#the sex lives of college girls cast

[mysweetsinfulobsessions]

Pauline Chalamet, Alyah Chanelle, Amrit Kaur and Renée Rapp for Seventeen, Besties on Besties

Renée out here living her best life, good for her!

[itszonez]

Reneé Rapp and Alyah Chanelle Scott, them <3

[leightum]

What about your girl Tatum?  I ended things with her. The night of your fundraiser, actually.

[shujubeelamoglia]

Gavin Leatherwood & Ashvin Ashoke

Photography by Jake Cloobeck

[homemade-ghosts]

christophermeyer: Day 1. @/thesexlivesofcollegegirls 💕

[tslocgdaily]

Mark your calenders! The Sex Lives of College Girls returns November 17!

[thundergrace]

"Queerness in Conversation with Reneé Rapp | The Sex Lives of College Girls | HBO Max"

Reneé identifies as queer and bisexual.

[gomezisabellas]

renee rapp icons 

pls like / reblog if you use / save <3

[newdevil]

open to: m / f / nb based:  we broke up and i’m not over it so i’ve been going to the bar where we met to try and figure out my emotions and holy fuck u did not just walk in

         there ran a risk of running into an ex when you lived in the same city and still visited the places you visited together, but rimi was never known for using social-based logic. she was known for, if anything, the stupid decisions she made so no one would be shocked when she told them she went back to that bar, yes again, and happened to see the one person she most and least wanted to see. you see, in her head the fact she still came to this very bar meant she’d gotten it in the breakup, but in reality places weren’t divided like assets and she didn’t own the visitation of that bar, not at all. in true bad decision fashion, rimi made her way over to them, drink in hand as she went. “ so, long time no see. what brings you to my neck of the woods again. ”

[there-are-many-ways-to-smile]

This extra from the sex lives of college girls is so freaking cute

[bandgie]

On Your Knees

ONE | TWO

incel!Seungmin x fem!reader

warnings! MDNI18+, drinking implications (no one is drunk) dubious??, pussy eating, face fucking (m!), hate sex (but no sex) seungmin is an ass (low key misogynistic), reader is kinda mean note! this is not meant to represent Seungmin or any of the members in any way. I just like the trope :)

2.7k words

The party was getting boring in all honesty. Truth-or-Dare is only fun for the first couple of minutes but gets repetitive. Same old questions on who you're fucking, if you're fucking someone, if you've ever fucked someone. The flat beer sloshes in your red solo cup as you sit on the floor of the living room.

You can tell Han is trying to come up with something interesting to ask Seungmin. Most of the somewhat funny questions were already asked, but Han still purses his lips as he thinks of something clever. 

"Okay, I got it!" He claps his hands. "Best pussy you've ever eaten. Go."

Ah, I guess that's something, you think as you divert your attention to the cross-legged man beside you. 

Seungmin is awfully quiet at house parties and looks as though he would rather be anywhere else. You don't like Seungmin, but you don't not like him. He's just a guy Han likes to bring around on occasion. You observe Seungmin raise an eyebrow, in surprise most likely. But what he says is even more shocking. 

"Never eaten pussy."

"What?!" Everyone collectively shouts at his admission. Now this peaks your interest as you stare wide-eyed at him. "No way," you can't fathom the thought of someone in college never tasting a cunt. "Are you a virgin?"

Your bold question makes Chan choke on his drink, coughing until the bitter liquid finally passes through. "Jeez dude, you just can't ask that."

"It's literally Truth-or-Dare. I literally can," you retort. 

The clamor of everyone settles as they wait for Seungmin to answer. Now that he can feel the pressure of everyone's eyes, he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "I'm not a virgin," he says. "I just don't eat pussy."

"What the fuck?" You make a confused expression. "You don't eat pussy? Fuck does that mean?" Seungmin finally casts his gaze on you, acknowledging your presence for the first time tonight. "Exactly what I mean. I don't like it."

"You don't like it?" Han sounds exasperated. "You gotta be fucking with me. There's no way you fuck a girl and not want to eat her pussy." Despite Han being an idiot half the time, you agree with him. Every guy you've hooked up with jumps at the chance to eat you out and you know plenty of them would do it for nothing in exchange. 

To meet a guy who's never had the opportunity to only means two things, and you're praying it's not what you're thinking. 

"I just fuck to cum. I don't really care if she finishes or not."

It's worse than you could have imagined. 

The room goes dead quiet and you suddenly figure out why Han doesn't bring Seungmin around too often. His stiff posture, his blank expression, the way he hardly regards you in any manner. It all points to signs of the worst type of man. 

"So like what?" You can't help the clipped tone in your voice. "You some type of incel?"

Chan, who likes to keep the peace, says your name in warning. "Don't start." Though he means well, the fact that you're the one getting in trouble for speaking up only fuels your fire. "Don't start? He's the one who started with his dumb incel shit."

Seungmin scowls, "Ugh. I didn't even say anything bad. You're being so emotional."

The tips of your ears burn red and you feel your entire body heat up. You can hear Chan trying to diffuse the situation, but you hardly care about maintaining 'the peace' any longer. 

"Oh, fuck off," you sneer at Seungmin. "You can't even make a girl finish. Fucking incel virgin."

Now that does it for him. You see Seungmin tighten his hands into fists as his neck grows red. "I'm not a virgin. And I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to." He enunciates his words harshly, some speckles of spit landing on your face. Both of your jaws are tense, teeth clenching as you glare into each other's eyes.

A vein sticks from his neck and his lips are stretched back into somewhat of a snarl. With a flushed expression, you easily see his cheeks heat up in anger. It's here that you realize he looks good when he's mad. You hate it.

"Okaayyy!" Chan claps his hands three times loudly. "I think it's time to call it a night." Everyone tries to stand and talk about anything else, but Seungmin and you are too busy having your own little conversation to notice. 

