since that evening Cassian had walked you home to the cafe he had not returned. Jadis tried to keep your thoughts positive, saying he was probably away on important Night Court business, being the General of its army and all. After being the one to speak to Cassian about you she was adamant that he was undoubtedly in love with you and he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

It was hard though, when the eighth day of his absence rolled round, not to think that he had found someone more interesting to pursue. Someone who didn’t make him work as hard for their affections. Your mood was so glum that you didn’t even have the heart to read. Why read about love when you’re not sure you believe in it anymore?

You had spent days wondering what you had done wrong. Had you been too forward? Or did he find your obsession with males that weren’t real a little too bizarre? You did your best not to dwell on it but it was so hard not to, the flowers you had placed in a vase on the side table in your library, right next to your reading chair, still flourished beautifully, a constant reminder of the man who crashed into your life only to leave it in shambles.

So here you were, sat on the stool in the cafe, your thoughts being the only thing to keep you busy due to your sudden lack of interest in reading. It had been another quiet day, but it wasn’t long now until Jadis would arrive, you had opened the cafe for her after she asked for a favour so she could spend the night at Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome’s, who’s name you had learnt was Arthur. Happy that even if your love life was crumbling, at least Jadis’s was blooming. However, you were thankful you weren’t actually supposed to be working today, not sure if you could survive another shift listening to her unintentionally boast about how perfect Arthur was and how good he is at sex.

So you sat there and waited for her arrival, desperate to go home and crawl into your bed. Without your typical reading to do, you found yourself spending most of your free time sleeping, wasting away the hours you didn’t know what to do with yourself in.

It was finally an hour after the time she had promised to be in for, when Jadis flew into the cafe, bell ringing aggressively at her sudden entrance. Running to where you were at the counter, coat and bags in hand, she was profusely apologising over and over for her tardiness.

“You must have had a good night with Mr Handsome” you teased, trying not to let your slight annoyance at you still being here show. Confusion flashed across her face before she quickly corrected it in realisation, “Oh yeah! Totally great sex, every woman’s dream. Hugeeee dick.”

Opening your mouth, ready to ask her about her odd behaviour, she pulled you from your stool before you could talk. Dragging you out from behind the work area, saying “Come on Y/N it’s your day off, don’t want to be here any longer than you have to be!”

Now you defiantly knew something was off, Jadis typically keeping you an hour in-between shifts to catch you up on everything that has happened since the day before. “Jadis, what’s going on?” You asked cautiously, had something happened between her and Arthur? No. Jadis would definitely tell you if that was the case, or maybe she just didn’t want to make you any more depressed than you already were. Still in that strange tone of voice, Jadis kept pushing you to leave, “Nothings wrong! I’m fine. Now leave, you still have the whole day to do something, go read one of your smut books!”

This confirmed she was definitely hiding something, knowing that you haven’t picked up a book for the past week after listening to your incessant complaining about the matter. If you weren’t so desperate to leave and go rot in bed for the rest of the day you would have stayed and forced whatever it is she was hiding out of her. You decided that was tomorrow’s job, when you had a nice six hour shift together where she couldn’t avoid your pestering.

Shrugging on your coat and promising to yourself you’d find out what she was dodging tomorrow, you left the cafe. Turning your head around to look back through the windows only to be met with Jadis and her crazed eyes watching, as if making sure you were walking in the direction of your house. Unsettled, you followed the streets leading home, praying to the Mother that your friend was alright and you weren’t about to have to kill a man for upsetting her.

Finally, you arrived at your door, turning the key in the lock you were startled to discover the door was already unlocked. You were exhausted when you left that morning but you could have sworn you weren’t so tired that you’d risk your property and your safety like that.

Fear now coursing through your veins, you quietly pushed your door open, scared you would alert anyone in your house that you were there and something bad would ensue. The fae lights in your hallway were all lit, softly casting a warm glow over your home. You stepped inside, and instead of your foot meeting the usual plush of your carpet it was met with a slight crunch.

Casting your eyes to the ground you gasped. There were hundreds of rose petals scattered across your floor, leading towards each of your rooms. Following the trail, you made it through to the entrance of your living room, if your jaw dropped any lower you were sure it’d hit the floor.

The entire room looked as if it had been covered in a red blanket, a sea of roses covering the entirety of your room to the point where you couldn’t actually see anything that wasn’t a deep shade of red.

By this point your heart was pounding in your chest and you were sure you could feel your eyes watering, the hundreds of roses placed around you getting blurrier and blurrier. But there was no sign of the man you were sure had placed them.

Turning around you sped into each of your rooms, wanting nothing more than to find Cassian and throw your arms around him. Each room the same as the last, filled to the brim with the most beautiful roses. Lillies may once have been your favourite flowers but you think the kind-hearted man, who had wormed his way into your heart, may have just changed your mind. Roses were perfect.

Still no Illyrian insight you flung open the door to your library. Room decorated just as over the top as the others. And there in the centre of it all, sat waiting for you to return home, is Cassian. He stood quickly, treading on some of the flowers placed by his feet.

“How?” You asked, voice cracking as you tried to hold the tears at bay.

“It wasn’t easy, Jadis let me in.” Cassian said lightheartedly from where he stood across the room, too far from you for your liking, “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I wanted to do this the day after we last spoke but I guess I didn’t actually think about the logistics of getting thousands of roses delivered.”

You stayed silent, heart overwhelmingly filled with love for the man before you, the man who had spent the past week getting a thousand roses just to ask you on a date. Taking your silence for something bad, Cassian began to ramble, “My brother Azriel - the spymaster - he helped too…I wanted to make sure it’d be done in time. It’s a mess I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll clear it all out for you I just-“

You cut him off, tears now flowing freely down your red hot cheeks, hands trembling, “it’s perfect Cassian. Nobody…nobody has ever done anything like this for me” At the sign of your tears Cassian made to make his way towards you but was stopped by the fact he just didn’t know where to place his foot without ruining all his hard work.

“Clearly I didn’t think this through very well” he mumbled, arms out to keep him balanced and preventing him from falling. Not wanting to spend a minute more away from him after having to suffer through a whole week, you ran, roses be damned right into his arms. Throwing yourself at his muscled body as he caught you, pulling you close to his chest in midair.

“You’re crazy!” you exclaimed, head tucked into his neck as you rested it on his shoulder.

Cassian placed you down gently, arms still wrapped tightly around your waist but he wanted to look into your eyes for this, “your kind of crazy?” His eyes held that same hopeful desperation that they had when he last asked you out.

“Hell yeah” and with that you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and connected his lips to yours.

The kiss was like nothing you had ever read before in one of your books. It was everything and more. A fire ignited within you, burning hotter and hotter and you just kept needing more. Cassian the fuel to your fire and you were sure that as long as you had him with you it was a flame that would never die out.

It was a messy clash of teeth and tongues, both of you uncaring of how sloppily and uncoordinated were kissing. All you knew was you needed each other like the pages of a book needed ink. You kissed and you kissed, hands wandering until you weren’t sure which parts belonged to Cassian and which to yourself.

The need to breathe forgotten, you continued. Hands running over his back which was rippled in muscles before reaching around his neck, holding onto him tightly as he picked you up once more.

It was only when the need for air was so overwhelming that you had no other option to pull away that you did. Heads pressed together, lips still slightly touching, a trail of saliva linking the two of you together. Cassian continued to hold you in his arms as if you were nothing but a feather, catching his breath he finally began to speak, “So about that date then?”

You giggled, pulling him even closer to you by his neck and laying a soft peck on his lips before drawing away to give your answer, Cassian’s mouth chasing after yours, “If this is how you ask me, I can’t wait to see what you have planned for our first date. Hopefully you don’t ignore me for a month whilst you prepare.”

Barking out a laugh Cassian placed you on the floor of roses, holding your hands to ensure you didn’t stumble. He looked around the room, proud smile adorning his face, he first took in the roses which he had took so long in prepping, screaming at Azriel when he hadn’t placed them down as he had pictured in his head. His gaze then swept your shelves, hundreds of books upon them.

“Ever read about this in one of your books?”

“Nope this is definitely a first”

His eyes landed on the book resting on your table, right next to the vase full of lilies he had originally given you, title in gold lettering along the front of the cover. Fated Frenzy. The book he had read because of you. You laughed as you spotted what he was staring at, his eyes travelling back to you, running up your body with hunger before finally settling on your eyes.

“You into roleplay gorgeous?”

With those words he smashed his lips back onto yours. The promise of an exciting night ahead.

Here, standing in your library entwined with the Illyrian you decided all those characters you have read about were lacking in one thing you never even knew you needed.

They weren’t Cassian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: You have no idea how much I wanted to finish this fic with “And so Cassian did” lol

Happy Valentines <3

[pumpkin-patch-cat]

⸸ Savior ⸸

Satan x Fem! Reader (female presenting)

🔞 NSFW. Minors DNI.🔞

Warnings: rough penetration, semi-conciousness, language

AN: Just a little brainrot I've had cookin' in my head and decided to share with the class. As per usual, please pardon any grammatical errors.

That familiar pain. The burning ache.

‘Not again’

You look to your side toward Satan in desperation as your stride slows, your lungs yearning to take unimpeded breaths of air but each time you breath in, it's as if you're inhaling needles and foreign ozone.

“S-satan..” You croak, hastily seeking his attention by reaching for his sleeve, but the attentive king had already noticed. With no Sitri and Ppyong present, the king couldn't be happier. But not so much knowing this phenomenon plagues you and causes you pain. Pain not inflicted by his own hands, that is.

“Your room. Now” He commands with a knowing smile.

He grabs your hand, you shut your eyes, desperately trying to conjure up the familiar space, but alas, your thoughts are repeatedly interrupted by panic. You simply can not take in a good enough breath to maintain your train of thought.

“Y/n, hurry” Satan's stern voice presses. He grips your shoulders, noting the tears pricking your eyes when you open them in panic once again.

“c-can’t” you inhale as sharply as you can to gather any air that would make it through.

You claw at your throat with one hand while holding his forearm with the other in a silent cry for help.

“Shit” Satan frowns, then scans the area quickly. Most buildings are dilapidated and have fallen to ruin. ‘Damn angels’ he thinks, dragging you further down the deserted street in hopes of finding a space untouched by violence. If he had it his way, he'd fuck you where you stood, but that was reckless.

You continue to take in short puffs of air, wheezing now, nearly losing your footing.

Satan steadies you with a protective grip on your forearm, and when you both come to a stop near a darkened alley, he makes an executive decision.

“Fuck it”

It'll have to do.

It's dark and dank. Musty with the smell of dry rotted wood and moldy, wet brick. A stark contrast to the evening's inviting and dusky setting sun outside of the alley. Satan drags you in deeper, avoiding a few leaky pipes, debris, and puddles, continuously on alert to be sure no angels are on your heels.

Once the man is satisfied with a spot closest to a dead-end, the king turns and graces you with one of his signature kisses without hesitation. In the back of his mind, he's unsure if the transfer of energy will work without the proper head space, but right now there's no time to hypothesize.

His kiss deepens when a pained whimper escapes your lips.

He needs to hurry, less he lose his favorite human.

Through your dazed expression you feel the cold chill and rough surface of something hard pressed to your back.

“I've got you…” He murmurs against your lips and presses you closer against the wall, quickly reaching down to undo and slip your bottoms from your hips, the tell tale sound of a belt buckle and zipper of his jumpsuit follows after. Fabric now left to pool at both your feet.

Even in dire times, his human was still beautiful.

With his boxers at his hips, the king hoists you up by the ass, pressing against you, his dick now free and already impossibly hard knowing your most precious space is currently his for the taking.

Using the wall to keep you sandwiched against his broad chest, Satan pistons your pussy without warm-up or warning; relishing in the tight squeeze and slowly moistening flesh fighting to adjust to the intrusion. He'll apologize later…maybe.

“Argh!” A strangled cry escapes your throat despite the innate lack of air, to which a hand comes down over your mouth to quickly muffle the sounds, forcing you to attempt harsh breaths through your nose.

“Easy, little lamb. You don't want those creatures to interrupt our fun, do you?” he offers quietly.

The only response he receives comes in the form of whimpers each time he re-enters, those red eyes keeping you locked in a dazed trance.

The demon thrusts harshly upward, forgoing a lazy pace and opting for one that's sure to leave your insides bruised. His large hand grips your ass, while his other moves from your mouth to hold your thigh, guiding you up and down.

While the blooming pleasure feels incredible, it's nearly drowned out by your lack of air supply. The energy isn't being absorbed fast enough and your vision starts to go dim. You claw at Satan's shoulder, breaking skin in an attempt to stay grounded and push through the fog, but the tightness in your chest is nearly unbearable.

“Stay with me, y/n. Fuck…you feel so good…That's right, abuse my flesh. Use me!” Satan muses through clenched teeth and pushes in deeper, digging his nails into the soft fat of your ass.

Your body feels like jello. You feel as though you're underwater. Your eyes begin to roll, practically a limp, play-thing in the demon's arms, and it only spurs him on.

The demon shifts his hips in a way that manages to prod against a more sensitive spot deep within your pussy, pushing out another strangled cry from your near empty lungs. His lips connect with yours again to swallow the sound.

“Look at my little human. At the presepist of death, yet drunk off the delicious burn of pleasure…” he coos near your jaw as it goes slack in a silent scream. Your head weightlessly pulls to the side just a bit, only to be yanked back upright abruptly by the chin.

“Look at me, y/n. Hey…HEY. Focus” he taps your cheek a bit rougher than intended, but it brings your fucked out, panicked eyes back to his face.

God, you were gorgeous.

Terror and bliss playing tug of war with your features, and his heart. Fervent groans of both pain and ecstacy continuously escaping your throat. He wished he could take a picture. To freeze the expression on your face in time.

To show you…to tease you…

To piss you off.

The thought of your rage upon seeing yourself in such a vulnerable state of disarray had the demon's eyes crossing slightly, tongue lapping out and dripping with saliva into the space between your bodies. His dick engorged further as he envisioned the twisted, raw anger in your words as you scolded him for his behavior.

A bit of liquid dripped down the side of his face and over his cheek. He licked it away greedily when it reached his lips; the taste salty and familiar - his horns were leaking. He felt heavy against your walls, his balls clapped rhythmically against your ass cheeks to the beat of each relentless plunge within. You were so wet around him, for him, and it only increased the faster he moved. That's a good thing. It meant you were still alive. You were still his.

Despite your slowly deteriorating state, the king could feel the needy squeeze of your pussy keeping him locked deep inside - you were close.

“Just like that.” he breathes, brows creased in concentration.

The muscles of Satan's ass flexed and relaxed, forcing you upward in his grip.

The darkness that licked at the edges of your vision remained, but the familiar burn in your core was smoldering - growing.

“S-satan” you manage to croak again, barely above a whisper. You held on to the wefts of hair on his shoulders like anchors with what little strength you had, managing to catch the glimmer of two crimson, half lidded eyes boring into your face through the glaze clouding your vision.

“Cum for me, little lamb. Let me be your savior. Pray to me. Let me be your God” He grinned above you, face flushed red and wild.

The feeling was damn near torture. Being tugged back and forth between consciousness and a mental, black void that threatened to swallow you whole, but it did not extinguish the growing flame in your gut, nay, it pushed you further; a feeling akin to a taut rubber band.

Satan set a punishing rhythm then, the sound of wet flesh colliding together bounced off the walls around you both. His hips began to sputter, his thrusts slowed to harsh grinding where the tight curls of his pubic hair rubbed deliciously against your throbbing clit.

“S-satan…I..cum-ing!”

The moment the proverbial rubber band snapped was the moment an orgasm so forceful--so earth shattering--rocked through your arched body, and set your senses alight.

Your only warning from the demon was a drawn-out grunt that reverberated deep in his chest and his teeth coming down to latch onto your shoulder to muffle his own sounds.

A rush of hot warmth coats your insides simultaneously, and color bursts forth into your vision; air once again floods your lungs with the deepest of breaths.

In the few moments following, the only thing you remembered was a gentle hand resting on your cheek and the words 'sleep now' being uttered before your world went black.

⸸⸸⸸⸸

“You did so well. But now you need rest” The king had you dressed, as best as he could anyways, and in his arms bridal style heading for home.

Although the transfer worked and he managed to save you, it was hard to ignore the small sense of dread that bottomed out in his stomach seeing you in distress.

The further he walked, cradling your body against his, your breaths now even, he contemplated.

In the beginning, the possessiveness he felt for you had been brought on by territorial instincts nurtured by your connection to Solomon, but the longer he spent time with you, his idea of who you were had started to change.

You were interesting for many reasons, reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, and both Ppyong and Sitri had taken a liking to you as well, though in a way that felt completely different from Solomon's time in hell.

Did that make him…happy? It's been a long time since he felt an ounce of happiness, depression was unkind like that. But you. Your presence had started to fan those flames. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

“What are you doing to me, y/n?” He asks quietly, sweeping his eyes over your relaxed, sleeping face. An inkling of warmth tingling in his chest.

Satan wasn't sure what was going on, but in that moment, he vowed to be there when you needed him. To stay by your side and protect you.

[steddieas-shegoes]

For the requests! I present to you...

