#*throws a wild shot in the dark*

[windlion]

Trick or treat!! 🦹 <- anon costume

Happy Halloween! Excellent costume, couldn't tell who you are :D

The purple tiefling who was Mollymauk had not addressed him directly as of yet, and truly, Essek did not expect him to.  They were strangers, and he did not have the easy amiability of the Clays to recommend him. Therefore he could be forgiven for not understanding at first.

Mollymauk apparently had just as much respect for personal space as Jester, which was to say none at all.  One taloned finger tapped him in the chest, over his heart, and Essek held himself back from flinching by main force.  "Heavy."

Beauregard cackled like a hyena, "Thelyss is not heavy, Molly-- I could pick him up one handed and throw him."

Essek, frozen with the split second memory, of grief weighing him like a leaded shroud and holding his feet to the fiery flesh that was the ground was entirely too late to react. "Do not."

It turned into an undignified yelp as Beauregard demonstrated her point ably with one arm around his middle.  Flexing her arm consideringly like measuring a sack of potatoes at market, Beau turned and yelled over her shoulder, "Hey, Fjord, I think we finally found a weight light enough for you to train with."

Forced to dangle head first with a view towards his knees, Essek folded his arms and waited with an impassive if aggrieved expression.  He'd been through this with Verin: the more he reacted the worse it would be.

Thankfully Fjord was the voice of reason, calling from across the room, "Ah, hell no, Beau. Put him down.  Caleb's gonna kill you with his eyes and I'm not dumb enough to piss off two wizards.  Even if one of them's travel-sized."

Beau laughed as she set Essek back down, with rather more care than he'd been anticipating.  She clapped his shoulder before shifting back to her seat around the fire.  She'd never even put down her drink. "Maybe we need to get you and Caleb training with us.  Runs in the morning."

Pulling his clothes back to rights, Essek arched his eyebrow at her, "I am not that much of a glutton for punishment, Beauregard."

She shot him a sidelong look, knowing, but anything she would have said was cut off by Mollymauk pronouncing again, with a nod, "Heavy."

It was followed this time by him immediately gesturing to himself, "Empty."

It seemed introductions were in order between the last addition to the Mighty Nein and one of the very first of them.  The best of them, if they were to be believed, and Essek did.  Court protocol provided a script and an automatic polite bow, one hand swept to his chest.  His voice didn't betray the butterflies in his stomach.  "Essek Thelyss.  I'm glad I was able to meet you, Mollymauk Tealeaf."

The purple tiefling seemingly accepted this, his head tilting consideringly, and he reached out to tap Essek's chest again.  "Heavy, and stiff."

For an amnesiac still working on stringing together sentences, that was a surprising amount of smug judginess. This time Essek lost the battle to control his composure, wry. "Oh, I can definitely see how you fit in."

Mollymauk smirked at him, turning the tap into a soft, proprietary pat.  Essek might not know the tiefling but he knew the Nein, and he rather thought that was a "You, too."   Mollymauk trailed his hand upward, ending with his fingers lifting Essek's chin up, before he stepped back, tail jauntily swinging behind him as he set his eyes on some new objective.  Essek attempted to remember how to breathe. 

Beau hadn't stopped laughing throughout the exchange, and she grinned at his expression, "Congrats, Molly likes you.  Or he's going to make your life living hell, one of the two."

Essek huffed, glancing up to see Caleb looking back at him, eyes warm.  "Are you sure there's a difference?"

"Tieflings, man."

[purplecelestial-buddy]

Apparently I suck at stealth

[monstersholygrail]

Imagine being an Bartender in the free use city, customers giving double the tip *wink*

Working as a Bartender in the Free Use City was never really that bad of a gig. Sure, you got hit on more than the usual bartender and sometimes the lines got backed up because you were busy fucking someone, but all in all it wasn’t that bad.

One would think the night life in a Free Use City would get even more wild compared to the day life. But during your time here you quickly found it to be the opposite. As the sun set it seemed like the people began to calm. Probably growing tired from a busy day of fucking. But there were always a handful of monsters whose appetites were never quite filled…

A knock rings on the bar counter, immediately catching your attention. You wipe down a glass and put it away, turning toward the counter to see a Tentacle Monster waiting, an easy grin on his face.

“Can I just have a shot of tequila, sweet thing?” He asks, voice as smooth as silk and his tone dripping with the promise that he definitely doesn’t just want a shot.

You raise a brow at him but nod anyway. He was hot as fucking hell. If he wanted more than a shot you sure weren’t going to be the one to shoot him down. Your lips quirk to the side, mirroring his expression.

“Sure thing,” you murmur as you pour the drink.

The whole thing takes about three seconds of you pouring the drink and two seconds for you to pass it. Tentacle Monster doesn’t look away from your gaze as he picks up the glass and downs it with a single gulp. He puts it back down and the clang of glass on wood has you jumping, your every nerve aware of him.

His eyes simmer with lust and yours are just as dark with need. His tentacles shift restlessly. You notice the way they crawl toward you before they fall back as if they have a mind of their own and he has to restrain them.

“You know, you have provided me with such wonderful service. You deserve more than just a tip,” he rasps, leaning in closer to you.

It’s like you’re under his spell as you lean forward too. Neither of you stopping until you can smell the alcohol he just drank on his breath. For some reason it only turns you on further. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you can practically taste his drink.

“Like a double tip?”

Tentacle Monster chuckles, his smirk only widening as his eyes flicker over your features. Catching every little expression you make. Seeing the need written all over your face.

You cry out loudly, bucking wildly on the Tentacle Monster’s tentacles in the storage closet of the bar. Your eyes roll back as three of his slick lengths pump their way inside your holes, stretching you further than you thought you could take.

“T-this is definitely more than a double t-t-tip,” you stammer, the jostling of his tentacles breaking up your speech.

More of them curl around your waist and your arms, helping to slam you back down on his sensitive tentacles. He chuckles darkly, getting a deep satisfaction watching you become a mess on him.

“More than a double and more than the tip,” he growls out, picking up the pace.

You throw your head back, releasing a strangled scream of pleasure. You try and keep up with his frantic pace as much as you can but your body starts to shake as you grow closer to the edge. All you can do is sag against him and let him take you for the ride of your life. His tentacles reaching further inside of you than any monster in this city ever has before.

He makes a mess of your mind and your body, fucking you dumb and boneless. His tentacles are the only keeping your plush form upward as they tighten around your body and piston deep inside your tight heat. The second his tentacles suction onto your walls, stimulating your nerves in a way you swear nearly sends you to heaven, you’re coming all over him. Your body explodes in a euphoric haze of bliss and weak moans spill from your lips.

Tentacle Monster continues to thrust his tentacles deep within your core. Your hole clenches around his tentacles as he slips a few more smaller ones inside of you, body so sensitive but so eager. His movements grow more sloppy as you do and a second later he’s shooting his cum as far inside of you as his tentacles can reach. You moan as he fills you up even more, even spurt of cum has you twitching around him.

A lazy fucked out smile rests on your face. Even as Tentacle Monster loosens his hold and you smack down against his chest. Light airy giggles leave you and it takes all your strength to lift up a hand and wave.

“Hope you enjoyed my service here with you today, come again soon,” you mumble in your practiced customer service voice.

His tentacles pulse inside of you and you gasp, your body prickling with the desire that seems to grow in the room once more. You feel his tentacles tease at your skin and curl inside of you, turning you on all over again.

“Cum again you say?”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Could I please please request a Dr. Robby x younger reader where she’s like a second year and he’s her attending so of course he’s fighting his feelings being older and in charge but she’s a ray of sunshine in the darkness that’s the Pitt and he can’t help but be pulled into her light and want to kiss her?

Piece Of Heaven

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

SPOILERS! for season one, episode eleven

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x female reader

rating: R for talk of pitt level violence

word count: 0.7k

warnings: blood/violence, pittfest incident, age gap in relationship

author’s note: thank you for the request, anon. sorry it’s so short <3

The Pitt could be described as Robby’s personal hell, especially on a day like today, the anniversary of the death of his mentor. All day, he’d been putting off a serious anxiety attack because he was simply too busy.

The day started with him having to talk down one of his closest friends off the ledge of the building, and was ending with a disastrous situation at Pittfest. He hadn’t had a moment to himself, he barely had enough time to take a piss. Between losing patients and now the shooting, his day couldn’t get much worse.

But through it all, he had one little piece of heaven he kept close: you. He knew nothing could ever happen between you two—you were his student and he was your attending—but a man could dream, couldn’t he?

He could imagine getting to hold you close when his mind was running wild, he could imagine getting to come home to you after a long day, and he could imagine getting to kiss you. He could picture your smile when he was about to have a breakdown, and he could imagine taking you on dates. And that was all that could get him through his days working in The Pitt.

“Robby,” you pulled him from his thoughts about you. He watched your lips intently as you spoke, “This woman is looking for her son.”

“What’s your son’s name?” Robby asked the woman.

“Randall, he’s only twelve and was shot in the leg,” she said, clearly panicking. 

“Okay, I’ll let you know what I find,” Robby said.

Robby watched as you hurried to help another patient and took a deep breath before going to help someone else. He never let his thoughts about you run too wild, he always focused first on his work. 

Robby remembered the moment he met you, the moment he knew you’d be hard to resist.

You had come to The Pitt nearly two months ago as a second-year med student. You were instantly the life of the party; your laugh was infectious, and your smile lit up a room. Robby was instantly infatuated with you.

He felt awful about having such a crush; he knew you were his student, and nothing could ever happen between you two. He knew that. And yet, deep down, (deep deep down) he longed for it. He longed for your soft touch, he longed for your kisses, he longed for your presence.

**

Robby had lost four patients since he last saw you, yet seeing you still had the same effect on him. You flashed him a small, sad smile as if to say, “Hang in there”. And that’s all he could do.

His personal hell could do everything in its power to pull him down to its level. He could lose patients, he could be worried sick about Jake, he could be so stressed he wanted to throw up. None of it could touch you, though. Through it all, you stayed the same; his little piece of heaven.

After losing a fifth patient, he stepped aside to catch his breath for a moment. He nearly ran into you as he walked down the hall to get to the bathroom. You caught him off guard, he wasn’t expecting to be alone for a second today, especially not a second alone with you.

He couldn’t take it one more minute. He grabbed your face and got in close.

“Can I kiss you, please?” he whispered. You responded by kissing him deeply. It was sloppy and needy, a kiss that had you both starving for more affection. But it was enough to tide him over for this shift.

“Thank you,” he mumbled when he pulled away.

“For what?” you asked innocently. You had no idea the weight Robby carried, and you had even less of a clue as to how much of that weight you lifted off of him.

“For everything,” he sighed, a smile finally finding its way onto his lips.

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 16.4k

The guards at the River House barely had time to react as Eris winnowed into the courtyard, his usual composed demeanour replaced with an urgency that radiated off him like heat from a flame. His fiery hair was dishevelled, and his sharp features were drawn tight with exhaustion and determination.

Two Illyrian sentries stepped forward, wings flaring slightly in caution. "State your business, Eris Vanserra," one of them said sharply, though his grip on the hilt of his sword remained steady.

"I don’t have time for pleasantries," Eris snapped, his amber eyes blazing as he strode past them with a commanding air. "I need to see Rhysand. Now. Tell him it’s about Kaia."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before one of them nodded, stepping aside and sending a mental note to their High Lord. Eris didn’t wait for formalities or introductions; he shoved the heavy doors open and stormed into the River House, the sound of his boots echoing off the marble floors.

Inside, the tension in the air was palpable. Rhys was already in the main room, standing hunched over a table scattered with maps and reports. His hair was tousled from days of restless searching, and dark circles rimmed his violet eyes. Cassian sat nearby, sharpening a blade, his face grim and his posture radiating barely contained frustration. Azriel leaned against the far wall, his shadows shifting in a restless, agitated dance, his haunted expression betraying how close he was to breaking.

Eris didn’t bother with decorum. "Rhysand!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Rhysand’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Eris’s wild appearance. "What are you doing here, Eris?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Cassian and Azriel straightened, both watching the Lord of Autumn Court with barely veiled suspicion.

"I found her," Eris said, his voice sharp and urgent, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run the entire way. "I found Kaia."

The room froze. Rhysand’s expression turned from wary to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Cassian stood abruptly, his blade clattering to the floor, and Azriel pushed off the wall so quickly his shadows scattered in confusion. "What did you say?" Rhys asked, his voice dangerously soft as though he didn’t dare hope.

"I found her," Eris repeated, more slowly this time, his voice steady and certain. "She’s at the Forest House with a healer. She’s alive."

Rhysand staggered back a step, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support. His violet eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "Alive?" he whispered, as though testing the word on his tongue.

Cassian let out a string of curses, his wings flaring wide, while Azriel simply stared at Eris, his face blank but his shadows curling tightly around him, a storm waiting to erupt.

"She’s injured bad," Eris continued, glancing at each of them in turn. "Her wings... they’ve been damaged, and she’s weak. But she’s alive, Rhysand. She’s safe for now."

Azriel’s voice broke the silence, low and razor-edged. "Take me to her. Now."

Rhysand straightened, the shock on his face hardening into resolve. "Cassian, alert the others. Azriel—" he stopped as his brother began striding toward Eris without hesitation. "Go. Now."

Eris didn’t need further prompting. He held out a hand, and Azriel grasped it without a word. In a flash of flame, the two were gone, leaving Rhys, Cassian, and the heavy weight of relief mingled with dread in their wake.

Azriel and Eris winnowed into the Forest House, the cold air of the autumn woods immediately replaced by the warmth of the small, dimly lit structure. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptic wafted through the air, and the crackling of a nearby hearth filled the silence. Azriel didn’t take a moment to orient himself—his focus was already on the figure standing rigidly outside a closed door.

Lucien.

The Autumn Court emissary leaned against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His russet eye glimmered in the low light, while his mechanical eye rotated subtly, scanning the hallway with precise attention. At the sound of their arrival, Lucien’s gaze snapped toward them.

"Finally," he said, his tone a mixture of relief and tension. His usually sharp and calculated demeanour was tempered by something softer—an almost sympathetic edge.

Azriel was on him in an instant, stepping so close their noses were nearly touching. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice rough, strained. His shadows lashed around him, crackling with his barely-contained fury and desperation.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gestured to the closed door beside him. "In there. The healer is with her."

Azriel moved toward the door, but Lucien stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait," he said firmly, his golden eye locking onto Azriel’s. "She’s stable, but she’s in bad shape. You need to be prepared for that before you go in there."

Eris, standing a few feet back, observed the exchange silently, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his wings flared slightly, the tips twitching as though he could barely restrain himself. "Move," he growled, his voice low and lethal.

Lucien held his ground, his gaze steady but not unkind. "I’m serious, Shadowsinger. You’re not going to want to see her like this—not without bracing yourself first."

"I’ve been searching for many weeks," Azriel hissed, his voice shaking with emotion. "Many weeks without knowing if she was alive or dead. If you think for one second that I’m not going in there—"

"Azriel," Eris cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Let him speak. For her sake, not yours."

Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, and he lowered his hand. "She’s been through hell," he said quietly. "She’s scared, she’s hurt, and she’s weak. The healer’s doing everything she can, but... just don’t expect her to run into your arms the moment she sees you."

Azriel’s throat worked, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. But he nodded, swallowing hard. "Move," he said again, though this time his voice was softer, less edged.

Lucien stepped aside, and Azriel immediately reached for the door handle. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Eris and Lucien stayed behind, neither speaking as the door closed softly behind him.

Azriel stepped into the room, his heart pounding so violently it echoed in his ears. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a lantern on the bedside table. The healer, a middle-aged woman with soft features and a calm, steady demeanour, glanced up as he entered but said nothing, her hands moving carefully over the small figure lying on the bed.

Kaia.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. His daughter looked so small, so fragile, cradled in the mound of blankets. Her usually vibrant skin was pale, almost translucent, and her dark lashes rested against cheeks stained with tear tracks. Her tiny wings, his pride and joy, were bandaged and bound tightly against her back. Even through the layers of gauze, he could see faint traces of blood seeping through, and his stomach churned violently.

Kaia's little body barely stirred as the healer adjusted her position, whispering soft reassurances. The sight of her there, so still, so unlike the lively, curious child he knew, nearly brought him to his knees. He had imagined this moment—finding her—so many times over the past two weeks, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"She’s stable for now," the healer said softly, her voice breaking through his haze. "But weak. She’s been through more than any child should ever endure."

Azriel nodded mutely, his throat too tight to form words. He stepped closer, his footsteps almost silent, and sank into the chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing his fingers over her tiny hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and his heart fractured further.

"Kaia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb ran softly over her knuckles. "I’m here, sweetheart. Daddy’s here."

Her eyelids fluttered faintly, and for a moment, he thought she might wake. But she only whimpered softly in her sleep, her little face scrunching in pain before settling again.

Azriel inhaled sharply, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He couldn’t protect her from this, couldn’t take the pain away. And that knowledge gutted him. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless.

"She’s been sedated to help with the pain," the healer explained quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "She needs rest above all else now. Physically, she has a small chance of recovery. But emotionally... she’ll need you. Both of you."

Azriel nodded again, his jaw tightening. "I failed her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve found her sooner. I should’ve—"

"Stop," the healer interrupted, her tone surprisingly stern. "Blaming yourself won’t help her now. Focus on what you can do moving forward. She needs you strong, not consumed by guilt."

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Kaia’s forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her tiny form. "I’m so sorry, baby," he murmured. "But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again."

For the first time in weeks, Azriel let his tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he kept his head bowed over his daughter. He would stay by her side now, no matter what it took. No matter how broken he felt, she would never feel alone.

Azriel sat there for what felt like hours, his hand never leaving Kaia’s. The room was silent, save for the occasional sound of the healer preparing fresh salves and the soft, shallow breaths of his daughter. His shadows crept out, brushing lightly over her form as if they, too, were trying to comfort her in their own way. They whispered to him, a thousand sounds he couldn’t quite make out, but their presence was grounding.

The door creaked open behind him, and Azriel tensed instinctively, his wings flaring slightly. When he glanced back, his shoulders relaxed only a fraction. Rhysand stood in the doorway, his face as pale and drawn as Azriel had ever seen it. Behind him, you hovered, your hands clutching the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of you. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face tear-streaked, and you looked like a ghost of yourself. You locked eyes with him, and in an instant, everything came crashing down. You pushed past Rhys, crossing the room in hurried steps until you stood at Kaia’s bedside.

“Kaia,” you choked out, your voice trembling. Your hands hovered over her as though afraid touching her would break her further. Azriel reached out, gently guiding your hand to rest on her arm. She didn’t stir, but the warmth of her skin under your palm seemed to ease some of the tension in your body.

"She’s alive," Azriel said softly, his voice hoarse. "She’s alive, Y/N."

A sob tore from your throat as you leaned over, pressing your forehead to her tiny hand. "My baby," you whispered, your voice cracking. "My sweet girl."

Rhys stepped fully into the room, his violet eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his usual composure shattered. He reached out, brushing a hand over Kaia’s bandaged wings, his jaw tightening as he took in the blood-stained gauze.

"This should have never happened," Rhys said quietly, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed her. I failed you both."

Azriel looked up at his brother-in-law, his expression hard. "Don’t," he said, his tone sharp. "This isn’t on you, Rhys. It’s on me. I’m her father. I should’ve been faster. Smarter. I—"

"Enough," you cut in, your voice trembling but firm. You lifted your tear-streaked face, looking between the two men. "This isn’t the time to point fingers or wallow in guilt. Kaia is here now. She needs us to be strong for her, not broken."

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both sat by Kaia’s side. Rhys lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before stepping back toward the door.

"I’ll let the others know she’s safe," Rhys said quietly. "They’ll want to see her, but... later." He glanced at Azriel, his expression softening. "Take care of her. Take care of both of them."

Azriel gave a faint nod, his focus returning to his daughter and the mate he swore to protect. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in his chest. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And as he held your hand tightly in his own, he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure his family healed—together.

-----

It had been two weeks since Eris and Lucien had found Kaia, and you and Azriel hadn’t left the Autumn Court since. Moving her back to Velaris was out of the question; her condition was too fragile, and the healers insisted she remain where she could be closely monitored. The forest house had been converted into a sanctuary of sorts for your little family, though it hardly felt like one with the constant weight of worry hanging over you.

Kaia was still weak, her small body fighting to recover from the injuries she’d endured. Her wings remained heavily bandaged, the cuts along their stems slow to heal, and she was often too tired to do more than whimper softly when you or Azriel were near. The sight of her like this broke something in you every time you looked at her. Your vibrant, mischievous toddler, who had once chased butterflies and giggled endlessly, now lay quietly on her bed, her golden-brown eyes dull and filled with exhaustion.

Azriel rarely left her side. He sat by her bed for hours, his shadows constantly swirling around her, as though trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. He barely slept, and when he did, it was in the chair by her bedside, his hand always resting lightly on hers. His face was gaunt, his hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his shoulders seemed perpetually hunched under the weight of his guilt.

You weren’t much better. The two of you hadn’t spoken about what had happened—not really. The shared grief and fear seemed to have built a wall between you, one neither of you dared to break through. You spent most of your time tending to Kaia, whispering soft lullabies to her as you held one of her favourite teddies, the same one you’d clung to in those harrowing weeks she was missing.

The healers came and went in quiet intervals, bringing fresh salves and herbs to aid her recovery. One of them had told you just the day before that her wings might never fully recover, and while they assured you she might possibly be able to live a full life, the thought of your baby losing even a fraction of her joy was unbearable.

Eris had been surprisingly accommodating. He ensured you had everything you needed, from food and clothing to extra security around the forest house. Lucien visited frequently, bringing small gifts for Kaia—soft blankets, delicate wooden toys, and once, a tiny music box that played a soothing tune. The gestures were kind, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your chest.

This morning, as the first light filtered through the tall windows of the room Kaia was staying in, you sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair. She was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings tucked in tight as he stared out at the forest beyond. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you knew he was battling his own demons in silence.

“She looks better,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—hoarse and quiet, as though it had forgotten how to speak.

Azriel didn’t turn to you, but his wings twitched slightly. “Not enough,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, though the words stung. Instead, you turned back to Kaia, your hand lingering on her small shoulder as you whispered, “She’s strong, Az. Stronger than we think.”

At that, he turned, his gaze locking on yours. There was something haunted in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache you felt in your own chest. “She shouldn’t have had to be strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s just a baby.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Instead, you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside you on the bed.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the tall windows and the rhythmic sound of Kaia’s shallow breathing. You and Azriel sat side by side on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly stroking Kaia’s tiny hand as she slept. The silence between you had stretched thin, heavy with tension, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something cracked.

“Az,” you began softly, your voice hesitant. He didn’t look at you, his focus fixed on Kaia’s frail form. “You should go back to work.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his hazel eyes sharp and blazing with disbelief.

“What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. “You’ve been here for two weeks, Az. I know you’re worried about her, but Kaia is safe now. The healers are doing everything they can, and I’m here with her. You have responsibilities—things that need your attention.”

His wings flared slightly, the shadows around him stirring like a storm ready to unleash. “Responsibilities?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “What are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying you can’t just abandon everything else,” you said, keeping your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “The Night Court still needs you. Rhys needs you. We’ll be fine.”

Azriel shot up from the bed, his tall frame towering over you as he paced to the window. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“‘We’ll be fine?’” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even hear yourself? Our daughter nearly died! She’s lying there, barely able to move, her wings—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling. “And you’re telling me to leave her? To leave you?”

You stood, anger bubbling up despite the guilt gnawing at your heart. “I’m not telling you to abandon her, Azriel! I’m telling you to trust that she’s safe now. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” he snapped, his voice bitter. “How can you say that when you’re the one telling me to leave? What kind of mother—what kind of mate—says something like that?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I don’t care about her. I love her just as much as you do, Azriel, but I’m trying to be realistic. We can’t both sit here and hover over her forever. She needs us to be strong—for her, for each other.”