"Never eaten pussy, can't make a girl come. Why you lying about being a virgin?" You mimic the vicious on Seungmin's face. He keeps his eyes steady on yours, "Whoring yourself out for a fuck. You're everything that's wrong with women today." 

This makes you laugh, "At least they make me cum."

If you thought Seungmin was mad before, he's furious now. You must have struck a nerve because he stands suddenly and spins on his heel to leave. 

But you're not done with the conversation. You raise on your feet and follow him, never ceasing to stop your vicious spewing, "Just be honest with me, Min. It's okay to have never felt a woman's touch. Not that you ever will, being an incel that is."

Seungmin hurries up the stairs of the house with you on his tail. You can't see his face, but you can feel the anger rolling off him. 

He suddenly stops in his tracks, making you effectively bump into his back. "I'm not an incel," he keeps his voice low, but strong. "Eating pussy isn't even all that. You just have an ego bigger than your tits."

You try and play it off with a scoff, but you feel your face heat up. You grope your chest offendedly; you like your boobs. "Not all that? Come here." Pushing on Seungmin's back, you lead him to the nearby bathroom and shove him inside. He stumbles and trips over his feet, shooting a hand out to balance himself on the counter as you close and lock the door behind you.

"Fuck was that for?" He whips his head around to glare at you, but he's surprised to be met with an eerie smile on your face instead. He gulps nervously, "What are you looking at?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "Looking at someone who's going to eat me out." Seungmin looks as though you've slapped him across the face as his eyes widen. "What? Who said I was gonna do that?" 

You're already hiking your skirt up to your torso, biting the cloth between your teeth, and showing the pretty little thong you put on in hopes of a hookup. It barely manages to over your clit and you can see the outline of your pussy underneath the material. With one hand, you use the tip of your finger to draw soft circles on it. Seungmin drops his eyes to your clothed core.

His Adam apple bobs.

"Come on," you wiggle your eyebrows playfully. "Get on your knees for me."

For a second, you think he's gonna walk out. He was so persistent about not wanting to eat pussy and his shitty attitude was...well...shitty. You begin to think that there's no hope for Seungmin, but he proves you wrong by bending one knee and looking up at you.

"I'm just going to look," he says more to himself than to you. "Just so you could stop your whining." 

His hands grip the plushness of your thighs as he stretches the skin. The lips of your pussy peek out at the movement, but Seungmin is far from disgusted. His ears pick up on the sound your cunt makes when he uses his thumb to pull and push the skin together. Slowly, he moves his hand up to pull your thong down, exposing the very thing he claims to revolt against. 

You shiver against his warm breath, his warm touch. You reach your hands down to pull up on the skin of your pelvis to further stretch your pussy. "Getting a good look, Seungmin?" You giggle at the annoyed expression on his face. His lips may be pulled pursed into a frown, but his eyes are wide with lust.

Seungmin is trying his best to hold back, but it's near impossible. Everything about you surrounds him: your smell, your soft skin, the way your voice echoes in the bathroom. He shocks himself with how much he enjoys watching your clit peek from your pussy lips and how the first signs of arousal make your entire cunt shine. 

"Shut up," he mumbles. 

You're thinking of a witty remark to snap at him, but you're instead pleasantly surprised with his lips ghosting over your core. Your body stills, letting Seungmin explore pussy on his tongue for the first time. He runs his lips over your own, feeling how soft and warm it is. Seungmin already knew how hot a cunt is, but tasting it on his lips is a whole other level of heat.

"Mmm," you hum at the sensation. "What happened to just getting a look?" 

Seungmin looks up at you, mouth still attached to your core. His nose bumps on your lower stomach with his hair tousled over his face. Before you can think, you brush the bangs from his face to get a good view of his form. The sight makes you groan, bucking your hips further into his face. Seungmin makes a hmmf! sound as you bury his face deeper into your pussy, but he makes no move to deny you.

It's not until you start rocking your hips that he finally sticks his tongue out. He starts at the peak of your pussy, letting the nub roll over his tongue experimentally. Seungmin notes how your legs shake when he does that. He feels your hips still so he could properly suck on that part of your cunt. 

The taste of you settles on Seungmin's tastebuds and he finds his tongue digging deeper into your lips. They dip down to your labia before going back up. He likes how soaked you make his wet tongue, how your hands twist his floppy hair to drive him deeper. He hates how much he likes it. 

Truthfully, you're in the same boat. His mouth may not be experienced, but you upsettingly like how he lets you ride his face. "See Sungie?" You say his name mockingly. "Not too bad, is it?"

Seungmin doesn't stay put in your cunt. This time, he pulls away from your throbbing core to talk back. "I never said it was goo- mmf!" As lovely as it would have been to hear his voice, you reason that his words may not have been as nice. You had gripped the back of his head and forced him back to your center, uncaring how he gently slapped the back of your thighs in disapproval.

"Just shut up and stick your tongue out." You're impatient needless to say. Seungmin can tell by how you keep one hand steady on his head while the other gives his cheek light taps. "Open up, come on." You probe the man between your legs until he finally relents, widening his jaw so your entire clit fits in his mouth.

You hum at his mouth taking your core in, "Good boy. See? You were made to eat pussy."

Then you hook one of your thighs over his shoulder and wrap that leg around his body until his face is pushed against you. His eyes widen, screaming at you as if saying this wasn't part of the deal! But the panic only makes you laugh. He can pretend all he wants, but you know the bulge in his pants all too well as you look down on him.

Grinding on his face is easy with you in complete control. You sloppily rub your cunt all over his tongue with his head following your movements. Seungmin groans and grunts in your cunt, but it's far from the disdain he was filled with earlier. His hips thrust into the air at the feel of your essence dripping down his chin.