Eddie reacting to Steve in a crop top and super short shorts for the very first time ever as Steve's just minding his own business and doing the most mundane things ever 👀

Oh what FUN. I needed this prompt SO bad and I had fun with it. Honestly I relate to Eddie so much here: just completely feral over Steve in a crop top and shorts. Hope you enjoy! - Mickala ❤️

—————————————————————

Hawkins was hot during the summer, but that was nothing to the Florida heat.

Florida wasn’t Eddie’s idea, to be clear.

His idea was anywhere not south.

July was hot enough everywhere, why make it worse?

Apparently, he was the only one with common fucking sense.

But Steve insisted on a beach trip, and apparently the only beach that was sufficient for the kids was in Florida.

Eddie wasn’t built for this. He was pale, only owned long black jeans, and his hair stuck to his face and neck the moment he started to break a sweat.

But Steve was so excited and the kids were so excited and so Eddie was tolerating it.

Steve bought an actual RV.

When Max got out of the hospital, basically adopted her when her mom was nowhere to be found, he bought one, not too big, but big enough for everyone to have a space.

Robin took the couch, insisted on it, not sharing with anyone, not even Steve. El and Max took a bottom bunk, Dustin the other bottom bunk. Steve didn’t let Mike and Will share a bunk because he went full parent mode the second he saw them holding hands, so Will took one top bunk with Lucas and Mike took the other. Which left Steve obviously taking the queen bed in the back, and Eddie the bed with him or the floor.

So Eddie argues with himself for a week leading up to the whole long two day ride to Florida about sleeping on the floor, about maybe trying to bunk with Dustin, who kicks and snores like a grown man fighting in a boxing ring. Considered begging Mike to suck it up and share so he wouldn’t have to face what he’d been ignoring for six months now: that he was ass over head, disgustingly, write songs about him, in love with Steve Harrington.

He barely even talks to Steve, probably coming across as an asshole, but Robin covers for him, makes sure he’s given the space he needs to come to terms with the fact he has to share a bed with Steve on this journey.

By the end of the first day, he’d managed to come to terms with sharing a bed with him. A queen bed was big enough for space between them, he could wake up first so there’d be no chance of Steve seeing how hard he would be. He could make it work.

Making it work apparently meant not sleeping at all.

He didn’t even close his eyes. He felt every movement next to him, heard every breath Steve let out, every groan when he moved in a way that caused his healed but still sore bat bites to twinge.

He felt every twinge in his heart knowing that Steve was turned towards him, getting closer with every movement, and he had to ignore it.

He had to ignore it because if he didn’t, he’d turn around and pull Steve against him, play with his stupid, soft hair, and run his hand up and down his stupid, muscular, naked back.

So he was a bit tired on day two of their travels. Steve asked if he could drive for a couple hours so he could braid the girls’ hair. What was he supposed to say? No?

Not fucking likely.

So he drove, even though he was exhausted, and hadn’t drive an RV before in his life, and probably shouldn’t have been allowed near a real map for any reason other than passing it to someone else.

Robin, luckily, saw him struggling, and quickly made her way to the passenger seat to be navigator.

She didn’t say anything about it, she didn’t ask about his night, and she didn’t offer to trade sleeping spots with him. He tried not to be a little bitchy about it, but honestly, she was supposed to be Steve’s best friend, why couldn’t she sleep with him?

When Steve finally yelled to him to pull off the next exit to switch, he felt like he could breathe again.

Maybe he could take a nap in the bed since Steve was driving now.

But then Dustin wanted to talk about the campaign they’d do when they got to the campsite and Will got involved and then Mike had to add his (wrong) opinion about a trap that he was convinced Eddie would throw in. Eddie’s head was starting to hurt and they still had six hours to go.

Eddie managed to sneak away to the bedroom after they stopped for gas and lunch, slept for maybe 30 minutes, then got woken up by El, who wanted her nails painted to match her bathing suit and he couldn’t say no.

Of course, Max decided she wanted her nails painted too, and then Robin said she needed a touch up and didn’t trust herself to do it so Eddie got wrangled into painting everyone’s nails.

He barely even realized when they arrived.

But suddenly, Steve was standing next to him, smiling down at him, making Eddie want to die and also propose marriage at the same time.

“The kids are already running to the water. Wanna help me set up?”

Steve could have asked him to murder someone and he would, so he said yes.

“Cool, I’ll just change. Can you get the awning out and the chairs set up?”

“Yep, don’t take too long and make me do all the work.”

Steve laughed. Eddie laughed.

Eddie was serious, but if anyone could get away with making him do all the work, it was Steve.

So he got started on it all.

He watched Robin walking slowly towards where the kids were running along the water’s edge to keep an eye on them, all of them just a little nervous to let them out of their sights still.

He started turning the crank of the awning, already sweating from the heat and humidity, the breeze just blowing more hot air and sand at him.

He’d never been to the beach before, and he was quickly realizing why he didn’t mind that.

Once the awning was set, he opened the side compartment to pull out some of the camping chairs Steve bought for the occasion.

“Everything going okay?”

Eddie looked up to answer Steve and froze.

Steve had changed.

He’d changed into the shortest crop top Eddie had ever seen and a pair of shorts that his ass was going to pop out of the moment he bent over.

He couldn’t breathe.

Steve’s skin was just. There.

His scars, the scars that matched Eddie’s, were there.

Out in the open.

So much skin just happening right in front of Eddie’s eyes.

“Eddie? You okay? Need help?”

Eddie coughed, trying to hide the fact he was practically choking on his own spit.

“Good. I’m good. So good. Great.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded.

“Okay, well I’m gonna hook up the plumbing and electric. Think you can get the hot dogs and buns out and start the fire for when the kids come back super hungry?”

Eddie knew he was asking him something, possibly something important, but he didn’t understand any of it. He nodded, though.

He watched Steve walk around to the other side of the RV.

So much skin.

Holy shit.

Eddie wanted to rip those clothes off of him. He wanted to taste the sweat that was dripping down his neck. He wanted to carry him back into the RV, lock the door, and fuck him into the mattress of the bed they had to share later.

He could do it. Robin would keep the kids busy. She’d understand.

But no. There was a reason he hadn’t acted on his feelings. There was a reason he’d been keeping his distance, making sure he was never alone with Steve.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice when Steve came back around the corner, sweatier than before, his skin glistening in the sun.

God, this had to be illegal. This was a war crime. This was torture.

Survived almost being eaten alive by demon bats just to die in Florida watching Steve hook up an RV.

Sounds like a sick joke by the universe, but not that hard to believe considering his history.

“Eds? You good? You look like you need some water.”

Steve was walking up to him now, using the crop top to wipe his forehead, showing off even more skin. Jesus Christ.

“Maybe I do need to cool off. Um. Let me go inside and get some water. Great idea.”

Eddie was somehow making his legs work, rushing into the RV so he could get some space before he did something stupid like kiss Steve and tell him that he loves him.

But Steve was concerned, he should’ve known he would follow him inside.

“Eddie. Hey, just relax. The heat is a lot, maybe you should get your bathing suit on and just cool off a bit. I can handle the rest of this stuff,” Steve said as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink.

Must’ve got the water working then.

Steve, to Eddie’s horror and delight, sat down next to him and put his arm around him, handing him the glass of water with a worried look.

Eddie took it, ignoring the way his hands were shaking, hoping Steve would ignore it too.

He didn’t.

“Eddie, shit. You overdid it. I shouldn’t have had you helping out in that heat like that. You’re still technically healing.” Steve’s hand ghosted over where Eddie’s worst scars were on his sides. “I’m sorry. Just stay in here, I’ll get the AC going so it’s cool. You can change, maybe you’ll cool off faster.”

Eddie knew the problem wasn’t really the heat. And Steve wasn’t going to stop this.

Eddie was watching the way the crop top rode up the more Steve fretted over him, the way his thighs were fighting their way out of the shorts.

He had to tell him.

Eddie pulled away from him for a moment, took a really long look at the scar on Steve’s thigh that wasn’t Upside Down related, and then sighed.

“You’re killing me. The heat sucks, but it’s nothing compared to what you’re doing to me.”

That should’ve been where he stopped. But he didn’t.

“Stevie, you’re like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Like, hotter than Ozzy and James Hetfield combined. Which is crazy because you are nothing like them. You’re you. And like I’m me. And I’m really gay. If that wasn’t clear yet then now it is. I’m super gay. I’m also super into you. I know you’re not into guys, even if you were, you wouldn’t be into me. So like, I get that this is weird and you don’t even have to look at me for the rest of the trip. I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just this outfit is sending me over the edge. I didn’t even know they made shorts that short. And that top? It’s breaking my brain. It’s leaking out of my ears.”

Steve was laughing by the end, which isn’t the worst thing that could be happening, but it certainly wasn’t the best.

“And I mean, when I say super into you, I don’t just mean stupid little high school crush. I mean like I’m in love with you. I love you entirely too much. Like, probably enough where I would be creeped out if someone loved me this much. So I think you should go back outside and let me just wallow in my self pity for a bit in here and then I’ll come back outside and pretend I didn’t just tell you the biggest secret I’ve been keeping for months.”

“Are you done?” Steve asked, no longer laughing, but smiling fondly at him.

Eddie nodded, worried that his outburst probably ruined everything.

But then Steve’s lips were on his, and his hands were in his hair, and his thighs were straddling his lap.

Eddie’s brain shut off and his body took over.

It wasn’t his first kiss by any means, but it was the first kiss with Steve Harrington, which made it more special by default.

He let his hands fall to Steve’s naked thighs, moaning into the kiss when he felt his muscles shift under his palms as he adjusted to a more comfortable position.

Steve pulled away and looked at him with droopy eyes.

“What were you thinking about out there? You were lost in your own world.”

“I was thinking about fucking you into the mattress of that bed while Robin distracts the kids.”

Steve groaned and kissed him again.

“Can we do that?”

Jesus. Steve was something else.

“Sweetheart, as much as I know you’d far surpass any fantasy I’ve had, the kids could be back any minute and we won’t have an explanation for them.”

“We don’t need an explanation if we just tell them the truth,” Steve pouted, trailing soft kisses down Eddie’s neck.

“So you wanna sit them all down and tell them their dad was fucking their mom into the mattress?”

Steve pulled away and smacked Eddie’s chest.

“No! I just figured we could say you needed a nap. Since you didn’t sleep last night.”

Eddie paled. How the fuck did Steve know that?

“Relax. I was asleep last night, it’s not like I was watching you struggle to keep distance between us. But I saw how tired you were this morning and Robin let it slip that you couldn’t get comfortable and made my assumptions.”

Eddie shook his head.

“Well then you’ll know I am actually tired. I probably could use that nap.”

Steve placed a quick kiss to his lips.

“Then you should take one. I’ll finish up outside.”

“Kinda want you with me though.”

“One of us has to be the responsible parent who sets everything up and gives the kids dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie smirked. “This is like your ultimate fantasy isn’t it? Road trip with your kids and your partner?”

Steve blushed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m right! That’s why I love you, Stevie,” Eddie said before kissing his forehead. “I’ll come start the fire for the hot dogs. You stay away from me so I can focus.”

“Damn. I was gonna take off the shirt, though.”

Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I am begging you to keep it on.”

“Oh. Is this like a thing for you?” Steve teased.

“So what if it is?”

“Then I’ll keep it on and you can fuck me into the mattress with it on later. How’s that sound, big boy?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped.

“Using my own words against me? Unbelievable.”

Steve shrugged and got off his lap, much to Eddie’s dismay.

“I’ll have Robin bring the kids on a night walk along the beach later. Sound okay?”

“Sweetheart, nothing’s ever sounded better.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Hi there, I have a request for aemond if your requests are open. It’s a little bit of hurt and comfort. I was thinking that maybe aemond had a bad day, like he lost during training or something. When he comes to bed that night his wife is there waiting for him, he snaps at her over something small and says something hurtful. She rushes out and then we get grovelling aemond, begging for her forgiveness. But she makes him work for it, she doesn’t forgive him on the first try.

It doesn’t have to follow along exactly, and don’t feel any pressure to accept if you don’t want to write it. I’m just a sucker for hurt/comfort with a lot of grovelling in between

no pressure at all!! happy to take any request, I need more mutuals in the hotd fandom 😫

ugh love a little angst, hope you enjoy xx

Work For It

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,211.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing.

You could sense how tense Aemond had been throughout the day, progressively his mood getting worse. It started off with mother urging that he search for his older brother in God knows what dingy brothel he lured himself in, meaning he skipped an intimate breakfast with you. After endless hours of the morning, roaming the Streets of Silk, Ser Criston and himself had finally managed to find Aegon semi-unconscious in a narrow alleyway, on the corner of one of his frequented brothels. Lunging him back to the castle, Aemond was tiresome however was obedient to carry on with his duties, one of which was to train with the knights of the Kingsguard.

Usually he found himself greatly skilled against most of these men, however today it seemed he’d lost his focus. Round after round, he found himself making accidental mistakes, most that he knew he could’ve easily prevented. Had this been an actual battlefield, you would’ve been a widow, and your husband long gone. Thankfully, he survived.

You carefully observed him from a tower above. It was one of your favourite hobbies to pass time. Although, Aemond’s impatience at this point was palpable, and suddenly he snapped. He grew infuriated with himself that he called it quits, aggressively throwing his weapon on the floor, as he stormed off.

Instinctively, you wanted to chase after him, however, you’d convinced yourself it was most responsible to give him his space for now. Just some time to cool off, or so you thought he would.

****

“Aemond my dear, come here. Let me help you relax.”

A few hours after Aemond had left the training yard, he’d managed to present himself to dinner with the rest of the family. However, he remained suspiciously quiet. He didn’t normally act this way, and was often able to mask his emotions, although today he seemed on edge.

Occasionally, you’d caress his hand for some reassurance and he’d simply nod or give you a half-hearted smile. Although, nothing more.

And the cherry on top, Aegon kept nagging at his mood, which did not help the situation at all. You found that his fists would curl up tightly, taking a deep breath in and out.

Finally, the day close to an end, you found yourselves alone in your shared chambers.

He slowly walked towards you, still quiet. He knelt his head down, your foreheads pressed against each other softly.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Why are you so tense today?”

“I’ve just had enough of this family, in particular Aegon’s shenanigans.”

You tugged his forearm to seat himself beside you at the edge of the bed. He collapsed by your side, exhaling a deep sigh.

He really did go above and beyond for his family, and often it would go unrewarded.

“I know my love, but he is your brother. You must understand that Aegon’s in no easy position either, he has a lot of expectations on his shoulders.”

And instantly, Aemond snapped his attention towards you, his eyes glaring at you deeply, intimidating you, as he stood himself up, his tall height towering over you.

“What did you just say?” He unnervingly uttered, a low tone, so stoic you felt chills.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that, Aemond. Y-You know I don’t-”

“Is it Aegon that deserves some understanding, this royal treatment despite neglecting his duty? Must we all bend our backs for Aegon, even if he offers nothing in return, not even an ounce of dignity.”

“Aemond, please-”

“Perhaps it should be you that best seek out our Aegon, the next time he disappears. Maybe if you offer your cunt, he’ll say and do as you please, just like a whore.”

You hadn’t noticed the tears swelling in your eyes, until this very moment.

The venom in his voice was potent, your thoughts vanished. You remained quiet as you began to cry.

You looked around the room hastily, your eyes pacing as though an answer would present itself, or that this was all just a terrible dream.

However you were brought back to reality, as Aemond yelled your name.

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?! Perhaps your liking and understanding of Aegon should best be put to use!”

And without hesitation, you felt the urge to leave. You couldn’t stand to hear any more of it.

It was a painful exchange of words, and words it seemed that Aemond did not hesitate to share.

You wondered off mindlessly outside, not aware of where you were headed, nor where to go.

You felt breathless and that the air was growing thin, immediately you directed yourself to the royal gardens, hastily walking in hopes no one could interrupt you.

****

You sat alone, the cold stone bench you’d propped yourself on, as you tried desperately to catch your breath.

A whore, he resembled you to. Nonetheless for Aegon.

You hadn’t meant for the words to come out like that, only trying to reason the situation.

And it backfired terribly.

You knew you would’ve apologised, had Aemond not said what he’d said before you could.

You’d never seen him in such an ugly state. You began to feel furious as you reminisced the scene, over and over again, eventually you stopped sobbing.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his bright, platinum hair eliminating in the darkness of the night. His head remained low, only momentarily did his eyes meet yours, before they fell to the floor.

Slowly he approached you, walking stiffly as though approaching an untamed dragon.

“Y/N, I-I’m-”

“Save your apology, Aemond. I’m in no mood to hear it.” You spat, your eyes glaring at Aemond, as he struggled to maintain eye contact.

“Please, Y/N-”

He swiftly knelt down before you, the cool light breeze grazing through the strands of his hair. His hands instinctively reached over to grip yours, although you shoved them away.

“Your words have stung me, Aemond. You knew that wasn’t what I meant and yet you twisted my words. You can feel as terrible as you want, in fact I hope you do. I may forgive you in time but I will not forget this night. Now leave me, or else I may take up on your suggestion from earlier… At least Aegon drunk, won’t bother to talk at all.”

He was lost, the tables turned. He remained still.

He’d never seen this side of you before, and knew there was no one else to blame although himself. And that would haunt him.

Of course you were no whore, and he knew how Aegon made you ill. You were simply being rational when he was blinded by fury.