Azriel’s wings flared fully now, his shadows lashing out in frustration. “Strong?” he hissed. “You call this strong? You’re cold-hearted, that’s what you are. Telling me to go back to work while our daughter is lying there, recovering from the worst trauma of her life. How could you even think of sending me away? Do you not care about what I’m feeling? Do you not care about her?”

Your heart shattered at his words, tears springing to your eyes. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How dare you accuse me of not caring. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve said—has been for her. For us.”

“Then act like it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Act like you actually give a damn about what’s happening here instead of trying to shove me back into work like none of this matters!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you clenched your fists, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, who feels guilty, who wakes up every night wondering what you could’ve done differently. But you don’t get to stand there and call me heartless. You don’t get to throw that at me.”

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something broken. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. You turned back to Kaia, sitting on the edge of her bed and gripping her tiny hand as though it were the only thing tethering you to this world.

Azriel remained by the window, his wings drooping slightly as the shadows around him stilled.

You stayed seated at the edge of Kaia’s bed, your hand gripping hers so tightly you worried you might hurt her, but you couldn’t let go. The silence in the room felt unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings sagging slightly as though the weight of everything had finally settled onto his shoulders.

“I’ve hit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the heavy air.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look at you fully, his shadows curling around his feet as if trying to comfort him.

“I never thought I’d feel this way,” you continued, your voice cracking as tears burned your throat. “I never thought I’d hit rock bottom like this. That I’d feel so—so empty. So... hollow.”

Azriel turned then, his hazel eyes meeting yours, the anger from before replaced by something softer, something achingly vulnerable. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. “Do what, Azriel? Speak the truth? Admit that I’ve lost everything I thought I had? I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

His wings flared slightly, his shadows stirring as he stepped closer. “We’re still us,” he said, his voice desperate, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ve been through worse—we can get through this.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel that way,” you said softly. “Do you know what it feels like, Azriel? To look at your mate and feel like they’re just... ordinary? Just another person in the room? Not the one you’re supposed to lean on, to trust with everything, to feel whole with.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the pain flash across his face, the way his wings drooped even further. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.”

You let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that Kaia is lying there, barely holding on, and I feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I’ve failed myself. And now... now I feel like I’ve failed us too.”

Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You haven’t failed, Y/N. You’re still here. You’re still fighting—for her, for me, for us. You haven’t failed.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your cheeks relentless. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It doesn’t feel like I’m fighting anymore. It just feels like I’m surviving.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against yours as his wings curled around the two of you, creating a cocoon of warmth and shadow. “Then let me fight for you,” he said, his voice raw. “Let me fight for us. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. "I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Don’t say that," he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t say that."

Your shoulders shook as you let out a bitter laugh, the tears falling freely. "I don’t want to feel this way, Azriel. I don’t. But look at us. Look at what we’ve become. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t know who you are either."

He reached for you then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were glassy, his voice breaking as he said, "I’m still me, Y/N. I’m still yours. Please, just... tell me how to fix this."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I don’t know if you can."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his shadows flickering wildly around him. "I won’t accept that," he said, his voice fierce despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I won’t accept losing you. Not you, not Kaia. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you believe in us again."

You pulled away from Azriel’s trembling hands, stepping back as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. His wings twitched, his shadows writhing around him as if mirroring his turmoil.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and desperate, but you shook your head, tears blurring your vision.

"I can’t do this right now," you whispered, your voice breaking as you turned toward the door. "I need space, Azriel. I need to breathe."

He stepped toward you, panic etched into every line of his face. "Don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "Not like this. Please, Y/N, we can—"

But you didn’t let him finish. You took one last look at him, his expression shattered, his wings slightly drooping, before you winnowed away without another word.

"Y/N!" he shouted after you, his voice filled with anguish, but by the time the sound of his plea echoed through the room, you were already gone.

-----

The River House was quieter than usual when you winnowed into the foyer, the cool stillness only broken by the faint sound of papers rustling in the nearby study. Rhys and Cassian were walking out, deep in conversation, when they spotted you standing there.

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, surprise etched on his face. "What are you doing here? We were just about to—"

His words faltered as he saw your tear-streaked face, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself tightly. Rhys stepped forward, his face paling.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Is it Kaia? Is she—?"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, shaking your head vehemently. "She's... she's fine." Your voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over as you tried to steady your breathing.

Cassian let out a sharp exhale, relief flashing in his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Then what is it? Why are you here? Did something happen at the Autumn Court?"

You tried to answer, tried to form the words, but the weight of everything—the past weeks, Azriel’s words, your own breaking heart—came crashing down. A choked sob escaped your throat as you covered your face with your hands.

Rhys closed the distance between you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. "Y/N, talk to me," he urged softly. "What’s going on?"

But all you could do was cry, the anguish too overwhelming to explain. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Cassian, whose jaw was tight as he watched you crumble. "Let’s get her to the sitting room," Rhys said quietly.

Cassian nodded, stepping aside as Rhys guided you gently toward the room, his concern written in every line of his face. Neither of them pushed you to speak again, giving you the time to collect yourself as they exchanged uneasy glances, silently wondering what had happened to leave you in such a state.

In the sitting room, Rhys guided you to the couch, his touch steady and gentle as you sank down, curling into yourself. Cassian sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of worry.

"Y/N," Rhys began softly, sitting beside you. "Please tell us what happened. If it’s not Kaia, then... what’s wrong?"

Your voice broke as you tried to speak. "I—I can’t do it anymore," you whispered, staring down at your trembling hands. "I can’t stay there with him. I can’t pretend like everything is fine."

Rhys stiffened slightly. "With Azriel?" he asked carefully, his tone measured, though concern laced his words.

Cassian sat up straighter, his brows knitting together. "Did he—"

"He didn’t hurt me," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Not physically. But his words..." You trailed off, another sob escaping your lips as the weight of Azriel’s accusations hit you again. "He said I was heartless. Cold. That I didn’t care about Kaia, about him."

Rhys’ eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "What?"

Cassian looked furious, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his composure. "Azriel said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands. "I told him he should go back to work, to get some air, and he just... he lost it. He called me heartless for even suggesting it."

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "He’s been on edge for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"That’s no excuse," Cassian snapped, his voice low but seething. "He has no right to talk to her like that, especially after everything she’s been through."

You sniffled, looking up at them through blurry eyes. "It’s more than that," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I... I told him I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, like I wasn’t even his mate anymore. And he didn’t..."

Cassian cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room. Rhys sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tight as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

"Y/N," Rhys said gently, his hand resting on your knee, "you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out. Azriel is... he’s struggling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just—"

"He’s not the male I fell in love with," you interrupted, your voice cracking. "And I don’t know if he ever will be again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words lingering like a dark cloud. Cassian finally stopped pacing, his expression softening as he looked at you. "You’re exhausted," he said quietly. "You’ve been through too much. Maybe staying here for a while... away from him... is what you need."

Rhys nodded, though his face was tight with emotion. "You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Y/N. And when you’re ready to face Azriel, we’ll be here for that too."

You nodded weakly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. "Thank you," you whispered, though the ache in your chest remained, a reminder of the fracture that now lay between you and your mate.

Cassian leaned back against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between you and Rhys. His hazel eyes softened as they settled on you, still curled up on the couch, your eyes red and swollen. Letting out a deep breath, he broke the tense silence.

"Rhys," Cassian began, his tone firm but not unkind, "I’ll take Nyx to see Kaia."

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Cass—"

"No arguments," Cassian cut him off, holding up a hand. "You need to stay here with Y/N. She needs you more than Azriel needs another body standing around in the Autumn Court." He glanced at you again, his expression softening further. "You’ve both been running on fumes, but Rhys... you can’t just leave her right now."

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his violet eyes conflicted as he looked at you. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, glancing back at Cassian.

"Positive," Cassian replied firmly. "I’ve already been back and forth. Nyx will be happy to see Kaia, and I’ll make sure everything is handled. You stay here. Focus on your sister."

You looked up, your voice weak but filled with gratitude. "Cassian..."

He waved you off, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t even start. You know I’d do anything for Kaia—and for you. Az and I may want to strangle each other half the time, but he’s still my brother. We’ll keep this together."

Rhys hesitated a moment longer before nodding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he finally said. "Take Nyx. And... thank you, Cass."

Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod before stepping closer to you. He crouched down, resting a hand on your knee. "You focus on yourself, alright? Kaia is safe, and I’ll make sure she knows how much her mama and dada love her."

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, "Thank you, Cassie."

He gave you a warm, lopsided grin before straightening. "Get some rest," he said firmly, looking between you and Rhys. "Both of you."

As he left the room, you and Rhys sat in silence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air. But for the first time in weeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

You shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as Cassian’s footsteps faded from the room. Turning to Rhys, you wiped at your tear-streaked face, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Where’s Feyre?"

Rhys looked over at you, the question catching him slightly off guard. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, his violet eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. "She’s upstairs with Nyx," he replied softly. "She’s been keeping him distracted... keeping herself distracted."

You nodded, the mention of Feyre grounding you slightly. "I—I’d like to see her," you murmured, your voice wavering but determined. "I just need... I need to talk to her."

Rhys tilted his head, studying you for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course," he said gently, rising to his feet. "I’ll let her know you’re here."

Before he could leave the room, you grabbed his wrist, your grip weak but desperate. "Rhys," you said, your voice trembling. "Thank you... for staying."

His gaze softened, and he placed a hand over yours. "Always, sister," he said quietly. "You’re not alone in this."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the staircase, leaving you alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. You tried to steel yourself, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on your chest.

Moments later, soft footsteps approached, and Feyre appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry and relief as she saw you. She crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you on the couch and wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"You’re here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Feyre held you tightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as sobs racked your body. She didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry against her shoulder, her hand gently stroking your hair. It wasn’t until your breathing began to slow that she finally spoke.

"I was about to come see you," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your swollen eyes. "I couldn’t stay in Autumn anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I’m suffocating, Feyre. Azriel... he’s so angry and distant, and I—" Your voice faltered, tears spilling over again.

Feyre cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "You’ve been through hell," she said firmly. "Both of you have. It’s not fair for either of you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded weakly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. "I told him to go back to work," you choked out, your voice trembling. "I thought... I thought it might help him focus on something other than the guilt, but he... he called me heartless, Feyre. He said I was cold."

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and you could see the fury flash in her eyes, though she kept her tone even. "Azriel is lashing out because he’s hurting," she said softly. "But that doesn’t make it okay. You’re hurting, too."

"I feel like I’ve lost him," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "After everything we’ve been through... I feel like he doesn’t even see me anymore. Like I’m just... there."

Feyre’s arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close. "That’s not true," she said firmly. "Azriel loves you more than anything. He’s just drowning in his own pain right now, and he doesn’t know how to reach out. But you two will find your way back to each other. I know it."

The conviction in her voice made your chest ache, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. You stayed like that for a while, Feyre holding you as the fire crackled softly beside you.

Eventually, Rhys entered the room, his presence calm but heavy. "I sent Cassian off with Nyx now," he said quietly, glancing between the two of you. "They’ll be at the Autumn Court by nightfall."

You nodded, your hands clutching the blanket tightly around you. Rhys’s gaze softened as he looked at you. "You should rest," he said gently. "You’ve been running on empty for weeks now."

Feyre squeezed your hand. "I’ll stay with you," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her side. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys lingered for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping back, leaving you and Feyre in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

-----

Cassian landed heavily outside the Autumn Court’s forest house, Nyx held tightly against his chest as he adjusted his grip on the boy. The moment his boots hit the ground, he could already sense Azriel inside.

Kaia was here. Healing. Recovering. And Azriel hadn’t left her side.

But Cassian hadn’t come for Azriel. Not really.

The guards at the door let them through immediately, and Cassian pushed inside, the warmth of the fire doing little to thaw the ice settling in his veins. Nyx wiggled in his arms, eager to be let down, but Cassian held him close, rubbing a hand along his back to keep him calm.

It was Azriel who came into view first. He looked rough—exhausted, shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed even more than usual. The moment his gaze locked onto Cassian, the Spymaster straightened, as if preparing for whatever storm Cassian was bringing with him.

Cassian had half a mind to rip into him right then and there.

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

But Nyx stirred in his arms about being to old to be held, and Cassian swallowed the anger, pushing past Azriel without a word.

Lucien was standing just outside the bedroom where Kaia was resting. He gave Cassian a nod before stepping aside, letting him through.

Cassian exhaled slowly before opening the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kaia was curled up beneath thick blankets, a healer sitting nearby, quietly monitoring her condition. Her tiny wings were wrapped in soft bandages, her face turned toward the pillows.

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

The little girl stirred slightly, blinking up at them with sleepy eyes. Her lips wobbled, and for a moment, Cassian thought she might cry.

But then Nyx wiggled out of his grip, stumbling toward the bed, and Kaia’s little fingers reached for him immediately.

Nyx climbed up beside her carefully, curling into her side, one of his hands resting against her bandaged wing as if he could protect her from whatever had hurt her.

Cassian exhaled, his chest tight. He turned, stepping back toward the door where Azriel still stood, watching from the shadows.

Cassian met his brother’s gaze, the anger from earlier flaring up once again.

Azriel could feel it. He knew exactly how pissed Cassian was at him.

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

But Azriel had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Azriel stood motionless in the doorway, shadows coiling at his feet as he watched Nyx curl around Kaia like she was the most precious thing in the world. His daughter—his baby—was alive. That should have been enough to ease some of the storm raging inside of him.

It wasn’t.

Not when he could feel Cassian’s burning stare from across the room. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, raw and broken, telling him you’d finally hit rock bottom.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t thought about anything except keeping Kaia safe.

But you had left.

And now Cassian was here, standing in his home, barely holding himself back.

Azriel braced himself for the inevitable as Cassian finally turned away from the bed, stepping toward him. His brother’s wings flared slightly, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back whatever was brewing inside him.

“Outside,” Cassian said, his voice a low growl.

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he didn’t argue. Without a word, he turned and walked past Cassian, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, damp air of the Autumn woods.

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

Azriel barely had a second before Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his leathers and shoved him back against the wooden exterior of the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian seethed.

Azriel didn’t fight back. He just stared, his hazel eyes cold, unreadable.

Cassian shoved him again. “She came back to Velaris in tears, Az. She left here broken. And you let her.”

“She told me to go,” Azriel said flatly. “So I let her do the same.”

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Tell you that you pushed your own mate away when she was barely holding on?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Cassian that it wasn’t that simple. That you had told him to go back to work like Kaia would just magically be fine without him. That you, who had fought for her just as fiercely as he had, were now acting like you could just—just move on.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

And it hadn’t been what you needed to hear.

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, but his expression remained furious. “She’s grieving, Az. And instead of holding her through it, you made her feel like she was the only one hurting.”

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose. His shadows twisted around his boots, restless.

“She still loves you,” Cassian added, his voice quieter now. “But you need to fix this before she starts believing otherwise.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. He had never doubted your love for him—not even for a second.

Cassian’s grip on Azriel’s collar tightened, his knuckles going white. His breath was hot with rage, his chest heaving as he stared Azriel down.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cassian hissed. His wings flared, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Azriel remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him, reacting to the anger radiating off his brother.

Cassian let out a bitter, humourless laugh. “You think this is just about you? About your pride? Your pain?” His voice rose, his rage spilling over. “You have no idea what she’s feeling right now. No fucking idea.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “I lost her too.”

Cassian shoved him hard, slamming him back against the wooden wall. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you didn’t?!” he bellowed.

Azriel’s wings flared, his own anger finally sparking to life, but Cassian didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“She sat in her room for two fucking weeks, Az. Two weeks, holding onto that teddy like it was the only thing keeping her together, crying herself to sleep, and you weren’t there!” Cassian’s voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “You chose not to be there.”

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

Cassian shook his head, disgusted. “She begged me not to tell you how bad it was. Because she still—still wanted to protect you. And you—you stood here, let her walk away, and fucking watched as she shattered.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows were writhing now, slithering across his boots, up his arms, reacting to the storm inside him.

“I’ve seen her broken before,” Cassian growled, voice low and raw. “But never like this. Not even after she lost her wings.”

Azriel’s entire body locked up. A deep, old pain flickered behind his eyes, but Cassian wasn’t done.

“She needed you. And you made her feel like she had no one.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell, fast and uneven. His shadows had gone completely still.

Cassian released him with a sharp shove, stepping back. His voice was thick with fury and disappointment. “You need to fix this, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight, his hands still clenched into fists.

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with one last glare, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Azriel alone in the cold, with nothing but his shadows and the weight of his mistakes.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he stepped back into the dimly lit room where Kaia and Nyx were. His anger still simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to push it down, to focus on what mattered—on them.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows over the room. Kaia lay curled up on the plush bed, wrapped in thick blankets, her tiny form barely visible beneath them. Her wings—still bandaged, still healing—rested limply against the mattress.

Nyx sat beside her, his small hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered something Cassian couldn’t hear. His expression was heartbreakingly solemn, far too serious for a child his age.

Cassian sighed and walked over, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Nyx looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. “Uncle Cass?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Cassian hesitated. No. Nothing is okay. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Nyx.

So instead, he forced a small, tired smile. “Yeah, kid. Just had to talk to your uncle Az.” His voice was rough, thick with lingering frustration.

Nyx studied him for a moment before nodding. He turned his attention back to Kaia, his fingers still brushing through her dark curls. “She was whimpering in her sleep,” he murmured. “I think she’s hurting.”

Cassian’s heart clenched. He carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his large hand resting near Kaia’s tiny fingers. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. Even in sleep, she looked fragile.

“Hey, sunshine,” Cassian whispered, leaning in slightly. “Uncle Cassie is here.”

Kaia stirred at his voice, her little brow furrowing. She let out a quiet whimper before shifting, her tiny fingers reaching blindly in her sleep. Without thinking, Cassian slid his hand into hers.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Nyx looked up at him again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is Auntie Y/N coming soon?”

Cassian’s chest ached at the question. He knew Nyx had been missing his aunt, and Rhys had been trying to keep him distracted, but it wasn’t the same.

“She’ll come soon,” Cassian promised, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what was happening back at the River House. No idea if Azriel had finally pulled his head out of his ass and gone after his mate.

Kaia stirred again, her grip on his fingers tightening. Cassian instinctively reached out with his other hand, brushing her hair back gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

She let out a small sigh, shifting a little closer to Nyx, her breathing evening out once more.

Cassian glanced at Nyx, whose eyes were still on Kaia, filled with the same fierce protectiveness his father had.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Nyx asked, voice small.

Cassian hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, kid. She’s tough.”

Like her mother.

Like her father—if Azriel ever got his shit together.

Nyx nodded solemnly before snuggling closer to Kaia, his own little hand resting over hers.

Cassian let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Kaia’s hand. Not yet.

Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again.

Eris strode into the room with his usual effortless grace, though there was an edge to his movements—a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since the night he had carried Kaia, bleeding and limp, through the forests of the Autumn Court. His amber eyes flickered over the space, first landing on Nyx curled beside Kaia, then shifting to Cassian, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, Kaia’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Cassian barely acknowledged him, his jaw clenched tight, his attention still on the sleeping girl.

Eris exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he glanced around again. “Where are her parents?” His tone was even, but there was something pointed in it, something layered beneath the words.

Cassian lifted his gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Y/N’s at the River House,” he said gruffly. “Azriel—” He let out a humorless huff. “—he’s probably still brooding somewhere. Who the hell knows.”

Eris scoffed. “Typical.” He took a few slow steps into the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over Kaia once more. “I expected at least one of them to be here.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around Kaia’s little fingers, but he kept his voice steady. “Y/N just got back last night. She needed time.”

Eris hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Kaia. “And Azriel?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared. He knew exactly what Eris was doing—pushing, needling, waiting to see if his words would strike a nerve, Nesta told him when she got back from Day that you and Eris used to be a thing so if this was the point Eris was trying to prove...

“He’ll show up,” Cassian muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

Eris merely lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I just find it interesting,” he said, voice almost casual. “That the moment his daughter is found—alive, though barely—he suddenly disappears.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, but before he could snap back, Nyx spoke.

“Uncle Az is coming,” he said quietly, his small voice firm despite the exhaustion lining it.

Cassian and Eris both looked at him, finding the young boy staring at Kaia, his little hand still resting protectively over hers.

Nyx looked up then, his violet eyes eerily serious. “He’ll come,” he repeated.

Eris let out a slow exhale before turning back to Cassian. “He better.” His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if he doesn’t, I don’t think Y/N will ever forgive him.”

Cassian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

Eris lingered by the door for a moment before stepping fully into the room, his sharp amber gaze locked onto Kaia’s small form. His usual mask of indifference was thinner today, barely concealing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerously close to concern in his expression.

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. “How is she?” His voice was quieter than before, the usual sharpness dulled.

Cassian shifted in his spot, still holding Kaia’s tiny fingers in his much larger hand. He hadn’t let go since he’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he planned to anytime soon. His hazel eyes, weary and shadowed, flickered up to Eris before he glanced back down at the sleeping girl.

“She’s alive,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “But she’s weak.”

Eris took another step closer, his keen gaze raking over her small frame. Her face was pale, exhaustion lining every delicate feature. Even in sleep, there was a tightness around her eyes, a subconscious flinch every time she shifted too much. The bandages along her back, where the healer had worked tirelessly to repair the deep wounds at the base of her wings, were fresh—evidence that her injuries were still healing.

Eris’s jaw tightened. He had seen the blood, had held her as it soaked into his clothes. The sight of her now, fragile and unmoving, made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

“And the wings?” he asked after a moment.

Cassian’s fingers curled slightly around Kaia’s hand, his other clenching into a fist on his thigh. His voice was low when he answered. “We don’t know yet.”

Eris didn’t move, didn’t react outright, but Cassian saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his expression turned even graver.

Silence stretched between them before Eris finally spoke again. “And Y/N?”

Cassian let out a long, tired breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not great.” He didn’t elaborate, but Eris didn’t need him to.

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood by the window in the sitting room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared out at the Sidra. The water was dark beneath the early evening sky, its surface rippling with the wind that had begun to pick up. Normally, you found solace in this view, in the steady, unchanging flow of the river. But today, it felt hollow.

The house was nearly empty—Rhys was somewhere, likely still pouring over paperwork, and Feyre had yet to return from wherever she had gone. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant sound of someone moving upstairs broke the silence.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. It had been hours since you winnowed away from Autumn, from Azriel. Hours since you’d stormed out, leaving him standing there. You had thought coming home would bring some kind of peace, that being here—away from everything—might help you breathe again.

But all you felt was emptiness.

Your eyes flickered to the small pile of Kaia’s things in the corner of the room. A few of her favourite books, a stuffed animal she’d left behind last time she was here. A blanket she used to curl up with on the couch. The sight of them made your throat close up.

She should be here. She should be running around, laughing, filling the house with her little voice. Instead, she was in Autumn, healing. And you weren’t there.

A lump formed in your throat, and you clenched your jaw, forcing down the sob threatening to rise.

You barely heard the footsteps approaching until a familiar presence settled nearby. Rhys didn’t say anything at first, just watched you, his violet eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice quiet. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

But Rhys wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he said, “but I need you to.”

You swallowed hard, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to say.”

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the first honest thing you had admitted in days. Maybe weeks.

Rhys hesitated before moving forward, wrapping his arms around you. The moment his warmth enveloped you, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped before you could stop it, and you clung to him, your body shaking as you buried your face in his chest.

His arms tightened around you. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart.

Your sobs wracked your body, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs, the kind that left you gasping. Rhys held you tightly, his hands steady against your back, but it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside of you.

“Why do I always fuck up?” you choked out against his chest, your voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw, gut-wrenching pain. “Why is it always me?”

Rhys flinched at your words, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. If anything, he only held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you from unravelling completely.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I should have known,” you whispered brokenly. “I should have done something—”

“Stop,” Rhys cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Y/N, you didn’t fail.”