His jolts make you chuckle breathlessly. "Fuck, just look at you. You wanna cum? You wanna cum, don't you?"

Screw his pride, screw any stupid podcast he's watched, he needs to cum. He wants to feel your pussy clench on his cock, not his tongue. Yet, he can't find it in himself to tear himself away from your clit. If you taste this good already, he can't imagine the savor of you creaming on his tongue. 

To not let a second go by without his mouth on you, he nods, looking up at you pleadingly. He's sorry for being a dick, for being an incel. If you let him finish in you, he'll never-

"Sucks to suck," you shatter his dream. "You're gonna make me cum. Don't move."

And he doesn't, but it's not because he means to obey you. You have Seungmin on his knees, mouth enclosing over your pussy while you tug on his hair and hump his face and you're not going to let him finish? At all?

Then there's no point of him being here. Seungmin should tear your grip off him and leave the bathroom, but he can't. Fuck, he can't. It's like you've put a curse on him, glued him to the floor with his jaw unhinged and tongue out as you grind on his face. 

It has to be witchcraft because why else would he still be here? Does he really like the taste of you that much? Maybe it's how you look; flushed, sweaty, close to a high Seungmin's never been able to bring a girl to. Seeing you so close to your orgasm makes him eager to stay, eager to please. And god, he loves how your clit twitches in his mouth.

"Shit," you curse. "Gonna cum. Imma cum all over your face. You want that? Want my cream all over your tongue?"

Seungmin would rather die than tell you the truth, so he responds by sucking harshly on your clit. The suction is enough to tip you over the edge, digging your nails into his scalp as you bend the upper half of your body over him. 

Your cunt pluses around nothing, but that hardly matters when you hear Seungmin gulping down your release. The very same man who claims to not like eating pussy, to not care if his partner finishes. That man eagerly licking you clean with his eyes rolling behind his head. 

You shiver and mewl as you cum, softly grinding your hips to come down from your high. "God- fuck! Put your tongue in my pussy."

He does, finally getting a feel of your walls for the first time. They squeeze and pulse around his tongue and he gives a few testing thrusts that you respond to positively. 

Fuck, you taste even better inside. 

Seungmin can't stop fucking his tongue deep inside you. Not even as you wrap your leg from him and straighten up. A part of you debates on whether or not to let him keep going. At this rate, he might make you finish a second time, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of that. Plus, you've been gone long enough for the other men to question your whereabouts.

You place the palm of your hand on his forehead and push him away. The shove makes him detach from your cunt with a lewd pop! as he catches himself backward on his hands.

"Geez. You're gonna lick it off," you pick your underwear up and step through the leg holes, ignoring how uncomfortable it feels on your sensitive cunt. Seungmin seems in a daze as you drop your skirt from your lips and adjust the material. Even as you walk closer to the mirror and touch up your make-up, Seungmin stays in place on the ground. 

He liked it. Dear god, he loved it. Even with the tent in his pants, he hardly seems to notice how his cock throbs when he can still taste you on his lips. You only face-fucked him to prove a point, but you changed the trajectory of his life forever.

Yet, you wash your hands and use a hand towel to dry yourself like you didn't just make Seungmin question his entire purpose. You throw the rag to the man on his knees, managing to land it on his lap. "Your face is soaked. Clean it before they see how much of a munch you are, yeah?"

a/n: idk why I was at work was thought "yk what would be hot? making an incel seungmin worship you" and boom, this was birthed. I kinda wanna make a part two I have ideeassss also two fics in one week?? who am I? thank you for reading!

[itszonez]

ALYAH CHANELLE SCOTT as TIMBERLY in REBOOT, 1.03 “Growing Pains” (2022-)

[jkslipppiercing]

Never Been A Friend | Part 1 | Jeon Jk

♧ synopsis: Sneaky glances across the room weighed with a dozen different meanings left to be unsaid; confusion, desire, lust. He was never a friend, was he?

♧ pairing: brother's bsf!jk, bratty!reader.

♧ warnings: y/n is too drunk to form a sentence, jungkook loves cursing, jungkook is jealous out of his mind, kinda enemies but not really, jungkook calls y/n a brat that he cant stand, someone calls y/n a slut, and that's all i can remember 😙

♧ WC: 1.6K

♧ a/n: hello loves! wrote this in one sitting and it's barely edited, but the intention is there lmao i love you all so much please enjoy! dont hesitate to tell me what you think <3 im like the no.1 supporter for constructive criticism lol okay thank you byeeeee

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JK's POV

She whines,

Throws tantrums,

Acts like a goddamn brat for the sake of being annoying,

And I still want her lips around my cock.

Why?

That goes beyond the fucking level of my emotional understanding.

I want her wrapped around my finger. I want her to get on her fucking knees and apologize for all the turbulent feelings she makes me suffer by.

She ruined my night.

I was fucking.

Blowing a girl's back just to lay off some steam. Get the stress of the college life off my shoulders.

But then, she just had to cock-block me.

My best friend’s sister.

Speaking of the twat, he dared to interrupt my one night stand for the sake of his bratty sister.

Usually, I love brats.

My type.

They make sex enjoyable. All the more pleasurable when they try to resist.

Keyword: try.

Because I know for a damn straight fact when a girl wants to be disciplined.

Fucked right and put in her place.

Reminds me of her. Y/L/N Y/N.

Except for one thing, though- she makes my fucking insides churn in all uncomfortable ways.

She doesn’t have a bratty attitude, the bitch has a bratty personality.

Yes, she is indeed a bitch. I can't stand a girl who's always annoying just because she feels like it. She'd never had a valid reason to hate me, and neither did I.

When I first met her, I mean.