Although it was too late. Hurtful words exchanged, and knowing he made you cry, plunges the knife deeper.

“Of course my dear, I can arrange to sleep elsewhere, you take the room… Just know, I am truly guilty, and this guilt will remain with me. I love you so very much, although I understand if your love has lessened. I am less a man today.”

And with that, a final stroke of your cheek and he was gone. You loved Aemond and that remained unchanged, however you felt a guard was up. Only time would tell, although you knew he’d have to work for you.

[happilyhertale]

Sense of duty 2 - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: After your mother Rhaenyra learned of the secret love between you and your personal knight, Aemond, she is determined to end this relationship. But Aemond is also determined that he cannot allow this to happen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (:

After a long wait, now the second part of "Sense of Duty". I hope you like it!

To understand the events and the story, the first part should be read beforehand. English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 5.4 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A heavy silence envelops the space between you, forcing you to breathe carefully. The weight of the silence is in the air, making it difficult to return your mother's gaze directly. Instead, your eyes are transfixed on Aemond. He does not notice the palpable tension, or perhaps he cleverly hides it, for he remains steadfast and fixes his gaze unwaveringly on his mother.

You want to do the same and turn your gaze forward again. Alicent's eyes are closed and this frightens you more than her usual, desperate, rather suffering look.

Your gaze flits to your mother. She looks stoic. You can't place this look. You have never been in such a situation before, never seen her look at you like that.

But suddenly she shakes her head slightly

"No," Rhaenyra simply says.

"You are not getting married," she adds.

Now you feel anger bubbling up inside you. Your gaze turns angry and you face her.

"What?" you say, trying to sound decisive.

Your original plan seems to be fading, but you can't let it.

"He took my maidenhead. I have to marry him. I am carrying his child," you say.

Your mother looks at you and then lets her gaze slide to your belly.

"Your belly is flat. It's your first child, your belly will remain flat for a while too, before anyone realises you are pregnant, you are married," she says

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel your body going numb.

"Mother! Lord Cregan will notice if I am heavily pregnant at the wedding! Getting betrothed and planning a royal wedding takes time," you say angrily.

She looks you straight in the eye again, "Then seduce him. Sleep with him before you marry," she says to you.

"After all, you could share a bed with Aemond... Even though he is actually your personal knight and you are not married," she says and her gaze goes back and forth between you and Aemond.

Your eyes grow wide and you feel sick. The thought of sleeping with another man turns your stomach. You just stare at your mother, you've never seen her so angry.

"No," Aemond suddenly chimes in. Again a silence settles over the room and Alicent, who had been keeping her eyes closed all this time, suddenly looks up.

"I am the father of this child and no cheap lord from the north will present this child as his own. This child will be born with silver hair and purple eyes," he says coolly.

"Aemond! Haven't you done enough already!" Alicent says suddenly.

Your mother's gaze is now fixed on Aemond. Again your breath catches. Your fingers gently grasp Aemond's fingers. Gently he encloses your fingers with his. Your mother is not unaware of this gentle gesture, but she does not let herself be swayed.

"We need the alliance with the North. We need the assurance that the North will not go rogue," she says. Again there is silence for some time until she continues, "This child may come into the world with the characteristics of the Targaryen family. But in this case, it will have the characteristics of y/n. Of y/n alone," she says.

"But, Aemond, you will be able to see your child. You will remain y/n's personal knight. You will continue to do your duty and protect her and the child. But she will marry someone else," your mother says to Aemond.

Tears come to your eyes. You have a lump in your throat that makes it hard to talk.

Even to breathe...

"I will send a raven to the north today. We'll invite the Starks to plan the wedding," your mother turns her gaze on you again, "Y/n. I love you. To you this decision will seem hard. But you are heir to the throne, we have duties that must be fulfilled. And you will sleep with Lord Cregan once he is here," she says, almost gently.

It seems contradictory to you how gently she sounds, yet what words leave her mouth.

You look to the side. Tears threaten to flow from your eyes and you feel yourself being overcome by nausea.

Before anyone can say anything, you storm out of the council chambers. Despite your mothers' protests, Aemond storms after you.

His voice echoes, pleading your name again and again, but you do not hear it. Lost in the whirlpool of your own racing thoughts, you press forward, desperate to reach the comfort of your chambers. With all your might, you propel yourself forward, driven by an urgency that consumes you. Prince Aemond lingers behind you, only a breath away, but always unable to seize you. The watchful guards you pass hesitate, torn between the need to protect you from potential harm and the possibility that your quickened pace is merely an expression of your own urgent affairs. Finally, they decide not to obstruct Aemond's path.

When you finally reach your chambers, you rush straight into the adjoining bathroom. The relentless wave of nausea will not let you go, and with an indomitable will you manage to find the sink just in time to release the contents of your stomach.

You don't know if it is because the thought of offering yourself to a man you don't want in your bed disgusts you or because you are pregnant.

Your eyes are closed and you are breathing heavily. Saliva pools in your mouth. You gasp and try to normalise your breathing.

When you hear noises behind you. You open your eyes and look slightly over your shoulder. Aemond is standing there, just looking at you. You have never seen such an expression on his face. A mixture of sadness and anger. Neither of you says anything. You look ahead again and sigh.

You wash your face with the water from a water bowl next to the sink.

You turn to Aemond and lean against the sink. He is still standing in the doorway.

"This is terrible," you say quietly. You drop your gaze to the floor.

"The most horrible scenario that could ever happen..." you continue quietly.

"We should never have made love... Never..." you say, your voice threatening to fail you as tears come to your eyes again.

But then Aemond comes rushing towards you.

"No, no, no, no..." he says softly but firmly. His hands gently cup your face.

"Don't say that. Don't even think that. Never. I'll find a solution, I promise you that. Do you hear me?" he says, kissing your forehead gently again and again.

Your eyes are closed, but you nod slightly.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond's mind is consumed with racing thoughts. Since your meeting in the Council Chambers, where it became painfully clear to him that Rhaenyra would not allow your union, a singular determination has gripped him. He is driven to find a solution, a way to avert the impending tragedy.

Once Aemond has made sure that you have removed your tight dress and exchanged it for a comfortable nightgown, he helps you to lie down in your bed. Soon he leaves your chambers.

Lying on your side, you snuggle into the warmth of your blanket, seeking comfort. You press your face into the pillow where Aemond was still lying the previous night. When your love was still undisturbed and surrounded by a lightness.

As you bury your face deeper into the pillow, his pleasant scent permeates your senses. Tears well up in your eyes and you cry softly into the fabric, overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.

All day long you lay in your bed, untouched by the offers of food graciously handed to you by the industrious servants. Your gaze never lifted from its sombre position.

In a fleeting moment your mother entered your chambers and settled herself on the edge of the bed. With tender affection her hand caressed your head and comforted your troubled spirit. She told you that the letter had been sent to the North, and assured you that it was understood that if you wished to continue to have Aemond "by your side". Her understanding was unwavering and she assured you that disappointment had no place in her heart. Nevertheless, she stressed the importance of exercising discretion in such matters. But you did not answer her, instead a quiet sob erupted from within you.

How could she ever truly understand the anguish that raged in your soul? To have to be bound to a man for whom you harbour no affection, while you secretly harbour love for another man?

In the evening you are still alone in your chambers when servants enter. You are lying on your back, your tears have long since dried on your face. You look up at the ceiling. You almost didn't notice the servants, but then a voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Princess y/n. Prince Aemond sent us. He has instructed us to draw you a bath," the servant says to you.

You avert your gaze from the ceiling and look irritatedly at the servants. Why should you take a bath now?

But when you think about it for a moment, you suddenly find the idea very inviting.

You sit up and get out of bed. Slowly, your bare feet tread the cold floor and you go into the adjacent bathroom. The servants have already put water in the tub. You see warm steam rising into the air. Lavender oil is added to the water and the gentle scent immediately hits your nose.

You take off your nightgown as you walk towards the tub. Slowly you let yourself sink into the warm water. You close your eyes and immediately feel your tense muscles relax. You lie in the tub, trying to transfer the relaxation to your thoughts as well. Trying to push away the thoughts that keep focusing on what will be required of you in the future.

You open your eyes, slightly annoyed, as you realise that your thoughts cannot be calmed. You look down at your body, which is enveloped by the warm water. You see the faint marks on your thigh that remind you of the way Aemond had grabbed you just a day before... Loved you. You don't want another man's marks left there.

As the water gets cooler, you get up from the tub. You take a towel that the servants have placed next to the tub and dry yourself. You go back to your bedroom. But you stop as you walk towards your bed and see that there is a dress lying there. You look a little irritated. There is a note on it.

"Wear this. I'll come and see you later. A."

You look a little irritated and turn the note around, but there is nothing else written on it.

Why is Aemond asking you to wear a special dress?

You look at the dress and let your fingers wander over the fabric of the dress. The light silk fabric feels soft but sturdy. It is black, with red appliqués. It shimmers slightly. It is a beautiful dress.

So you dry off and put the dress on. Just as you are combing your hair, Aemond comes into your chambers.

You look at him and you can't help but smile as he stands in your chambers. Almost completely, the heaviness in your chest disappears.

He looks serious. But when he sees your smile, he can't help it and returns your smile. Slowly he comes towards you.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, gently stroking your cheek as he stands in front of you.

You blush slightly.

"Do you have something planned for us? Why would I bathe and wear this dress?" you ask as you can no longer hold back curiosity.

"I didn't want you to smell unpleasant," he says, smiling slightly.

You look indignant, but have to laugh slightly. You lightly punch his arm.

He chuckles lightly.

"Take your warm coat and come with me," is all he says, walking to the door of your chambers.

Now you look after him, irritated.

"What?" you ask quietly.

He turns to you, "You've lain around long enough. We're going for a ride. It will take your mind off things," he says with a smile and only then do you notice that he is wearing his riding clothes.

You try to read something from his look, but you don't get a chance. So you sigh and take your coat and follow him.

The corridors are quiet and dimly lit. Aemond knows exactly which paths to choose so as not to encounter anyone. As you step out of the keep, you just look at him questioningly.

"Where are we going?" you ask him.

But he only smiles.

You quickly notice that you are getting closer to the hill of Rhaenys.

You smile, "Where are we going?" you try again. But he just smiles and shakes his head slightly. He takes your hand firmly in his. You enter the Dragonpit. Aemond walks purposefully towards the familiar corner where Vhagar lies. A deep grumble is heard as you approach the huge dragon. Aemond gently strokes the scales of her neck as he stands beside her. He leads you further to the ladder and helps you climb onto Vhagar. Not much later, as you sit in the saddle, Aemond is also sitting behind you.

"Is it safe to ride a dragon while pregnant?" you ask with a smile on your lips as you turn your face to him.

He smiles slightly, "As long as you don't fall off the dragon..." he replies to you. You chuckle lightly.

"Dohaeras, Vhagar“, Aemond speaks. (Serve, Vhagar)

"Issa iā lyka bantis… maghagon īlva naejot Dragonstone…," he continues. (It is a quiet night... Take us to Dragonstone)

You turn your head towards him

"Dragonstone?" you ask "Are you kidnapping me?" but you have to smile slightly

"To Dragonstone? Then I would rather take you to Essos," he says softly and kisses your cheek.

You feel the huge dragon begin to rise. How the muscles start to work and Vhagar moves towards the exit. As Vhagar steps outside, you notice that the sun has given way to the moon.

Vhagar is fast in the air despite her enormous size. Lithely she glides through the air while Aemond holds you close to his body. You see the vast sea below you and the stars in the sky. You can't help but smile. The heaviness in your chest has almost completely disappeared and Aemond has actually done it, your thoughts actually let themselves be directed to something else.

As the castle and cliffs of Dragonstone become visible, you feel an unfamiliar excitement within you. The closer you get the larger and more imposing the castle seems. Vhagar heads for the green space around the castle and lands almost gently.

Aemond's hands release you and you climb down from Vhagar. You smile and look at Aemond, who descends behind you.

"Are you going to tell me what we are doing here?" you ask him with a smile.

He looks at you, "The home of our ancestors..." he says looking at you with a smile.

"I am well aware of that...", you answer him, almost cheekily.

"This is where your mother already married Daemon in a secret ceremony..," he says quietly to you and takes your hand in his.

Slowly it dawns on you.

"What...?" you whisper.

He puts his other hand on your cheek, standing close to you.

"I will not let you marry a Lord of the North. No other man will sleep with you... You are carrying our child... And no other man will claim to be the father..." he whispers to you. With each word your lips come closer until he kisses you slowly and passionately. His thumb glides gently over your cheek.

Somewhat involuntarily you interrupt the kiss, looking into each other's eyes. His hand is still on your cheek.

"Ready?" he whispers.

You nod and bite your lip lightly.

He holds out his arm to you and you take it. He leads you to the beach at Dragonstone. But as you walk along the beach, you notice that there are small torches set up to guide your way.

You look up at Aemond and smile, "Did you give the order for this?" you ask him quietly.

But he just shrugs his shoulders slightly and smiles.

You clasp his arm tighter and smile as you continue to walk along the torches.

As you approach a small hill, you see that there is a septon there.

"Unfortunately, I did not have the desired time to have a Valyrian-style wedding performed... But I think it will do for now," he whispers in your ear as you approach the septon. Tears come to your eyes, but this time they are tears of joy. You look at Aemond and smile. You just nod and gently kiss his lips.

You stand before the septon. You hear the waves crashing against the cliffs around you. But you only have eyes for Aemond. How he smiles at you gently and lovingly.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger – hear now their vows," you hear the septon say.

As if of your own accord, you speak your words, "I belong to him. He is mine, from this day until the end of my days," comes from your lips as you gaze deeply into each other's eyes.

The next thing you know, you are aware only of Aemond's lips on yours. The kiss is gentle, but greedy. Aemond pulls you towards him and your lips can't seem to get enough of each other.

You hear the septon clear his throat, but neither of you pays attention. Passionately, Aemond claims your lips and eventually the Septon seems to understand and moves away.

"Aemond... let's go inside," you breathe as he slides his lips down your neck.

But he only whispers a "no" into your neck. Slowly he pushes you down into the sand.

"Aemond...," you just gasp.

A "mhm," sounds from him. You kneel in front of each other and kiss. His hand is on the back of your neck, pressing you closer to him. Your breathing gets heavier and you push him back slightly, he lowers himself onto his back and you sit astride him. Your kisses don't let up. You hear the waves crashing against the cliffs around you.

His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you closer to him. His kisses become greedier. His hands clasp your curves, pressing you firmly against his crotch, and you clearly feel his hard arousal. You whimper slightly as he gently bites your lip.

You move your hips rhythmically against his hard length and feel your small clothes moisten further. You feel Aemond's hands on your back as he works on the laces of your dress. He opens it and slides it down your shoulders. His lips leave your lips and land on the soft skin of your shoulder. Tender kisses grace your skin. Your eyes are closed and you moan lightly as his lips glide over your cleavage. His lips cup your nipple and you bite your lip as you feel him nibble lightly.

"Aemond," you breathe.

But all you hear from him is a deep "mhm".

As he turns to your other nipple, his hands pull your dress down further. You moan softly.

Only the stars and the moon light up the sky above you, the waves crashing against the cliffs around you, as Aemond suddenly looks up at you. He is breathing slightly heavily, his lips slightly parted. You bite your lip lightly. Slowly, you take off his eyepatch and place it beside you. You gently run your thumb over his scar that adorns half his face.

"I love you," he simply whispers. A warmth spreads through you and you let your lips slide onto his. But more gently this time.

You start to open his waistcoat. You slide it down over his shoulder. Aemond takes it off and lays it in the sand next to you. Your hands are already on his shirt and open it. It doesn't take you long to slide it down over his shoulders as well. Your hands glide over his firm chest. Over every little scar. Over the finely defined muscles. Until you reach his trousers and start to open them.

You notice Aemond smiling slightly against your lips as you reach into his trousers and grasp his hard member. As you begin to stroke it, over and over, up and down, you feel a slight rumble forming in his chest as his breathing becomes heavier. You move your hand up and down faster and he moans softly.

Aemond's hands slide over your thighs, pushing your dress up further. Gently he pulls your small clothes over your thighs and you help him to take them off. He grips your thighs and you whimper slightly. His hands slide to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. You understand his intention and pull his trousers down a little, exposing his cock.

You are both breathing heavily now. Aemond leans forward and captures your lips with his, his tongue slides out, licks over your lower lip before he gently plucks it with his teeth, a whimper escapes your lips. And a wild game of tongues and teeth erupts.

You position his hot length in front of your entrance, but not without letting him slide through your wet arousal first. Now you both moan out.

Slowly you lower yourself onto him.

"Fuuck... you were made to take my cock..," you hear from Aemond and he grips your thighs tighter.

You whimper just slightly. Aemond's cock pushes inch by inch deeper into you. The familiar stretching of your wet walls makes you moan. As he fills you completely you begin to move your hips rhythmically. Aemond's hands slide further up and now firmly grip your ass, trying to set a faster rhythm. You whimper again. Aemond starts thrusting into you. With each thrust he meets your movement and your clit rubs against the base of his cock.

You moan loudly and hear him grunt as he leans in and kisses your breasts.