You let out a bitter laugh against his chest. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Rhys pulled back slightly, just enough to cup the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes searched yours, filled with something raw, something unbreakable. “Because you love too much,” he said softly. “Because you love so fiercely that when something happens to the people you care about, you take it all onto yourself.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “But I was supposed to protect her.” Your voice cracked. “She’s my daughter, Rhys. And I wasn’t there.”

Rhys’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “And yet, she is still here. Still fighting.” His voice dropped to something even softer. “Because she has a mother who would burn the world down for her.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and your lip trembled. “I just…” You shook your head, your voice breaking entirely. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rhys sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fix it alone.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We will get through this. You and Azriel will get through this.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle, letting yourself breathe. But even as you clung to your brother, the weight in your chest remained, heavy and unyielding. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you believed him.

You pulled away from Rhys, your hands slipping from his tunic as you took a shaky step back. The warmth of his embrace lingered, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache spreading through your chest.

He watched you carefully, his violet eyes scanning your face, waiting, bracing. He had seen you angry before, devastated before. But this… this was something else entirely.

Your throat was raw from crying, but your voice came out steady—too steady. “I don’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right. “Y/N—”

“I mean it,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Azriel and I… We’re not the same anymore. And I don’t know if we ever will be.”

Rhys’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“I’ve spent years believing in us. In our bond. No matter how bad things got, I always thought we’d make it through.” Your voice wavered, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “But now? Now I don’t even know who we are.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. “You’re grieving, Y/N. Both of you are. You’ve been through hell, and—”

“I know what I’m saying,” you interrupted, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I know how I feel.”

Rhys’ expression darkened slightly. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

You let out a bitter laugh, void of humour. “I’m not giving up. I’m realizing that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be saved.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Rhys stared at you for a long moment before running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Does Azriel know you feel this way?”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t think he cares.”

Rhys’ expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it? He looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.” Your voice broke, but you pushed through. “And I can’t keep fighting for something he doesn’t want to fight for.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you and Azriel have spent centuries building a life together. You’ve survived wars, loss, everything. Don’t let this be what breaks you.”

You shook your head, your vision blurring. “I think we were already broken.”

Rhys reached for you then, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “Just… don’t make any decisions right now,” he murmured. “Not while everything still hurts.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this pain would ever go away.

Sobs tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. Rhys lowered you both to the floor, his arms wrapping around you, anchoring you even as you shattered.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by another choked sob. Your chest ached, your entire body trembling as you buried your face against Rhys’ shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rhys. I—” Another sob ripped through you. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His grip tightened, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles against your back. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t.

Every breath came out shaky, uneven, the grief clawing at your throat like it was trying to consume you whole. The weight of the past weeks—losing Kaia, the helplessness, the distance between you and Azriel—pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tears soaked through Rhys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He just held you, rocking you slightly, his own breathing uneven as if your pain was his, too.

Your fingers clutched at him, desperate for something, anything to keep you from falling apart completely. “I feel so empty, Rhys.” The admission came out in a broken whisper. “Like there’s nothing left of me.”

His arms tightened around you. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”

You let out a gasping sob, shaking your head. “I don’t feel like me.”

Rhys swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then let me hold onto you until you do.”

And so he did.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—as you sobbed into your brother’s arms, the storm inside you refusing to settle. And still, Rhys held you, unwavering, refusing to let you drown.

-----

Azriel sat in the chair by Kaia’s bedside, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since Cassian had stormed in, not since Nyx had curled up beside Kaia on the bed, keeping her company while she rested.

He barely even blinked.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. The only sounds were the soft breaths of the children and the distant crackle of a fire from the sitting room. But even that warmth couldn’t reach him.

Not when the only warmth he had ever known had left.

His shadows curled restlessly around him, mirroring the storm inside him. He knew where you were. Could feel the bond, muted and distant but still there. Still holding. But he didn’t know if you would come back. Didn’t know if he deserved for you to.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

“Az.”

Cassian.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “What.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dragging a chair closer before sinking into it with a heavy thud. He didn’t speak right away, just sat there, watching Azriel with an expression Az couldn’t decipher.

Finally, Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “She’s at the River House.”

Azriel didn’t react, didn’t let the flicker of relief show on his face. But Cassian knew him too well.

“She’s a mess, Az,” Cassian continued, voice softer now. “Rhys had to carry her to bed. She hasn’t slept. She’s barely eaten. And—” He exhaled sharply. “She thinks it’s over.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, locked onto Cassian’s. “What?”

Cassian hesitated, but then, with brutal honesty, said, “She told Rhys she doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a sharp exhale, his wings twitching, his body going rigid.

Cassian’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “You need to go to her, Az.”

Azriel shook his head, looking away. “She told me to go. To leave.”

“And you actually listened?” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when do you give up that easily?”

Azriel’s fingers dug into his knees. “She said she’s hit rock bottom.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “She said she never thought she could look at me and feel nothing.”

Cassian’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look surprised. “Then prove her wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Cassian huffed. “Maybe not right now. But she needs you, Az. And you need her.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s eyes drifted back to Kaia, still fast asleep, her small frame curled up beneath the blankets. Her little hands clutched the stuffed dragon Nyx had given her.

His daughter. His mate. His entire world was slipping through his fingers.

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

Cassian stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met,” he said. “Use that. Go fight for her.”

Azriel didn’t move as Cassian left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He just sat there, staring at his daughter, his mind spinning.

And then, finally, he stood.

Azriel winnowed straight into the River House, his boots landing silently on the polished wooden floors of the foyer. The moment he arrived, his shadows recoiled, sensing the heavy weight of sorrow clinging to the air. It was quieter than usual. No laughter, no chatter. Just the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper inside the house.

His heart pounded as he took a step forward, his wings tucking tightly against his back. The dim candlelight flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows that danced with his own. He could feel you. Somewhere in this house, you were here. Broken. Hurting.

And he had caused it.

A figure moved in the doorway ahead, and Rhys appeared, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. His violet eyes raked over Azriel, assessing, exhausted.

“You finally grew a pair,” Rhys muttered, pushing off the doorframe.

Azriel ignored the jab. His throat felt tight as he asked, “Where is she?”

Rhys exhaled through his nose, studying him for a moment before jerking his chin toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Her room.”

His room. Theirs.

Azriel swallowed hard, nodding once before moving past Rhys. But before he could reach the stairs, his brother’s voice stopped him.

“She hasn’t slept in days,” Rhys said quietly. “And she won’t talk about it, but I know she thinks this is the end.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

Azriel didn’t respond, just started up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was eerily silent, and with each door he passed, the weight in his chest grew.

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling into the hallway. He could hear your breathing—uneven, strained.

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, one of Kaia’s stuffed animals clutched in your arms. Your eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked with dried tears. You didn’t even look up when he entered, your gaze locked onto some invisible point on the floor.

Azriel felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.

He had seen you strong. He had seen you furious. He had seen you in pain.

But this—this hollow, shattered version of you—he had never seen before.

And it terrified him.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click making you flinch.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Y/N.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the stuffed animal. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, to fix this. He had always known how to mend broken things. Swords. Strategies. Wounds.

But this?

This was you. His mate. His love. And he had broken you.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He crossed the room in three steps, sinking onto his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. You tensed at his touch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the back of your hands. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you to tell me how.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you said, “I don’t think you can.”

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

Your words hung between you, heavier than anything he had ever carried. His wings drooped slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as if he could somehow anchor you to him, to this bond that now felt so fragile, so breakable.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t accept that.”

You let out a hollow, humourless laugh, finally looking at him. Your eyes were dull, lifeless. “Then you’re a fool.”

Azriel flinched.

“I have nothing left, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Nothing. I lost my mother. I lost my sister. I lost my wings. And now—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I almost lost our daughter. And you—” Your hands slipped from his grasp as you pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You weren’t there. You shut me out. You let me break alone.”

Azriel’s throat felt raw, his shadows writhing around him in distress. “I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admitted. “How to make it better.”

“I didn’t need you to fix it!” Your voice was suddenly sharp, filled with something closer to anger now. “I needed you to be here! To sit with me in the fucking wreckage instead of running off like that would solve anything!”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flexing slightly. “I thought—” He exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought if I just kept searching, if I just kept moving, then I wouldn’t have to face it.” His hands dropped into his lap, and he met your gaze, raw and open. “I was terrified, Y/N. I have never been more afraid in my entire life.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyes shining with fresh tears.

“I failed you,” Azriel said, barely above a whisper. “I failed our daughter. And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

And then, you whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted violently, panic clawing up his throat.

No.

He refused to believe that.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t say that.”

You looked away, your fingers gripping Kaia’s stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping you together.

Azriel reached for you again, his hands cradling your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you,” he murmured, desperate, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks. “I love you more than anything, and I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought you might believe him.

But then your eyes filled with more tears, and you slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time, Azriel.”

And those words shattered him completely.

Azriel stood frozen, your words echoing in his head like a death knell.

He had faced wars, endured centuries of pain, lived through the worst kind of suffering, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Like his very soul was being torn from him.

You turned away from him, your back shaking with barely restrained sobs. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry. You were just…done.

Azriel took a step forward, but something in your posture made him hesitate. He had pushed you too far. He had let you break apart alone, and now, when he finally wanted to piece things back together, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to mend.

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

But you shook your head. “I can’t right now, Azriel.”

His wings drooped further, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to plead, to tell you that he would spend the rest of his life making this right. But you looked so exhausted, so broken, and he knew that pushing any further would only widen the distance between you.

So he stepped back.

“Okay,” he murmured, though it felt like the hardest thing he had ever said.

He turned toward the door, hesitating only for a second, hoping—praying—that you would call him back. That you would tell him to stay.

But you didn’t.

And so Azriel left, feeling more lost than he ever had before.

Azriel barely made it down the hall before he heard Rhysand’s footsteps behind him.

“You bastard,” Rhys bit out, his voice low but sharp.

Azriel exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before turning. He didn’t get the chance. Rhys was already there, grabbing him by the front of his leathers, shoving him back against the nearest wall.

“I told you to fix it,” Rhys snarled. “Not to make it worse.”

Azriel didn’t resist, didn’t push back. He let Rhys hold him there, let him release the fury Azriel knew he deserved. He felt like a ghost of himself, hollow and lost, his own shadows recoiling from him.

“She doesn’t want to fix it,” Azriel muttered, voice rough. “She—” His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys’ grip tightened, his violet eyes burning with anger and something deeper—something almost desperate. “Then make her believe there is.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, looking away. “I don’t know how.”

Rhys let out a harsh breath and released him, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Az,” he said, quieter this time. “She’s drowning. And you—her mate, her husband—just walked away.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

“You fought for her once,” Rhys said. “Fought like hell for her. Are you really going to let it end like this?”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent two weeks searching relentlessly for Kaia, had given everything he had left to finding their daughter. But somehow, in the process, he had lost you.

And now, standing here, feeling like the biggest failure in existence, he realized—he couldn’t let that happen.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

“I won’t,” Azriel said, voice filled with quiet, unyielding determination. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Rhysand held his gaze for a long moment, searching, assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod, stepping back fully.

“Good,” he said. But there was no relief in his voice. Only expectation. “Then fix it.”

Azriel inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His feet moved before his mind had fully caught up, carrying him down the familiar hall toward your shared room. The door was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. He had no idea what he would find on the other side. No idea if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him, shoulders hunched. Your hands clutched one of Kaia’s teddies, holding it against your chest like a lifeline. Even from across the room, he could hear the quiet, broken sniffles.

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. You didn’t react, didn’t even lift your head.

He took another step. And then another. Until he was standing just behind you.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I know I’ve made everything worse. And I know I don’t deserve it, but—please. Look at me.”

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

And when your eyes finally met his, filled with so much pain, so much anger, so much exhaustion—Azriel felt like he might break apart entirely.

Azriel didn’t move, barely breathed as he took you in. The dark circles under your eyes, the redness in them from days—weeks—of crying. The way your lips trembled, like you wanted to say something, scream something, but didn’t have the strength to.

And then, in a voice so hoarse and tired it nearly destroyed him, you whispered, “Why are you here, Azriel?”

He opened his mouth, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

To apologize? To beg? To tell you he loved you, even if right now, you weren’t sure you could believe it?

“I—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat.

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

“You left me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let me sit in that room alone for weeks while our daughter fought for her life. You let me feel like I had to hold everything together while you buried yourself in your own grief.”

Azriel flinched. He wanted to argue, to say that he had been searching, that he had been doing everything he could to bring Kaia home, to keep himself from completely shattering.

But you weren’t wrong.

And he knew—knew—that the worst thing he could do right now was try to defend himself.

So he didn’t.

“I know,” he admitted instead, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping busy, trying to fix it. But I wasn’t fixing anything. I was just running.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And now you decide to come back?”

Azriel’s throat tightened. “I should have come back sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, and when you looked away, Azriel felt something in his chest cave in.

“But I’m here now,” he continued, voice raw. “And I’ll stay. If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, your voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the space between you, you asked, “What if I don’t know if I want you to?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He had never felt fear like this. Not in war, not in battle. This—this uncertainty, this possibility of losing you—it was worse than anything.

But he nodded. Because this wasn’t about him.

“I’ll wait,” he said, meaning every word. “As long as it takes.”

Your throat was tight, raw from the sobs that had wracked through you before Azriel arrived. You had told yourself—sworn to yourself—that you wouldn’t ask. That you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still cared, that you still needed to hear it from him.

But the words slipped past your lips anyway, fragile and desperate.

“How is she?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his wings shifting behind him. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked hollow. Like whatever had been keeping him upright was barely holding on.

“She’s…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s getting better.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not an answer, Azriel.”

His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “The healer says she’s improving, but it’s slow. She’s in pain. Her wings…” He broke off, shaking his head. “She won’t fly for a long time, if ever.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

A quiet, strangled sound left you, and Azriel took a step toward you, instinctively reaching out. You flinched back.

He froze.

You didn’t mean to do it. You knew he wasn’t the enemy, that he wasn’t the one who had hurt her. But the space between you felt like a canyon, one neither of you knew how to cross anymore.

“She asked for you,” he said softly. “Every minute.”

Tears welled in your eyes, burning hot as they slipped down your cheeks.

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. “She’s strong, just like you.”

Your voice broke as you whispered, “I don’t feel strong.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Like it physically pained him to hear you say that.

“She needs you,” he said after a moment. “And I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Come back with me.”

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

The sob burst out of you before you could stop it—raw and jagged, ripped straight from your chest. Your hands trembled too much to grip it properly. The weight of everything, of Kaia’s pain, of Azriel’s voice, of the unbearable hollow ache inside you—it was too much.

A gasp tore from your throat, and then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your shoulders shook violently as the sobs wracked through you, your breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Your hands covered your face, as if that could somehow hold you together, but the moment you closed your eyes, all you could see was Kaia.

Your baby, broken.

You bent forward, pressing your forehead against your hands, trying to breathe, trying to think past the agony that had settled deep in your ribs. But all you could do was sob harder, the sound echoing through the room.

Azriel was in front of you in an instant, kneeling, his hands hovering, unsure if he was allowed to touch you. “YN,” he whispered, his voice tight, pained.

You shook your head frantically, curling in on yourself, your hands fisting into your shirt as if you could claw the grief out of your chest. Your breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you might not be able to breathe at all.

Azriel’s hands finally found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. You were drowning, lost in the unbearable weight of your daughter’s suffering, of everything that had been shattered between you and the only person who was supposed to understand.

“I c-can’t,” you gasped between sobs, shaking your head, your vision swimming. “Azriel, I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands tightened slightly, warm and firm, as he moved closer. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours now, his breath steady despite the anguish in his voice. “You’re not alone.”

But you had never felt more alone in your entire life.

Azriel didn’t hesitate this time. The second he saw you breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of everything, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. His wings curled around you both, shielding you from the world, as if that alone could keep you safe from the pain tearing through you.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t have the strength to. The second his warmth surrounded you, you collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that your entire body shook with each ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, love.”

His hands moved slowly, one stroking up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as if you might shatter completely if he let go. His touch was gentle, reverent—so achingly familiar that it only made you sob harder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking you slightly, his voice barely more than a breath. “I know, YN. Just let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers curling into his tunic as you buried your face in his chest. His scent surrounded you—night-chilled mist and cedar and something distinctly Azriel—and it only made the ache in your heart worse.

“I c-can’t do this,” you gasped between sobs. “I can’t—Azriel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hand sliding into your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re the strongest person I know, YN. You have always been strong.”

You shook your head against him, your body still trembling. “Not anymore.”

His grip on you tightened, his wings pressing closer, wrapping you in warmth. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You are still you. Even if it feels like you’re falling apart, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

Your sobs slowed just slightly, your breathing still uneven, but no longer the desperate gasps of before. His fingers traced slow, steady circles against your back, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

“I need her back,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible.

Azriel swallowed hard, his chin resting atop your head. “I know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back, love. I swear it.”

Your hands fisted tighter in his tunic, as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from completely unravelling. His steady heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a quiet rhythm that, for the first time in days, gave you something to hold on to.

And even though the pain was still there, even though the ache in your chest felt like it might never fade, you let yourself sink into his warmth, into the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood you.

You sniffled, your breath still uneven as you rested against Azriel’s chest. His warmth, his steady presence, was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But it wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when your heart still ached with a desperation so deep it felt like it might consume you.

“I need to see her,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Azriel tensed slightly beneath you, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “YN…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your face was still streaked with tears, your eyes swollen and red, but there was no hesitation in your voice. “I need to see my daughter, Azriel. I need to hold her.”

His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She’s still healing,” he said carefully. “She’s fragile, YN. Moving her could—”

“I’m not asking to take her away from there,” you cut in sharply. “I just want to be with her. I just—I need to see her.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, searching your face as if trying to gauge whether you could handle it. Whether he could handle it. But you knew him—you knew that he wanted the same thing. That despite everything, he was still terrified of seeing her like that, of feeling helpless when all he wanted was to fix it.

But he wouldn’t tell you no. He couldn’t.

“I’ll take you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take you to her.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as your fingers gripped his tunic once more.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he whispered, “Hold on to me.”

And as he winnowed you away, your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts fear and hope battling within you. Because in just a few moments, you would see her again. And you didn’t know if you could bear it.

-----

Cassian sat in the chair beside Kaia’s small bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The dim glow of the faelights cast long shadows across the room, flickering softly against the delicate features of the sleeping child beside him. Nyx sat on the edge of the mattress, tiny fingers gently brushing over Kaia’s hand, his little brows furrowed in concern.

“She’s so small,” Nyx whispered, barely loud enough for Cassian to hear.

Cassian’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew all too well. Kaia looked impossibly fragile, her wings carefully bandaged, her skin still pale from blood loss. Even in sleep, she winced slightly, the pain still present even through the healer’s efforts. It made something sharp twist in his chest.

He reached over, smoothing a hand over Nyx’s dark hair. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Like her mother. Like her father.”

Nyx nodded solemnly, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaia. “When will she wake up?”

Cassian sighed, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “Soon, bud. The healers said she needs rest.”

Nyx was quiet for a long moment before he said, “Mama would sing to me when I was sick.”

Cassian’s chest ached. He knew that, too. Feyre had done the same for him when he’d been recovering after the war. He swallowed hard, glancing at Kaia before looking back at Nyx. “Do you want to sing to her?”

Nyx hesitated, then gave a small nod. His voice was quiet, soft, a child’s lullaby barely above a whisper. Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the melody settle over him like a blanket.

Then he heard the distinct shift of air behind him—the subtle sound of winnowing. His eyes snapped open, and he turned just in time to see Azriel and YN step into the doorway.

And the second YN saw her daughter, Cassian saw the breath leave her lungs.

YN didn’t move at first. She just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the tiny form of her daughter lying in the bed. Azriel was beside her, his hand hovering near the small of her back, as if ready to steady her if she collapsed.

Cassian watched as her expression crumbled. She made a sound—half a sob, half a breathless whisper—and then she was moving.

“Kaia,” YN choked out, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

Nyx quickly moved aside as YN fell to her knees beside the bed, her shaking hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her daughter, as if she were afraid that any contact might shatter her.

Cassian saw the tears spill freely down her face as she finally—finally—placed a hand over Kaia’s tiny fingers, her touch impossibly gentle.

“She’s okay,” Cassian murmured, his voice softer now. “She’s healing.”

YN let out a shaky breath, her other hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair away from Kaia’s face. “My baby,” she whispered.

Azriel still hadn’t moved. He was standing a few steps away, his shadows curling around his shoulders as he stared at Kaia, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but Cassian could see the tension in his jaw, the storm in his hazel eyes.

Kaia stirred slightly at her mother’s touch, her little brows furrowing, and YN let out a quiet sob, pressing a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Cassian stood, giving Azriel a look before motioning to Nyx. “Come on, bud. Let’s give them a moment.”

Nyx hesitated but nodded, casting one last glance at Kaia before taking Cassian’s hand. They stepped toward the door, and Cassian briefly clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he passed, grounding him. Azriel didn’t react, just kept staring at his daughter.

As Cassian and Nyx left the room, he heard YN whispering Kaia’s name over and over, like she was trying to convince herself that she was really here. That she was safe.

Kaia stirred beneath YN’s trembling hands, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her little body shifted against the blankets. Her brows furrowed as if sensing the weight of exhaustion and pain still lingering in her small frame.

YN sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening around Kaia’s hand. “Kaia?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Azriel stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat as he watched their daughter’s lashes flutter. It was the first real movement she had made since they’d arrived.

Kaia’s tiny fingers twitched beneath YN’s, and then, sluggishly, her eyes cracked open.

“Mama…” The word was faint, barely more than a breath, but it shattered something deep inside YN.

She let out a sob of relief, brushing her fingers gently over Kaia’s warm, flushed cheek. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Kaia blinked sluggishly, her little lips parting as if trying to form more words. Her gaze, unfocused and glassy, shifted slightly, searching.

Then, in a broken, hoarse voice, she whimpered, “Dada?”

Azriel made a sound—one that was almost a strangled breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his shaking hands hesitating just above Kaia’s tiny body.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together. “I’m right here.”

Kaia’s small fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for him, and that was all it took. Azriel’s hands gently enveloped her tiny one, his shadows retreating for the first time in weeks as he pressed a trembling kiss to her palm.

YN let out a watery laugh between her sobs, smoothing Kaia’s tangled curls. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

Kaia blinked up at them both, her little body weak, but the warmth of her parents surrounding her seemed to settle her.

Then, in the softest, sleepiest voice, she whispered, “Home?”

YN bit back another sob, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Soon, sweetheart,” she promised. “Soon, we’ll go home.”

Kaia’s lashes fluttered as she drifted back into sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against YN’s as they clung to each other, holding onto the one thing that mattered most.

One more part left...

[rainrot4me]

Behind The Veils

Summary: Hiking to capture the perfect sunrise photo for your portfolio, you stumble upon a supposedly abandoned cabin, your curiosity driving you to investigate. When you're met with two very large and very aggressive masked men, they decide that they'll put you to good use.

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Bondage, gagging, choking, throat fucking, restraint, teasing, dominance, threesome, vaginal, anal, eating out, cumming on face, threatening, chasing, bargaining, mentions of guns, ropes

Words: 6.1k

You would do anything for a good shot. Trespassing included.

Working on your portfolio for school was proving to be more physically demanding than you anticipated, but if it meant you got in on a good scholarship, you were willing to break a few laws.

Your heart raced as you pushed down the barbed wire fence and swung a leg over. These woods were off-limits as deemed by the state, but you knew of a beautiful mountainscape that would make for a perfect sunrise picture. And, considering how your portfolio was currently looking, you needed this shot. Glancing at the “Private Property, Do Not Enter” sign one last time, you swung your other leg over and pulled your backpack back onto your shoulders. 