She was laughing with her brother having breakfast one time when I came out of my room for painkillers and a glass of water.

Her brother and I were both freshmen in need of a dorm, and we agreed on splitting the rent once in a frat party.

Yes... we were both strangers to each other, but we clicked.

Met through mutuals, and our vibes matched. After living with each other for over six months now, we've grown pretty close.

He's cool, agreed on basic rules like who does the laundry or dishes, helped with assignments, and was always there when needed.

He's a friend. A close one.

A tolerable one.

That can't be said about a certain someone, though.

She scowled at me that day and later told me she didn't like my vibe when I confronted her about it.

Bullshit.

And yet, she's the reason I left a naked girl in my bed and came to this godforsaken club in the first place.

Her brother is here, too, which is why he called me to come pick her up. Said something about her being drunk, and since he had taken a shot or two as well, he couldn't take her home himself.

Or he just didn't want to, because he was also getting laid tonight.

That's proven to be right when I see him making out with a girl near the bathrooms.

His hands grope her all over as she arches into him, which is enough to make me look away.

Sly motherfucker.

Casting my vision toward the main dance floor, I scan the crowd for a short brunette with soft features.

Annoyingly soft features.

So soft that I want to corrupt her. Tear the bratty exterior and dig through the filthy dark side on the inside.

But those features aren't the only things that infuriate the hell out of me.

It's her innocence.

How can a brat be innocent, you may ask?

When my gaze lands on her, my jaw tenses in annoyance.

She sways her hips sensually, eyes closed and mouth open as she slides her hands down her body to a seductive beat following her movements.

I follow the action, eyes unable to tear away from her figure.

Her fingers skim over her neck down to her breasts and then further, the lightness she seems to be handling her body with attending to a grace she always breathed by.

Fuck, I hate this woman.

Hate everything about her.

How she moves.

How she walks.

How she fucking talks.

Runs her mouth like a brat who needs to be handled.

No- not like- is.

She is a brat.

A brat who's oblivious to all the eyes she's attracting.

Including mine.

Fuck.

Her dancing resumes as her eyes stay closed, feeling every beat.

She's enjoying herself.

Not for long.

I school my expression- which had turned into a scowl the moment I set my eyes on her- and begin my stride towards her.

I spot a man doing the same, but she's absolutely mind-numb as she continues to dance with her damn eyes closed.

I was irritated, but now I'm literally fed up.

He's a couple inches shorter than me, wearing a white tee and skinny ripped jeans.

Not to mention, his hair is slicked back by a disgusting amount of hair gel.

Ew.

He approaches Y/N with predatory eyes and a shit eating grin, his gaze set straight on her perky ass.

Which is just barely covered by the tight little dress she's wearing, inching higher and higher up her thighs as we speak.

My steps quicken when I see him reach out, apparently intending to slap her ass.

My blood boils.

White noise drowns out all available access to the outside world as I break out into a jog and reach her just in time.

My hand swiftly slides onto her tiny waist, and I glare at the man whose shit-eating grin is now gone, replaced with confusion.

Y/N's eyes stay closed as she giggles, and it's now I notice how drunk she is.

Bright crimson tints her cheeks and her breath smells of strong tequila, obviously from having taken too many shots.

Isn't she here with friends?

How could they leave her alone like this?

Her brother's here. Her brother is here.

My breath turns heavy, my heartbeat quickening. I have to stop myself from punching the douchebag in front of me into fucking oblivion because I don't know if i'll ever stop once I start.

Fuck.

I try to focus on anything besides her frame that's barely hanging onto me, all the exhaustion from her dancing catching up to her as she fights to keep her eyes open.

Why the fuck is she here all alone? Why did they- whoever she's here with, except her brother- leave her here like this?

Like she's not even aware of where she is.

Like she's not sober enough to be responsible.

Like she's not fucking strong enough to defend herself if anything happened to her.

I might punch a wall.

My grip tightens around her waist, which makes her drowsily lift her head to stare up at me.

She's still shorter than me with heels on, enough to put her neck in an uncomfortable position whenever she looks up at me.

It's adorable.

But that's none of my concerns as the slimy fuck keeps undressing her with his eyes. Makes me want to claw them out with my bare hands.

Repress.

"Wha..." She starts, growing more and more confused as she tries to wrap her head around where the hell she is. "Jungkook? What are you..."

She trails off into a mindfuck, allowing me to set my full focus on the man still staring between us with wariness.

My gaze hasn't worn off him since I saw him fucking reach for her ass, which makes me want to bash his head against the wall.

My breathing turns heavy again.

Repress.

"Off-limits." I bite out with enough to control to shock myself. I'm even more surprised that this motherfucker is still breathing.

His eyes thin into slits as he eyes me suspiciously. "I haven't seen you here the last couple of hours. Thought her sexy ass came alone." His eyes skim over her body, gaze lingering longer than necessary on her breasts.

Guess someone's leaving with no limbs tonight.

"You thought wrong." It takes almost all the last bits of my control to reply with that before I start turning around to leave, Y/N almost falling asleep on my arm.

She clutches the hem of my shirt with a weak grip, like a toddler would its mom.

If I couldn't get here in time, what would've happened?

I catch myself before I overthink it. If I did, I'm afraid I might commit a crime tonight. One of shameless blood and murder-

Repress.

My back is turned to him when I hear a low whistle, which makes me pause, angry enough for my limbs to shake with adrenaline.

"You know, It's often rare for a slut with such a sweet ass to be out here all alone wearing that. Almost like she's begging for a cock-"

The words are barely out of his mouth before my fist connects with his face. The force of my blow got him on the floor, nose fucked and bleeding. Might be broken.

Good. Bare minimum.

I almost straddle him and punch him to his fucking fortunate death.

Almost.

But I have to get Y/N home.