When suddenly Aemond grabs you firmly by your hips and lays you backwards. You are now lying with your back on his legs. You look at him a little startled at first, but his gaze is fixed on your womanhood. He watches intently as he disappears into you again and again. He grunts and moans as he lets you slide onto his cock.

You moan as his thumb suddenly rests on your sensitive pearl and makes circular, firm movements on it.

He notices how you start to clench around his cock.

He makes you slam down on his cock faster and with each thrust his thumb rubs further over your clit. With each thrust, your breasts give in to the movement and bounce. When Aemond looks up for a moment, he is overwhelmed and moans.

"Aemond... Aemond...", you only whimper. But all you hear from him is another grunt. His grunts and the wet sounds made by his thrusts reach your ears. They make the inside of your thighs tremble.

And then you come. Your moans are backed by the waves around you. You grab his forearms and moan. Your eyes are closed and you are breathing heavily.

Aemond moans out as well, making you slam down on his cock a few more times before he comes with a loud groan and pumps his seed into you.

His thrusts become softer and you hear him breathing heavily. When your eyes meet, he smiles almost shyly.

"Consummated marriage for the first time... And it was almost romantic," he says softly.

You chuckle softly, "We've had many romantic times," you reply.

Only a mhm sounds from him as the corners of his mouth, pull up slightly at the thought of it.

He spreads his waistcoat and shirt out beside you. He grabs you lightly by your thighs and signals you to lie down on his clothes. You obey and lie down there. He lies down beside you and takes you in his arms. You lie there, his fingers gently gliding over your arm. Your head lies on his chest and you let your fingers glide gently over his chest. Neither of you says anything. You just enjoy the calm. The calm before the storm.

The return flight passes almost unnoticed, as if time itself were but a fleeting whisper. Were it not for the gentle caress of the cool wind enveloping your being, one might wonder if Vhagar really flew off. But such trivial considerations fade, for your mind is captivated, utterly consumed by the enchantment of the moment. For almost the entire flight, your eyes are fixed on Aemond's face. Each tender kiss on Aemond's face becomes a symphony of affection, a delicate dance of passion and tenderness. Aemond's laughter echoes softly through the air. But not once does one of your kisses go unanswered.

When you land back at King's Landing, Aemond helps you get off Vhagar. Aemond doesn't hesitate long and leads you into the Council chambers. While you are still on your way, he catches a servant and asks him to deliver the news to your mothers that you are waiting for them in the Council Chambers.

Aemond stands beside you. He gently strokes your cheek. As he kisses you, his hand finds its way to your abdomen and gently caresses it.

"It will be fine," he whispers against your lips.

When suddenly the doors open and you both look up.

"Aemond, why are we here again?", Alicent asks you as she enters the council chambers with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra immediately notices the closeness between you and Aemond that existed only a moment before.

"Do you want to talk about your pregnancy again? The letter has been sent, Lord Cregan is probably already on his way," your mother says to you.

You take a deep breath.

"There will be no wedding...," you say firmly, "... at least not between me and Lord Cregan"

"Y/n...", your mother says, "...we have already discussed this... you...", but you interrupt your mother

"We got married," you finally say.

There is silence. Only the sudden gasp of Alicent can be heard as she reaches for the back of the chair that is in front of her.

Your mother looks at you, "You didn't do that... You wouldn't have dared," she says almost threateningly.

Now Aemond speaks up "Yes we did. I took her to Dragonstone and married her. The gods are our witnesses," Aemond says.

"Aemond!" gasps Alicent again, "Do you realise what you have done!"

"Yes, mother! I have married the woman I love. Who carries my child!" hisses Aemond to her.

Rhaenyra regains her composure and looks at you.

"You have no idea what you have done," she says to you.

"Lord Cregan is on his way, he is expecting a betrothal... a wedding," she says to you.

"And I told you I would not marry him," you reply.

Rhaenyra shakes her head slightly and looks at you.

"Mother... I love Aemond. I carry his child within me. I will not let my child be raised by any Lord of the North.... Aemond is the father of this child and my husband," you say.

Alicent looks as if she might burst into tears at any moment. You almost feel sorry for her.

Aemond seems to notice this too.

"Mother..." he says almost gently.

"Let Lord Cregan come to the capital.... I will settle this," he says.

The turbulent aftermath, however, proves to be far more eye-catching than you had imagined.

Lord Cregan's journey from Winterfell to King's Landing spanned several weeks. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that this period of time provided ample opportunity to spread the news of your sacred union with Aemond far and wide. Like a whisper carried on the wind, the news passed from one mouth to another of the common people and aroused a curiosity. At the same time, an enigmatic tapestry of rumours unfolds, weaving a compelling tale of the purpose and motives that led to your secret marriage.

Why would a Targaryen princess, heir to the throne, rush to marry her uncle? Is she possibly pregnant?

Aemond's tireless efforts to debunk these rumours prove futile time and again. Each time he tries to trace their origins, he finds that he is mistaken and unable to locate the true source.

Thus the veil of rumour envelops your young happiness and suggests that you have already given in to carnal temptations before your sacred union.

The highlight of the story, though, is the arrival of Lord Cregan, who attracts great attention with his presence. As he walks the hallowed halls of the mighty red keep, his every step is accompanied by hushed murmurs.

But before he can converse with a member of the royal family, Lord Cregan, driven by curiosity, turns his attention to a simple servant. At that moment, the truth is thrust before him like a bitter potion – the arduous journey was in vain. The prospect of uniting with the Heiress of the Iron Throne, the object of his desire, is dashed. He learns that you are already married to Prince Aemond.

A tempestuous storm brews within Lord Cregan, the fires of anger and betrayal threaten to consume him. In a near frenzy, he urgently demands that the servant lead him to Princess Rhaenyra. The obedient servants escort him to the opulent council chambers, the scene of momentous decisions and momentous encounters.

When you hear that Lord Cregan has arrived, you become nervous. You immediately go to the council chambers. As the doors are opened for you, you hear a loud discussion. Lord Cregan is standing in front of Aemond and your mother. Alicent stands a little apart.

"I should marry the Heiress of the Iron Throne!" says Lord Cregan angrily. Rhaenrya nods at him.

When Lord Cregan hears the door and averts his gaze from your mother, he sees you.

His gaze becomes almost gentle until he sees the slight bulge under your dress.

His gaze falls on your mother again, "She had to marry him? Right?" he asks her.

Aemond's gaze, standing next to your mother, darkens.

"Because she's a whore and led her uncle to bed," Lord Cregan says, looking at Aemond.

Your gasp is accompanied by the sound of Alicent slapping her hand over her mouth.

The look Aemond gives Lord Cregan makes you shiver. And before you can even react, you hear a blade being drawn.

"Say this again and it will be the last thing you say," Aemond hisses as he presses the blade into Lord Cregan's neck.

"Aemond!" shouts Alicent.

"Aemond put the blade down," Rhaenyra tries to say calmly.

"Do it, Prince Aemond! Instigate a war with the North!" says Lord Cregan almost promptingly.

Aemond's eyes dart to you for a second. But that second is enough to signal him not to do it. You are paralysed, but you shake your head, barely perceptibly.

"Aemond, control yourself!" says Alicent, trying again to get his attention.

"She's not a whore! She is my wife!" hisses Aemond.

"I know Aemond... Please... Don't do anything rash," Alicent says, gently grabbing his arm.

Aemond reluctantly lowers his blade.

He looks furious, not letting Lord Cregan out of his sight, but he takes a step back.

Alicent steps towards Lord Cregan, who is also seething with rage.

"Lord Cregan, if you are still interested, I would like to discuss something with you that I have been talking about with Princess Rhaenyra," Alicent says to Lord Cregan. Lord Cregan averts his gaze from Aemond and looks at Alicent.

"What are you going to recite now? I should marry the Heiress to the Iron Throne," he asks her, still angry.

Aemond comes over to you and gently grabs your arm. He leads you to the door. You stare at him as he leads you. He is still angry, but you notice that he is slowly becoming calmer.

"I likewise have a beautiful daughter who is still looking for an honourable husband..." you hear Alicent say to Lord Cregan as Aemond leads you out of the council chambers.

Your eyes fall on Aemond as the door slams shut behind you.

"Helaena is to marry Lord Cregan?" you ask.

Aemond nods curtly.

"He will have his Targaryen princess, and the North remains our ally," he says to you. You are speechless, but you nod briefly. Aemond's gaze meets yours. He smiles slightly and leans down. Gently he encloses your lips with his.

"And you will remain my princess... my wife," he says softly.

"Your princess… whom you must continue to protect, dutiful as you are," you say softly. You hear him chuckle slightly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @snh96 @believeinthefireflies95 @chainsawsangel

[captain-hawks]

trace the outlines of your dreams

jean kirstein x f!reader

summary: Jean saves you in the midst of a bloody battle, and in the aftermath, you both figure out some important things—the impending end of the world be damned. [set during episode 85]

word count: 4.9k

content: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, best friends to lovers speed run, unrequited love? jk its requited, blood + injuries, protective jean, but UNprotected sex, rough sex, jean's big dick, fingering, praise kink, dry humping, light dom!jean vibes, creampie

In the years that have passed since you first joined the Scout Regiment, you’ve imagined a thousand different ways you might possibly die while bearing the weight of that damned winged insignia on your chest.

A thousand ways you’d go down fighting tooth and nail, bloody and battered but with the knowledge that, at the very least, you’d tried to help make a difference.

But after all this time, you still hadn’t thought you’d make your last stand here of all places: cornered in the narrow space between two looming buildings by three of your former comrades—now Jaegerists—struggling to stand on your own two feet and virtually defenseless. 

They advance on you slowly, snickering as your smashed ODM gear refuses to cooperate, not any sort of state to function after how hard you were tackled against the unforgiving brick building mid-air just moments ago. Your gear absorbed a decent amount of the blow, enough for all of the important bits to be irreparably damaged, but not before your head took a hit as well. Warm blood drips down your face, and you blink hard against the wave of dizziness that threatens to overcome your senses. 

The futile step you attempt to take backward has you gritting your teeth, ankle barking in pain, protesting that you’re asking any more of it after the impact your legs took when you landed on the dusty gravel. You consider calling out for the others, but you know they’ll never hear you over the chaos of the battle that’s unfolding, the roar of the Titans reverberating deep in the marrow of your bones. 

Maybe you’ve finally run out of your share of borrowed time. 

The Jaegerists continue to close in on you, snickering at the way you try to steel yourself even in the face of oncoming death, and your mind goes quiet for a moment as you let it settle on one last thought—you hope that if nothing else, Jean lives to see this through to the very end.

He deserves the quiet life he’s always wanted. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

A shudder runs down your spine as a voice full of disdain sends your attention careening back to the present. 

Floch.

The Jaegerists hastily sidestep as the red-haired man swiftly pushes his way between them, blood that you’re certain doesn’t belong to him smearing across his brow as he runs a hand through his hair and offers you a grin that’s downright feral. With a dismissive wave of his hand, his comrades take their leave back to the roof and into the fray of battle. 

“I was upset when I realized that you left me, you know,” he drawls, reaching out to brush his thumb over your jaw.

Your stomach roils, and Floch clicks his tongue when you turn away from his touch, firmly grasping your chin. You can feel the warm, sticky blood his fingers leave in their wake as he continues, “I had a feeling Jean might betray me. But you? How could you?”

The rough feeling of brick digs into your shoulders as he crowds you against the wall of the building, his breath hot against your face. 

Floch was always a little too interested in you, even before things really started to go to hell. At least that’s what Jean always grumbled, anyway. So when you finally, briefly, deigned to give him the time of day, if only to help your fellow comrades pull one over on the Jaegerists before making a run for it, you should have known the volatile man would be anything but forgiving when he realized you’d been batting your eyes and swaying your hips to distract him.

“Get your hands off of me, Floch,” you growl, the anger flaring up inside of you at odds with the rapid, terrified beating of your heart.

Floch blatantly ignores you, choosing instead to run a finger over your bottom lip, and the coppery tang of blood seeps into your mouth. You stifle the urge to gag, knowing how badly he wants you to flinch. 

“It’s a bit sad…how you’ve always followed Jean like a loyal little lap dog. Waiting and waiting for him to notice you, too fucking stupid to realize he’s obviously in love with Mikasa.”

His words hit you like a slap to the face.

Your knees threaten to give out beneath you under the weight of a truth you know you can’t look away from. Not now that someone’s finally said it out loud. 

You really hadn’t thought it would end like this—with a whimper.

“We could have had something, you and I,” he rasps, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush over yours. “If only you weren’t so busy drooling over Kirstein’s dick.”

“I would have never picked you, Floch. Not now, not ever,” you whisper, eyes boring into his with one last shred of defiance as the world beneath your feet begins to ripple, your body feeling the effects of the blood loss from your head wound.

Something dark flashes in Floch’s eyes. “Kirstein probably won’t even realize you’re gone when I’m done with you. What a shame.”

You suck in a breath as he reaches a hand down to grasp a blade, willing your body to rally just enough strength to surge forward and tackle him. At the very least, you could go down with a fight. 

…but when the quiet, familiar whine of a wire and the deliberate crunch of boots along gravel is followed by the one voice that you know the cadence of by heart, you realize that you won’t have to. 

“Get your fucking hands off of her.”

A blade gleams at Floch’s neck as Jean Kirstein steps up behind him, your best friend’s eyes burning with rage. You can’t help the sob that rips from your throat when his expression softens ever so slightly when he steals a glance over at you, though his jaw ticks when he notices the smear of blood the other man left behind on your face. 

For all Jean’s hesitation about this leg of the mission, his uncertainty about his ability to take the lives of his brainwashed comrades, you know that he’ll kill Floch right here and right now. You can see it in his posture, the utter stillness of his body. The way this entire moment feels utterly frozen in time as Floch realizes it, too. 

And even if part of you wants it, wants to live out whatever’s left of what might be your final days knowing that Floch finally got what was coming to him, you know it’s not worth the risk. Not when shouts have begun to ring out from your friends, urging everyone to get to the ship. Not when you know Jean will hold the other man back with his bare hands so you can escape without him, if that’s what it comes down to. 

So it’s the subtle shake of your head that determines Jean’s next move, one that doesn’t involve his blade and Floch’s throat. Instead, with nothing but the element of surprise on your side, Floch is blindsided by the foot you drive between his legs with all your might, white-hot pain blooming from your ankle at the impact. The moment that he drops down onto one knee, groaning, is all that Jean needs to pull you to him. 

“Jean,” you choke out, his name caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob as you collapse into him and fist your hands in his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, protectively wrapping one arm around you as he engages his ODM gear and carries you both toward the docks. And despite all of the chaos unraveling all around you, you swear that you can feel Jean’s heart pounding in his chest just as hard as your own. 

The next few hours after you set off to sea are a blur, your body still shaking with adrenaline as various sets of hands examine your injuries. Everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges, and the most you can really register is the warm press of Jean against you all the while and the tickle of his hair along your cheek each time he growls at someone to be gentle when you groan in pain as they clean and dress your wounds. 

It’s dark out when you finally come to, the fog in your mind parting as you wake up to find your limbs tangled in a scratchy wool blanket. You sit up, the thin mattress creaking beneath you, and rub at your eyes as they adjust to the dim lighting in the room. A small lantern sits perched on a table nearby, illuminating a cup that you can only hope contains water. Exhaling a quiet sigh of relief when you tentatively place it to your lips and confirm your suspicions, you drink heavily, only pausing at the sound of footsteps scuffing outside of the doorway.

“There’s another open room next to Conny’s,” you hear Armin say.

“She’s staying with me,” Jean’s voice cuts in, brokering no room for argument. 

You put the cup down and settle back onto the bed, watching as the sliver of light from the outline of the door grows when Jean carefully steps into the room, pushing it shut again behind him. 

When he realizes you’re sitting up, he swiftly crosses the room, coming to sit beside you on the mattress.

“You’re up,” he exhales, sounding relieved.

You offer him a small smile, hyper aware of the way his knee brushes against yours, heartbeat thundering when he reaches out to tilt your chin toward him. Vaguely, you wonder if you’re dreaming. 

“Your head finally stopped bleeding,” he comments, eyeing the bandage on your head. 

Right.

Mentally kicking yourself, you meet his gaze, willing your voice to stay steady as you say, “Thanks for saving me, Jean.”

One of his hands finds its way to your leg, fingers softly curling over your knee. “You know I always will,” he murmurs, echoing the promise he’d made to you years ago when you both joined the Scout Regiment. 

In another life, maybe that version of you would be selfish enough to grasp Jean by his collar and kiss him right here and now for those words, pretending you misunderstood their meaning. Words that could mean so much more in another context, were it not for the stark line of demarcation between your feelings for him and the reality of your friendship. 

Maybe you’d climb into his lap and try to make him forget all about her.

Even just for one night.

“I feel like you shouldn’t be thinking so hard after splitting your head open,” Jean comments with a chuckle when he observes your furrowed brows, gently pressing his fingertips to your temple as his attention shakes you from your thoughts.

“Sorry, it’s just been a long day,” you lie, feigning a stretch for good measure.

Jean drops his hand back down to his side as you shift, looking sheepish. “Long week, long year. You’re telling me. I think we both need a vacation.”

You snort, finally willing yourself to ask, “How’s Mikasa?”

Jean tilts his head to the side at the question, eyes narrowing a bit. “She’s fine. Armin’s a little worse for wear, but he’ll heal up soon.”