You filled your large pack with enough stuff to last you a day. A sleeping bag, a one-person tent, a fire starter, and all the other junk you could think of. It was late afternoon now, and you planned on setting up camp closer to the lookout and hiking the rest before sunrise. It would be a couple of miles, but you were willing and excited. Photography was your life and passion, and you planned on following it through no matter the challenge (or legality). 

Pushing away from the barbed fence, you trekked through the dense forest, with no clear path in sight. You pulled out your phone and found your map, searching for an easier way to the scenic lookout, but finding no angle except the one you were taking now. You groaned, shoving your phone back in your back and continuing on. It wasn’t all that bad though. The weather was warm, a breeze blowing through the dense trees and cooling you off. The late summer afternoon had animals and bugs buzzing, creating a nice scenery to walk through. You wouldn’t only get a good picture, but a nice hike in as well.

But as the day passed and the sun stooped lower into the horizon, the woods were becoming less and less inviting. The animals had gone quiet now, with no chirping or singing of birds in the trees. The only noise was the low humming of insects in the grass, an ominous feeling creeping on you the darker it got. You knew it was only your mind tricking you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you. Only about two miles out from the lookout now, and this felt like a good place to set up camp. 

Hurriedly, you unpacked your bag, popped up your tent, and rolled your sleeping bag out. The sky was dark with the colors of the sunset, but it provided just enough illumination to gather fallen branches and make a small fire stack. You crouched down, tossing some brush and leaves into the pile and striking the fire starter, creating a spark that flamed into a small fire. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to heat your bowl of food and provide you warmth against the cooler night air. Still so strangely quiet, the forest was dark, unable to see past the glow of your fire. You tried not to psych yourself out, but you gripped your pocket knife close, fiddling with the blade anxiously. You knew there were no people out here. At least none besides brave teenagers who dared each other to throw parties out here. Your main concern was a bobcat or some wild animal running up on you, but you thought scaring anything off wouldn’t be too difficult.

You breathed deep, trying to calm your nerves against your racing mind. Deciding you were tired enough, you zipped open the small tent and wrapped it up in your sleeping bag, closing the tent back and nestling it. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and grasshoppers in the grass, but your brain was still on high alert, listening closely. But when nothing came, your eyes eventually fluttered close and you slipped into sleep. 

-

Morning eventually came, and you were pleasantly surprised with how little you stirred during the night. Unzipping the tent, the cool morning air rolled in, pulling you awake. The forest was covered in a dense wave of fog, the sun still low on the horizon and just barely peeking up against the horizon. Jumping up, you quickly packed your things and shuffled your backpack on. But when you went to stomp out your smoldering fire, something in the dirt nearby caught your attention. Peering closer, your heart sunk, fear rising in your throat. In the damp dirt, a very large bootprint was sunk into the ground. As you looked, you found more following closer to your tent. You began to silently panic, swinging your head around to look through the trees, but sighing when you saw nothing. Your heart still raced with the knowledge that someone had been walking around near your camp making you sick. 

Stomping out the rest of the fire, you scurried away back onto your path, walking a little faster than you were before. As you walked, you tried to convince yourself that maybe you were tricking yourself. Maybe it was your boot print that you accidentally left, or someone that had hiked there before and it was just their leftover tailmarks. But you knew that boot was easily four sizes bigger than your own, and that boot print looked way too fresh. Shivering, you continued your trek but kept a close eye out, jumping at any slight movements.

Eventually, you crept up the mountainside, breathing heavily as you raced against the sunrise to the rocky overlook. The fog had settled, a thin haze of mist against the grass all that remained. Gripping onto trees, you pushed up the hill, the lookout coming into view. You sighed heavily, tugging yourself up the rocks and eventually reaching the top, breathing heavily. But as you caught your breath, you tossed your backpack off and rummaged through for your camera and the stand. The sun was just barely peeking up, offering a nice pink haze across the entire scene. Your excitement bubbled as you found your supplies and began to set up at the edge of the rocks.

High up on the mountain, you could see the stretch of the forest, the trees looking even more dense from up high. It was stunning as the sun reflected off of the morning dew. The mountain range in the distance complemented the horizon beautifully, the sun shining right between the peaks. Clasping your camera onto the tripod, you turned it on and angled it, catching the expanse of the forest in the lens. You smiled wide, snapping dozens of pictures before repositioning and capturing more. You would go through them all later, editing and angling them just perfect for your portfolio. This scene just screams adventure, solitude, and daring. It was perfect. 

As you finished taking pictures, you noticed a gap in the treeline further up the mountain, another great angle of the mountain range. Grabbing your stuff, you hauled further up, clicking through the photos you had already taken as you walked. These were exactly what you needed, but you wouldn’t mind snapping a few more from a different angle just in case.

Pushing through the brush of the mountain, you finally reached the higher peak, already throwing your stuff down to set up again. But as you set your tripod up, something in the trees caught the corner of your eye. Turning, you could barely make out the cabin hidden amongst the large trees. Peeking, your brows knitted, unsure of why there was a cabin out here in the first place. Turning back, you quickly snapped a few pictures before packing your stuff back up, the sun well above the mountains now. 

Pushing deeper into the trees, you studied the cabin, the small lodge otherwise invisible from outside the forest. The thick leaves and foliage disguised it, making it all the more ominous. Maybe it was a hunting cabin used during the winter or some old abandoned home before the state closed this forest off. You knew you should’ve been more cautious, but as the sun peeked through the trees and cast a warm glow against the dark wood, all you could think of was how good it would look in a photo.

Pressing closer, you hugged against the trees, trying to see the best angle for a picture. The cabin was older, with weathering and vines decorating the exterior. But it was charming, in a creepy kind of way. As you rounded to the side of the cabin only a couple of yards away, you lifted your camera and shot a couple of pictures, admiring the mist radiating around the lodge in the early sunlight. You trudged around to the back, lifting your camera again but stopping quickly. At first, you thought it was just the sunlight shining through one of the windows. But as you looked closer, you could see a small lamp turned on inside of the dusty window.

Your heart stopped, a cold shiver shooting up your spine. There was no way someone was out here. Especially not inside that decrepit old thing. You knew you should’ve high-tailed it out of there, packing up your stuff and shooting back down the mountain. But you being your daring self, you pressed closer to the small porch of the cabin, trying your best to peek inside the fogged window. When you eventually got so close your feet knocked the steps of the porch, you stepped up, sliding to the window. 

Cobwebs decorated the porch, and large vines and patches of weathering surrounded the wooden door. You couldn’t see very well through the window, but as you crouched against the cabin and peered inside, you were shocked to see nothing. There were no signs of life inside besides the small lamp, somehow powered on in the middle of nowhere. How it was getting electricity, you were too dumb to figure out. 

You stood slowly, trying your best to see further than the lamp through the fogginess of the glass. Maybe it was just left on accidentally? You hoped so. But who would come all the way out here? After deducing that the place truly was abandoned, you set your bag on the porch and lifted your camera. Even though scary, the closeness would make for a good picture. Angling, you captured the lamp framed by the foggy window. However, when the flash of the camera went off, a sudden thud echoed inside the lodge. Your heart dropped, white fear shooting through as you backed against the railing of the porch. Shit. Shit. Shit. The sudden loud thuds of boots sounded inside, your body scrambling quickly to grab your bag and run, but it was already too late.

The door slammed open in your face, knocking you back on your ass down the steps and onto the grass below. You didn’t even look up, turning quickly to dig your feet into the ground and sprint. You held your camera close to your chest, panting heavily as you dodged through the trees. You had no idea who was in that cabin, but you weren't going to stick around and find out. If they were crazy enough to live out here then they were crazy enough to hurt you, and fuck that. Nudging through the brush, you pressed through the trees, heaving desperately for air as your legs burned with fear. As soon as you felt like you had gained a good distance away, it all ended. You felt your head stop before the rest of your body, your limbs shooting forward before you were slammed down to the ground with a loud thud. Your head pounded, a large hand pressing your face down into the ground and giving you a terrible impact headache. You’d be lucky if you didn’t have bruises from how hard your body stopped. 

Groaning sharply, you squinted your eyes, your vision partially blinded by the thick fingers pressing down against your face. Your body panicked, writing under the weight as the body on top of you pressed down harder, restricting your movements. You wanted to scream, but your head was pounding too hard to speak, let alone scream. Clawing at the hand on your face, you whined, desperate to move as fear ran through you. 

“Quit fighting.” A gruff voice groaned in front of your face, pressing your head down harder into the grass. You tried to see him, your head pressed to the side so all you saw was the dirt and grass beneath you. Until you heard those boots thudding beside your head again, echoing against the forest floor. When they came into your vision, you panicked, the thick black soles blocking your vision. The figure knelt, the other person holding you down angling your head up to get a clear shot of the man crouching beside your head. “Well, hello.” This voice was lighter, scratchier than the other but not as rough. They were both men though, and large enough to hold you down. 

The man in front of you was odd, something straight out of a movie. He wore a white mask decorated with a face, little holes cut in the eyes so you could see his dark eyes. He glared at you, his brown hair messed in front of his face. You were caught in confusion, your eyes flicking quickly against him as you tried to gather as much about his appearance as you could. The other man gripped your face tight, angling you to look at the sky as the two of them talked. 

“She’s a fast little fucker.” The lower voice growled, nails digging into your cheeks as you began to struggle again. “Hold her steady, don’t let her wiggle out.” The other one commanded, standing and shuffling away. You finally caught sight of the other one, a mustard hoodie pulled over his head, a dark ski mask painted with a red frowning face. Who the hell were these two? They looked like some emo band wannabes and it seriously was beginning to scare you. What in the world were they doing in the middle of nowhere dressed like that? The one with the hoodie was staring right at you, his face covered but his eyes roaming your body. “What the hell are you doing out here anyways?” He gruffed, snapping your camera out of your hands. You gasped, reaching for it but him holding it above your reach.

“I was- ah- taking pictures. Of the sunset. I- I’m a photographer.” You huffed, tears pricking at your eyes as he remained unamused. He ignored your response, looking to the other one who was now dragging your bag towards you two. Zipping your backpack open, they rummaged through your belongings, throwing your supplies out onto the ground carelessly. 

“Damn, so she was the camper out last night.” The lighter voice rang, tossing your sleeping bag onto the ground. Your heart sunk, tears finally spilling over your cheeks. So someone had come to your campsite last night. This was getting worse by the minute. 

“Shoulda just killed her then like I said.” The darker voice growled, throwing your extra pair of socks down too. You sobbed into his hand, your hands clawing against his hand as he refused to let up. The one in the white mask crouched again, staring you directly in the eyes. “Knock her out, bring her back to the cabin.” 

The last thing you saw before you blacked out was the hilt of a gun slamming down against your head, a sharp pain rining before everything went dark. 

-

You had no clue how much time had passed when you awoke, but the sun was low in the sky, the colors of the sunset already spilling against the horizon through the window. The inside of the cabin was warm, a low fire crackling in the fireplace across from you. You glanced around, the inside was just as shabby as the outside, but the furniture inside wasn’t half bad considering you were tied to a table chair. Thick ropes wrapped around your torso, securing you against the back of the chair as you struggled. Your head pounded, a sharp throbbing echoing from the spot the gun made contact with your head. When you fully came to, you heard the loud ring of arguing from somewhere down the hallway, the small cabin doing little to conceal their words.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Masky, that on our only fucking week off some bitch decides to get curious.” The one in the hoodie, you recognized his voice. There was loud stomping, one following the other as they came closer down the hallway. “I say we just kill her, Hoodie, but you always need to interrogate the little shits.” The masked one growled back, the both of them coming into view through your hazy vision. They both glared at you, closing the distance between you as you struggled against your restraints. You could barely breathe as they hovered over you, their intimidating presence making it hard to stay calm. “Ple- Please. I just, ah, got lost. Please.” You gritted, pressing your feet against the floor and pulling against the ropes, but they didn’t budge. Respectively, Masky and Hoodie, their names fitting, leaned closer, basically ignoring that you had even said anything. 

Masky slid away, grabbing your camera off the dining table and sliding it to Hoodie who turned it on. They flicked through the photos, you awkwardly staring as they studied each photo. “Seems like she was just taking photos,” Hoodie grumbled, handing the camera back to Masky as he glared back to you. “Ain’t half bad either.” You flicked your eyes hurriedly between the two, anxiety growing in your stomach as they silently examined your camera and you. There was no reading these guys, their every emotion concealed behind their stupid masks. Were they going to kill you? Over taking some pictures too close to their shitty cabin? What a way to die.

Masky tossed the camera down, you cringing as it scooted onto the table. “Looks like she wasn’t lying. Lucky you.” He grinned slyly, leaning against the table. They both had this bad habit of just looking at you and not speaking like they were communicating in their minds. It seriously freaked you out as you again tried to tug against your restraints. “Just let me go and I swear I won’t tell nobody. I- I’m just tryna take some photos.” You whined, shriveling in on yourself when they pressed closer again. They stood tall, looming above you and just stared. It was impossible not to just squirm under them, their eyes studying every inch of you. Their weird dynamic made you unsure, their personalities so different but complimenting each other perfectly.

Defeated, you hung your head, your head hurting too bad to plead anymore. But when you looked down, you noticed what they were looking at. Your face blushed, eyes widening as you shot your head back up at them. Your shirt was torn to pieces, your bra doing little to hide your tits through the shredded fabric. It must have happened when you were slammed to the ground, the thick underbrush tearing at your clothes before they dragged you back to the cabin. Your cheeks went dark, embarrassment creeping as you tried to hide yourself, but the ropes under your tits pushed them up further. When they noticed your embarrassment, you could hear them chuckle. “Embarrassed, huh? Sorry, Hoodie here isn’t very good about being polite while chasing someone.” He laughed, pressing close to your left, his gaze fitting on your tits. You squeezed your knees together, your stomach tight with embarrassment as Masky stared at you through the mask. 

“Yeah, not very sorry if it meant I got a view like this,” Hoodie grunted, shoving Masky’s shoulder as he pressed closer to your right, leaning his masked face down closer to yours. You glanced quickly between the two of them, unsure of what to do as you felt trapped between two wild animals. Anger ragged at you, your face growing hot. These creepy freaks were perverts too, great. You thrashed against the ropes, kicking your feet forward but Masky held your knees easily. Hoodie gripped your jaw in return, angling your face to look at him as they held you still. “But I’m still not opposed to shooting you.” Masky huffed, digging his nails into your skin. Hoodie laughed, turning your head in his hand to get a better look at you. You struggled slightly, pressing your face against his hand in retaliation. “Feisty.” He smiled. Hoodie’s playful provocations and Masky’s intense gaze made you acutely aware of the charged energy between the three of you.

Masky gripped your knees tight, pushing them down against the chair and sliding his hands to your crotch. He tried to rub his hand against your clothed cunt, but you resisted, wriggling your hips down against the chair. “Don’t be all bratty now. I’m sure Hoodie would love to break that little attitude.” Masky huffed, gripping your legs apart. You whined, Hoodie’s answering grip against your cheeks. You glanced between them, shutting your eyes before sighing. “If I let you… whatever. Are you still gonna kill me afterwards?” You whined, struggling against the ropes one final time. The men glanced between each other, then back to you.”Depends on how good you take us. We’re trying to enjoy our week off of work but you had to just run up on us, huh? You gotta earn your way out of this one.” Hoodie barked, fiddling with the zipper of his jeans when you noticed the slight bulge prodding through. Your cheeks grew dark again, your eyes shutting as you gritted your teeth. “Not my fault you’re squatting in the middle of nowhere.” The hooded man gripped your face tighter, tugging his pants down and letting his large cock spring free, the thick length bobbing in front of your head eagerly. “Then maybe don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Giving the length a few good pumps, he pressed his cock head against your mouth, tapping it against your lips before pulling your jaw down. You glared up at him before sliding your tongue out, flattening against the head. Hoodie’s playful dominance contrasted with Masky’s more forceful desire, their eagerness coaxing you. 

Hoodie grunted, holding your jaw open as he pressed the rest of his length in, your jaw unhinging to fit the sheer thickness of him. Your eyes slammed shut, throat constricting around him as you strangled to breathe. He huffed above you, fist tugging at your jaw as he forced you to begin bobbing on the length. You strained, tongue pressing against him as he fucked into your mouth haphazardly. This was rough, but his tight grunts and moans made your stomach flutter. Masky was quick to wrap his fist around your hair, gripping it tight and tugging your head in time with Hoodie’s thrusts. 

It was becoming difficult to breathe as Masky slid his free hand down in between your thighs and began to unzip your jeans, pressing his hand down underneath. His fingers found your clothed clit easily, rubbing harshly against the bud and waking it up. You grunted hard around Hoodie’s cock, breath catching and ragged as he refused to let up. His large hands were rough on your jaw, forcing it to stay open as his hips thrust into your throat. It was like Masky could read his movements, pulling your hair back or pushing your head forward to match his hips, making Hoodie grunt and moan loudly above you.

Tears pricked your eyes, the need to breathe becoming desperate, but you knew they didn’t care. Masky hands had abandoned your panties and were now under them, rubbing against your bare clit and making your hips jerk. “Ah- Damn. Bitch’s got a damn good mouth.” Hoodie growled, gritting his teeth. Masky just chuckled, sliding his thick fingers down your folds and pressing against your entrance, your stomach fluttering when he pressed the digits inside. You moaned loudly, slobber drooling out the corners of your mouth as Hoodie nestled his cock inside your mouth and refused to move. Your body strained against the ropes, hands gripping the chair as you begged for air, eyes wide and pleading with tears. Hoodie laughed, hands holding your head still and keeping you suffocating on him. Masky was gripping your hair in return, prodding his fingers deep inside of you and watching closely as you choked. 

“Come on now, don’t make the poor thing pass out.” Masky cooed, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gag hard, body straining to moan around the cock. Your head was light, the lack of air getting to you as you choked, eyes growing heavy. Hoodie huffed before he popped out of your mouth, a thick string of slobber still connecting his head to your lips. Pressing your cheeks together, the hooded man chuckled, slapping his glistening cock against your swollen lips. “Nah, she’d be too boring knocked out. I like to watch her submit.” He growled, fisting his length.

You moaned sharply, eyes closing as Masky continued to curl his fingers, drawing noises from your mouth. He slid them out, his fingers glistening with your arousal, holding them up. He let go of your hair, his hand tugging down his zipper and freeing his strained cock. It wasn’t much bigger than Hoodie’s, but your raw throat didn’t make you thrilled to have two large cocks in your face. Hoodie gripped Masky’s wrist, pulling his hand to his mouth as he slid his mask up, barely revealing his mouth. Taking the soaked fingers in his lips, he swirled his tongue around them, reveling in the taste. Masky watched carefully, cock twitching in front of your face until Hoodie popped the fingers out of his mouth, smiling wickedly. “Yum.” He growled, kneeling between your legs and shoving your knees open. As he shoved your jeans down and off your legs, Masky was quick to grip your cheeks and slide the head of his cock into your mouth. However, unlike Hoodie, his hands let go, placing them on his hips as he watched you. “Well?” He grunted, your questioning look evident as your lips stayed wrapped around the head.

Hoodie was pressing your folds apart, his mask still hooked above his nose as do dove in, licking a thick stripe between them. You grunted, flinching as he lapped at your arousal. Masky still watched impatiently, eyes baring into your face. “Told you you were gonna have to work for it. Either get to sucking or I put a bullet there instead.” He grunted, tilting his head.

You furrowed your brows, your anger pooling but soon interrupted by Hoodie’s tongue breaching your entrance and curling. “Fuck you.” Reluctantly, you began to bob your head, chest straining against the ropes to suck as far down as you could. Masky was cocky, a smug expression in his eyes as he watched you slide down as far as you could before choking and retreating. You slipped your tongue around his head, lapping at the precum that pooled out. The tongue in your cunt made it hard to focus, little whines and moans vibrating on the cock in your mouth as your pleasure grew. 

This was all kinds of insane, but your resolve was slowly breaking the further Hoodie’s tongue lapped up into your cunt. You huffed, sucking hard against the head of Masky’s cock and trying your best not to gag. He watched, unamused, very different from the grunts and gasps that Hoodie sported earlier. “You can either gag on it, or I’ll make you. I won’t be as nice as my friend though.” He snarled, smacking you on the face lightly, leaving a little red mark. You huffed, Hoodie still eagerly eating you out, groaning as he fisted his cock between his legs. Reluctantly, you unhinged your sore jaw, your throat pleading not to as you pushed further, throat constricting as his head pushed through. Gagging, your eyes slammed shut, gripping the chair beneath you. Only then did Masky’s face contort, little grunts and huffs of air muffled behind his mask. His nails dug into his hips, shallowly thrusting without showing too much desperation. 

Your cunt was growing strained, Hoodie’s tongue poking and prodding and dragging you closer to your orgasm. Your back arched, choking on Masky’s cock as your orgasm rocked you, your hips desperately stuttering against Hoodie’s tongue. Your walls constricted, Masky shoving his cock deeper as you heard him grunting, warm seed shooting into your throat. It caught you off guard, but as your eyes rolled and cunt throbbed, you mindlessly swallowed the liquid. 

Hoodie pulled his tongue out of your cunt, standing quickly as he pulled a pocket knife out of his jeans. You panicked, fear contorting your face before realizing he was cutting your ropes off, them falling to the floor. “You’re gonna cum on my cock next, sweetheart,” Hoodie growled, gripping your arms and pulling you, hauling you to the couch behind you. You were still panting heavily as he sat on the couch, hauling you onto his lap and straddling his legs. Masky was quick to follow, his ragged pants behind you as he stood behind your back, pressing his chest against your shoulder blades. 

Trapped, Hoodie gripped your hips, cock throbbing under you as he angled himself, nudging his head against your clit. You flinched, sensitivity running through you as Masky ran his hands against your ass, gripping tightly and pulling them apart. Reaching around, he forced his fingers into your mouth, your tongue running over the thick digits. Hoodie gripped your hips down, pressing your entrance open with his thick cock, straining against your sensitive walls. You whined, stretching sharply as he pressed inside, moans stifled by the fingers in your mouth. Pulling back, Masky rubbed his wet fingers against your puckered asshole, your spine instantly straightening as you realized what he was doing.

“Oh, don’t get scared now,” He smiled, sliding the digits against your hole. You gripped Hoodie’s shoulders as he pressed inside, your cunt throbbing as he bottomed out, moaning sharply. At the same time, Masky pressed his middle finger inside of your asshole, a sharp sting ringing through your body. Hoodie pulled your hips up, thrusting you up and down against his length, your hands gripping tight on his shoulders. Masky curled his finger, probing and stretching the tight ring of flesh as he worked you open, soon adding another one. You were overwhelmed, the mix of pleasure and pain sending you reeling with moans, your skin hot to the touch.

“God, you’re so tight. Pussy sucking me in.” Hoodie huffed, nails sharp against your hips as Masky tugged your shirt over your head, free hand kneading your tits. You were whining, head spinning as Masky stretched you open, Hoodie filling you at the same time. “Bet you’ve never been fucked in the ass before, huh? Gonna have you screaming.” Masky cooed against your neck, mouthing against the skin as he fingered your asshole quickly. 

Pulling out, he nudged the cock head against your hole, gripping your waist as he slowly pushed. “Hold her.” He grunted at Hoodie who held you nestled on his cock, hands forcing you to bottom out as he twitched inside of you. As you felt the slow push, you began to squirm, hips jerking forward. Masky nipped at your neck, sliding his tongue up to the back of your ear and nibbling, groaning as the head of his cock pressed through your entrance and popped in, a sharp sting rining you. Crying out, Hoodie began to slowly thrust up again, huffing his pleasure as he watched your face contort. “Looks so good when you’re helpless.” He grunted, your hands gripping his hands around your hips and pulling, begging him to let off. He still held, teeth gritting.

Masky pressed slowly, cursing as your tight ass clamped down, offering him little room to thrust as he rutted against you. He was big, and the stretch was uncomfortable. But as he reached his hand around to rub your clit, your whines turned to strangled moans, Hoodie resuming his devastating pace. 