I can't stand this anymore.

I can't stand her anymore.

Coming here alone? Dressed like that?

I mean yes, she did come here with her idiot brother who thinks with his dick, but he's nowhere to be found.

How can someone be so nonchalant to just leave his sister here all alone?

I'm so goddamn confused.

And infuriated.

And...angry.

Fucking fuck.

I need to get her the fuck out of here before i lose my fucking mind.

Fuck me.

The punch I just delivered did little to satiate my thirst for this slimy fucker's blood.

But again, Y/N's more important.

I turn, my panic spiking so high it reaches levels it had never before when I find Y/N out of my sight.

My breathing starts to go abnormal for the nth time this night.

I might develop heart problems.

A sigh leaves my mouth when I spot her by the bars, trying to convince the bartender to give her another shot. Relief floods my system, and my breaths regulate.

I send a quick text the girl- who i already forgot the name of- and tell her to head home. She sends a crying emoji back but agrees nonetheless, telling me to call her back when everything is sorted out on my end.

I have other things to care for.

Or I guess, in this case, a certain person to tend to.

God, It's gonna be a long night.

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotes @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128 @bangtans-momma @yourbobaeyestell

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[shujubeelamoglia]

Gavin Leatherwood

Photography by Tanguy Onakoy

[homemade-ghosts]

the cast of the sex lives of college girls (season 3)

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 20)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,679

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Masterlist]

Notes: Some of this might seem familiar hehe

_________________________________________

You look so beautiful, lying in his bed like that, nothing but your bare skin on display. 

The evidence of last night is still marked on your skin; bruises littering your body from your neck to your breasts, from your hip bones to the inside of your thighs. Azriel had gotten over eager at all of the different noises you’d made as he’d explored your skin into the early hours of the morning, and after another round of raucous sex, you’d fallen asleep in the warmth of his arms.

Even with your comforting presence beside him, sleep evaded Azriel.

Last night must have been some sort of dream. There was no possible way that he had taken out the one person who’s been a pestering annoyance all year, and somewhere along the way that irritation became infatuation.

And you’ve seen through his harsh exterior, the barrier he puts between himself and others. He hasn’t allowed anyone to touch him like this since after the accident. Hell, he still flinches sometimes when his friends come up behind him and slap him on the shoulder. It was that same motion his step-brothers had given him before they beat him into the ground and drug him in his fathers backyard.

But you are a whirlwind of fresh air, infatuated with the scarring of his hands, before you even knew the harrowing story, the trauma that came with them. You never shied away like other girls. No, you had kissed them and touched them and…and it means everything to Azriel.

He held you for a while, long after his fingers began itching for the familiar feel of his pencils in hand. Wide awake, he snuck out of his bed and over to his desk, flipping the sketchbook filled with images of you—the very same one that had your eyes tearing up—to a fresh page.

He had gotten lucky that you didn’t react poorly to what is essentially a shrine to you. Pages upon pages of drawings of you, in this one sketchbook he normally keeps hidden on his shelf. How had he been so stupid as to leave it out? Right, because he’d be so fucking nervous to pick you up for his exhibition that the only thing that could ease his racing mind and shaky hands was drawing you.

The apartment is silent, had been all night from what he can remember. He doesn’t care if his roommates hear anyway, they’ll all figure it out eventually and tell him that they told him so. 

He can’t fucking wait.

Sleep wears on his body, trying to pull him down, but his mind is wide awake. Creative, is what he calls it, insomniac others called him. He won’t dare sleep a wink when you’re there to draw his attention. You sleep so prettily, the morning sun cascading across your body as it rises, casting shadows across your skin in the most interesting way, highlighting those marks he’s left on your skin…

For now, the marks are hickeys, but his head is already filled with tattoo ideas for your body. 

He takes his pencil to his paper. He has minutes to get you down in his book, if that. He doesn’t know when you’ll shift, if the sun will wake you or if everything that happened will come flooding in like a nightmare. He wonders how you will react, if it will be poor or if you will pout, telling him to come back to bed. He shoves the thoughts from his mind and focuses on his sketchpad.

Azriel snags a kneaded eraser, blackened with use. There are shards of charcoal strewn about his desk, brushed to the sides for a cleaner workspace. The chalk clings to his skin instantly and he breathes out a sigh of contentment at its familiar texture. He rolls it between his fingers and looks back up to you, the sudden urge to press his sooty fingertips against your skin barreling through his thoughts.

His heart skips a beat at that, the idea of you covered in the essence of his art, of him, on you.

The drawings in his sketchpad are both rushed and not. Lazy, languid strokes when he has all of the time in the world to recount how you’d glared up at him. Quick, harsh lines of a fleeting look, your gaze brushing across his.

The smooth, cream paper is fresh on both sides, a blank canvas inviting him to soil with his charcoal. The blankness, like the void of night he often shies away from, instead of letting it cocoon him with sleep. Azriel’s eyes ache to fall shut but his mind won’t allow it, a thousand different images of you from the night he has yet to add to the rapidly filling book propped up on his knee.

Azriel takes a deep breath, lets himself bask in the picture of you again, sheet twisted around your body, barely covering your sex. He hasn’t been so fortunate that you kicked off the thin sheet while you slept. Maybe next time.

He’s quick to get your form down. Your face, a quick circle for your skull, a tinier one following for your cheek where it’s pressed into the pillow. A line marking the bed. A box for the window so he can draw the rays of sun washing in over you. Maybe he’ll even add a halo to your messy hair.

The curve of your body is drawn in such a fluid motion it surprises him for a moment, but after last night, he knows the dips of your silhouette better than he knows his beloved bike. The drawing spans across both pages. One wouldn’t be enough to capture the raw beauty of you this morning, though he might have five other sketches of you sleeping from when he’d found you in his bed that night. 