You nod, turning your gaze to the corner of the room. “You don’t need to stay in here with me tonight if you want to go and keep her company. I’ll be okay.”

Your best friend looks nothing short of perplexed at the clear insinuation in your words. “...why would I do that?”

“Because you…” you trail off, not sure why it’s so hard to verbalize Jean’s crush to his face.

Jean’s fingers brush along your cheek, urging you to look at him. “I what?”

You huff in annoyance, not sure why he’s making you say it outloud. “You and Mikasa…”

“There’s no ‘me and Mikasa’,” he says plainly. 

Heart thundering in your chest, you glare at him before looking up at the ceiling in embarrassment and exasperation. “And there’s not ever going to be if you don’t get it together and tell her how you feel before we all die here.”

Jean clicks his tongue against his teeth, and your entire body goes still at the sudden feeling of his hot breath caressing the shell of your ear, “But she’s not the person I’ve been too much of a coward to tell how I feel.”

What?

“What?” you breathe out, whipping around to face him, the air swiftly leaving your lungs when you realize just how close he is, the tip of your nose brushing against his own.

Jean’s thumb traces your lower lip. “It’s always been you.”

At a loss for words, all you can manage to get out is, “Why now?”

“I used to hope you’d find someone that’d convince you to leave the Scouts and live a safe life behind the walls, something I couldn’t give you.”

Your heart aches at that, knowing that’s the life Jean always wanted, too. The one he left behind knowing how selfish it would be to waste the talent he could offer to the Scouts.. 

And perhaps it makes sense now—the way he’d subtly tried to find ways to hint that maybe you shouldn’t join the Regiment after all, all those years ago. The conflicted look of pain in his eyes the first time you’d proudly worn the Wings of Freedom.

“I didn’t think I could ever be enough to deserve you,” he continues. “Not even now.”

Hearing the uncertainty in Jean’s voice throws you off-kilter; it’s a far cry from the confident man you know him to be. You can’t help but offer him an incredulous look in return, baffled by the irony of it all—he’s the only person you care to spend the rest of your life with, after all. 

Even if this is all you have left—these last few days, hours, moments. 

A choked out sound leaves Jean’s mouth; apparently you said that out loud. “So you’re telling me…”

He cups the back of your head, eyes searching your face.

“...I should have done this…”

His other hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.

“...a long time ago.”

A shudder crawls down your spine at the feeling of Jean’s lips brushing atop your own. It’s a tentative touch, one that you press back into between one breath and the next. And as you sigh against his mouth, your own fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, Jean stops holding back.

Legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Jean swiftly pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you as his lips chase yours with fervor. You straddle him, basking in the warmth of his body heat pressing into your own, savoring the rough press of the calluses on his fingers—built up from years of using the ODM gear—as he explores the expanse of bare skin on your back where your shirt has bunched up.

You can hardly be bothered to break for air as Jean’s lips slot against yours, toes curling against the mattress when he licks his way inside of your mouth. He groans as the kiss grows messier, your body arching into his at the feeling of his tongue tangling with your own. 

Once upon a time, you’d exclaimed that nothing could compare to the feeling of finally mastering the ODM gear, the exhilarating rush of clearing rooftops and treelines with such seamless precision. The swelling elation in your chest to finally understand what it feels like to fly.

It’s a feeling that you’ve chased for years, the feeling that’s carried you through each and every battle to this day.

Kissing Jean feels like that—like flying.

But there’s no anchor here. No wires. No blades at your hips nor enemies at your back.

With Jean’s lips on yours, you float untethered, the weight on your shoulders and heaviness of your heart long forgotten passengers left far below as you soar. 

And you let go, freefalling. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll catch you. 

He’ll always catch you.

Jean’s lips part from yours to blaze a hot trail along the curve of your jaw, pressing kisses along your neck. Dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin where your earlobe meets the hinge of your jaw, his voice is rough as he murmurs, “I love you.”

There’s a hitch in his breath when you say it back without hesitation—it’s a truth you’ve always known yourself to feel, even if you could never tell him as much. He pulls you impossibly closer, fingers digging into your hips, mouth seeking yours out once more.

And as you feel his growing hardness beneath you, you can’t help but pointedly rock into the cradle of his lap, a breathy moan leaving you at the pressure of his cock rubbing against you. The sensation and Jean’s own answering moan draw up memories of all the nights you spent imagining this, face buried against your pillow to muffle the sounds as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your best friend right there in your bed in the barracks. 

If your lives still held any semblance of normalcy, maybe you’d prolong this endeavor, taking your time to savor the taste of Jean’s mouth on your own first before anything else, exploring him in bits and pieces. 

But with what may very well be the end of the world looming far too close for comfort, there’s no time for patience. 

“Can I…do you want to…?” Jean trails off, breathing heavily as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, the rest of the question dancing in his eyes as he’s clearly having the same thoughts as you are. 

“Jean Kirstein, if I die without fucking you—”

He doesn’t give you the chance to finish your sentence, cutting you off with a kiss as his hands find their way to your breasts. He’s barely begun to squeeze them before you break apart from him for a moment, slipping off your top and tossing it halfway across the room before grabbing for his shirt as well. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jean breathes out once you pull his shirt over his head, pausing to take in the sight of your supple breasts before him, running a thumb across one of your peaked nipples. 

His mouth quirks upward at the way you shiver in response to his touch, eyes blazing with hunger when your lips part, silently begging for more. Jean leans in, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and you thread your fingers into his hair, urging him to continue as he shamelessly begins to suckle at the sensitive bud. 

You’re helpless to deny your body’s need to grind down onto Jean’s bulge, your folds pressing into your slick, damp underwear with each thrust of your hips. His lips slide away from your breasts so he can sink his teeth into your shoulder, muffling the feral groan that rumbles in his chest in response to the way you’ve desperately begun to dry hump his cock. 

Fingers trail along the waistband of your pants, flicking them open with ease to gain access to the soft, white cotton panties beneath. Jean nips his way up your neck, pausing to suck at your pulse point as he asks, “Are you wet for me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he slips a hand into your underwear, a strangled “oh” the only sound he’s able to offer for a moment once he realizes you’re fucking soaked. He swipes three dexterous fingers along your sensitive slit, pulling them out of your pants to marvel at the sticky mess dripping off of his digits before licking each one clean. 

The sight of that alone nearly sends you over the edge, your tight hole fluttering in anticipation. You rock your hips once more, and his eyes glint with a hint of amusement as his hand makes its way back into your underwear.

Jean wastes no time in sinking a finger into your waiting hole, slowly sliding it in and out of you as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the underside of your jaw. Meanwhile, you grasp his throbbing cock through his pants, fingers teasing at the wet spot of precum that’s soaked through the material, and he bucks upward into your touch.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, stretching you open with another finger while his free hand gropes your breasts. You move your hips quicker than the diligent thrusts of his fingers, asking for more, and his chuckle drips through you like warm honey as he obliges your request with a third digit and murmurs, “How’s this?”

The sound of him fucking you with his fingers is downright obscene, the digits squelching wetly with each movement. The pleasure mounting within you has your thighs trembling with anticipation. But as you continue to fondle the outline of his cock, all you can think about is how goddamn big it feels. 

“Jean,” you whine, incapable of stringing together words to appropriately express the sentiment that you’d really, really like him to fuck you stupid with his dick right now.

He cups your face, the tender gesture at odds with the fingers curling and stroking your spongy inner walls. Jean leans in to capture your mouth in a messy, heated kiss, leaving a string of saliva trailing from your lips to his when he pulls back slightly to murmur, “If you want more, you have to come on my fingers first.”

You’ve spent more time than you’ll ever admit fantasizing the dirty, filthy things Jean might say to you while taking you apart, thoughts that have clung to your mind and sometimes forced you to avoid your best friend out of embarrassment for days at a time. 

But nothing can compare to this—the way his rough voice scrapes alive each and every nerve ending in the deepest recesses of your body. The undeniably dominant tone each word is laced with, and the instinctual reaction it viscerally awakens inside of you. 

Jean’s thumb presses into your swollen clit at the same time he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down, and the swelling wave of pleasure in your abdomen finally crests. Your entire body tenses as you moan, riding out your climax on his fingers until the overstimulation has your legs quivering for momentary reprieve.

“Good girl,” he praises, slowly pulling his sticky fingers out of your pants. 

You don’t hesitate to reach for his waiting cock, eager to feel its thick warmth cradled in your fingers, but he gently nudges your hand away, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You huff in annoyance, and he shakes his head, “You’ve got me so wound up, I won’t last like this.”

“You wanna fuck me, Jean?” you coyly ask.

Idly teasing at one of your nipples, Jean’s answering grin is nothing short of wolfish. “You’re so tight, we’ll have to see if you can take me.”

You raise an eyebrow at the hint of challenge in his tone, though if what you’ve felt through his pants is anything to go by, you can’t deny it’s likely warranted.

The bedsheets rustle and the mattress squeaks as you both make quick work of the remainder of your clothes, underwear and pants left forgotten on the floor while Jean kisses and nips his way up the planes and curves of your naked body, his hands exploring each and every dip and crevice with reverence. When his lips finally meet yours once more, his hair tickling your face as he leans over top of you, anticipation curls in your gut at the feeling of what now presses against your naked body.

Your eyes trail down Jean’s chest, fingernails gently scraping over his nipples, and he sucks in a breath as you slide closer to your destination. His thick cock is a sight to behold, hanging heavily between his legs, and there’s not a trace of shame in the way your mouth waters at the thought of him stretching your slick cunt open with it.

As if reading your thoughts, Jean pushes your thighs apart, slapping his fat length against the puffy, sensitive folds of your pussy. Your back arches up off of the mattress of its own accord, and he hums, one hand firmly grasping your hip as the other wipes the flushed head of his shaft up and down your sticky slit. 

His name spills from your kiss-swollen lips, your neck muscles straining from how hard you’re pressing your head back down into the pillow underneath you. And when your drenched cunt greedily accepts the tip of his cock as he notches it at your entrance, pumping a spit-soaked palm along the length of it, it’s all you can do not to spear yourself on him entirely. 

“So eager,” Jean muses, watching the telltale signs of your thinly veiled restraint as he makes no effort to move any further. 

“Jean, please,” you beg, fully aware that this reaction is exactly what he wanted. 

He leans down, mouth latching onto one of your breasts, and you gasp as he slides into you just a little bit further while he traces wet, messy circles around your hard nipple. You grasp a fistful of his hair, finding another reason to be thankful for the way he’s let it grow out as of late as you tug his face up to yours.

“Yes?” he asks, a sparkle of mirth dancing in his lustful gaze as he smiles down at you.

“Fuck me,” you pant out, tightening your grip on his hair.

You hardly have time to appreciate the moan that drags out of him before he kisses you hard, plunging the full length of his cock into your cunt, directly to the hilt. The stretch is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, your walls spasming in protest as all of the air punches out of your lungs. But despite the impossibly tight fit, your pussy greedily takes every inch of Jean’s cock, tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

“Holy shit,” Jean moans as your pussy clamps down on him, so hot and wet he nearly blows his load right then and there. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Fresh arousal dribbles wetly from your entrance and onto the base of his shaft, each and every nerve ending in your body buzzing like a livewire. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, swallowed up within the warmth of your cunt, his balls hanging heavily against your ass. Jean’s careful as he begins to ease out of you, well aware of the way your walls are so desperately choking his thick length. 

It’s why he’s surprised when you grasp at the soft strands of his hair once more and breathe out impatiently, “I’m not going to break, you know.”

Jean leans in and murmurs against your lips, “What are you trying to say? You like it rough?”

You nod, running your teeth along his bottom lip, “Yeah, Jean. I do.”

Cock now resting at your fluttering entrance once more, Jean groans as he snaps his hips into yours, burying himself deep in your soaking wet pussy. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs as you writhe and keen in pleasure beneath him, your tits bouncing with each thrust as he begins to ravage your hole. “Taking me so, so good.”

“Feels so good,” you nearly sob, head spinning with the pleasure threatening to spill over inside of you. 

Jean’s kisses are all tongues and teeth, filthy and messy as his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Come all over my cock, baby. Please,” he groans. “Please, please.”

He’s begging for it, begging to feel your cunt clamp down and gush all over his dick.

He’s so fucking close, balls seizing up, his entire body straining from the effort to bring you to your climax first.

“Come. For. Me.”

And it’s the desperation in his voice that sends you hurtling over the edge, a bright, searing lightning strike of pleasure like you’ve never known before bursting open inside of you as you succumb to an orgasm that leaves you positively boneless. 

“Inside,” you gasp just as Jean goes to pull out.

His answering groan is the most sinful sound you’ve ever heard as he plunges back into you, his forehead falling against yours while you both revel in the feeling of your walls spasming and contracting against his cock while he fills your cunt with spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum. 

Jean flops down onto the bed beside you after you’ve milked every last drop of his seed from his softening cock, breathing hard, both of you too spent to fumble for something to clean up the mess of cum that lingers between you. Instead, he tugs you against the warmth of his chest, pressing a gentle assault of kisses everywhere on your face but your lips. 

You pout as he pointedly avoids your mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth toward yours. Jean smiles, the expression filled with unabashed adoration and fondness so stark that you swear your heart stutters in your chest. 

“I’m gonna marry you when this is all over,” he whispers into the scant space between your mouths, each syllable brushing across your lips.

“You promise?”

You can feel Jean smile into his answering kiss.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[extremedelusions17]

staying the night

a.russo x reader

small fic literally no one asked for 650 words I think

decided to post this after debating about wether its good enough

feedback is always appreciated xx

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You and Alessia had been friends since you both could walk, your connection evolving from bestfriends into something deeper. After years of playful banter and then a few successful dates, the chemistry between you two was palpable. It was after your third date, things were going so well that you didn't want the night to end. With no intentions other than to spend more time together, you invited Alessia back to your place for dinner and some movies 

As you entered your flat, Alessia looked around with a mix of nervousness as she had been to your flat before, just never as something more than your best friend. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the details of your home for what must have felt like the hundredth time, fingers gently tracing over the personal touches that made it uniquely yours. Moving to the sofa, you patted the seat, signaling for Alessia to join you. Hoping she would join you, you couldn't help but smile when she perched a bit awkwardly, her nerves present.

Embracing a casual atmosphere, you handed Alessia a glass of wine and selected a movie. The setting became more laid-back, creating a comfortable space for her to unwind. As the evening progressed, the conversation flowed naturally, and despite Alessia's initial awkwardness, she gradually shifted closer on the sofa.

"Are you good with this movie choice?" you inquired, a gentle smile playing on your lips. The rich, velvety flavor of the wine lingered on your tongue as you waited for Alessia's response, the ambient light casting a soft glow that mirrored the warmth in your voice.

Alessia's face brightened with a smile as she nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's perfect. Thanks," she replied, her eyes reflecting genuine appreciation.

.You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles start to loosen. She shuffled a little closer, looking up at you for any signs of discomfort orunease.

"You comfy?" you asked, and she nodded, a shy yet content smile on her face.

The movie continued with quiet commentary and shared laughter. Alessia's movements became more fluid as she leaned comfortably against you. Sensing her hesitation, you gently teased, "Getting cozy over here, aren't we?"

She chuckled nervously, eyes avoiding your own, "Yeah, just trying not to make you uncomfortable or invade your personal space."

"You could never Lessi" you encouraged, patting the spot next to you, before wrapping your arms around the taller girl

The night went on, Alessia becoming more at ease in the easy flow of your conversation. Laughter and shared comments wove a comfortable tapestry, creating an atmosphere that felt uniquely yours. The movie, serving more as background noise..

As the sky grew darker, Alessia and your shared glances spoke volumes. Each shared smile and subtle movement on the sofa became a brushstroke on the canvas of your shared experience. The movie credits served as a quiet backdrop to the unexpressed emotions swirling in the air.

As the night approached its end, Alessia turned toward you, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and a deeper connection. "It's getting late, I should get going" she said softly, the weight of her words hanging in the air 

“It’s too late for you to go home now, just spend the night here, you already have clothes here” Alessia did not respond just nodding and pulling you further into her Without uttering another word. The gap between you slowly disappeared as Alessia nestled against you, finding comfort in your warmth. Her arm around your shoulders, your head nestled against her chest, you created a peaceful space. The room echoed with the hushed rustle of fabric as you shifted slightly, finding the perfect position where every touch felt comforting. In that simple act of just holding each, words became unnecessary. It was a silent conversation, a language of shared glances and contented sighs.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢

Billy burn x gn reader

Summary: You and Billy successfully robbed a store on the street, hoping there would be enough things to pay the debts he has accumulated. He doesn’t end up liking some of the tactics you decided to adopt.

Warnings: no pronouns or accurate physical description used towards the reader so that everyone can read. Reader and Billy are engaged. Robbing a place together with Billy <3. Reader and Billy are NOT good persons. Jealous Billy. Smut. Riding. Sex in a car.

Note: This was requested from a really nice person on wattpad. It can be seen as a part 2 of the other story I wrote for Billy but you can very easily read this as a standalone. This is mostly just an excuse for me to leave the link so you can go and like, reblog and comment on both that fic and this one (please) :)

Words count: 4400

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

You and Billy step into the roadside shop, the familiar jingle of the doorbell ringing in your ears. The shop is quite large, with aisles filled with variety of items.