Before you knew it, they were both thrusting into you, your mixed grunts and gasps echoing through the small cabin. You were overwhelmed, jaw going slack as their hips thrust in time with each other, cocks brushing against the other inside of you. They pressed close against you, Masky’s teeth digging into your skin as his fingers rubbed harshly against your swollen cunt. “Relax, sweetheart, let us just ruin you.” He groaned, hips pressed flush against your plump ass and rutting up, making you whine. 

Their pace was ruining you, for sure. Your eyes roll and jaw slack as you grip tight, trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t breathe, air catching in your throat as you cracked a moan. You could feel yourself getting close again, Masky’s fingers working you just right. The sweet mix of pleasure and pain ruined you, gasping hard when Hoodie slammed your hips down. Their pace was becoming ragged as well, hips rutting against you as their groans grew heavy. “Go on, cum all over us, sweetheart.” You whined, their hips heavy and voices rough as you felt that familiar pull spill over. “Oh God, please-”

Your cunt constricted, clit throbbing under rough fingers as you screamed your orgasm. It was dizzying, both holes clamping down and throbbing around the thick lengths as they continued to pound you. Your sensitivity rocked you, hips squirming and tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to claw away from their still brutal pace. 

“Oh don’t go running now.” Hoodie huffed, lifting his hips off the couch and slamming inside, relishing in the way your tightness held him. They both grunted, Masky tangling his hand in your hair and slipping out of your ass, your loud whine making him curse. Hoodie was soon to follow, standing and throwing your back down on the couch, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder above you. You were panting, sweat coating your brow as you watched them fist their cocks in front of your face, their grunts and huffs echoing behind their masks. “Open up.” Masky barked, pressing his cock close to your face.

Fucked out, you obliged, too tired to give up a fight. They groaned, cock heads touching as they came on your flattened tongue, their seed striping across your face. You closed your eyes, squirming as the warm liquid coated your face and their moans became ragged. 

After they settled, your eyes were heavy, blinking calmly as they watched you. Hoodie slid over to the kitchen table, grabbed your camera and flipped it on, laughing as he snapped pictures. Your cheeks were dark, your face fucked out and tired as the flash blinded you. “Looks real good without cum all over you.” He smiled, stuffing his cock back in his jeans as Masky did the same. Masky grabbed your ragged shirt, huffing as he wiped your face clean, your tired eyes making him laugh. “I like you a lot better when your mouth isn’t running.”

You couldn’t be bothered to give a response, just slumping down further into the couch as sleepiness dozed you. The two men chuckled, watching closely as you finally slipped into a very vulnerable sleep.

-

When you stirred, the first thing you were met with was the forest floor, grass tickling your nose. It was light outside, the early morning light slightly blinding your tired eyes. You sat up, looking around quickly but sighing when there was no sign of the men or their freaky cabin. Your backpack was beside you, leaning against the barbed wire fence where you had entered the forest, your camera sat on top. Standing, you grabbed the camera, flipping it on as you quickly looked through the photos. 

You cringed as you looked at the lewd pictures of yourself, embarrassment crippling your face. You were thankful for their mercy, but their bruteness made you groan, your lower region still sore and throbbing. You threw your bag over your shoulders, hopping back over the fence as you made the trek back to your car.

You glanced back one final time, nervously scanning the forest edge, but sighing when you found nothing. 

You got more than you came for, but at least your portfolio would be good.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[gatorbites-imagines]

Daddy kink Wolverine x reader… just throwing that out there

Logan Howlett x Gambit variant male reader

Ficlet

Reader is a Gambit variant, cuz I love Gambit… I have no idea how to write accents though, so you’ll just have to imagine it. This isn’t as long as my other ficlets, but I just needed to get it out my system. There is also no outright written smut, but you guys will live.

Deadpool and wolverine spoilers ahead

Two Gambits was an experience, any member of your small resistance in the void could back said claim. Most of the time none of them could pick up on what you and Remy were talking about, since you both slid into your mother tongue on most occasions. Unlike Remy, you had had a life before being thrown into the Void. Apparently, you were only meant to be the horseman of death for a while before returning to the Gambit, but instead you had become one with this new part of yourself, meaning you needed to be gotten rid of.

Your life sense, as an avatar of death, was what let Laura find Wade and Logan so easily, and how you guys could avoid Nova and her folks as well. Seeing Logans disregard for Remy and the rest had just made you laugh, speaking in the same accented voice as Remy, making Wade make even more comments about dialect coaches and tongue twisting. The only tongue twisting you were gonna do, would have to be a bit more intimate though, your sentence ended with a short wink shot Logans way.

Maybe it was nostalgia that had you picking on Logan the night before your big surprise attack on Nova. The original Logan from your universe had never been an X-men either, not for long at least, but he had always been in your circles. It had led to multiple rolls in the hay together, so to speak, but in the end, he had even sided with the X-men to take you and the other horsemen down. Thinking back, you could never figure out if he was sad to see you go, but part of you were happy to see him finally looking comfortable by the x-men’s side.

You were both pleasantly buzzed when you crawled into his lap, throwing your long coat and headgear to the ground as you got comfortable. His hands were so rough and calloused on your hips, Logans voice deep and growly as you smirked down at him. Who would have thought that the wolverine would be into being called daddy. The moment the word left your lips, just to be a tease about it, his pupils seemed to blow wide open and before you knew it, you found yourself on your back.

Grumbles of Cajun French left you as Logan ripped through your pants with that inhumane strength of his, looking half feral with that sneer on his lips. The ferocity lessened when that title left your lips again, hands settled on his sideburns as you murmured out accented begs, soft “daddy, daddy, daddy” passing your lips.

With how wild Logan had been acting in the beginning, you honestly thought hed fuck you like he hated you, like you were just stress relief. But to your shock, it became something more akin to lovemaking. Sure, he gripped your hips hard enough to leave dark bruises, and covered your neck and shoulders in enough hickeys to make even Remy blush, but he was surprisingly soft.

And every time that word left your lips, Logan just seemed to melt into it more and more, his usual growling and snarling more akin to a deep rumbled purr against your chin as he moved you as he pleased. It was so intimate, you almost teared up, and that soft almost vulnerable look on Logans face made you think maybe he felt that way too. He kissed like you were something special and precious instead of just another partner to warm his bed, something you had so rarely felt before.

Slumped together and spent made you wonder if this meant anything at all. Or were you two just fellow broken souls who’d lost everything and everybody, and who could only find comfort in another just as shattered person. Feeling Logans arms around you made you at least want to survive and see, who knew, maybe there was space for another Gambit wherever Logan was gonna go after this.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔉𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Mike had always liked a challenge, but you were downright impossible. Reckless, sharp-tongued and way too eager to throw yourself into danger. Half the time, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you. But after one stunt too many, he decided he’d had enough. If you weren’t gonna listen to reason, maybe he’d just have to teach you some other way

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Enemies/Friends to lovers. Love confession. Lots of remarks. Make out session. Lots of dirty talk. Brat tamer Mike Munroe. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Hate sex. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5000 words

The sanatorium smelled of rot and blood, the air so thick with decay it felt like it could clog your throat. Every step echoed in the hollow corridors.

Mike Munroe had always thought he'd seen the worst of it with the mines and those wendigos clawing at the edges of his sanity but nothing compared to the sheer insanity of trying to keep you alive.

He knew you were reckless, borderline suicidal in your determination to protect him, and it pissed him off to no end, brown eyes fixed on you with a burning kind of anger that only came from sheer terror.

Mike stayed on your heels, his shotgun cradled in white-knuckled hands while you pushed forward even as caged wendigos rattled their bars and clawed at the air mere inches from your skin. That same reckless confidence Mike had come to admire and despise in equal measure.

"Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down," Mike hissed, his voice low but sharp. "You think those things can't get to you if you're strutting like that?"

"Relax," you shot back without turning to look at him, your voice dripping with that trademark sarcasm he'd grown to loathe in moments like this. "They're behind bars."

"Don't fucking tempt fate," he snapped, his teeth grinding. He hated how casually you brushed off danger. It was the kind of arrogance that made his blood boil and his stomach churn with worry all at once.

As if on cue, a skeletal arm shot through the bars to your right, claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. You flinched, sidestepping the swipe with a quick motion.

Another wendigo near the end of the row lunged, its claws stretching impossibly far through the bars. Mike moved before you could react, slamming you against the opposite wall with one hand as the shotgun exploded in the other. The blast silenced the wendigo's screech, its emaciated body crumpling behind the cage.

"Stay the fuck behind me," he barked, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. His face was inches from yours, streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes wild.

"Just once, could you do what I say without arguing?"

"You should try trusting me sometime and let me help you out." There was a sharp gleam in your eyes as you grinned despite the adrenaline tearing through your veins.

"Help?" He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the dark. "The only thing you've helped with is shaving years off my lifespan."

"Aw, you care." Your grin was maddening, a cocky tilt to your head that sent a jolt of something sharp and hot through his chest.

Mike let out a frustrated growl, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscles working beneath his skin.

Another wendigo lunged, this one on his blind side. Time seemed to slow as its claws arced toward his neck, the jagged edges glinting in the dim light.

Without thinking, you moved.

Your body slammed into his, shoving him out of the way as you raised your arm to block the swipe. Pain exploded across your forearm as the claws raked deep, hot blood spilling down your sleeve. Mike spun around, his voice a roar of panic before the shotgun fired again, the recoil jolting his entire body as the wendigo flew back into the cage with a sickening crunch. He caught you before you could hit the floor, his hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes scanned the deep gashes marring your arm.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled, his voice shaking with equal parts fury and fear.

You winced, blood seeping from the fresh gash in your side but the corner of your mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Saving your life. It worked, didn't it?"

"Saved my—" His voice broke off as his fingers tightened on your arms, his knuckles white. "You're bleeding all over the goddamn place!”

The wendigos in the cages shrieked louder, their skeletal bodies throwing themselves against the bars, the metal groaning under the weight of their emancipated bodies. Mike hauled you to your feet, his grip firm as he dragged you toward the end of the hall.

The door loomed ahead, heavy and rusted, the handle worn smooth by time. You threw your weight against it, your injured arm screaming in protest as Mike fired another shot behind you.

The door groaned and gave away with a metallic screech and you stumbled inside, turning just in time to see Mike fire point-blank into a wendigo lunging at him. You grabbed a rusted metal barrel and hurled it into the hall, the clang echoing ominously as it rolled toward the wendigos.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Mike yelled, his voice raw. He blasted the wendigo mid-lunge, the creature's body crumpling far away.

"Stop yelling at me and shoot it already!" you snapped back, your voice sharp and biting.

Mike's fury boiled over, his hands shaking as he leveled the shotgun at the barrel and fired. The explosion lit up the hallway, the shockwave knocking you both backward as flames roared through the air.

He grabbed you, pulling you against him as debris rained down, his body shielding yours from the worst of it. The door slammed shut behind you with a metallic clang.

Smoke was still thick in the air as you tore a piece of the blood-soaked fabric from your shirt, grimacing as you tied it around the gash on your arm. It wasn't clean, but it was tight, and that was good enough. You let out a hiss as you cinched the knot, the pain sharp but grounding.

Mike didn't wait, by the time you were done self-patching yourself, he was already halfway to the stairs, shoulders rigid as his boots pounded against the cracked stone.

He hadn't said a word or even looked at you yet.

And that bothered you.

Jogging after him, you couldn't help yourself, words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even think.

“You’ve got a weird way of showing gratitude. Most people would say, ‘Hey, thanks for saving me from getting my throat slit.’ But nah, you just throw me around like a ragdoll and storm off. Nice touch. Real alpha male energy.”

He didn't stop. He didn't even turn his head. But you caught the slight twitch of his jaw and the way his grip on the shotgun tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose and started up the stairs without answering.

You fell into step behind him, your boots scuffing against the stone as you kept talking.

"I see," you said, following close behind. "The silent treatment. Classic. Very mature, Mike."

Still nothing. His boots struck the stone harder now, each step louder than the last. You weren't sure if he was trying to drown you out or if he just couldn't control his frustration anymore.

"I thought we were bonding," you added, your voice dripping with mock disappointment as you kept poking the bear. "You know, saving each other's asses, fighting off horrifying monsters, sharing life-and-death moments. I guess I misread the vibe."

His hand flexed on the shotgun, his knuckles pale, fingers twitching like he was imagining gripping something else entirely.

"You’re mad because I stole your big heroic moment? Is that it? Did I hurt your fragile ego, Munroe? Did I make you feel—"

"Shut the fuck up."

The words hit you like a freight train, his voice booming in the confined space of the stairwell and so heavy with barely-contained anger that it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The stairs creaked underfoot with each step. The weight of his silence grated against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Great," you muttered under your breath, stepping into a small, dimly lit room of the hall.

The room was as lifeless as the rest of the sanatorium, its walls cracked and stained with years of neglect. A battered table sat in the corner, its surface cloaked in a thick layer of dust. On top of it, a chessboard lay abandoned, its pieces scattered and forgotten.

Drawn by a flicker of curiosity, you approached the table, running a finger over the dusty edge. The chessboard was frozen mid-game, the moves etched into time like a fossilized memory. You reached for a lone figure, its surface cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. A simple figure of a man that had nothing to do with chess.

You turned it over in your hand, your mind wandering as you considered the lives that had once filled this place before the experiments and the monstrous transformations.

Deliberate and slow footsteps broke through your thoughts. You glanced toward the doorway, catching sight of Mike as he stepped into the room. He didn't speak, didn't meet your eyes. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, shotgun dangling loosely in one hand.

You turned back to the figure, rolling it between your fingers. His childish suiking had stretched thin your patience. If he wanted to sulk, fine. You weren't about to beg for his attention. Two could play at the silent game.

You set the chess piece back down, brushing the dust from your fingers, and let out a quiet huff.

Hell of a place to get all broody.

The sudden, jarring clang of his shotgun landing on the corner of the table startled you, and you barely had time to turn before his hands were on you.

Strong, calloused fingers gripped your arms with bruising force and yanked you forward, forcing you against the edge of the table. Your palms slapped the surface, the chess piece clattering away as Mike's grip held you firmly in place. His chest pressed against your back and you could feel his hot, sharp, and furious breath tickling the shell of your ear.

"Mike, what the fuck?" you spat, twisting against his hold, but he didn't budge.

"What the fuck am I doing?" His voice was low, dangerous, trembling with barely contained fury. "No, the real question is what the fuck you think you're doing. Do you have any idea how done I am with your shit?"

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. "Oh, I don't know," you shot back, your tone sharp despite the position you were in. "Maybe you could enlighten me, since you've been sulking like a toddler for the past ten minutes."

Mike chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. "Still got that smart mouth, huh? Not surprising. You never know when to shut the fuck up."

You bristled at his tone, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "And you never know when to quit being an asshole. Guess we're even."

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your arms just enough to make you wince.

"No, we're not even," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Not by a long shot. You've been pushing me all night, running your mouth and throwing yourself into danger like you've got a death wish. I've had enough."

"Yeah?" you snapped, your voice rising in defiance. "Maybe if you stopped treating me like I'm some helpless fucking kid, I wouldn't have to keep proving I can handle myself."

His laugh was sharp and bitter, and you could feel the tension in his body as he pressed you harder against the table. "You call that handling yourself? That's being a reckless, selfish little shit."

"Selfish?" You twisted in his grip, ignoring the ache in your arms. "I was trying to save you, you ungrateful asshole! Or did you forget about the fucking wendigo that was about to rip your head off?"

"Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process!" he shot back, his voice cracking with the force of his anger. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you throw yourself in front of that thing, knowing I couldn't stop you? Knowing that if you got yourself killed, it'd be on me?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

You refused to let his words or presence get under your skin. He wasn’t going to win. Not like this.

"So that's what this is about?" you said, your voice laced with defiance. "You can't handle the fact that someone might actually give a shit about you?"

Mike's breath hitched and for a split second, you thought you'd gotten to him. But then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"No," he said, his lips brushed against your ear, breath hot and heavy. "This is about you learning your fucking place. Right here," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding. "Under me. Doing what I say. Got it?"

The weight of Mike's chest pressed down on your back, his breath hot against the nape of your neck.

And then you felt it.

Thick, hard, and unmistakable, his bulge strained against the denim of his jeans, pressing firmly against your ass as he leaned in further.

Heat rushed through you, blood pumping straight to your dick, shame and arousal twisting into one unbearable, molten thing in your gut, your traitorous body reacting before your brain could catch up.

Mike let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into your spine. "Where's all that attitude now? One little touch and you go quiet on me? Didn't think it'd take this little to shut you up." he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough, husky whisper.

You hissed through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly as the warmth of his words washed over you. "Fuck you," you spat, your voice cracking slightly as you twisted beneath him.

His laugh came again, rougher this time, edged with something darker. "Fuck me?" he repeated mockingly, pressing his hips forward to grind his bulge against you, the friction sending a jolt through your body. "That's not how this is gonna work, sweetheart. I'm the one calling the shots here."

He yanked you forward and slammed your face flush against the cold table, bending you down perfectly for him. One strong hand threading roughly through your hair, keeping your head pressed down while his other hand splayed firmly against the small of your back, holding you in place. Your legs were spread wide, his own body pressed hard against you, pinning you down with no room to squirm.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But your silence only seemed to spur him on.

"Look at you,” he growled, voice dropping to a taunting whisper as he leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "All pinned down and squirming under me. Not so tough now, are you?"

"Fuck off," you managed, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

"You always have to fight, don't you? Ain't moving 'til I say so.”

Heat curled through you. Fucking traitorous heat, searing low in your gut, burning through your veins.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every word. "Always have. Right from the start."

Your jaw clenched. "Too bad I can't say the same—"

"Oh, bullshit. You think I don't see the way you look at me?" His voice was taunting now, fingers curling tighter around your wrists, his hips grinding forward to make you fucking feel him. "Always running your mouth, always pushing me, but I see the way your eyes linger when you think I'm not looking. Fuck if it didn't make me want you even more."

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your heart was pounding now from excitement as he yanked your pants down, breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he exposed you completely to him and you gave no struggle or resistance.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his tone dangerous as he leaned in even closer, the firm press of his cock unmistakable through the rough fabric of his jeans. "I can feel how you’re getting hard while I've got you pinned to a fucking table. You've been dying for this, haven't you? I bet you love seeing me all worked up, ready to lose my goddamn mind over you."

His body pressed closer, his lips brushed just against your skin. "You never fucking stop. Never back down. Always have to prove you're the toughest son of a bitch in the room and I fucking love that about you."

You shivered beneath him, your resolve wavering as his hand slid lower, squeezing your ass.

A sharp slap landed across your ass, the sting of it sending a bolt of heat straight through you. You jerked against the table, your breath coming out ragged, but Mike just chuckled, dragging his hand back up to squeeze the reddening skin.

You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Every time you talked back to me and got in my face like you had something to prove, I wanted to shove you down on your knees and see just how mouthy you'd be with my dick filling that bratty little mouth of yours."

Your breath caught, fingers tightening against the table. "You talk a big game," you ground out, jaw tight despite the heat pulsing through you, "but I don't see you doing shit."

Mike's grip on your hair tightened, yanking your head back just enough to force a gasp from your lips.

"You wanna test me, sweetheart?" His voice was low and dangerous, burning with something feral. "You really wanna see what happens when you push me too far?"

You bit back a gasp, biting your lower lip so hard it nearly split, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your surrender.

"You can grit your teeth and keep that stubborn mouth shut, but your body's already telling me everything I need to know." His voice was a gravelly purr, rich with mockery as his lips skimmed the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You shivered involuntarily as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of your throat, sharp enough to threaten but not to pierce.

Whatever snotty remark you have been about to spew vanished as he spits into his hand, the slick sound loud in the stillness of the room, followed by the warm, wet press of his fingers against your entrance. He didn't rush, didn't ease up; he worked his first finger in with a slow, steady pressure, curling it just enough to make you shudder.

"Shit," you hissed, your hands clawing at the edge of the table as he added a second finger, scissoring his fingers with a ruthless precision. Each twist and deliberate press of his fingers sent jolts of white-hot pleasure up your spine, your breath coming faster as you struggled to hold onto the last threads of your resistance.

"You feel that? That's what happens when you stop running your mouth and start letting me take care of things." Mike murmured, his voice a rough, husky growl as he watched you squirm.

"You're... such a cocky bastard," you bit out, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you.

"And you fucking love it," he shot back, his fingers curling and dragging a moan from your throat that you couldn't quite suppress. His smirk widened, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he added a third finger, stretching you further. "There it is. Knew I'd get you to make those pretty sounds for me."

You gasped, your back arching involuntarily as he pressed deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck—Mike—"

"Say it," he growled, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as his fingers continued their relentless assault. "Say you need me. Say you want me to wreck you."

"Fuck you," you spat, though the tremor in your voice robbed the words of their intended bite.

He chuckled smugly, withdrawing his fingers abruptly, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. Mike's breath was a ragged growl against your shoulder, his weight pinning you flush against the weathered table as his hands worked deftly to undo his belt.

The sound of his zipper being undone was the only warning you got before you felt the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, circling it teasingly.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Do it," you growled, the desperation in your voice making him chuckle as he kept l the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

"Not until you say it," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against your neck. "Tell me what you want."

Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into the table as he pressed forward just enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, Mike—just fuck me already."

"That's more like it," he said, his voice a rough growl as he thrust into you in one smooth motion, the head of his cock breaching you until he buried himself to the hilt. The stretch was overwhelming, a sharp, burning heat that stole the breath from your lungs, but the groan that tore from his throat was pure satisfaction.

"Jesus," he muttered, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he held you there, unmoving, his cock pulsing deep inside you.

You couldn't muster a response. Not when he started to move, his hips snapping against you in a slow, punishing rhythm that left you gasping for air. His grip on your hips was bruising as he set the pace, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure and pain crashing through you.

Mike wasn't one to let you off easy, his hand sliding around to grip your throat, pulling you upright as he drove into you harder, deeper.

"Admit you've been begging for this. Admit you fucking love it." He demanded, his voice a rough growl against your ear.

"Mike," you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder as he tightened his grip, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Fuck, I—“

He growled, his teeth sinking into the curve of your neck as his hand slid lower, wrapping around your cock and stroking you in time with his thrusts.

His rhythm growing erratic as he chased his release.

You were trembling, the peak of pleasure hanging just out of reach, so close it burned, and yet he had stopped abruptly.

The noise you made was involuntary, a ragged, guttural sound of frustration ripped from deep within you. It echoed off the room's peeling walls, cutting through the heavy air as Mike's hand stilled against your cock, robbing you of the release you were so desperately chasing. Your sweat-slicked body trembled with need as he brushed his fingers lazily over your cock, deliberately avoiding giving you anything substantial.

He fucking loved it.

He stood behind you, chest heaving, his cock still buried deep inside you as he tilted his head to watch you squirm. The smirk that spread across his face was infuriating, brimming with that maddening mix of smugness and satisfaction that only he could pull off. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" he drawled, his tone dripping with mock concern as he leaned over you, his breath brushing hot against your ear.

You didn't answer, didn't trust yourself to speak without giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead, you clenched your fists against the table, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you fought to suppress the whimper building in your throat.

He pulled out slowly, the drag of his cock enough to make your breath hitch. And then, he flipped you over. His hands snaked down, strong fingers sliding beneath your legs as he hoisted you up with ease. You barely had time to brace yourself before he slammed you back down onto the table, the impact making your body jolt.

The move left your legs spread wide, his hips slotting perfectly between them as he leaned down, his body pressing against yours. The heat of his cock dragged against yours as he shifted closer until there was no space left between you.

His gaze raked over your face. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, those sharp, defiant eyes still burning with the need to fight him. Christ, you were fucking perfect like this, all wrecked and ruined because of him.

"You look good like this," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his lips hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. His fingers tightened their grip on your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "All this, just from me." His smirk widened. "And you still wanna act like you don't love it."