Azriel draws the swell of your breasts, your hand, relaxed at your hip, sketching the general shapes of you down before you shift. Realize that he’s missing from next to you.

And his hands don’t shake.

With two quick drags of his chalk there are your eyelids. His hand moves on its own and he does nothing to stop it. He almost doesn't’ draw the lines of the sheet, instead there’s a fleeting moment in his exhausted brain where he thinks about drawing that sweet little cunt of yours but it’s gone as fast as it comes, even if his dick does twitch in response. Instead, he drapes the bending lines across your hips before filling it in with the flat of his stick. Azriel uses his eraser to make the highlights and smudges the lines with his finger until they’re buttery smooth.

He loves the way that the chalk sticks to his skin. The onyx dust coats his hands and covers the blemishes adoring his fingertips. It feels like a second skin, a plate of armor against unwanted stares, except for yours, of course.

Tracing the lines of your fingers, Azriel begins to add the finer details now that he has your base. His mind always tends to wander through the self hatred shadowing the corners of his mind when he’s tired. The loud music only helps on some nights, but in your presence, it seems as if you’ve scared them away like a beacon of light.

He studies the way the light highlights certain areas of your body and hides others, filling in the paper with the thick stick of charcoal. The eraser is in his other hand, ready to really pull out those highlights from the chunk of black he’s just colored in.

Occasionally, he blows the soot off of the page. It lifts, swirling around in the rays of the morning sun and he’s distracted by how pleasing it looks. Reminds him of the whorls of swirling black in twining between the tattoos on his shoulders.

He scrubs the powder into the grains of the paper. His hands are a mess, and the medium sticks to the eraser he’s kneading into a point so he can carve out your nipples tight from the chilly air. He looks back up to you and then back at the page, his tongue poking between his lips as he focuses on the important task at hand.

It’s a shame that you haven’t woken up yet. He’s done with his picture and he doesn't know what to do now, what to draw because you haven’t yet shifted in your sleep. Azriel thinks about climbing back into the bed behind you because every blink feels like there’s sand in his eyes.

He knows that he needs to sleep. Knows that there are dark circles around his eyes and his skin is getting that sickly look his mother used to scold him about when he was young and stayed up all night studying anatomy on the internet.

Instead, Azriel pulls the chair closer to the bed. He could move behind you and draw your backside, but he thinks better of it, wanting to sketch the more intimate parts of you like your face or where the crook of your arm barely covers the curve of your breast.

He focuses on one thing at a time. Your hand. He draws your breast and the hickey he’d left surrounding it last night. Chalks up that scar on your shoulder that he has yet to ask you about. So many things he doesn’t know yet, but your body is not one of them. He draws the curves of your ear and the piercings shoved into them. Sketches the column of your throat, also mottled with marks from his mouth. 

He wonders if you’ll be upset with him when you look in the mirror and see those, knowing that you have class tomorrow.

Azriel smirks at the thought of that copper haired fuck getting a glimpse of those. He hadn’t sucked them into your neck so high because of Lucien, but the thought of him seeing them anyway makes Azriel’s chest puff a little. You hadn’t had sex with Lucein, no, your tight cunt is all for him. Only him.

He peers down at you again. Watch you for even longer, hand frozen over the page. He’s staring again but you’re not awake to catch him. 

From somewhere behind him, the buzz of his phone goes off. Azriel places his sketchbook back on the desk and rubs his filthy hands on a tissue he pulls from the box on the shelf. Black streaks the thin material but it’s not enough to clean his skin. Uncaring, Azriel crumples the tissue and tosses it into his trash can.

He finds his pants haphazardly discarded on the floor. It’s too early for Cassian or Rhysand to be texting him, and all of his notifications for social media are set to off. It’s a Sunday, so he’s not entirely sure who it could be.

The screen of the phone lights up with the text and the floor falls from beneath Azriel’s feet.

It’s his father, demanding to meet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here you are boys,” Rita says with a kind smile. She sets a large stack of pancakes with extra butter in front of Cassian and a breakfast special before Rhysand. Azriel’s hands haven’t stopped shaking enough for him to be able to pick up a fork yet, nor the hot mug of black coffee in his hands. Rita offers him a consoling glance—she’s always had that mothers instinct—that Azriel ducks away from. “Nice to see you around here again.”

Azriel is thankful that Rita refrains from asking any questions. He hasn’t shown up to her diner with Rhysand and Cassian since after their freshman year when Cassian figured out he could pull almost anyone he wanted and Rhysand found other places to frequent, more sophisticated to the trust fund he’d inherited for his high grades his first year away.

It feels like he hasn’t seen them in ages even though they live together. Rhys has been too busy with Feyre and Cassian’s been chasing tail as usual, but the both of them had formed a group with you and your roommate, and since Azriel has been so stubborn as to not force himself into your presence, he hasn’t seen much of his best friends as of late.

Little do they know that he’s more than acquainted with you now.

Azriel had used their special code this morning after reading the text his father sent him. The one that would ensure both Rhysand and Cassian would drop anything at any second and meet him here, at Rita’s diner.

It still looks the same as it did two years ago, with its funky neon boomerang pattern adorning the tables, straight from the 80’s. The bright blue booths and barstools have been replaced since then, but some of them are still worn, pleather ripped open and showing a yellow foam inside.

The food is just as good as it’s always been, and he doesn’t understand why they’d stopped coming here, but he always found solace in the quiet diner and the company of the owner. It became a safe haven for Azriel, when he had a bad day and needed a milkshake to make him feel better and he couldn’t ride his motorcycle. He could barely grip the straw in the cup after the accident, his hands so burnt up he’d been almost embarrassed to leave his apartment at all.