It was like entering a maze.

The only other person present is a young cashier behind the counter, absorbed in his phone. He glances up brietly, offering a nod before returning to his screen.

The air smells fainthy of old wood and cleaning supplics.

To blend in and divert any suspicion, you take Billy's hand and lead him down one of the aisles, your laughter and playful demeanor filling the otherwise quiet space.

“Look at this," you say, picking up a hat from one of the displays.

It started with a high, rounded top that sits proudly on the head. The edges of the top dipped with a curve. It had a wide, sweeping brim that cascaded around the hat.

You place it on Billy's head and adjust it, giggling. It made him appear taller. "It fits perfectly," you tease, your voice light and carefree.

Billy smirks, a shadow of his darker intentions flickering in his eyes as he surveys the layout of the store.

Wandering through the aisles, you make a show of examining various products, occasionally holding up items for Billy's opinion, such as the ridiculous pair of oversized sunglasses that you put on, striking a pose that makes Billy chuckle. "What do you think?" you ask, twirling playfully.

His laughter, though genuine, hides the calculating thoughts that race through his mind as he notes the position of the exits and the layout of the aisles.

Your interaction is filled with casual touches and whispered jokes, designed to paint a picture of a couple simply enjoying an impromptu shopping trip.

You passed by the section with bottled drinks. Billy fingers the various brands of alcohol, his gaze lingering on the more expensive ones. "Maybe we should get something nice for tonight," he suggests, a hint of something darker lurking beneath his casual tone.

You throw yourself to him, tossing your arms around his neck to lean in closer to him. “I like the way you think” and he chuckled, his chest vibrating against your body. You can feel his warm breath against your skin, the familiar smell of alcohol and smoke mingling between you.

As you continue to browse, your eyes land on a glass case filled with firearms. Billy notices your gaze and follows it, "Well, well, well,” he murmurs, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Looks like we hit the jackpot.”

You both approach the glass case, peering inside with a mix of curiosity and excitement. Billy’s fingers trace the outline of a sleek revolver, his eyes studying it with the practiced ease of someone who knows their way around weapons “This one’s a beauty,” he says, his voice low and reverent.

"It's a Smith & Wesson Model 29" you traced your finger along the glass. "It's a classic .44 Magnum revolver. Dirty Harry made it famous, remember?"

Billy nodded, a small smile playing on his lips at your shared interest. "Yeah, it's a powerful piece. Six round cylinder, blued finish, and a wooden grip. As I said, a real beauty."

Your eyes moved to a sleek black pistol. "That's a Glock 19," Billy remarked. "Compact and reliable."

You nodded, adding, "Yeah, it's known for its durability and simplicity. Very easy to use and maintain." You gave him a sidelong glance. "Maybe we should get one for protection. You know, for when you forget our anniversary."

Billy smirked. "Trust me, I've got that date locked in my memory. No need for firepower”

You laughed at his words, your fingers brushing against the glass. “Imagine what we could do with these”

Billy’s eyes meet yours, and a silent understanding passes between you. This could be the answer to his debts, something you’ve both been desperately searching for.

The plan takes shape in your mind, unspoken but clear.

“We need to be smart about this,” Billy says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Let’s see if we can get a better look at the cameras.”

“I’ll take care of distracting him” you nod your head to point to the guy at the checkout.

You reach the counter, where the cashier is still engrossed in his phone. “Hey, how’s your day going?” you ask, striking up a conversation. The cashier looks up, startled, and offers a hesitant smile.

“Not too bad, he replies, setting his phone down. “Just the usual.”

“Must get pretty lonely here sometimes,” you say, leaning slightly against the counter. The cashier’s eyes flicker with interest, and you know you’ve got his attention. You slip off your wedding ring, discreetly tucking it into the pocket of your leather jacket.

Your arms rested on the counter, your head tilted slightly to the right to show interest.

“So, do you work here often?” you ask the cashier, leaning in a little closer. The cashier, caught off guard by your forwardness, straightens up, clearly interested now.

“Yeah, most days,” he says, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “It’s not too bad. Quiet, like you said.”

“Well, you must be good at it,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer tone. “It’s nice to see a friendly face in a place like this.”

You catch sight of the gun tucked under the counter, realizing just how dangerous this game has become.

Billy, from a distance, watches with narrowed eyes. His jealousy simmers beneath the surface as he watches you flirt, the tone of your voice making his blood boil.

He moves quietly, checking the cameras, his movements swift and efficient. But he can’t focus completely, his thoughts constantly drifting back of to you and the cashier.

The sight of you leaning in closer to the cashier, touching his arm, and laughing at what he was saying gnaws at Billy. He perceives the seething fury taking root within, an overwhelming need to assert his claim over you.

Each smile you give the cashier, each casual touch, feels like a slap to his face.

He tries to concentrate on the cameras, but his mind is a whirlwind of angry thoughts and vivid images of the cashier making a move on you.

His heart pounds with a mix of anger and desire, each beat a reminder of how much he hates seeing you with another man, even if it’s all part of the plan.

The cashier, emboldened by your attention, smiles more confidently. “I try,” he says, his eyes flicking to your lips briefly. “So, what brings you two here?”

“We’re just passing through,” you say, giving him a playful smile. “Needed to stretch our legs, maybe pick up a few things.”

Billy moves to the other side of the store, he noticed a few security cameras mounted in the corners and made mental notes of their positions.

He noticed a door marked “Employees Only” at the back and figured it might lead to an office or storage room. He also spotted a small emergency exit near the back, which could be useful for a quick getaway.

The cameras are all over the most valuable stuff. If you and him really want to get what you need, you will get caught.

He can’t stop glancing over, watching you with a mix of frustration and desire.

You’re just wasting time talking to that idiot. It would be much better if you came back to his side to discuss a new plan.

You’re not even glancing over at him to see if there are any possible signals he could be giving you.

Why are you so interested in talking to that prick?

He clenches his jaw, trying to suppress the urge to storm over and put an end to the conversation.

“You seem like an interesting guy.” you continue, leaning even closer. “Do you do anything else besides working here?”

The cashier chuckles nervously, “Not much.”

You nod, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “I get that. It’s hard out there. But you must have some fun, right? Maybe a little adventure now and then?”

Billy clenches his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He imagines the cashier’s hands on you, the way he looks at you with that smug, interested expression.

It makes his vision blur with anger.

“Adventure, huh?” the cashier says, his interest clearly piqued “Well, I suppose I could use a bit more of that in my life.”

You smile, your hand lingering on his arm. “Everyone needs a little adventure.”

The dam of his patience crumbled, and a torrent of possessive fury washed over him, leaving no room for pretense or patience.

He strides over, his presence a dark storm cloud. The cashier looks up, surprise and fear mingling in his eyes as Billy pulls out his revolver and points it directly at him.

“Don’t even think about it!” Billy yells, his voice shaking with anger. The cashier freezes, his face going pale.

Billy’s eyes flick to you, and for a moment, you see the struggle in his gaze. The raw intensity of his emotions is laid bare, and it sends a thrill through you.

The cashier takes advantage of the moment of distraction, lunging for his hidden weapon.

Driven by instinct, you swiftly pull the gun concealed by your leather jacket and press it firmly against the cashier’s back. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ you command, your voice steady and teeth clenched.

Gradually, your gaze drifts back to your husband.

His stance is unyielding, his jaw set firmly, and his eyes burn with a fierce storm of emotions.

It’s evident that the anger brewing within him is barely restrained, like a tempest held back by the most delicate of barriers.

He likely recognized his own error, fueling his anger even further than before.

"Billy, what the hell are you doing?" you hiss, your voice a mix of frustration and annoyance. "I had everything under control”

Billy's face contorts with anger. "Under control? It looked like you were just enjoying talking to the guy! I'm not going to stand here and watch him try to take advantage of you."

"Are you serious? I was distracting him so we could get what we need and get out. You just made things a hundred times worse!" You feel your own anger bubbling up, your grip on the situation slipping through your fingers.

As the argument escalates, the cashier sees his chance. His hand darts towards the panic button on the counter, moving with a desperate speed.

Billy notices the movement out of the corner of his eye, his rage reaching a boiling point.

"You son of a bitch," Billy shouts, his voice echoing through the shop. In one swift motion, he brings the back of his gun down hard on the cashier's forehead. The sound of the impact is sickening, a dull thud followed by the man's groan of pain as he crumples to the floor, blood trickling down his face.

For a moment, the shop is eerily silent, the only sound being the cashier's labored breathing. You stand there, stunned, the reality of what just happened settling over you like a heavy fog.

Billy is breathing hard, his eyes wild with a mix of adrenaline and fury.

"You see what you made me do?" he snaps, kicking the unconscious man to vent even more of his anger. "If you hadn't been playing around, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Playing around? I was trying to save us!" you retort. "You're the one who lost control!"

Billy's eyes flash dangerously, but he doesn't respond.

The shop feels oppressive, the air thick with tension and fear.

"You get the recordings, I'll get the goods," he commands, his voice edged with urgency.

Nodding, you rush to the back of the store where the security system is likely housed. You find a small office, the door ajar.

Inside, monitors display various angles of the store, showing both live feeds and recorded footage. The setup is relatively simple, a standard digital video recorder with a console for playback and deletion.

Your fingers fly over the controls, navigating the system to locate the recordings from the last 24 hours. You start the deletion process, each second feeling like an eternity. The progress bar slowly moves, and you pray silently that no one will interrupt this crucial task.

Meanwhile, Billy moves methodically through the store, gathering everything that could help settle your debt with the bikers. He takes firearms first, loading them into a duffel bag he found behind the counter. Next, he grabs several bottles of expensive liquor, knowing they can be sold or traded.

He doesn't stop there, he also collects cash from the register, and grabs valuable electronics and even some jewelry that was on display near the counter. His actions are swift and precise, driven by a combination of desperation and a keen sense of survival.

Back in the office, the deletion process is finally complete. You breathe a sigh of relief as the system confirms that all recordings from the last 24 hours have been erased. You quickly disable the cameras to prevent any future recordings, ensuring there will be no evidence left behind.

With your task done, you return to the main area of the store. Billy is zipping up the duffel bag, his face a mask of grim determination. "Got everything we need?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Billy nods. "We need to move, now."

Together, you make your way to the exit, your footsteps echoing in the now eerily silent store. As you step outside, the cool night air hits you, providing a stark contrast to the tension-filled interior you just left.

The car is parked nearby, and you both hurry towards it, the weight of your actions pressing heavily on your shoulders.

You slide into the passenger seat, the duffel bag of stolen goods clutched tightly in your lap. Billy starts the engine, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled intensity.

The car roars down the desolate road, its engine a low, constant growl that fills the otherwise silent night.

The stolen goods rattling softly in the backseat serve as a stark reminder of the desperate act you both just committed.

Hours have passed by this point and the adrenaline from the robbery still courses through your veins, mingling with a complex mix of relief and anxiety.

Outside, the dark landscape stretches endlessly, broken only by the occasional silhouette of a distant tree or a flickering roadside light.

You glance at Billy, his face a rigid mask of determination and suppressed fury, illuminated only by the faint glow of the dashboard lights.

His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched tightly.

Determined to lighten the mood, you reach over and rest a hand on his arm. "We did it, Billy. We got what we needed. This is going to help us a lot," you say, trying to inject some optimism into your voice.

He nods curtly, not taking his eyes off the road. "Yeah, okay."

His brusque response stings, but you try again, your voice bright and hopeful."I mean, we did a good job despite all the shit that happened, don't you think?"

Billy mutters another "okay," his tone clipped and distant.

Frustration starts to build within you, each unacknowledged attempt at conversation feeling like a brick being added to a wall between you. The silence is oppressive, pressing down on you with every mile that passes.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. "Billy, pull over," you demand, your voice edged with urgency.

He glances at you, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Why?" he snaps, clearly exasperated.

"Just do it," you insist. With an angry huff, he swerves the car to the side of the road, the tires crunching on the gravel as he comes to a stop. The engine cuts off, plunging you into a profound silence broken only by the faint sounds of the night.

Billy leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. "What?" he growls, his voice laced with frustration and a simmering anger that hasn't dissipated since the robbery.

You turn to face him fully, searching his eyes for any sign of the man you know beneath the hard exterior. "Are you angry with me for flirting with that guy?" you ask, your voice soft but insistent.

Billy doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with the practiced ease of a habit formed over years.

The orange glow of the cigarette tip casts fleeting shadows over his face, emphasizing the hard lines of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He takes a deep drag, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.

"Do you know why I did it?" you press on, refusing to let the silence grow any thicker. "I was trying to distract him. It was part of the plan. I thought you understood that."

Billy exhales a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he looks away from you, out into the darkness. The silence stretches out, thick and oppressive.

Frustration bubbles over, and you decide to push him a little further.

“It's a shame how things ended, though," you say, your tone teasing but edged with real frustration. "He was kind of cute."

Billy's head snaps toward you, his eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

Finally he is talking to you.

You raise your hands in a mock gesture of surrender, though your heart pounds in your chest. "I'm just saying, maybe things could have gone differently if you hadn't lost your temper. We might have avoided the whole confrontation."

Billy's jaw clenches even tighter, and he takes another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the confined space of the car. "So now it's my fault?" he mutters, his voice tinged with hurt and anger.

You sigh, your teasing smile fading as the gravity of the situation settles over you. "That's not what I meant, Billy. I just... I want to know why you're so angry with me. We got what we needed. We're okay, for now."

He stares at you for a long moment, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something more complex: hurt, betrayal, and a deep-seated fear.

You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it gently in a gesture of reassurance. "You won't lose me, Billy. We're in this together. But we need to be on the same page. We need to trust each other."

He finally looks back at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and determination. "I do trust you," he says, his voice steadier now. "I just... I need to get better at showing it."

You smile, relief flooding through you at his words.

Billy extinguished the cigarette and tossed it out the window. He leans over and kisses you, the taste of smoke still lingering on his lips. The kiss is intense, filled with a renewed sense of connection and understanding.

You shifted in your seat, turning to face him more fully. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you towards him until you straddled his lap. His grip is firm but not harsh, a silent declaration that you are his and he is yours.

As you rested in his arms, the physical tension between you began to transform into a palpable, almost electric energy, drawing you closer to him with an undeniable pull.

Billy's hands explored your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch igniting a trail of heat across your skin. He traced the curve of your spine, then moved to your sides, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there, eliciting a soft gasp from you. The contact was electrifying, each touch a reminder of the deep connection you shared.

Billy's hands traveled to your hips, his grip tightening as he guided you closer. You could feel the growing urgency in his touch, mirrored by the heat pooling in your own body. You moved together with a practiced ease, your bodies responding instinctively to each other. He shifted beneath you, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly.

You raised your arms, allowing him to pull it off, and then his hands were on you again, explorin, caressing.

He shifted slightly, his other hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. His gaze was intense, locking with yours as he leaned in for a kiss, his lips parting yours, his tongue exploring with a gentle insistence.

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his jacket as you pulled him closer. The air between you grew warmer, charged with a mixture of urgency and tenderness.

Billy's hands move to your face, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he is afraid to let go, afraid to lose this moment.

Billy's breath hitches as you shift on his lap, your hips finding a rhythm that mirrors the beat of your hearts. His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto yours, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never fully capture.

His hands grip your waist with a possessive strength, guiding your movements with a blend of tenderness and urgency. "You're perfect," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl that vibrates through you, adding to the symphony of sensations coursing through your body.

You respond with equal fervor, Your own hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.

You tugged at the fabric, pulling it over his head, and he helped you, discarding the garment to the side. His skin was warm under your touch, the contours of his body familiar and comforting.

You pressed closer, your lips finding his again in a fervent kiss, your bodies aligning perfectly.

Billy's lips left a trail of kisses along your jawline, down your neck, and across your collarbone. Each kiss was deliberate, a silent declaration of his love and desire.

Billy's eyes roamed over you, his gaze filled with a mixture of reverence and desire.

His thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He responded with a growl, his mouth descending to capture one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you.

Your hands found their way to his belt, your fingers working with a sense of urgency to unbuckle it. You undid his belt, then the button and zipper of his jeans, your hands slipping inside to free him from the confines of the fabric.

Billy groaned as you touched him, his hips lifting slightly to help you slide his jeans and boxers down. You moved with a sense of purpose, your hands and lips exploring every inch of his exposed skin.

He pulled you closer, his hands moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a firm, insistent pull. You helped him, discarding the last barrier between you.

In the confined space of the car, every movement was magnified, every touch more intense. Billy's hands took hold of your hips again, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You could feel the heat of him, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he guided you down onto him, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect union of bodies and souls.

You gasped at the feeling, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the night.

You began to move together, a slow, rhythmic dance of passion and love. Each movement was a testament to your bond, a physical manifestation of the deep connection you shared.

You could feel every inch of him inside you, every thrust a reminder of his love, his need, his desire. The pace quickened, the urgency between you growing.

You rode him with a fervent intensity, your hands gripping his shoulders, his hips lifting to meet yours with each thrust.

The pleasure gradually intensified, building up like a symphony reaching its peak. Each wave of sensation stacked upon the last, growing stronger and more compelling.

He guided you with his rough and large hands, matching your movements with his own.

The tension building, the edge of release drawing closer with each thrust, each touch, each kiss.