You opened your mouth to snap something back but before you could, Mike surged forward, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, his body pressing down against yours as he devoured you. His tongue pushed into your mouth, sweeping into your mouth with an eagerness that bordered on frantic while tilting our head to deepen the kiss even further.

He tasted like salt and sweat. Every time you tried to catch your breath, to regain some semblance of control, he pushed harder, pulling another whimper or gasp from your throat.

His cock pressed against yours, hot and slick with the mess of earlier, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He moved his hips deliberately, grinding against you as his tongue slid against yours.

You couldn't stop the moan that slipped from your lips, muffled against his mouth and the sound made him groan, low and guttural, his fingers tightening against your skin.

His palms dragged over broad shoulders and down your torso, memorizing every inch of you as he kissed you, his touch firm and possessive.

The heat between you was unbearable now, a steady, relentless build that left you trembling against him. Mike pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and burning as they raked over your face. Your lips were swollen and shiny, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

His hips rolled forward, dragging his cock against yours, the friction making you gasp. He swallowed the sound with another kiss, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting them just enough to shift you higher on the table and wrap them around his waist. He lined himself up almost immediately and sank back inside in one smooth thrust.

You choked on a moan, your back arching off the table as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, that's good," Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours for a second, his breath hot and uneven. "Goddamn, you feel—" He cut himself off with a sharp thrust, making you cry out, your nails digging into his back. "Yeah, that's what I wanna hear.”

He started moving again, dragging out every inch before stamming back in, making sure you felt every bit of him. His hands gripped your hips, forcing you to take it, to feel just how deep he was inside you.

His pace was brutal, each thrust sending you sliding up the table, the wood groaning under the force of it. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open as he fucked into you without mercy. The pleasure was overwhelming, hot and unbearable, coiling low in your stomach, threatening to snap at any second.

"You're mine," he growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw as he drove into you harder. "Say it."

You clenched your jaw, refusing.

Mike clicked his tongue, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand wrapped around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, dragging you closer, closer, until you were right there, teetering on the edge just like minutes ago.

"Say it," he ordered again, his grip tightening, his pace relentless. "Tell me you're mine, or I swear to God, I'll stop right fucking now."

The threat sent a fresh wave of desperation through you, and you hated him for how easily he could break you down, how much you needed him to just keep fucking moving.

"I'm yours," you finally rasped, the words torn from your throat, raw and wrecked. "You fucking own me! Just don't fucking stop."

The words shattered something inside him. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips snapping against yours in an erratic, desperate rhythm as he buried himself deep.

With a strangled cry, you came undone, your body trembling as you spilled over his hand. Mike groaned, his pace faltering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came with a guttural moan, his lips crashing against yours in a messy, desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sound in the room, the ragged panting of your breaths as Mike held you close, his forehead resting against yours. And then, with a soft, breathless laugh, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning in full force as he brushed a thumb over your flushed cheek.

The scent of sweat and spent adrenaline thick between you. Mike was still inside you, pressed close with his breath ghosting over your lips in shallow, uneven pants. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb tracing absent patterns over the flushed skin.

Your body ached, the kind of deep, satisfied soreness that came from being well and thoroughly wrecked. Your fingers twitched against his shoulder, nails grazing over the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

You let out a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. "Jesus, Mike..." Your voice was hoarse, wrecked, and your lips throbbed from how hard he'd kissed you.

Mike huffed out a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. "Yeah," he muttered. "Jesus."

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, filled only by the slowing rhythm of your breaths. Neither of you moved to untangle from the other, and you weren't sure if it was because of the exhaustion sinking into your bones or something else neither of you wanted to admit out loud.

Mike was the first to shift, his hands sliding down to your thighs before gripping the underside of your knees, pushing them wider as he slowly pulled out of you. A sharp gasp ripped from your throat at the overstimulation, your body protesting even as you shivered at the loss of him.

He stood there between your legs, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs, fingers ghosting over bruises and marks he'd left.

A thick silence stretched between you before he finally lifted his gaze, his jaw tightening. "You good?"

You scoffed, though your voice was weak. "You asking 'cause you care, or 'cause you're wondering if I'm up for round two?"

Mike's smirk was slow, dangerous, his fingers flexed on your thighs, digging in just enough to make you squirm. "You're already that desperate for more?" His voice was husky, dripping with mockery, but the way his pupils dilated told you he wasn't opposed to the idea.

You grinned, reckless as ever, despite the exhaustion in your limbs. "Depends. You think you can keep up? I think I can still feel your pulse in my ass, Munroe."

Mike's smirk widened, but instead of answering, he surged forward, crashing his lips against yours with a force that nearly sent you sprawling back onto the table as he tilted your head back and took control, his tongue pushing past your lips with a filthy, hungry growl.

He licked deep, savoring the heat of you, the lingering taste of salt and adrenaline. The kiss was all messy and wet, his teeth scraping against your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, nipping just hard enough to make you groan.

Your body was weak, barely able to keep up, and he knew it. He could feel the way your limbs trembled and fuck, he reveled in it.

His hand slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you flush against him again, your spent body molding into his as he took everything he wanted.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat again, his breath hot and heavy as he dragged his teeth along your skin, scraping over your pulse point before sucking a deep, bruising mark onto your skin.

Your head was spinning, your body burning, and all you could do was whimper as he pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his thumb swiping over your swollen bottom lip.

You exhaled heavily, trying to gather whatever strength you had left. But when you went to slide off the table, your legs nearly gave out beneath you, and Mike fucking laughed.

"Can't even stand up straight, huh?" He crossed his arms, watching you with pure, infuriating amusement as you clutched the table for support.

You shot him a glare, but your legs were shaking, your body still wrecked from earlier. "I can walk."

Mike cocked a brow, that shit-eating smirk still plastered on his face. "You sure? 'Cause it looks like I might have fucked you so good you forgot how."

"Shut the hell up.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to grab your arm.

As you limped beside him, Mike leaned in close, voice a low murmur against your ear. "Bet you'll be feelin' that for a while."

You clenched your jaw. "Don't flatter yourself."

Mike just laughed again, shaking his head. "Too late, sweetheart."

And as you made your way back into the darkened halls of the sanatorium, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren't getting rid of him anytime soon.

[chrissturnsfav]

rapper!chris and singer!reader making a sex tape????

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader make a movie

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is more of a one shot, so it's a bit longer than my usual blurbs :)

you’re wrapped up in one of chris’ stupidly soft throw blankets, half-watching some movie in his king size bed while he lays behind you, one arm draped over your waist, his other hand busy tracing circles on your inner thigh like he’s trying to distract you.

and it’s working.

“yo,” he murmurs, voice low, lips close to your ear. “i just thought of somethin’ wild.”

you already know it’s about to be some bullshit. you sigh. “what?”

chris' hand drifts higher on your thigh, making your skin tingle just a bit. “we should make a movie.”

your brows pull together, slightly confused. “what kind of movie?”

his lips brush against your jaw as he laughs, deep and knowing. “baby. what kinda movie you think?”

your whole body tenses when you realize what he's talking about, and you whip around to face him, wide-eyed. “chris.”

chris grins, lazy and cocky, dragging his fingers slow up your thigh, under your oversized sleep shirt. “what?”

“you are not serious.”

he laughs, tone full and deep, like your words are the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “nah, i’m deadass, though. think about it—just for us. lil’ private movie. you know i’d shoot that shit like a masterpiece.”

you scoff, heat crawling up your neck at his lewd proposal. “you’re crazy.”

“nah, i just know a good idea when i have one.” his fingers slip under the hem of your tiny cotton shorts, just barely. “think about it, baby. you under me, lookin’ all pretty, takin’ me so fuckin’ good. shit, you already moan like a pornstar—”

“chris.” you smack his chest, face burning as you let out a nervous laugh.

he just laughs again, catching your wrist and pulling you in until you’re on your back, pinned beneath him. “what? you know i’m right.”

“no, you’re just nasty,” you huff, frowning up at him, though you can't ignore the slick dampening in your panties.

chris smirks, licking his lips as he looks down at you. “well, you like that shit.”

you glare at him, but your breath hitches when he dips down, dragging his lips over your throat, his hands settling low on your hips. “c’mon, ma,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “s'just for us.”

“chris…” you start, but it’s weak, your body already betraying you as you slowly start giving in.

chris smirks against your skin, nipping at your jaw. “you gonna say no when i got you breathin’ like this?” he hums, biting his bottom lip through a smirk before leaning down to capture your lips in a hard kiss.

his hands are everywhere as he kisses you—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, fingers teasing under your shirt, lips sucking at your bottom lip. “mm,” he hums against your lips, pulling back just enough to smirk. “see? you already feelin’ it.”

you glare at him, trying to catch your breath. “shut up.”

he laughs, deep and cocky, before pressing his mouth to your neck again, sucking just enough to make your body tense. “nah, but for real, baby. imagine how hot you gonna look on camera.”

chris' hands keep moving, fingertips brushing under your shirt, tracing the edge of your panties. “i don’t know…” you mumble, your voice is weak, your body betraying you.

he pulls back, eyes dark, licking his lips like he’s already picturing it. “what you mean you don’t know?” he scoffs. “nah, see, if i turn that camera on right now, you not gonna act shy. you gonna do exactly what you do every time—lay there all pretty, takin’ every inch like you were made for it.”

your breath hitches, legs squeezing together automatically, but he notices. of course, he notices. his grin stretches, hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart. “ohhh, look at you,” he teases, dipping down to nip at your bottom lip after catching a glimpse of the sticky nectar seeping through your shorts. “see? you wet as fuck just thinkin' about it.”

you try to look away, but he grabs your chin, making you face him. “uh-uh, don’t get shy now, ma. you wanna be a star or what?”

your heart is pounding, face hot, thighs trembling under his touch. “i…”

“mm?” chris hums, tilting his head, his voice a bit softer now as he gently takes your chin between his fingers. “what, mama? tell me you don’t want it, and i’ll drop it.”

you don’t answer right away, just staring up at him, caught between hesitation and the way your body reacts to him. until you finally speak, low and trusting, “i do want it...”

his smirk deepens, but there’s something else in his eyes now—something darker, hungrier. his grip on your chin tightens just slightly, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “yeah? say it again, baby.”

you swallow, pulse racing, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you as your cheeks turn pink when he leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand. “i want it…”

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he exhales through his nose deeply. “that’s my girl,” he murmurs, leaning in, pressing his lips against yours—slow at first, savoring your sweet taste, then deeper, rougher.

his phone is still in his hand, the weight of it heavy against your thigh as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “lemme get it set up,” he says, shifting to sit back against the headboard. “c'mere.”

you hesitate for half a second before you move, climbing onto chris' lap, hands settling against his chest. his chain is cool against your fingertips, his skin warm underneath. he tilts his head, watching you. “still shy?”

you bite your lip, nodding just a little.

he chuckles, dragging a hand up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck. “don’t be, baby. s'just me. just us.”

the reassurance settles in your chest, melting away the hesitation, leaving only the anticipation thrumming through your body. chris picks up his phone from beside you, swiping through settings, adjusting the angle. “damn, you look so fuckin’ good like this,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers against your hip. “bet you gonna look even better when you start ridin’ me.”

and you do. just moments, later, your shorts are thrown to the floor, wet panties pulled to the side. chris' sweatpants and boxers are resting mid-thigh, your pussy hovering over his lengthy cock, gripping his shoulders for leverage.

his phone is barely settled before he grabs your ass with his free hand, pulling you flush against him. “c’mon, ma,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, “show out for me.”

you swallow hard, pulse racing, but your body moves on instinct—hands pressed against his chest as you adjust your position, sinking down onto him slow.

“fuck,” he groans, head falling back for a second before he looks up at you, eyes dark, focused, phone in one hand, the other gripping your waist, guiding your movements on his dick, the lewd wet squelches making your brain fog almost instantly. “look at my girl… takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

you bite your lip, brows furrowed in pleasure, but he catches your chin, forcing your gaze on his. “nah, don’t get shy now,” he rasps, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “you wanted it, right? lemme hear you.”

a whimper escapes before you can stop it, and his smirk returns, fingers digging into your hips as he urges you to move faster. “yeah, that’s what i like,” he murmurs, low and approving, watching you bounce on him through hooded eyes, each clap! of your ass piercing his ears. “gonna make sure you see how pretty you look losin’ it for me.”

“m-mmff...” you moan, all pretty through parted lips, fingers curling around the collar of his hoodie as your eyes flit down to where your pussy sucks him in with each slam of your hips.

chris watches your gaze with a cocky smile, panning the phone down to where your bodies connect, “keep watchin'” he instructs breathily. “want you watchin' the way i slip in 'n out so easily.”

you keep your eyes fixed there like he said, breathing heavy, soft breaths as your mouth falls a bit more open as mewls and whimpers escape, nails digging into his hoodie-clad shoulders.

“mmm,” chris grunts lowly, biting his bottom lip through a smirk, fingers kneading the flesh of his ass as he moves the camera up to your face, “good girl...pretty girl ridin' me like that, takin' it so well.”

“chr-chris...” you gasp softly, your eyes watering and rolling back when he hits that spot deep inside you, his pink tip stroking your g-spot so deliciously.

chris hums in satisfaction beneath you, his smirk widening as he slaps your ass, making you let out a quiet squeal as he keeps the camera on your face that grows fucked out, “hittin' that spot, huh?”

you babble out an incoherent response, hissing in ecstasy through your teeth as he continues hitting that spot, making you ride him even faster, already getting close. your soft walls clamp around his cock as it disappears in and out of you, the all too familiar tight coil brewing in your stomach, a loud mewl slipping from your lips.

“oh fuck,” chris grunts, hissing through his teeth before letting out a breathy chuckle, “damn she already close.” his hand moves to pluck up your t-shirt, thumbing at your hard nipples and moving the camera down to your tits that bounce. “pretty tits, pretty pussy, pretty face, just fuckin' perfect f'me.”

“a-ah...ah!” you whimper shakily, your movements growing sloppy and erratic on his cock, your slick drooling down him when your walls squeeze him tighter, eyes rolling back and vision clouded with euphoric tears as your head spins.

“yeah, cum f'me,” chris growls beneath you, squeezing your tit in his free hand, camera panning up to your fucked out face, “show everyone how much you fuckin' love my cock.”

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @dvinesturn , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee , @whore4mattsturniolo , @tezzzzzzzz , @corspebridedelrey , @softhyunieeee , @sturn1oh0

@chrissturnsfav ™

[bump1nthen1ght]

Attention To Detail Part Two (M!Demon x M!Cosplayer!Reader)

Pairing: Male!Demon x Male!Cosplayer!Reader

Genre: Fluff to Smut, Chance Meetings, Porn with a little Plot

Chapter Summary: After your mysterious meeting that halloween and fruitless searching, you'd accepted that you would probably never meet that handsome cosplayer again. Left with only a fake name and a costume, Galvith might as well have not existed at all. Little did you know, all it takes is another party and another costume to draw you two back together.

Warnings: Explicit Content Under the Cut (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 3869 words

Part 1

A/N: The long awaited part two is here! I originally didn't have plans to continue this piece, content with where it left off. But given how much people enjoyed the first part, I found myself occasionally coming back to this concept and wondering where to go next. I probably started and stopped this second time almost ten times, never happy with how it was coming out. But after a sudden bout of inspiration I found myself outlining this and writing it all in a weeks time. Given my usual writing schedule, that's lightning fast lol. Hope y'all enjoy! Now, on to the shameless smut <3

 God, my head hurts.

It’s a common thought one has in a nightclub. Pounding music, screaming people, flashing lights; The perfect recipe for a sensory nightmare. Combine that with sweat slowly dehydrating you, the slight buzz from the jello shots you threw back with friends, it's no wonder your head throbs. It's the one time you regret going hard for your costume, even if it's quickly swept away by your artistic pride. From the glimpses you get from the grungy, paint splattered mirrors littering this too-cramped club’s walls, you can tell you look good.

Your and your friends had decided to go as a group of angels, with very different final results. Some had gone with typical halloween angels, simple white clothes and wings and a halo. Others had gone farther out and went as Victoria Secret Angels, with fancy lingeries and flared shoulder pieces, evoking wings rather than having them outright. You met it somewhere in the middle: More costume-like than the Victoria Secret ones, but more slutty than the halloween ones. Your white toga was scandalously short, almost sweated through amongst all the dancing, but luckily you're body paint hadn’t smudged, the several faux eyes decorating your neck and collarbone still in detail enough to be recognized. But the real centerpiece was the headband, dedicatedly held in place by several bobby pins digging into your scalp, luckily still holding many of its intricate details You definitely went overboard with the thing, an uncomfortable weight amidst the thrashing of bodies. But you can’t regret wearing it, the fine detail on the wings and the gold accessories really pulling your outfit together. Without it you just look like a slutty roman gladiator, with it you resembled more the slutty “biblically accurate angel” that had inspired your look. The pictures from tonight were gonna look awesome.

The setting has you whole group feeling themselves, bumping and grinding both with each other and total strangers. The energy of the costume-night is electric, the comfortableness of their masks letting everyone run wild. It’s part of why you don’t shy away when a big pair of hands finds it way on your hips, denim pressing against your barely-clad backside. You revel in the breath that brushes across the back of your neck, the stranger so tall they have to bend around your headband to whisper into your ear.

“Posing as an angel, my incubus? How naughty.” The voice purrs, finally stopping you in your tracks.

No fucking way.

You whip around, heart pounding as your thoughts are confirmed, dark purple skin and bright yellow eyes.

“Galvith!” You squeal, almost drowned out by the pounding bass. You're quick to throw your arms around his shoulders, sink into his grip just like that fateful night those months ago. “Holy shit! I didn’t think you were still in town!”

You had been almost convinced he was a dream, if not for the several party-goers that corroborated the story of you making out with him on the dance floor. But none could confirm who he was, or even what his real name was. You had damn-near interrogated everyone in your friend group and beyond who had been there, even searched some niche roleplay websites with the name he had given you, and nothing. It had bummed you out immensely, chasing similar sensations with others in clubs not unlike this one, wondering if maybe you had unlocked a new part of yourself. But nothing compared to him, to that one night you almost spent together.

“I came back for you, sweetling. Just like I said I would.” Somehow that low voice of his cuts through the music, resonates straight into your ears. You melt under the attention, the way his eyes roll down your body making your skin burn.

“H-how’d you find me?” You ask, wondering if he had done the same thing as you, had searched for weeks, looking for his ‘little incubus.’

Galvith laughs, leaning into your cheek and sniffing.

“I followed that enticing little scent,” Galvith leans down and nips at the bottom of your earlobe, an electric shock running down your spine, “-I could never forget it.”

Galvith wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in, all questions thrown from your mind as he grinds a sizable bulge against your crotch. Even from behind denim you can feel it pulsing, can feel a tent pitch under your toga. God, you hope your friends are distracted with partners of their own, because the way you're throwing yourself at him right now is shameful.

“I-” your voice catches as Galvith writhes his hips in a circle, robbing you of sensible speech for a second, “-I couldn’t forget you either.” You bat your eyelashes, try to embody the sultry incubus you were that night, the confidence that had been instilled in you. It had carried in the days afterward, had inspired the very costume you’re wearing, and you refuse to let it falter now that he’s back. 

Galvith’s smile widens, those familiar costume fangs looking extra sharp tonight. Goosebumps pepper down your arms when his calloused hand runs across the exposed skin of your thigh. It finds its place right below your ass, fingers reaching under the fabric and squeezing. You swoon then and there, knees knocking together. It’s all on Galvith to hold you up, keep you pressed together, chest to chest. He leans in close, your noses touching.

“I didn’t get to finish what I started last time.” A long tongue, pierced, flicks out and wets his lips. “Let's fix that.”

—

Last year, you’d never have done this.

You were barely a club person already, the aforementioned suffocating noise and cramp of people only tolerable with the right group of friends and at max 3 times a year. Even tonight, the appeal of costumes had been the biggest draw. Yet here you are, making out with a man you’ve met twice, pressed as close as you can in this stuffy supplies closet. Here the bass barely penetrates, only the gentle murmur of people and the far away beats of the music. The only thing you can focus on is the smacking of lips, of your heavy breaths as Galvith steals the air right out of your lungs.

You two grind on each other like teenagers, like the only time you have must be spent in each other's skin, savoring all the affection you can give one another. Your cock aches, harder than it's ever been, a deep ache settling in your stomach. So horny you don’t even care how gross this closet is, how many people were probably here before, doing the exact same thing. 

“Always dressed so tempting, my little artist.” Galvith says in between sloppy kisses, “I must admit, I think this outfit might be my favorite.” He punctuates with another squeeze to your ass, toga hiked up over your hips, revealing your white boxers. Just as angelic as the rest of you.

“I thrifted it.” You pant, envious of how composed Galvith sounds compared to your quivering voice. “Five bucks.”

Galvith chuckles, a low sound that only tightens the knot in your abdomen. His lips graze yours, your breaths mingling.

“And this?” He flicks one of the many ornaments from your headband, still tucked in place on your head. You hesitate to take it off, not wanting to risk it being crushed or lost amidst your writhing bodies. Not to mention that with the amount of pins keeping it in place, removing it would take away precious time from making out. “It has your artistic flair, such elegant details.” The praise rolls down your spine like a drug, setting your senses tingling. “Though I do prefer you in more….demonic settings, dearest.”

One of Galvith’s hands knots on the base of your skull, yanks you into another kiss. His hips move rhythmically, your hands fumbling for his fly. You need him, you need him so bad.

“Ah, so desperate, sweet thing.” Galvith says, deftly undoing what your fumbling hands cannot. His bulge practically bursts from behind the zipper, cock almost see through against his black boxer briefs. The sight has your mouth watering, but before you can drop to your knees like a true incubus, Galvith reaches up your toga and wrenches down your underwear, the fabric stretching around your thighs as your hard cock thwaps against your stomach. You hardly have time to moan before Galvith is palming your balls, his long fingers nearly reaching your asshole. With a shuddering gasp you fall into his grip, his thumb now fondling your sack and squeezing. 

“F-fuck.” Your voice trembles, a pitiful whine coming from your chest when his hand leave you, even if just to hawk a glob of spit into it. The seconds feel too long, hips jumping to try and force your cock back in his hand, finally rewarded with his now slick grip wrapping around your shaft.

“You like that?” Galvith purrs, the voice of someone who knows you do. “So hot, incubus, I can feel your blood pulsing.” 

Galvith’s movements are slow as he glides up your cock, squeezing extra around reaches your head and rubbing his thumb along your slit. Gooey tracks of your precum follow it, connecting to his thumb pad like a spider’s web. The sounds it makes are sticky, the tell-tale slap as he jerks his hand back down ricocheting across your stomach like a thunder crack. “Ah!” Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip as Galvith starts moving faster, but not nearly fast enough. He seems to relish in the teasing, nostrils flaring as he looks down at you from under his eyelashes, tongue flitting out to rub across his lips. 

Pre-cum gushes over the small hole of his fist, splattering across the sides of his fingers. With what little coordination you have left, quickly leaving with each jerk of your cock, your fumbling hands reach for his own bulge. Palming it through the fabric, Galvith growls. What feels like hot steam blows out of his flared nostrils, his wrists speeding up, a little caught off guard.

Your fingers splay across his bulge, feeling for the head, a stain forming on the black fabric. You barely have a grip around it before Galvith is wrenching his hand off your cock and spinning you around, free hand pressing into your lower back and making it arch. He lets out another snarling breath against the back of your neck, the sound of shuffling fabric being pushed down to release his cock. You try to crane your neck back to see, so desperate to place an image to the monster you felt, but Galvith’s body quickly pins you against the closet wall, sweat making your cheek stick to the cool concrete.

“I fucking need you.” Galvith ends with a nip to your shoulder, his hot and thick cockhead pressing against your asshole. A shiver rolls down your spine, toes curling at just the anticipation.

“Then t-take me.” You pant, proud you’re still able to come up with dirty talk in your state.