A jukebox sits on the far side of the restaurant, and he remembers shoving loads of quarters into it and setting a queue so long that it had the other patrons moaning and groaning on Friday nights while he, Cassian, and Rhysand sat in this very booth and had the time of their lives.

These days, he feels like he doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on in their lives. He doesn’t know how they’re doing in their classes, what Cassian got on his sculpting project. He doesn’t even know if Rhysand still works at the art supply store. He’d steal Azriel a kneaded eraser every other week, but since he’s met Feyre, nothing. 

It’s not that he needs the eraser, but Azriel expects his friends to check in on him, and he knows that these things go both ways, that he’s been an irritable prick the last few months, kept his own secrets from them, but they’re all best friends, damnit, and he wants someone to ask after him, too.

Cassian doesn’t seem to notice any of the tension keeping Azriel’s shoulders rigid, glancing behind him with a slight furrow in his brows, but Rhysand’s violet eyes are tinged with the only worry Azriel’s emergency message could cause, and he hasn’t touched his meal.

“What’s going on, Az?” Rhys asks.

“Is this about those noises we heard last night?” Cassian tacks on, stuffing a bite of pancakes into his mouth. 

“What?” Azriel coughs. Chokes, really. He manages to take a sip of the hot coffee, but it does little to soothe the lump in his throat. He hadn’t known they’d been home at all. 

“Cass,” Rhys scolds, elbowing his friend. “I told you not to bring that up.” 

“A whole fucking year since Azzy’s been laid and you want me not to bring it up?” Cassian shoots back, “That’s impossible. I’m only a man, Rhys. I need details.” 

Rhysand rolls his eyes, shooting Azriel an apologetic look. He spears his fork into the fluffy eggs on his plate, looking expectantly at his friend for an answer as to why they’re all here at the asscrack of dawn.

“I can, uh, explain that part later,” Azriel scratches his head awkwardly. “But that’s not why I called you here.”

“Is it because of everything that’s been going on recently?” Rhysand asks, and he seems almost ashamed as he sets his fork down again. “Look, Az. I know we haven’t been best friends as of late, especially with the whole (Y/N) thing, and I want to apologize for that. I hadn’t realized how my relationship with Feyre might be affecting you and—”

“And we fucking miss you dude,” Cassian interrupts. “Where are you always running off to? Is it to that girl’s place?”

Azriel shakes his head. So they’ve noticed what’s been going on with him, how he’s always having to find something to occupy himself with while they’re hanging out next door. The last time he’s properly hung out with either of his roommates was when he’d heard you through the wall as you touched yourself.

Fuck, just the thought of you has Azriel shifting in his seat, his cock stirring at the thought of you lied up in his bed, your bare skin on display. He had left you a note with his number and an excuse so lame he cringed as he wrote it, regretting it as soon as he fled the apartment. 

He hopes that you text him, or that you’re still asleep by the time he is done with this. He could use some comfort after this.

“No,” Azriel sighs, playing with the handle of his mug. “She’s not the only thing I haven’t been completely honest with you about.” He waits for a reaction from his roommates, either Cassian to start guessing what he’s been up to or Rhysand’s touch of betrayal, but nothing comes. His roommates stare at him, waiting for an explanation. “I’ve been, ah, interviewing for apprenticeships.” 

“What? That’s awesome Az,” Cassian grins widely, but it’s not awesome. 

Azriel shrugs. “Nothing’s come of it yet, but maybe soon.” He doesn’t tell them about how many times he’s interviewed and failed to score the job. It’s too mortifying. “And I had an exhibition last night. At Opulence.” 

Rhysands eyes nearly bug out of his head. His father is an investor in that gallery. If Azriel wanted a showing, he could’ve pulled some strings.

But Azriel didn’t want that. He wanted to earn something on his own, knowing that it isn’t his art that’s keeping him from chasing his dreams. He has a backup plan if tattooing doesn’t pick up, and this is the first step in that career path. Drawing is still something that he loves, and it will be nice to have some sort of income until he can hone his tattooing enough for someone to take a chance on him.

He wants to shrink under his friends’ wide-eyed stares. They’re looking at him like he’s just announced he’s having a child or something, and the silence is making him a little uncomfortable. He checks the time on his phone, cringing, and notices that there isn’t any message from you yet.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cassian asks, tone low. He looks like a kicked puppy right now, with a wounded look on his face.

“I thought you guys might be too busy,” Azriel answers, just as soft. His throat tightens and he doesn’t like the feeling, doesn’t like the looks on their faces, the hurt in their eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Fuck, Az,” Rhys says, pushing his plate away from him. “We’ve been shit friends lately, haven’t we?” 

“It’s not that big of a deal, Rhys—”

“It is that big of a deal!” Azriel can tell that Rhysand wants to explode, but he’s always been too good at keeping his composure. It’s a trait he got from his father. “We’ve been parading around, leaving you to your own devices all semester and now we don’t even know what’s going on in your life anymore? Fuck, I feel like the shittiest person in the world right now.”

Rita swings around to check in on the three of them and senses the tension immediately. Azriel sends her an apologetic look for all of the commotion and Cassian’s avoiding everyone’s eyes altogether, craning his neck around the owner towards the counter. Rhysand’s heavy violet gaze doesn’t leave Azriel’s. 

“Are you boys doing all right over here?” She asks, brushing a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. She stands closer to Azriel’s side of the booth, a protective wall should he need her.

His chest warms.

“I’d like to put in an order for blueberry waffles, please,” Rhysand says, “To go.” 

Azriel deflates a little in his seat when Rita walks away. So this is how it’s going to be, then.