When the climax came, it was a shattering wave of pleasure, a culmination of everything you felt for each other.

You cried out, your body tensing, then releasing in a flood of sensation. Billy followed, his own release a powerful, primal groan, his hands gripping you tightly as he found his own peak.

In the aftermath, you collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you, a silent promise of protection and love.

It’s just you and Billy against the world, together, unbreakable, with nothing but the open road and a shared dream of freedom stretching out before you.

Note: if you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3. Stories where you get to play the part of the bad guy are some of my favorites

[pinkanonwrites]

Inspired by @trigunwritings musings with a like-minded anon on his blog, I present to you some musings of my own.

NSFW Vash/Reader below the cut! GN! Reader, no specific pronouns used. Alien biology Vash, if you aren’t into that read at your own risk

“I’m so sorry!”

“You really don’t need to apologize, baby.”

It didn’t really matter how many times you’d insisted though, or tried to reassure him. Vash was still going to be embarrassed.

Because, in his mind, things had been going well. Really well. Well enough that in the only slightly cramped hotel bed the two of you were sharing for the night he’d somehow managed to get you laid out before him, your nude form bathed in silvery moonlight and your hair strewn out across the pillows. But instead of ravishing you like he’d intended, like he’d promised, face hot with blush as his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and he murmured all the dirty little things he couldn’t wait to do for you?

Instead of any of that, he was here, head bowed, kneeling at the far end of the bed from you, cock stubbornly refusing to stay hard.

You were most certainly not the issue in this equation. Vash had never done anything to make you doubt his attraction to you, even now. But Vash’s distinct and very touchy relationship with his own body image definitely decided to rear its ugly head at the worst possible times, fear prickling coldly in the back of his mind regardless of how badly he wanted to be intimate with you. Even now he was refusing to make eye contact, gaze glassy and posture slumped with palpable humiliation. In his mind everything had been going so well, and instead of letting him have one good thing, one little spark of safety and pleasure and joy, his stupid, weird, alien body decided to ruin it all for him again. He glared down at his lap, eyes burning, as if his frustration, embarrassment, and sheer force of will alone would be enough to draw his cock from where it was tucked safe away in the snug heat of his body.

You couldn’t help but frown. Not out of disappointment, mind you, but because Vash looked so damn fed up with himself that your bleeding heart couldn’t help but call out in response. You opened your arms to him, making grabby motions with your fingers.

“Come snuggle with me, Vash?” His gaze flickered up to your soft, hopeful expression, only darting away again when he realized he’d accidentally made eye contact. “Please?”

He nodded, so softly, and clambered forward into the space next to you on the bed. Immediately you were upon each other, a tangle of limbs as he curled his face into the crook of your neck and you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. He moaned softly, the mere act of being within your arms bringing him tremendous relief. Your leg nudged in between his, pressing your thigh up against his crotch, a smear of slick warmth grazing across your knee as you nestled yourself closer. Even with his cock sheathed away like this, stubbornly refusing to stay hard for him or for you, there was an eager, wet warmth pulsing between his legs that demanded attention.

“This okay?” You murmured, pressing your thigh up against his pussy again and getting a shaky inhale in response. Hand finding the small of his back you urged him to roll his hips against you, giving him another soft kiss against the temple when he did, however shakily.

“Feels... Feels good.” He rumbled, breath hot on the jut of your collarbone. “But you’re not-?”

“Move your leg up. Right here.” You wriggled your other arm in between your sweaty bodies, patting the top of his thigh. He complied, shifting it upwards until his upper thigh was pinned between your legs, pressed hot and sturdy against your crotch. “Now move again.”

There was a little more confidence in his motion this time, a little more insistence. As he humped against your thigh his own leg shifted deliciously between yours, grinding up against you in a way that made your breath stutter in your chest. Vash moaned, wrapping both arms around your back and pulling you as tight against him as he could, pressing his body into yours at every point of contact, everywhere he could possibly reach.

“You’re so warm, Vash.” Every time his name passed your lips it was like a jolt ran through him, leaving him unable to stifle his soft, needy whines. “My good boy, so obedient for me, so pretty.”

“Mmmh... Again?” He pressed a wet kiss to your jawbone before pulling back, eyes not glassy with unshed tears now but with soft submission, a borderline desperation to have you tell him all the things that normally he wouldn’t be able to believe about himself. You kissed him; hot, open mouths meeting as his tongue found yours, sloppy and frantic.

“My pretty boy.” You mumbled between kisses, Vash refusing to fully let his lips leave your own as he chased your touch and your praise. “You just wanna make me feel good, right? Well this is perfect. Stay right here with me, Vash.”

“Yes.” He gasped, shuddering as his hips stuttered weakly along your thigh. “Yes, love you, j-just wanna feel you, please.” You felt slick and melty everywhere he touched you, his arousal smearing across your knee and Vash’s drool and tears wetting your face as he messily kissed you.

In a while you’d definitely want to have a discussion with Vash about how no matter how he was feeling about himself or his body, you would always be there to support him. That he could trust you not to be disappointed in him for struggling to accept his appearance, and that just like you knew you could rely on him, he could rely on you in turn. That you loved him, and that wasn’t going to suddenly stop just because he couldn’t fuck you the way he’d promised.

But for now you just needed Vash, and he needed you in turn. Whatever way that you could have him would be more than enough.

[eupheme]

— i’ll be seeing you | part iii

[masterlist] | [playlist] | [part ii]

invisible man!alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 6k

tags: invisible man!au, age gap, holiday fluff, light angst, alfred is fully invisible/silent to reader, shared spaces, mutual pining, magical elements, holidays and christmas, kissing, FEELINGS, the Smut Chapter, masturbation, being walked in on, oral sex, brief free-use thoughts, unprotected PiV, invisible sex, mirror sex

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you'll crack yourself open, tell him everything. For now, you're content with the memory of his mouth on yours, the quiet confession he loosed over text. Even if he couldn't be more wrong.

Your fingers run across your lower lip, where you can still taste him.

The slight swelling of your flesh from the stolen moment in the hallway, a pounding that lingers in your chest even as you make it back to your room - the bags clutched in a fist as you wander, distractedly.

He hadn't returned when you called after him, a breathless gasp of his name. If it had been anyone else, you might have been offended. But this was Alfred, and you couldn't blame him. These weeks have been a slow circle of careful touches, a slow exchange of words.

Rarely impulsive. It makes your heart stutter, to think about it.

How he had moved, the hungry slant of his lips, the slip of his tongue.

It surely meant something.

If he hadn't stopped, you would have wanted more. Craved it. Content to stay in that hallway even, with how desperate his mouth made you. Socked feet soaked from the slush of your boots, frostbitten cheeks that now burn with the memory.

You hope he'll come to you. 

Not tonight, you’re sure. Tomorrow, when the simmering warmth in your belly fades. In the morning, perhaps. The day will begin like all the others, and you’ll do your best to wait until he’s ready. 

Already resisting the urge to seek him out, holding yourself back as you arrange your parcels. Writing a careful message, putting as much of your heart as you could into the gift. Simple, perhaps, but you had taken his request to heart.

It's left where he'll see it tomorrow. You're early - the day before Christmas Eve. But if he doubts your intentions, you hope that he'll find some comfort in the way you've been thinking about him.

There's only a little over a week left in your stay, but lately, it's felt less like a deadline. You care too much now, to let this be the end. Not knowing yet how you'll tell him - how you wish for more visits, how your heart refuses to let this be The End - but there, at least, you have time to drum up the courage.

You've always tried to look on the bright side, but you are a realist, after all. Even if his curse does not break, you don't think you'll mind. 

Being with him feels like enough, in these moments together in the Tower. His touch has a weight, even if you can't see it. The messages shared have just as much meaning as a spoken voice.

It hasn't prevented you from knowing him.

And maybe.. maybe more than that.

Much more.

Your teeth grit, biting back your moan. The sound still sliding from your throat, as you push the blankets down further. 

Fingers teasing past nipples peaked with the chill of the room and your thudding arousal. Making you shiver as they drift down, dipping between your thighs.

The kiss is still firmly rooted in your mind. 

Just how he felt against you, the soft press of his mouth that turned passionate. An ache in your shoulder from where you had knocked against the coat rack, before he caged you against the wall. Stealing your breath.

It’s a welcome reminder. 

You had holed yourself up, after the present had been placed. Snagging a photo for yourself as a reminder for later, for when you are gone. Liking the pretty splash of gold and red against the dark wood tones of the kitchen. 

Surprise coming from the buzz of your phone some time later. His message - how dense he was for a man so clever. As if you hadn’t wished for him to do that very thing a hundred times over since you’ve discovered him. 

Your own reply keyed quickly. A breathed out confession, sent with the photo you had taken.

Phone clutched to your chest, with another small smile at the thought of him seeing it. 

You hoped tomorrow would come soon. 

It had been impossible to not let your hands wander, when you replayed the moment for the umpteenth time. Skin bare after a shower, slipping beneath the covers to help speed up time.

You’ve wanted him for a long while. But now that you’ve had a piece - the memory of his body, his face beneath your fingers. The taste of his mouth, the soft groan you felt as your hands cupped the back of his neck - just desire was no longer enough.

There had been an ache, since. Insatiable, leaving you in a daze. You can feel it now, your need - as your fingers circle your clit, hips canting into the teasing pressure. 

Slipping over slick skin, how even the thought of him has you wet and squirming. It’s not the first time he’s crossed your thoughts at night, but it’s the first time you’ve had something so vivid to imagine.

That old picture hazy behind your closed eyes, as you try to imagine his voice. Low, you think. Rough and accented and you’re certain he’d call you the prettiest names.

Darling. Gorgeous. My love.

His own slips free, sounding hushed in your empty room. 

“Alfred.”

It’s a plea. Warmth pooling deep in your belly, a spark in your veins. Your breathing loud enough between your panting, parted lips that you almost miss the slow creak of a door opening.

Your door. 

The watery light of the sconce outside creeps across the wooden floor. Your breath caught in your throat as you tear your hand away, reaching for the blanket to cover yourself.

Not knowing where to look, what to say until the mattress dips, an indent appearing in the thick duvet. The slightest brush at your wrist where the fabric is clutched to your chest.

Your heart racing, torn and twisted and so afraid you just ruined everything. That you’ve jumped too far ahead, that this would be too much for him. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s weak, almost a whimper, “I didn’t think you’d hear, I-”

But you should have known. 

He always comes when you call. 

You had thought it was magic, another part of his curse. But maybe… it wasn’t. Maybe it’s been him all along. 

Alfred’s thumb strokes your skin, before his other hand cups your cheek. So soft and tender that the fear starts to fade, a little shivering hitch of your chest as wished more than anything that you could see him.

And you try to find your words, once more.

“Is… is this okay?” It’s barely a whisper, a heat burning brightly as your face grows warm.

But his answer comes within seconds. Two quick presses at your wrist, almost pinching. 

Yes.

And then his mouth is on yours. Index finger and thumb anchoring your chin in place as his lips brush, and then press. 

You forget your grip on the blanket then, palms sliding over his chest, a hand splaying over the back of his neck. 

Taking him with you into your nest of pillows, as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. As they open for him, the bed shifting as he settles closer - his hand leaving your wrist, brushing against your shoulder as it plants against the mattress for balance.

Your breath is caught in your throat, as he licks into your mouth. Even more hurried than beneath the mistletoe, soft moans in your throat as you try to pull him closer. 

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” You sigh, between kisses. Between the mouthful of air you wish you didn’t need, “Tomorrow though, okay? Just this, you, tonight-”

His answer comes instantly. Yes.

Meeting you, closing that last bit of gap. 

The flutter of his pulse beats against your palm, where the meat of his thumb presses against your neck. Racing like yours is, so eager and so alive, that you’re pulling his hand down to your own heart.

Letting him cup your bare flesh, soft and supple. You think he must know what you mean, as his hand flattens. As you feel his moan in his throat, silent but there - buzzing against your lips. 

Warm against yours, the wet soft press. How he opens for you as your hands slide to fist in his shirt. That black vest long shed as the hours turned late, buttons popped at his throat.

With your eyes closed like they are now, he’s never been more real to you. In this dark room he melds with the shadows, nose brushing yours as you sigh his name.

Solid and steady and warm, under your touch. 

Coming with the greedy pull of your hands, fitting his body closer to yours. Fingers tracing over your bare skin, the softest pinch to the peak of your breast as his lips part from yours.

Pressing instead to your chin, your throat. Your own hands greedy, pulling and tugging. He comes willingly, settling against you as he shifts between legs that spread so readily, biting into his ribs.

You’ve touched him before. Weeks of light brushes - of getting his attention, of asking questions.

None of it compares to now - the very real weight of him. Pinning you as your hips lift, pressing into his stomach just as something warm and wet swirls against your breast.

Leaving behind glossy skin, your skin molding to his invisible touch as you gasp. You can feel the scrape of his beard against your skin as he moves to the other side. A gentle press of teeth that has you crying out, a leg hooking over his waist. 

Fingers grasping at broad shoulders, slipping over velvet-short hair to twist in tamed curls. Anchoring yourself to him as you moan - wet before, now soaked through.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging, arching into the soft suction of his mouth. An ache in your belly - the knowing of something within your grasp, but being unable to reach it.

He lifts off you, then. Your hands slide over his chest, seemingly suspended in the air. A wrist caught with one of his own, your hand guided down to your center.

A pressure against your fingertips, lined carefully up against your clit.

Your breath is ragged, trying desperately to picture him. Feeling wonderfully exposed, as his fingers dent your skin. As yours slowly start to circle, wet and slick, as broken sigh slips from you.

It’s like your senses are heightened to his touch. Your thigh flexing when he lets go, a trailing touch against your skin again. Pleasure sparking at the swirl of your fingers, a little gasp when something ghosts over your slit.

Softly stroking, dragging. Over swollen, soaked flesh - his other hand sliding down to tap twice against your hip. 

Teasing you - fingers just pressing against your opening, retreating - before those taps come again.

Your mind is hazy. As soft as the city lights that slip through the cracks in the curtains, bathing your skin. Taking you longer than usual to process that he’s asking you something - your answer coming in a rush. 

“Yes.” You whine, “I need more. Please-”

The hand on your hip squeezes, as he fits his middle finger into you. Nudging the thick digit in slowly, stopping at each knuckle before drawing back, only to sink deeper next time.

It’s so different with him inside you. Already a fullness with just the slick pump, mimicking the circle of your fingers.

A noise ripping from your throat as he strokes deep and then curls. The pad of his finger brushing against a spot that has you clenching down around him. 

“Oh my god,” Your fingers bite into his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, “Feels so good-”

The hand on your thigh soothes, as he works his ring finger in as well. A stretch now, with how thick they are. Your toes curling when both flex inside you, hips bucking into his touch.

Your fingers seem to move on their own - quick familiar flicks with one, the other hand wrapping in the cool sheets. Enough to make your fingers ache, as his own work deeper. 

Loud, in the quiet room. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed at how wet he’s made you, the slick plunge of his fingers. Working you open, petting and stroking and you’re left trying to catch your breath, with the way he has you panting. 

Something - his hand, you think - nudges at your fingers, then. Your release so close that you’re slow to move, a little cry that breaks on a moan as something warm flattens against your cunt.

A soft, wet drag. Your hand leaves the sheets to brace on the shoulder that nudge your thighs wider, opening you up to him. 

As he eats you, pointed licks against your clit. Your hand curling around the spot where shoulder meets neck, feeling the low buzz of his moan. 

Fingers curling in time with his tongue. With his lips, as he places a kiss between your thighs. 

Ones that fall fully open, with the soft suck of his mouth. A heavy pressure in your belly, a tightening in your abdomen as you fight back the urge to grind yourself against his tongue. 

Perhaps a month ago - before you knew about the curse, about him - you would have been content with this. The emptiness between your thighs, the searing pleasure.

Imaging, with the way your brain tends to spin tales, other illicit encounters. Playing on the way he moves so soundlessly. Sneaking up behind you to bend you willingly over the counter. Submitting to an invisible force, that could take you whenever he desires. 

But, for a while now - your mind has changed. A brief fantasy, compared to your current desires. 

More than ever you wish to see him. Each little expression, how you could see the burn that you can only wish matches your own.

Neat hair now tousled from your fingers, how his mouth would shine with you. 

The way you could look into his eyes, so that you could tell him how much you want him. 

Need him.

Not just here, but always.

You choke on his name. Butterflies in your stomach, that winding tightness feeling like it’s fraying - about to snap.

“God, just like that.” Your head tilts back against the pillows, stars glittering across the ceiling overhead, “Fuck, please don’t stop Alfred. I’m gonna-”

The rest is bitten off. The soft, echoing “oh” held - as your eyes open. As you look down, just as that pleasure starts to crest.

There’s a shimmer. Like gold caught in the sunlight, the twinkle of stars in the sky far outside the city limits. A deepening of shadows at the crux of your thighs, hinting at a form between them. 

Twin grey-blue reflections caught in the light -  sliding shut, just as you snap. The sight disappearing as your vision goes hazy. An ache of release as all that tightness within you ebbs, thudding with the flutter of your heart. 

Bliss shudders through you, freeing your gasping cries. Fingers coaxing as you pulse around them, prolonging your pleasure with the soft press and swipe of his tongue. 