A purr rumbles from Galvith’s chest. He pulls back a little bit just to spit some more, this time on your tight hole, spreading open your ass cheeks like it’s a birthday present. It tingles in a way you didn’t think possible, something akin to the numbing cream you’d get at the doctor’s. Once it’s been thoroughly rubbed in, Galvith leans closer and you both finally get what you’ve been craving for months.

When Galvith slips into you, all feels right in the world. You melt into his arms, cock bouncing against your stomach, his hot breath blowing past your cheeks as he sighs. Your knees begin to shake, but before they can collapse underneath you Galvith is holding onto your waist, hoisting you up and deeper onto his cock. With a squeaking voice, you yelp a debaucherous “fu-uck~” as his cock-head brushes against your prostate. So quick and so deep, yet you're already fiending for more. With the little ability you have left you try to roll your pelvis back, grinding on his girth. “P-please.” Your wanton voice moans, and Galvith doesn’t bother teasing you any longer.

“How could I say no?”

With that last playful remark, Galvith starts pistoning his hips like an machine, his body an engine sculpted just for fucking your brains out. Your head throws back, his face nuzzling into the side of your neck, fangs grazing against your pulse. He doesn’t seem to mind your extravagant headband, easily craning his neck around it, sweetly considerate of your hard-made art piece. God, could he get any hotter?

It doesn’t cross your mind the impossibleness of this current scenario. Galvith had felt massive in your palm, bigger than anything you had taken before, and despite your horniness you were only human, with human limitations. But the way his cock drags along your insides has you quickly forgetting such things, has you waving away the way his spit makes every muscle relax, becoming moldable putty against his molten skin. How each hit against your prostate has you seeing literal stars. Who cares that it doesn’t make sense, that you should be absolutely torn from taking this monster with so little prep, it feels too goddamn good.

Your bodies become one, a set of writhing heat and fluids as Galvith fucks you hard and fast. You never thought you were one for rough play, used to the slow and loving pace of ex-boyfriends. Not that Galvith isn’t affectionate, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chest pressed against your back, whispering dirty praise into your ear.

“Feel so fucking good, human.” Galvith pants, though hardly from exertion, the way he’s manipulating your body absolutely effortless. “Knew you would. Could taste it.” A long tongue flicks out and licks your cheek. The delirium has you ignoring the strange texture, the way it oddly splits at the end. “I thought of you every night. All the different ways I’d ravage my naughty little incubus.” His balls slap against your ass cheeks, heavy and full. Even with the pounding bass suffocating the dancefloor, it wouldn’t surprise you if people could hear the plaps of of your two bodies meeting. A moan claws it way out of your throat when Galvith’s free hand wraps around your cock, still slick with his spit and jerking you off as furiously as he fucks you. “I bet you look so cute when you come, sweetling. So sweet for me.” A possessive snarl lingers in Galvith’s voice, manifests in a sucking kiss to your neck, no doubt leaving a sizeable hickey. All you can do under this assault is nod and babble, drool already slipping down your jaw.

It’s unfair how coordinated Galvith is, perfectly matching the pace of his hand and his cock, leaving you not even a moment to breathe. When his thumb is rubbing across your head his own pounds against your prostate, the world going white for seconds at a time, your brain too overwhelmed by stimulus to even try to make sense of it. When his palm reaches down to fondle your balls his shaft is pulsing against your insides, dragging out inch by inch and making you crave the fullness again. 

The two of you meet halfway in a wet, drooling kiss. You hardly put in any effort, your mouth just another hole for Galvith to fuck open with his tongue, too fucked-out to even try and match his skill. He doesn’t seem to mind, moaning and cock twitching within you.

“G-onna cum.” You delirious voice slurs, eyes rolling back into your head, balls feeling taut. Your stomach rolls in on itself, your toes curling into the grimy club closet floor. It feels better than it ever has before, this rolling wave coming over you. Jesus, you think you might cum buckets. 

“M-me too.” Galvith stutters, the first sign of strain in his voice. Sweat drips down his brow and onto your cheek, his tongue quickly lapping it up. “Want me to fill you up, my little artist. Wanna walk out here with my cum dripping down your ass?”

“Uh-huh!” You moan, that tidal wave growing bigger and bigger. “Pl-please!” 

“Yes.” Galvith’s voice hits an octave so deep you're sure only dogs can fully hear it. It’s the final straw that breaks the camel's back, a simple word that has you tumbling over the edge.

“Ah!”

“Unngh!”

Several jets of hot cum shoot jets into your asshole, quickly filling it to the very brim. Gushes of it leak out from the sides, despite the tight seal Galvith;s thick cock makes. You're thankful that you’re wearing white, because your own orgasm has you creaming all across the front of your toga, streams stretching high enough to hit your navel. 

Like you, it takes Galvith several breaths to come back to himself, his sweaty forehead laying slumped over your shoulders. It’s a relief, knowing he’s as properly destroyed as you are. Makes you feel less like a wimp. Even as he pulls out, thick gooey strings falling down your thighs, you can tell he struggles holding himself up.

“Holy Fuck.” Your voice comes out in a wheeze, head hanging low as your forearms rest against the wall. Your knees knock together, legs muscle shaking and barely holding up your weight. You've heard the term “getting your back blown out” before, but you don’t think you’ve ever experienced it so literally. Damn, you think your dancing for tonight is done.

Galvith gracefully pulls you upright, supporting your weight until you fully settle back on the balls of your feet. His chuckle is playful when your head rests against this broad chest, falling easily back into his arms.

“I think I agree with that sentiment, human, even though it’s ‘holy’.”

Your own laugh is weak, throat straining from the lack of water and all the moaning. Seriously, you feel like you just ran a marathon. Patting Galvith’s hand, you turn around in his grip, meeting him in a slower, softer kiss than before.

“Was it everything you imagined?” you whisper into his lips.

“And more.” His voice rolls down your body like a drug, has you giggling like a schoolgirl and meeting in another kiss. 

Still reeling from your orgasm yet you can’t help but get lost in Galvith’s lips, curling your arms around his neck. Fuck dancing, this is how you want to spend the rest of your night.

Then Galvith’s phone goes off.

Long nails dig into your lower back, Galvith’s growl primal as he forces himself away from your lips.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He curses as hastily pulls his pants back up, reaching for his phone in the back pocket, face curled into that angry expression the same as the first night. It's not a phone call this time but a text, the light shining on Galvith’s twisting face only getting angrier.

“Fucking idiots.” Galvith says the word like a curse, practically spitting with vitriol. Once again, you’re happy not to be the person on the side of this text message.

“Gotta go?” You say, almost ashamed of the clear disappointment in your voice.

You know you shouldn’t get attached, know that this kind of kismet rarely actually leads to something serious. That as much as you’ve been craving him, longing for him, the two of you have barely shared two nights with each other, and it shouldn’t hurt this much to see him go.

I don’t even know his real name.

It doesn’t stop the deep feeling in your gut, the palpable taste for more. Mind blowing sex, aside you really like Galvith. Even outside of your sexy fantasies and dreams about him, you also dreamed about getting to know him more. More on his hobbies, his day-to-day, this mysterious job that always seemed to be on his ass. Maybe it's foolish, but a part of you dreamed of this really going somewhere.

Galviths brow furrows even deeper, vein bulging in his forehead as his eyes scan the text.

“Yes.” he seethes, but you know it's not directed at you. It's sort of flattering, knowing he longs to stay with you as much as you do with him. “Some people cannot be left to their own devices. Satan below, I didn’t realize demons could be this incompetent.”

You chuckle; Even now he commits to the bit. Some may have found it dorky, maybe even cringe, but you find it charming. We all need some escape now and then, don’t we?

“I get it.” You say, trying to mask the wobble in your voice. “Some coworkers suck ass.”

“They probably couldn’t even do that correctly. Bumbling fools.” Galvith shakes his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket, redirecting a softer look towards you. It stirs the butterflies in your stomach, has you looking down before Galvith is tilting up your chin. This kiss is soft, almost angelic.

“I hate to leave you soon, human. Trust me, if it was up to my own desires, we’d spend the rest of the night in this closet.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” And you do, sadly enough. Life’s a bitch that way. “Before you go, could I get your number?” Your tongue flits out, wetting your bottom lip. This man just rocked your fucking world, and yet you feel shy asking for his digits. Damnit, you really are a nerd. “That way, whenever you’re free we could…meet up again.”

Just like that, the anger stirring up Galvith’s face is gone. It’s replaced by a wide smile, showing off those fangs he's oh so proud of.

Wow, the color even matches the rest of his teeth to T. He seriously has to let me know where he gets his prosthetics.

“That sounds perfect.”

In a quick move, Galvith flicks out a business card, as if he pulled it from thin air itself, slipping into the palm of your hand.

“Call or text me anytime, sweetling.” He brushes his thumb across your lip. “I’ll always make time for you.” You giggle like a teenager, feeling the hot blush on your cheeks. “Unfortunately, I must depart. Before those buffoons make a bigger mess of things.” 

He unfortunately unwraps his arms forma around you, the lack of his body warmth reminding you just how little clothing you’re wearing. Oh god, and you’ll both be seen walking out of here, everyone knows what you’ll be doing. Embarrassment has a way of abiding and then snapping back at the worst times.

Galvith, with his way, pulls you out of your spiral with a final peck to your lips; A promise of more lingering in the chaste gesture.

“Till we meet again, my little incubus.”

With a snap of his fingers, Galvith disappears, nothing but a purple trail of smoke in his wake.

You stand there, shellshocked, eyes bulging and jaw nearly falling to the floor. Your befuddled gaze looks at the card in your hand, the only remnant of Galvith left, scrambling to make sense of what you just saw.

Galvith, The Torturer

666-257-6969

Oh my god. Did you just fuck an actual demon?!

[writeriguess]

That concert prompt was so cute for Kiri, would you mind writing a similar one for Bakugo?

Basically reader bribes him to go with her to a heavy metal concert with a free ticket, so that he could keep her safe from the rowdy metalheads, but he ends up enjoying himself and even lets her sit on his shoulders a few times

(And maybe they get a little drunk off the beer, end up making out and he groped her a bit he he)

Thank you and great to have you back ❤️

Metal Mayhem

Convincing Bakugo to go to a heavy metal concert with you was no easy feat. You had to promise him a free ticket and throw in the excuse that you needed him to keep you safe from the inevitable chaos of the mosh pit. He scoffed, arms crossed over his chest, but after some grumbling (and maybe a little ego-stroking about how he was the only one strong enough to handle a crowd like that), he finally agreed.

The venue was packed, the air thick with the scent of beer, sweat, and the buzzing energy of a crowd ready to lose their minds. You were hyped, bouncing on your heels, while Bakugo stood beside you with his usual scowl, arms folded as he scanned the sea of bodies thrashing to the opening band.

"Tch. Bunch of fuckin' lunatics," he muttered, but you caught the way his eyes lingered on the guitarist shredding a brutal solo.

By the time the headliner took the stage, something had changed. Maybe it was the pounding drums vibrating through the floor or the sheer primal energy of the crowd, but Bakugo was enjoying himself. He wasn’t just standing there anymore—he was headbanging, his wild blonde spikes bouncing along to the beat. He even let out a few triumphant yells, fists pumping in the air alongside yours.

"Told you this shit was fun!" you shouted over the music, grinning up at him.

"Shut up!" he shot back, but the grin pulling at his lips betrayed him.

When the band encouraged crowd surfing, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Shoulder ride?"

"No fuckin’ way."

"Please? You're the only one I trust not to drop me!"

He groaned, but before you could beg more, he crouched down, gripping your thighs with strong hands and hoisting you onto his shoulders like you weighed nothing. The vantage point was incredible—the entire crowd surged and pulsed like a living thing beneath you, the band's energy electrifying.

You lost count of how many times he lifted you up, how many beers you both had, and how many times you found yourself leaning into him, breathless with laughter and warmth. One moment, you were screaming along to the lyrics, and the next, his arm was slung lazily around your shoulders as you stumbled out of the venue together, still buzzing from the high of the music.

"Shit, that was actually fun," he admitted, voice rough from shouting.

You smirked up at him. "Told you."

His crimson eyes flicked down to your lips, and before you could say something else, he was on you. His hands, still warm from the heat of the concert, gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him as his mouth crashed against yours. The taste of beer and adrenaline mixed between you, and you barely registered the way his fingers trailed down, squeezing possessively at your hips, then lower.

You let out a breathy laugh when he pulled back, eyes dark and half-lidded. "You’re drunk, aren’t you?"

"Tch. So are you."

Neither of you stopped, though. The night was far from over.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

•~{ Heyyy, So I just watched the one Weeping Angel episode of Doctor Who and my brain will not shut the hell up so there’s my attempt to shut it up }~•

•Stone Angel•

Young Justice is in a forest.

They have just finished a mission report and were on their way to get some food so they were not in their hero gear and it was supposed to be normal but hero’s lives can never be normal can they.

As they were walking down the street they heard yelling and then a portal opens up under him and drags them in and the everything goes black for the group.

In who knows how long the group wakes up In a dark forest and start trying to come up with a plan but with the sun almost down it would be better if they find shelter as they don’t know what kind of animals live in this forest.

So they start walking and talking about what they should do and how to get in touch with their mentors and that’s when they hear it, it was just the simple sound of a branch snapping nothing new in a forest like this but as they looked to where the branch snapped that’s when they saw it.

A large figure at least 10-11 feet tall but they were unable to see it clearly as it was covered in shadows but the YJL didn’t have time to ask questions because as soon as the figure noticed that they saw them it started to run at them in a inhuman way and they started to run for their life.

Thankfully as they were young hero’s they could run faster then a normal person would but with the figure hat on their tail it was only a matter of time to see who started to slow down first and than they saw it.

A castle it looks very old but at least they would be anyway from the thing so they started to run even fast and they were almost there! that’s when Kon saw them, it was a person they were laying by a large pond and with how the figure reacted to them well it wouldn’t be good, So Kon dashes over to the person and grabs them and books it back to the now open gates with his team yelling for him to run and that’s when Tim pulls him in and they shut the gate with all of them inside..

What that thing was….

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W took Danny.

Wait let’s go back a bit, Danny with Jazz and told his parents everything from the accident to being Phantom and they were horrified that they were shooting at their son and they immediately start to make all of their weapons ignore Danny and throw out all of their connections with the G.I.W.

But Danny still has to deal with ghost that come from the portal and his parents can’t help with and that’s when the G.I.W grab him after giving him a shot of sedatives to knock him TF out for a while.

After about 5 months the Fentons find where the G.I.W have been keeping Danny and when they find him he is on the verge of fully dying but luckily Danny’s core turns Danny into stone for his own sake but right now the Fentons grab Danny and book it out of there (and kill a few agents but Danny doesn’t need to know) and they call Clockwork to ask him what they should do and if he can help Danny.

And Clockwork says that with the G.I.W still around it’s not safe for Danny to be on this world and Clockwork can take him somewhere safe but Danny will never be able to come back so with some sad goodbyes Danny and Clockwork head into the portal and the Fentons destroy the portal behind them.

But with Clockwork being the Ancient Of Time he wouldn’t be able to care for Danny in the way he needs so Clockwork can’t take care of him so he looks around to see someone that owes him a favor or two and that he also knows will not betray him and he was have no luck until he remembered one of his most powerful allies that who’s him a favor.

The Ancient Of The Wilds.

They would probably be open to taking care of Danny so Clockwork try’s it and brings Danny to them and it goes well and They taking Danny from him and brings him to a old castle that is in their lair.

And that how we get here.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The reason that Danny’s core turned him into stone was a core is like a persons instincts to protect themselves but for ghost it’s more powerful

•Danny likes to stay by the pond because when he is stone he is kinda in this almost asleep mode and he likes to hear the birds and water

•All of Danny clothes, and jewelry are from a room inside of the castle

•The Deer Bone Headed Being and Danny are chill as hell with each other

•Danny likes to make The Deer Bone Headed Being aquatic flowers when his spot is shaded by the large trees

•Danny’s favorite time is when it gets colder as the sun goes down so much faster and he and The Being can hang out more

•With Danny being Stone most of the time it takes a while for his legs to start working again so the being just carries him around most of the time

•Danny’s legs is fine it’s just that the muscles still think that they are stone most of the time 

•It looks creepy as hell when Danny turns back from Stone and it also makes it look like a curse 👀

•The Deer Bone Headed Being is just trying to get Danny back to his spot by or in the pond before the sun rises and They are turned to stone / Forced back in the woods

•This is a horror/Paranormal story to YJL and they have to protect this clearly cursed person and Danny just confused about who these kids are and why are they so protective of him??

•Danny is well over 120 years old by the time the YJL find him

•Danny just calls the Deer Bone Headed Being “Runes” as it was the first thing they said that Danny could understand

•The kids do not know that as soon as Danny touches light he starts to turn to stone

•Danny knows that Runes hates it when other people are in the castle/forest so he says that but YJL wildly misunderstands it lol

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

[Anything that Danny is wearing also turns into stone until the sun goes down]

[and here is what I’m thinking Runes looks like]

•~{And that’s it! Hope this shuts up the brain lol anyway until next time you gremlins!}~•

[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club | ch. IV

dark!older!dbf!Rafe Cameron x dark!Reader

Warnings: dubcon, somno, attempted noncon, loss of virginity, slut shaming, choking, violence, drinking, drug use, f!masturbation, unprotected sex

You were sure that it was nearly 2AM now, although you couldn’t remember exactly when Charlie had told you that she was leaving, it could have been minutes or hours ago and you wouldn’t know the difference.

After throwing back a couple drinks and a few shots, you were stumbling as you carelessly explored the large house party.

The music was still pumping loudly, and despite how late it was, the crowd hadn’t thinned much at all. This was an unfamiliar part of town for you though, and most of the people here were friends of Charlie, leaving you feeling a bit alone in the uncharted territory.

There were a couple familiar faces, and plenty of attractive guys to talk to, but you found it hard to even feign interest in their conversation when your mind was so set on another man.

It had been a couple days since you went over to the Cameron’s for dinner without Charlie, but the entire night had been replaying in your head.

The small cut on your finger pulsed in pain as you remembered how desperate you had been for him to touch you.

Rafe and Rebecca had argued and when Becca accused him of flirting with you, Rafe didn’t deny it.

You shivered as you recalled the way his gaze stayed fixed on you for longer than usually, catching him sneaking peaks at your tits in your bikini, and how his touch had lingered on you.

All of these moments had been on repeat nonstop since you left his house.

You wondered if things were going to be different now that Rebecca was suspicious.

Would he ever look at you that way again?

You drunkenly remembered what Charlie had told you earlier, that Rebecca had checked into a mental hospital the day after you left.

Had you really been driving her that wild? She must have been more sensitive than you thought.

Crazy bitch.

After walking inside the kitchen of the house you found a large jug of punch, and you grabbed a solo cup before filling it up with ice and the somewhat dubious looking green juice.

Despite how drunk you already felt, and how alone you were in a house full of strangers, you quickly downed the punch without a care.

Exiting the kitchen, you wondered around the rooms, hoping to find a familiar face.

Most of them were either empty, locked, or full of people you didn’t know just chatting.

However, you were very surprised when you walked into one room to find a group of frat guys, and a couple of their girlfriends, snorting lines of coke, and you quickly exited, closing the door behind you.

You understood partying and drinking, hell, even smoking weed every now and then wasn’t off the table for you, but coke was another story and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

It was getting very late and you were beginning to realize that this party didn’t have anything more to offer you.

Beginning to feel a bit lightheaded and overstimulated from the sounds of the loud party, you stumbled downstairs and pushed your way to the front door and out onto the porch.

Given how much you had drank tonight, and the way your vision was blurring, you knew that driving yourself home was not an option until you sobered up for at least an hour.

The cool air was soothing your nausea already, but you were still feeling unsteady on your feet so you leaned up against the house for support.

The thought of standing outside for an hour was not appealing at all considering how exhausted you were quickly beginning to feel.

You decided that you needed to call a ride, but when you checked your phone and saw that it was 3:30AM, your heart sunk.

Charlie was surely asleep by now, but knowing that didn’t stop you from calling her three times, only to get her voicemail.

The next options were your parents, who would be pissed to pick you up this late, but they had always told you that they’d rather you wake them up in the middle of the night than drive drunk. Unfortunately, it was well past their bedtimes, and neither of them picked up.

Starting to feel nervous about being stranded at this party for an hour, you called several friends. One actually answered, but they angrily hung up on you when you asked them if they could pick you up at a location 30 minutes from their house.

You hadn’t wanted to bother him so late, but it seemed like you only had one option left, and you hoped to god that his ringer was on.

The first call went to voicemail, but not ready to give up, you called again, and after five rings he picked up.

“Y/N?” His lowered voice told you that you had indeed woken him up, but in the moment you were just thankful someone had answered.

“Rafe, I’m- I’m so sorry to call you this late,” your words were slurring so much you weren’t sure if he would understand you.

“I was at a party with Charlie and-“ you hiccuped, “um she left a couple hours ago and I’m really drunk. I tried to call my parents and my friends and you’re the only one who picked up.”

Beginning to feel embarrassed and self conscious, and still very intoxicated, you wiped away the tears that were beginning to come to your eyes.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you slurred again.

“Y/N calm down,” he sounded more awake now. “Let me get up and I’ll be on my way there. Where are you?”

You couldn’t remember the address so you opened up your texts to find what Charlie had told you. You relayed the address to him and he told you he would be there in 10 minutes.

“Okay, thank you so much Rafe, I’m sorry to wake you up so late.”

“It’s no problem, Y/N, really. I just want you to be safe. See you soon.”

Rafe hung up and you let out a sigh of relief.

You couldn’t wait to climb into your bed, and the fact that Rafe was giving you a ride was a very nice bonus.

You opened tiktok, mindlessly scrolling through videos for several minutes until the front door of the house opened, alerting you to someone walking outside.

You rolled your eyes when you recognized Mason, the asshole you had gone on a double date on with Charlie a few weeks back.

It wasn’t too surprising to you that he would be here as it seemed like frat parties were his natural habitat. He was like a walking stereotype in every possible way.

You turned away, shutting your phone off and desperately hoping to avoid another awkward encounter with him where he tried to guess your bra size or something equally offensive.

Unlucky for you, even in the dark Mason recognized you and you cringed inside when he strolled over to you.

The last thing you wanted to be dealing with right now was this idiot.

“Is that you, Y/N? Been a while.” Based on how much he was stringing his words together, he had apparently also had a lot to drink tonight.

You turned to face him, hoping that he couldn’t tell how drunk you were.

“Oh hey Mason,” you forced a grin as you looked up at him. Had he always been that tall? “How’s it going?”

“‘S going well, not like you would know though.” He was casually smiling, but you could tell there was bitterness in his tone.

“Oh, um,” you did not want to deal with rejecting this guy face to face after you had already ghosted him almost a month ago, and you were struggling as you wracked your brain to come up with a good response.

His eyes must have adjusted to the darkness though, and he gave you a once over that made your skin crawl.

“You look good. Didja come here with another guy?” He sneered, taking a step closer while you took one away.

When your back hit the house and Mason kept advancing, your blood ran cold.

“N-no, just Charlie.” Your tongue felt thick in your mouth and the way he was looking at you made your stomach twist.

“Yeah, but.. dressed like that?” His eyes raked over your body again and you shivered, regretting choosing such a revealing dress.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you mumbled, trying to get past him but you were shocked when his hand found your shoulder, roughly pushing you back up against the wall. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked up at him in fear.

“C’mon Y/N,” Mason chuckled, slurring his words. “We both know you’re looking for attention.”

Your chest felt tight, anxiety beginning to pool in your gut. “I’m not-” you tried to get past him again only for him to shove you backwards a second time, this time much harder.

When your back hit the wall this time, you realized Mason had taken your rejection horribly wrong. The back of your head smacked against the hard brick and tears sprang to your eyes.

“Why won’t you just give me a chance, huh?” His hands greedily grabbed at you, and squirmed in his grasp when he groped your ass hard.