Cassain takes the reins because Rhysand seems too worked up to continue. “When those waffles come, we’re going to the store and buying ice cream, and then we’re going home to talk about everything we missed,” he says, and Azriel finally looks up. They ordered the waffles for him. They remembered that? When he said his ultimate comfort food was blueberry waffles and ice cream when they’d all gotten a misdemeanor for spray painting one of the buildings on the outskirts of town. They’d only gotten a fine for it, and an escort back to town, but it had spooked the three of them enough that their reign of spray painting started and ended in one night. Azriel thought his father would kill him when he found out and they found themselves right in this very booth, with enough waffles and ice cream to feed a small army. It turns out, Rhysand had called his father and pulled some strings, and the incident was cleared from their records. “We’re sorry for being such pricks lately.”

“I’m sorry too,” Azriel admits, and even though he hasn’t called them here for this, he feels lighter. “For not telling you.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me who you were with last night,” Cassian shrugs, stuffing another bite of food into his mouth. “She sounded like she was having fun.” 

Azriel’s spine straightens and his grip around his mug tightens. He knows the walls are paper fucking thin but he doens’t like the idea of his roommates hearing the noises you make when he fucks you into his bed. 

“Later,” he answers again, and it comes out sharper than he’d intended. Rhysand’s brows furrow and Cassian’s grin widens. Instead of allowing them to ask any more prying questions, Azriel blurts, “My father texted me this morning.”

“Fuck,” Cassian spits, then shouts over his shoulder, “Rita, we’re going to need two more orders of waffles!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Azriel sits across from his carbon copy, and he doesn’t like it one fucking bit.

He hasn’t seen his father since before the accident, when his new step-sons had lit his hands on fire in an attempt to fuck with his art career. He knows that his father doesn’t want him to be an artist. It’s business, the man across from him would rather see him in. Following his footsteps, however…small they might be.

Azriel’s hands are clenched tightly in his lap. Rhysand and Cassian sit at the bar only a few feet away. His father either hadn’t noticed his two friends or didn't care, calling for a black coffee as he slid into the booth, a crinkle of disgust to his nose.

Azriel had almost smiled at that.

Neither of them have spoken yet. His father is typing something on his phone, his thick gold ring catching the light shining in from the window. His gray suit is pressed perfectly and his sunglasses are pushed up into the dark hair styled perfectly on his head.

Azriel waits.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere near his father, thought he made that clear with his lack of responses to phone calls and texts. He thought that they were on the same page, actually, when his father hadn’t visited him in the hospital after the incident that happened by his step-sons in his house.

Azriel’s hands tremble with rage.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, only because he knows his father will wait him out, and he wants the fucker gone as soon as possible. He has things to get back to, like you and his artwork. Mostly you. 

His father doesn’t bother with niceties. No greetings, no ‘nice to see you’s’ because it would all be a lie, anyway. They’ve merely put up with each other their entire lives, and that doesn’t stop today.

“I’ve found an opportunity nearby,” His father says, finally slipping his phone into the interior pocket of his suit jacket.

“And?” Azriel asks, boredly. He doesn’t fucking care, but the idea that his father might be in this town more often should he invest makes him want to squirm.

His father pins him with a scathing look. One that used to terrify Azriel when he was young. Now, it only makes him hate the man more. 

“And,” his father taps that thick gold ring against the ceramic of his mug impatiently. The sound makes Azriel’s teeth grit. “I want to know about the area.” His gaze lingers on Azriel’s hands. He sucks his teeth, “If you’d consider it profitable.” 

“Take a walk around,” Azriel waves lazily towards the windows. There aren’t many people milling about this early in the morning, and he hopes the lack of them drives his father away from this town. “I certainly don’t have the time to do it.”

“You don’t have the time to do it between drawing those stick figures and nonsense you ruin your body with?” His father quirks his brow and from the corner of his eyes he watches the way Rhysand and Cassian’s spines lengthen. 

Oh, he knows that Azriel’s still not taking the classes he wants to force him into. Azriel doesn’t want a fucking thing to do with his father’s business, even if he’s owed it by name when he retires. He wouldn’t dare give it to those step-sons of his, they’re not his by blood. Azriel knows that the fucker won’t. 

When Azriel doesn’t answer, his father continues. “I’m looking at the 3rd street apartments,” he says, and Azriel’s world stops. His breath catches in his throat and he’s lucky that he hadn’t eaten anything. That’s his apartment building, and by the smirk on his father’s face, he knows it too, even if Azriel’s been paying his own rent through odd summer jobs and tutoring. “It could use some updating, and when summer rolls around and there aren’t as many students on campus, it will be the perfect time to renovate the building. My assistant just told me about the elevator getting trapped with some students inside. Have you heard about that?” 

Of course, he knows about that. He was one of them. But he doesn’t say anything.

Azriel’s stomach shrivels. If his father buys the building and is wanting to renovate during the summer, that means he, Rhysand, and Cassian will be out of a place to live. Not only that, but you and Feyre will be thrown out too. 

He doesn’t like the thought of that.

But his father doesn’t care. He’s already taking a final sip of his coffee and grimacing at the taste. He looks around the diner as if he might just buy this place next. If he does, Azriel doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

“If the deal goes through you might be seeing a lot of your old man around this summer,” his father taunts, standing. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Azriel glares. He throws every ounce of hatred at the man who fathered him because there’s nothing that he can do. If his father is talking about buying the building that means that the plans are already in the works. He’s truly and utterly fucked. 

His father throws a twenty down on the table. “This should cover that. You can keep the change too, Azriel. Spend the rest on some paint, or something.” 

Gods, does he want to fucking bare his teeth at the fucker.

His stare doesn’t leave his father’s back until he’s settled into his sleek, black sports car. His breathing is heavy, fingers clenched so tightly he knows they’ll ache when he uncurls them. Rhysand and Cassian slide back into the booth, deep frowns on their faces.

And his phone is still empty of notifications.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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