It’s been ages since anyone but yourself has brought you to orgasm. You’ve forgotten what it’s like, to place yourself in the hands of another.

Even ones you can’t see.

Or, could you?

No. Surely nothing had changed, in the time between the hallway and now. You’ve spent weeks looking at him, and never once have you seen him like this.

You must be dreaming.

The thought settles over you, as you stare unseeing at the ceiling, still dazed. As a broad hand strokes your thigh, the stretch of the two fingers still buried in you. 

Yes, that must be it. Trapped in a dream, while your mind tries to fill in the blanks, melding how you know him with the picture in your head. The soft suggestion of his face - the curve of his nose and his beard as a hand passes over his mouth. 

Disappointment lances through you. But… if it’s not real, you’ll make the most of it. Allow you to experience this moment that may never come again. 

Even in a dream, you want to give him everything. 

“Come here.” Your voice is low, soft - as you roll to your side, after he eases from you. Patting the mattress where you just lay, letting your fingers trail and trace as he moves.

Waiting until his head indents the pillow before you swing your hips over his. His hands biting into your thighs as you straddle him, the wool of his pants soft against your bare skin.

It’s almost familiar, the way your hands slide up his chest. A much more pointed movement than your earlier explorations. Carefully finding the collar of his shirt. Dipping down to where his shirt splits, fingers tracing over skin and a coarse smattering of hair.

Tugging the buttons free, one by one. 

Slowly opening him up, over a chest - muscle and flesh covering the racing of his heart. Down past his belly, just at your head dips.

Something like a sigh, hanging in the air, as your mouth follows. Pressing down against heated skin, as his own fingers pinch harder. 

And there’s that shimmer again, as you scoot back. Illuminating the semblance of a face - panting, parted lips and a pinched brow. Settling yourself between strong thighs - fingers splaying across his abdomen while the other finds his hand. 

“Can I touch you?” 

It’s the second time you’ve asked. The first time through a hazy mind, not even sure what you were wanting. You have intent this time, as your fingers slip to wrap around his belt buckle, feeling the upward shift of his hips beneath you.

Yes.

The two squeezes come quickly from his entwined fingers, but with it comes something else. Another sigh of words, as if caught on a breeze in the still room. 

Muted - as if said behind glass, a closed door.

“Yes, darling.”

It’s the dream, you think. Your mind unable to fully translate, caught between what you knew before and what you know now.

And still, it makes your heart ache. How pretty it sounds, those words. It has you tugging on the leather strap of his belt. Loosening, unbuttoning, hands eager to touch warm skin.

Alfred’s hips lift. The hand in yours grasping tighter when you try to slip yours away, and so you keep it there. Managing to tug the layers down with just one, sliding it over skin afterwards. Letting them drop down to the floor below. 

You find him, wrapping your hand around. Hard and velvet soft beneath your palm, finger and thumb not quite meeting with the slow stroke of your hand. 

He sighs - the sound rough, low. Thighs tense where they close around you, biting into where you kneel.

Lips brushing his stomach, the curve of his hip. Muscles tensing beneath your mouth, cock twitching in your careful grip.

You can’t help but smile. Pleased at how undone he’s become under your touch already. That desperate wish that this wasn’t so one-sided ebbing with the way the kiss in the doorway became so heated. 

Emboldening you, even if this isn’t truly real. 

“You’re beautiful,” You tell him, with another press of your lips. Looking up where you know he lies, watching. “I don’t need to see you to know that.”

Perhaps another work would have been better. Handsome, maybe. Or striking, but it doesn’t quite capture the puzzle you’ve fit together. The rough, muffled groan - how you’re sure you’ve rumpled that crisp white shirt, with how he lounges in your bed. 

There’s an opalescent shine left behind when your tongue peeks out to lick a stripe up his cock. His hips do jerk then, fingers squeezing tightly. 

Not a word, though. Not a “No” with his single grasp of his fingers. Just the still holding back of desire. Something you hope he will let go of, before you’re ripped awake.

And so, you taste him. Take him into your mouth, letting spit pool on your tongue as your lips open wider. 

Bobbing your head, your hand following. Smearing spit across his skin, each jerk of your fist getting slicker. 

Letting your fingers drift down until you can cup him, heavy in your hand. It’s then, with the soft suck of your mouth, that his fingers leave you.

Coming to stroke along your cheeks, where they hollow. A steady exhale of breath that quickens with the way your eyes roll shut, your tongue tracing along veins, trying to take him as deep as you can.

You were wet before, from the thought of him. From the orgasm he pulled from you - but the feel of him in your mouth sends another heady ache to rest between your thighs, slick as you press them together. 

It’s when you’re almost gagging on his length that there’s a pressure, a sharp curse that is hissed through teeth as he grasps at you.

Easing you off, as you blink up at him. Waiting for him to guide you, eyes catching where the weight shifts on your bed. The shimmer of hands as they touch at your waist, guiding you to face the side of the bed. 

Angling you towards the windows that run parallel. Your eyes meeting your own, in the ornate mirror that stands between them. 

Not quite a straight-on angle, but it’s enough. A peek at your own heavy-lidded expression. His hips pressing to yours as he fits himself behind you, hand sliding across the curves of your hips. 

Pulling you back, as he kneels. Inching your thighs wider, matching his. The hard curve of his cock nudging against the swell of your ass, as he shows you how beautiful he thinks you are. 

With a hand that rises, across your belly, between your breasts. Up to your throat, where his hand spans - thumb and forefinger cradling the hinge of your jaw.

Keeping you facing forward, as his lips press against the back of your neck. His other hand drifting down, to dip between your thighs again. 

“Oh, look at you.” It’s a rough sigh against your skin, as his fingers reach soaked flesh, “I’ve dreamed of this.”

A dream within a dream, you think dizzily - as he touches where you drip, where it clings to your thigh - before the fingertips catch and drag it over your center.

Down to where he’s already been, where you’re warm and wet and ready. The tease of two thick fingers before they’re coming back to circle your clit again.

You wonder if he had been watching, before. The way your own had pressed and circled, messy and eager. Learning what you like. Eyes finding your own again in that mirror. 

Seeing only yourself, though you’ve slumped against him. You wonder what he sees now - never thinking to ask. 

If he sees himself as solid as he feels against you, just invisible to the world. Or if he only sees the iridescent shape, the shine of his fingers in the dim, broken light.

Despite your wishes to see him, it is a sight. The pleasure that begins to build, though you seem untouched. Just the shallow grind of your hips into the air, in spite of the way he cradles you to him.

And the more you watch, it feels almost as if… as if that shadow becomes a little more solid. Bridging that liminal space between transparent and translucent. 

It has your hand moving. Slipping between the curve at the small of your back. Catching where he’s hard against you, a wet smear left against your skin. All it takes is a shift of your hips to fit him beneath you, as you relax back against him.

Feeling where he juts out between your soft thighs, achingly stiff. An unconscious grind of his hips, that sends his cock gliding against your seam. Slicking up his shaft with you, as his fingers still press. That throb of pleasure slowly building with his touch.

“Christ, sweetheart-” Another soft, choked out sound. Again, no more than a whisper. Slipped out of lips unused to speaking out loud, but cannot help it.

“I need you.” Your voice is much louder, “It’s not enough, I need you inside me-”

Ready to lift, to press him into you if he’ll let you. It would be easy, with the way his hips already move, the shallow thrust that sends him skimming against swollen flesh.

He catches you as you rise - broad hands at your hips. This peek in the mirror only a brief interlude to where he really wants you, pressed into the mattress beneath him. 

Much more familiar, hurried, with the way you fit together now. His fingers entwining again to answer with those squeezes, though he murmurs it as well.

“Yes,” He groans, with the rock of his hips. “Yes, my darling. I need you too, I wish I could tell you-”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to answer, that you can, when his hand slides from to wrap around his cock. Angling himself down to press against your opening.

He holds himself there, until you’re wiggling against him. A downward shift until the head is nudging inside you, until you’re already clenching in anticipation. 

“Alfred,” You all but whine, “Fuck me, please, I want you to-”

Part of you is certain he’s confirming you want this, and you want to tell him he could do anything. That you’ll beg, if he wants. That you’ve been his, that you’ve needed him for ages. 

Those sentiments choking you with the steady thrust of his hips, the rough sound in his throat. Your own moan high as your arms wrap around him, as he presses himself deep inside you. 

Shallow rolls of his hips, easing himself out and then back in - your fingers biting into his shoulders as he seats himself fully, hips pressed flush with yours.

He fills you so perfectly. That dull, pleasurable ache of being stretched open, your legs opening wider so he can go just that much deeper. 

Your eyes close as he begins to move, finding his jaw with your mouth. Kissing blindly across his cheek as you moan, until his own low grunts and gasps meet yours.

Murmuring another low curse against your mouth, as his hip saw. The rolling stroke bumping something inside you that makes your muscles tense, that warm heat to spread. 

“S’good. Feels so good-” It’s a messy mumble, as you chase the pleasure that swells inside you.

Trying to cling to him as he slowly pulls back. Hands that ghost over the soft bounce of your breasts, past your hips. Tugging your thighs up over his, his fingers pressing into your skin as he finds that spot again.

Your eyes open, seeing the shadows cast as he curves over you. The downward tilt of his head, and again - you wonder.

If he can see the way he splits you open. The shine of your arousal on his cock with each snap of his hips, the way he has you clenching around him.

It has you reaching. Tracing over stomach and hips, the way he leans into your touch. His grip loosening so his hand can press over yours, molding to his form.

It’s been ages since he’s been known this way. Perhaps never quite like this. Opening himself up for examination. Pinned under your own gaze, dissected by your touch, after all those years alone.

You’re struck by him. The way he touches you so gently. How you’ve talked for so long translated so carefully here. Little squeezes and soothing strokes of his hand.

So much said silently.

It sends something flipping in your chest. An urge to never be parted, to stay just like this - with him, in this room, forever. Something you think just might be….

Might be-

Well, that sentiment is another thing to wrap up carefully, all neat folded corners and tied with a golden bow. Perhaps to be delivered tomorrow, something you can tell him yourself and not this dream-Alfred that’s been spun from your deepest desires. 

A hope that you can say what been slowly blooming, swelling in your heart. That just maybe - he will write down the same sentiments for you.

Because surely, you’re not alone. Even if his feelings are half as real as this - with those soft words and even softer touches - it would be enough.

You’ll hold that back for now, but there’s others that manage to slip free from you, under his gaze.

“I want to stay,” You breathe, as his hips slow. As his fingers grip even tighter, “I want you. Just as you are.”

He folds, with your words. Strong back curving as his hips drop to press flush with yours - your own thighs wrapping around his waist. 

Lips brushing your cheek to let you know he’s there, before they ghost against your mouth. So much said in the soft groan, the way his hand cradles your face. 

“Oh darling,” You hear him say, in the moments your lips part, “My perfect girl. Anything you want, it’s yours. I’m yours-”

His confession makes you ache - it’s there in the roll of his hips, the way his other hand slips between you. Sliding over sweat-dewed skin to pet at you again, stroke between your thighs.

Sending you higher, twisting and curling. Until you’re panting against his mouth, until you’re swallowing his own sounds that slowly grow shorter, rougher. Louder. 

His thrusts losing his careful, steady rhythm, fingers pressing just a little harder. Circling faster as your muscles start to tense, as your hips roll and grind as you meet him.

You can’t believe you’re so close again, your vision going soft and hazy. 

And he’s there with you, a warning in the gentle taps against your arm. His voice rough in your ear, though he thinks you cannot hear him.

“Please gorgeous, I need you to come. Want to feel you on my cock, first-”

There’s the scrape of his beard against your cheek, the press of his mouth against your throat. Another wet press of his fingers and you’re there - clinging to him as your cunt clenches down around him.

Your moan high as you orgasm pulses through you, starting from where you grip his cock, slipping up your spine and tingling down your limbs. 

He’s gone still, keeping you full with him. Keeping that weight inside as he helps you ride out the pleasure with his fingers, his touch almost sloppy with the way he staves off his own orgasm.

A soft cry from your throat when he pulls himself from you a moment later, lifting his hips just enough to twist his wrist. To wrap his fist around his cock, slick with your release. It’s only a few jerks before he’s spilling across your skin - the curve of your mound, against your belly.

Dripping down to sticky thighs, and when he’s worked himself empty, you can see the white streaks against your skin. As pretty and shining as he is in the silver streams of moonlight, and from this angle you feel like you can see the hand you’ve come to know so well. How it unfurls to stroke against your thigh. 

As gentle as ever, contented in the lazy path his fingers take. 

Leaving you cozy, when he tucks you against him. A cool cloth from the bathroom smoothed against your thighs, as he wipes himself carefully from your skin.

A soft plead mumbled against his neck, as your arms wrap around.

“Stay.”

You can hear the rumble of a soft hum of amusement, as if there was anywhere else he would wish to be.

Cheek pressing to your head, as you both get comfortable. It feels like a perfect fit, the way your body curves against his, the way his arm fits around you. Fingers finding yours to squeeze. 

Yes. 

But he says it too, in a voice so low you only just catch it. 

“Of course, love. Always.”

There’s a golden glow, in the room. You think perhaps it’s dawn, come early. Warm and glittering as you curl in your bed, fingers tracing over bare skin. 

Drifting in and out. Blissful in this soft embrace, as your mind slips from you, hazy in this soft afterglow. Leaving you to clutch at the thought that if it is a dream… 

Then it’s a very good one.

And you desperately hope you’ll remember it. 

The dull, repeated buzz pulls you from a deep sleep. You don't know the last time you've felt this content - curled on your side, loose-limbed and warm.

Fingers fumble beneath the pillow. Finding your phone beneath, as you peer at the message with bleary eyes.

Change of plans. Boarding flight now, be home tonight.

You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like.

The message makes you smile, wonder if Bruce as told Alfred yet. Thinking about how relieved and happy he will be, as you open a next text to send to him.

Did Bruce text you? It looks like your Christmas wish came true! 💕

You send it before you can overthink the heart you tacked on at the end.

Frowning then, as a matching buzz rattles against the wooden floor below.

A sleepy shift as you glance down, to see the bright edge of a screen. A sliver exposed from where it sits deep in a dark pocket, from a pair of trousers half-hidden under your bed.

Your frown deepens.

Eyes rising - seeing where the door stands open and silent. Still, as the sun weaves its way to spill in golden stripes against your floor.

It's then, that you feel the tension at your waist.

The press of something solid, as you had leaned, now pulling you back into the warmth of the bed. Too tired to notice how you were crowded closer to the edge, than your usual spot in the middle.

To notice that you're not alone.

Something warm and sturdy and strong behind you. The bristle of something coarse against your shoulder, as your blankets shift. 

A low sound, a hum, as it moves - sliding from your hip, splaying under your chest with another backward tug. Holding you close. 

An arm comes into view. A hand. 

A proper, solid one. 

Dimples of skin at strong knuckles, calloused fingertips dragging across your curves.

Those last dregs of sleepiness are snatched from you.

He makes a low sound as you push yourself upward, and turn. Not caring how the blanket pools around your waist now, the chilly air hitting bare skin.

Definitely not alone. 

And you’re not afraid - not when your eyes drop down. Because you know this face, this steely gaze that is softened with sleep.

Hair that has long gone silver, tousled from the brush and grip your fingers.

Breathless at the two realizations that crash over you at the same time. Fighting each other in your mind, as his eyes crack open.

That the curse has been broken.

That it hadn’t been a dream.

His name is a broken sound, a pricking in the corners your eyes as your hands cradle his face. That contented look turning sharp - alert from your expression, as he pushes himself up on his elbows.

Reaching for you, that familiar space between your wrist and forearm. The words still sliding from him as they often did when you spoke - liking to imagine that you could hear them.

“What is it, darling?”

And it’s not the soft whisper from the night before. It’s a rough, sleepy sound. Beautifully low and rasping, and it only makes your heart lurch even more.

“I can-” You have to take a breath, to stop the tremble, “It’s broken, Alfred. You’re-”

And he seems to understand - an arm curling around your waist. Holding you against him as you yelp, as he pushes himself fully upward. 

Putting you both in view of the mirror where he had held you, the night before. Where you both now gaze into the reflection, watching the way you curl around each other.

Beautifully ruffled and bare-skinned from your shared evening and contented sleep.

Watching his expression change - confusion, and wonder, and then - relief. Fingers stroking the grey of his beard, before his eyes are tearing away. 

And to look at him fully, to have that gaze returned - it has your heart twisting tight, stomach tying into knots. 

Your voice is soft, still trembling, “What broke it?”

His touch transfers to you, his hand coming to cup your cheek. Watching the way you lean into it, the concerned pull of your brow.

“You did, love.”

And how you wish it was true. That you had helped him, somehow. Like you had wanted to, so badly, for all these weeks now.

But instead, your head shakes, “But I don’t understand. What did you want?”

His smile is soft. Those stormy eyes clearing with a lifted weight, as he pulls you closer. Knuckles stroking across your cheek, affection woven into every facet of his touch.

It’s a look that you hope you’ll see every day, for the rest of your life. 

“I wanted to be seen.”

"to be loved is to be seen."

and they lived happily ever after - the end! ✨ this has been so fun to write and such a comfort during this holiday time. thank you so much for reading this! it means so much 💖 and hope you all have a very happy holidays! 🎄