“Stop it, get off of me!” You helplessly struggled against him, futilely wishing that someone else would come out of the house to help you.

One of his hands came to your chin, tilting your head upwards to capture your lips while his other arm snaked around your back, locking you in place. You could hear your pulse rushing in your ears.

You bit his lip hard and he cursed when he pulled his head back.

“Fucking bitch!” Mason’s hand slid from your chin to your throat and you let out a choked cry when he pinned you to the wall by your throat.

When his free hand crept under your dress between your legs, you sobbed, disgust and terror gripping your heart.

In slow motion you felt his calloused fingers trailing up your inner thigh, before he was violently ripped off of you.

Falling back against the house, you let out a gasping breath as you watched your best friend’s father punch Mason hard across the jaw.

He hit the ground like a ton of bricks, but Rafe wasn’t done. As you tried to catch your breath and fight back the bile that had been rising in your throat, you couldn’t look away as Rafe punched him again and again.

When you realized he wasn’t stopping, you yelled his name, but he still didn’t slow down. Grabbing onto the wall behind you for support, you shakily got to your feet and got closer.

The second time you shouted at him he finally paused, looking up from Mason’s bruised and slightly bloody face.

Rafe was breathing hard as he got off of the younger man. His jaw was still tight from anger, and he delivered a powerful kick to Mason’s ribs, making him yelp in pain.

“If you ever come near Y/N, or my daughter Charlie, ever again, I will fucking kill you.” He seethed, giving Mason one final drive to the ribs before walking away from him.

Rafe neared you, looking into your tear filled eyes.

You took a step towards up, but your knees gave way beneath you. He surged forward, catching you in his strong arms.

“Hey, I got you kid,” you let out a soft sob at his words, grabbing on to him tight. “You’re safe, Y/N.”

Trembling on his arms, your body shook with each breath you took as the shock slowly wore off and you came to terms with what would have happened to you had Rafe not shown up in time. The entire time he whispered softly to you, reassuring you that he would protect you.

He slowly released you, only to pick you up in his arms and begin carrying you to his truck.

Despite the obvious trauma that you had just been through, being held in Rafe’s strong arms still made your body tremble for entirely different reasons.

The alcohol was making you feel dizzy and when Rafe helped you in to his passenger seat, you could feel the world spinning around you.

He buckled you in before shutting your door and walking around to the other side.

As he got in and started the car, you remembered that he was going to drive you to your house, and more hot tears came to your eyes.

You didn’t want to stay at your house, you wanted to be near Rafe.

Where you felt safe.

“Um.. Rafe?”

He looked over at you with some concern in his eyes as he exited the driveway, “yeah?”

“Do you think,” you sniffled, the lump in your throat making it hard to get the words out. “Um, do you think I could stay at your house tonight?”

Rafe silently met your gaze for a few moments, before cracking a small smile, “of course, kid.”

He drove out of the neighborhood, turning towards his house and you admired the way his muscles looked as he gripped the steering wheel.

Just a short drive later and he was pulling in to his driveway. He parked the car but didn’t move at first, turning his attention back to you.

He undid his seatbelt first and then leaned over you to unbuckle yours. He was so close you could smell him, the faint scent of sandalwood and cigarette smoke clouded your mind.

He was talking, saying something, but you couldn’t hear him. Your body was buzzing as you watched his pink lips moving silently.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

For a moment, he responded, reaching his hand behind your neck and deepening the kiss. You felt a jolt of a electricity between you.

But just as soon as he kissed you back, he stopped himself, pulling back quickly and staring at you in shock for a moment before looking away.

“Y/N… you know we-” he stopped himself, looking utterly torn as he fought what you were sure he also wanted.

He met your eyes again, sucking in a shaky breath, before his face hardened.

“You should go to bed, Y/N. You’re drunk a- and you just went through a lot. You need to sleep this off.”

Your stomach dropped, certain that you had just ruined any chance you might ever have had with Rafe Cameron.

“Rafe, I-” your voice cracked with emotion. You felt more tears coming to your eyes and you tried to swallow the gigantic lump that had just settled in your throat.

“Get out of the car and go to bed.” There was more resolution in his voice now, and you felt like a scolded child as you slowly climbed out of the car and walked into the Cameron’s house.

You closed the front door behind you, a pit of dread forming in your stomach as you climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom that you always stayed in.

Once inside, you stripped your constricting clothes off, reaching into the dresser for some of the clothes you always kept here.

After changing into short and a t-shirt and flicking off the light, you fell onto the bed in exhaustion and frustration.

You had finally kissed Rafe, and he had kissed you back. That alone had been so exhilarating! He must have felt what you did, so why did he stop himself??

You could feel that you were finally making progress with him, and yet he was still pulling away.

Could it be that he was just in denial still? That he hadn’t come to terms with how much better his life could be if he left Rebecca?

The way he had dismissed you out of the car gave you a feeling you had never felt around him.

You finally had made a move, and he was still treating you like a kid.

But you weren’t a kid, and the way he had looked at you afterwards told you that he didn’t really see you as one as much as he may have pretended to.

Maybe he was just trying to protect you after what you had gone through tonight. He was right that you were still very drunk. If he thought that he would be taking advantage of you in any way however, he would have been dead wrong.

You had wanted Rafe for years now, and you know that this wasn’t just some crush.

You loved him, and the fact that he had woken up in the middle of the night and came to your rescue showed that he cared for you too.

The sound of the front door opening and closing alerted you that he had finally left his car to come inside. You silently listened as he climbed up the stairs and into the hallway towards his room.

When his footsteps paused by your closed door, you held your breath, heart thudding in your chest as you willed him to enter. The seconds dragged on for what felt like an eternity as you waited to see what he would do.

What would you do if he came in?

What would Rafe do if he came in?

After almost a minute, he sighed quietly before finally moving, the sound his footsteps growing further away as he walked to his bedroom.

You frowned, heart clenching again as you could both hear and feel him getting distant from you again.

Becca wasn’t even here right now, she had been gone for several days, so you found it hard to believe he would be stopping himself for her sake.

Now that you had kissed him, was he going to act differently around you?

Would he pretend it had never happened and hold himself back completely?

That thought almost made you cry.

No, he couldn’t go back to pretending like there was nothing between you two.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

If you could just make him understand how dedicated to him you were, how much of yourself you were willing to give him, you were certain that he wouldn’t be able to resist you.

You lay on the bed as the room spun around you, your thoughts racing away.

Every single cell in your body felt warm. You had never shared a kiss that made you feel so electrified.

Without thinking, your hand slipped into your shorts and under your panties. The tip of your finger gently swirled over your clit and you let out a quiet moan.

All that you wanted right now was Rafe. Kissing you, caressing you, touching you, fucking you.

You knew in every fiber of your being that he should be your first. Who else would be better to take your virginity than him?

Tonight had only reminded you how grateful you were that you had saved yourself for so long.

Rafe had known you for your entire life. After growing up with him as a permanent fixture, you found that trusted him more than anyone else in the world.

You imagined him holding you in his arms as he pushed himself inside of you, sliding two fingers into your cunt to give your slick hole something to clench down on. You could feel yourself growing slicker around your fingers, and you pulled them out to toy with your clit again.

Once he was inside of you, you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you up. Once he realized what he had been missing out on, he would forget Rebecca ever existed.

You sat up in bed, head spinning when you did and glanced at the small alarm clock in the room. It had been about 20 minutes since Rafe had stopped by your room.

Maybe it was confusion brought on by the events of tonight, maybe it was the copious amounts of alcohol, or maybe it was the years of secretly pining after the one man you couldn’t have finally coming to a head, but for some reason, you stood up, reaching for the door handle and quietly leaving your room.

You quietly padded over to Rafe’s closed door, putting your ear to it and listening. His deep snores told you that he was already fast asleep.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from slowly and silently turning the handle of his door, which you noted was unlocked, and slipping into his bedroom before closing the door behind you.

Once your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could see Rafe, shirtless and laying on his back in bed. The sounds of his uninterrupted snoring let you know that you hadn’t disturbed him.

Your eyes widened when you looked lower and saw his boxers, which were straining against his large bulge.

Drawing closer, you slowly climbed onto the bed on the opposite side he was on, moving gingerly so you wouldn’t wake him up. You carefully pulled your shorts and panties off, along with your shirt, sure to drop them soundlessly onto the floor.

Slowly, you leaned over Rafe as he slept, reaching one of your hands out to cup his bulge. You bit your lip to keep quiet when you felt your cunt growing slicker. He felt bigger than you had expected, which both intimidated and excited you.

You reached into his boxers, pulling him free and you felt your clit pulse at the sight of his large, thick cock. He was cut, and so big you were beginning to have second thoughts.

But when you felt yourself clenching down around nothing, you knew that you needed him inside of you now.

You had waited long enough.

You rubbed your clit again, spreading your juices all over your tight hole in the hopes that it would ease the sting of Rafe’s huge cock.

Before you could second guess yourself, you straddled him, hovering over him before guiding his length to your entrance.

You slowly lowered yourself down onto him, letting out a hiss as you enveloped just his tip. He was already so thick, and you knew that you weren’t prepared for just how big he was.

Feeling full just from his tip, but still craving more, you slowly pushed yourself down onto him, just by an inch, and this time, Rafe was the one who groaned.

His hips shifted up, pushing himself deeper inside of you and you whined at the stretch.

“Mm, Becca?” He groaned, eyes shut as he was still half asleep.

At the mention of his wife, you drunkenly giggled, slowly grinding down onto him more. His large hands found your hips, and you moaned when he pushed himself deeper up inside you.

“Guess again,” you whispered with a grin, and at the sound of your voice his eyes shot open.

You clenched around him hard when Rafe met your eyes. His initial confusion was swiftly replaced with lust when you slid down on his cock more, filling yourself up and squeezing around him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hands coming to your waist and squeezing tight, not pulling you off of him, just locking you in place. “Y/N, what the fu-”

You leaned forward, not letting him finish the sentence before kissing him for the second time tonight. When you greedily pushed yourself down onto him more, stretching your virgin cunt out and pulsing around him, he groaned into the kiss, his fingers digging into your hips tightly.

When you finally pulled away, gasping for air, Rafe met your eyes for a moment before looking down to where his length disappeared inside of you. You took the opportunity to slide yourself further down onto him, whimpering at the sensation of his thick cock straining your slick walls.

“Y/N,” he sighed breathlessly, and you could literally feel yourself gush around him at the sound of your name on his lips. “We can’t-”

“I’ve seen how you look at me, Mr. Cameron,” you teasingly drew out his name, remembering how he had asked you to call him Rafe instead. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about this moment too.”

You bit back a moan when he shifted beneath you, accidentally pushing his cock deeper inside of you and he hissed at the feel.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned lowly, his eyes squeezing shut, and your face grew hot with want. But then he seemed to remember himself, and his lids opened again, his fingertips pressing hard into your soft hips.

“Stop- stop moving,” Rafe choked out. You could feel his hips twitching beneath yours as he held himself back, but you didn’t want to lose the friction you already had.

He felt so fucking good inside of you that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I- I’ve wanted you for so long, Rafe,” you whined, slurring your words as your head grew dizzy with desire. You pushed yourself down further again, finally bottoming out and you squirmed when you felt the tip of his cock nudge your cervix. “Mm you’re so big.”

Rafe growled out a curse at the feel of you pulsing around him and growing more wet the more you slid up and down his cock. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your perky tits, which were finally up close and on display just for him.

In the back of your mind, you drunkenly wondered if you had finally crossed the line. If doing this would ruin your relationship with Rafe for the rest of your life.

But when you looked down at him, drinking in his large muscles that were straining as he gripped you hard, you hazily remembered that Rafe was 5 times, maybe even 10 times, stronger than you.

You had seen the evidence face to face just earlier tonight.

If he really wasn’t enjoying this, he could have pulled you off of him immediately, but he didn’t.

“Y/N-” he strained when you teasingly tilted your hips, rising up before coming back down onto his lap. “Y-you’re drunk.”

Still grinding your hips up and down to create friction, you chuckled at his reaction.

“I know you want me too,” you were fucking him steadier now, beginning to pick up the pace as pleasure began to build between your legs.

“You’re too young, Y/N, we- fuck- we can’t.” Rafe’s words were pleading for one thing, but the way his hips were starting to softly buck to meet your pace told you that he wanted more of you.

You leaned forward again to kiss him, and this time he welcomed it, his warm lips meeting and messily sliding over your own.

When you pulled away this time you stayed close, trailing sloppy kisses from his lips to his ear before teasingly whispering, “if you really want me to stop, just make me.”

Those words seemed to make something inside of Rafe snap and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a growl, his hand came to your throat, pushing you off of him and onto your back on the bed. His large hands pawed at your thighs, forcing them apart as he positioned himself between them.

“Fuck, you have no clue how long I’ve wanted you,” his rough voice made your cunt clench down around nothing, and you let out a whine when you felt the head of his cock rubbing against your slick slit.

He pushed all of himself inside of you in one swift thrust and you whined loudly in surprise.

“Always knew you were teasing me on purpose, isn’t that right, kid?” His hand came to your chin, stroking your cheek as he slowly started thrusting in and out.

You dumbly nodded, lips falling open as you got lost in the rhythm he was fucking you at.

The older man’s large cock stretched you out differently at this angle, and he groaned when you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on.

“Ever have a dick this big?” He grunted, picking up his pace and drilling deep inside you.

You shook your head, slinging one arm around his back to try to steady yourself as he fucked you relentlessly.

“N-no, you’re my first,” you mumbled shyly, suddenly feeling very inexperienced.

At that, his hips stuttered and he paused, looking into your eyes with raised eyebrows, “you mean..?”

“I- um, I saved myself for you,” you admitted breathlessly.

He let out a groan at that, and when you felt his cock twitch inside you, you let out a soft whimper, grinding your hips onto him to make up for the lost friction.

“Shit, Y/N, that’s my girl,” he praised you gruffly, and your cheeks burned when you felt yourself growing slicker around him, making a sticky mess between your thighs. “So sweet, just for me.”

His lips captured yours and you clenched around him when his tongue pushed into your mouth, hungrily tasting you.

The older man’s hips began lazily thrusting into you again, his large hands coming to your chest to squeeze your tits. You gasped into the kiss when he gently pinched your nipples, teasing them with his fingers.

When he trailed a hand between your legs, rubbing your clit, you whimpered against his lips.

Rafe’s hips slid back, pulling back before pushing his cock inside of you. The feeling of his dick sliding along your walls as his fingertips swirled around your clit made you see stars. You squeezed your thighs together, only for Rafe to pull them apart again.

“Does that feel good?”

You were too cock drunk to answer properly, dazedly nodding your head and whining out a “mm hmm.”

The way his fingers teased your clit was stoking a fire in your stomach, and each thrust of his cock deep inside you brought you closer to the edge.

His length was stretching you out so deliciously, dragging against your snug walls and hitting a spot that made your eyes flutter shut.

“Jesus, how’d I get so lucky?” Rafe rasped from above, drilling in to you harder now as he chased his release.

When his fingers suddenly wrapped around your throat, your eyes widened and you looked up at him in surprise. His fingers flexed, tightening around your throat just a bit and you couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped past your lips.

The overstimulation of his thick cock stretching you out, his fingers twitching over your sensitive clit, and the rough hold on your throat sent you over the edge.

You came with a loud moan that Rafe quickly interrupted with a sloppy kiss. Pleasure exploded inside your body, and your legs shock as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Rafe cursed against your lips as your cunt gripped him even tighter than before. His pace never wavered, slamming into you again and again as you rode out your orgasm.

“Shit,” Rafe grunted, pushing all of himself into you a few more times before pulling out, his hand immediately fisting his cock.

You dazedly watched as he worked his fist up and down for a few seconds before his hot seed spilled from the tip and spurted onto your breasts. The hungry way that he looked down at you with his sticky cum painting your tits made your already overstimulated clit pulse.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’re so perfect, I can’t wait to ruin you.”

[sauronxgaladriel]

Haladriel Library

Saurondriel/Haladriel Fanfic Recommendations. Some of these stories could fit into multiple categories. If you have any more recommendations feel free to add them!

Marriage

Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

Bridesprice by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks 

Poison & Wine by Coraleeveritas

Galadriel takes longer to discover Sauron's identity

no matter how many skies have fallen by stitchingatthecircuitboard

A man is a god in ruins by eye_of_a_cat

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR

Galadriel Says Yes

The House That Fire Built by Ready_For_The_Laughing_Gas

dig up the bones (but leave the soul alone) by Wyrd_Syster

Gilded by eye_of_a_cat

And white winter, on its knees by eye_of_a_cat

Mortal Laws by Helholden

A Portion of Thyself by Frotu

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Fabricated by Frotu

Canon Divergence/Reimagining of S1 and onwards

I could be your king by cliffdiving

The Tides of Fate by fireheart321

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed by eye_of_a_cat

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Instruments of Salvation by Scriberated

a fair form by properhaunt

Autocorrelation by EisforEverything

The Return of the Queen by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

A Feast of Starlight by TheLightofArwyn

Supernatural Creature AU

should have known better by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo) (Witch/Demon AU)

Wild Magic by Scriberated (Witch/God)

Storm Tides & Weaving Threads by elssiie (Siren AU)

just a taste by stardustspell (Vampire AU)

Haladriel meet before TROP

Spark, Ignite, Burn by cliffdiving

our souls were made from the stars by silverwing12 (Deleted)

Necessity's Bargain by Scriberated

Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be by Helholden

determination is the cure (for longing) by downtheroadandupthehill

where the spirit meets the bones by kangaroopaws

people throw rocks at things that shine by ophidion

Pick a star, and follow it home by CloudlySkies124

Hades Persephone Vibes

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by Helholden

a dust like thine by mortaltemples

One-Shots

Unsired by shady-swan-jones (sweetleaf), sweetleaf 

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

now dark, now glittering by mortaltemples

In the Shadow of Your Heart by mzladybird

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

we could just kiss, like real people do by justatinycollector 

a millstone around my neck by mortaltemples

the nameless by bimmyou

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

ouroboros by Amuria

Pregnancy/Parenthood

Light and Power by chronicallyexhaustedwriter

shining like a fiery beacon by ophidion

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

mitosis by Orcas86

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Smut

A Stressed Tiding by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

Buried in Bone by Invisible_Hand

Riptide by makeshiftdraco

Perfection by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

like magnets work, only drawn to thee by audreystark

To Follow the Light by Thrill_of_hope

A Moment of Honesty by Draconic_Grace

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

bind yourself to me by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Lady of the Seas by eye_of_a_cat

Dark/Dead Dove

all your pain will end here by poeticmemory

Land of Enchantment by EisforEverything

perle by emphemeron

Glanduin Kiss by Anonymous

The Cost of Victory by EisforEverything

what you and i have wrought by thefudge

what heart's ease by fallofrain

Sauron as Annatar

hold her head above the water by Orcas86

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

the light of his eyes by eastwynds 

Contaminate by Frotu

[callsigns-haze]

Silence

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

According to everyone your rule was stupid. You refused to talk to them in the morning before certain hours, but in your eyes during the whole revolution you were sleep deprived. They thought this would pass but even years later your son catches onto your habit.

Warning: This story contains fluff, cursing, drinking, throwing up, pregnancy, birth and suggestive topics.

The first rays of morning light trickled through the curtains, casting soft patterns on the walls as the sun began to rise over Tyrrendor. Outside, the world was quiet, as it always was in the early hours of the day. But inside your shared chambers, the calm was anything but.

Xaden sat at the edge of the bed, his fingers idly running through his dark hair as he stared at you. You were curled up under the blankets, your form partially obscured, only your wild hair visible as you grumbled into your pillow. The peace of the morning should’ve been a welcome thing after the chaos of the rebellion, the victory, and now the finality of peace settling in the kingdom.

And yet, nothing about the mornings with you was ever quite what he expected.

He cleared his throat, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. “Good morning, love,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb you too much, but still, trying to reach you. He was used to mornings filled with laughter, soft talks, and quiet moments, but with everything that had happened, you’d changed. Or rather, you were adjusting. And so was he.

You groaned, twisting your head just enough to peek at him with one eye, the other firmly buried in the pillow. The sunlight danced across your face, catching in your messy hair and drawing an amused smirk from Xaden, but before he could even speak again, you made a shushing motion with your hand, your finger pressing to your lips dramatically.

He blinked, thrown off for a moment. “Uh—what?”

You didn’t answer, only waved your hand as if to shoo him away. “Shh.”

Xaden's brows furrowed slightly. “You know, I thought you’d be… well, a little more awake at this hour. We have to get up soon.”

The sheets rustled as you threw one arm out, causing the blanket to fall to the floor. “Nine o'clock,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the pillow. “No one talks to me before 9 am. Rule number one.”

Xaden let out a quiet chuckle, but he was genuinely perplexed. "Rule number one? Since when?"

You didn't bother responding, just shoved your face further into the pillow, making a noise of frustration. He could tell you weren’t angry, just desperately in need of rest. It made sense—after all the sleepless nights during the revolution, the constant tension, and everything that had come with it, your body needed time to adjust to peace. But, Xaden had never expected this—a quiet, sleepy rebellion against the world’s usual routine.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “I’m your husband, and you’re shushing me?”

You peeked one eye at him again, the other eye still pressed into the pillow, giving him a look that was somehow both sassy and tired. “You’re lucky I’m even acknowledging your existence before nine,” you said in a grumbling, barely coherent voice. “You, and the rest of the squad—” You paused to yawn, your hand stretching out above you like a cat, “—you all deprived me of sleep during the revolution. Now I’m catching up.”

Xaden didn’t know whether to laugh or protest. “You’re blaming us for your inability to sleep?”

You shot him another sleepy, half-hearted glare. “It’s not my fault you all decided to throw constant war meetings at ungodly hours.”

He couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing, shaking his head at the sight of you. He knew how you were—how chaotic and unpredictable you could be. But he hadn’t expected this new rule to be the result of everything. Still, his heart softened at the sight of you like this—your messy hair, the pillow creases still etched into your skin, the way your voice held the hint of exhaustion. You were his wife, the marked child of legend, his lifelong friend, and now, the queen beside him. You had always been everything he wanted in a partner.

And he’d always known life with you would be far from normal.

Xaden leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. “Alright, fine,” he said with mock defeat. “I’ll be quiet, but only because I love you.” He paused, giving you a playful grin. “But I’ll remind you that you promised me mornings where we would—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. As if it was second nature, your hand shot up and you made a shushing motion again, a very distinct finger pressed to your lips. The movement was so dramatic it almost made him forget he was supposed to be upset about not getting a proper conversation.

“Shush,” you repeated, your tone thick with sleep. “No words. Just… peace… for now. Please.”

Xaden chuckled again, not able to resist. “How about coffee? I’ll get you some.”

You squinted at him, eyeing him suspiciously. “Is it made by the kitchen staff or by you?”

“Kitchen staff,” he replied quickly. “I’m not risking it.”

You hummed in satisfaction and finally—finally—slipped out from under the blanket. You rolled over onto your back, stretching your arms overhead. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you speak now. You’re off the hook… until 9 am. You better hope I’m still in a good mood when it hits.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow at that, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re a force of nature, you know that?”

You flashed a grin, and then, with a dramatic sigh, dropped your head back onto the pillow. “Just let me be a peaceful force of nature for a few more hours.”

He couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you be.”

Xaden watched you for a long moment, the morning light filtering through the curtains casting a soft glow over your still-sleepy features. He’d seen you in battle, seen you drenched in blood and fire, seen you command dragons with nothing but your willpower and sharp mind. But this version of you—the one buried beneath a mountain of blankets, fighting off the early hours with pure stubbornness—was equally dangerous.

Because he couldn’t resist you like this.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he pushed off the bed and made his way toward the door. He knew better than to push his luck. If he so much as tried to engage in conversation again, you’d just shush him until you fell back asleep, and if there was one thing Xaden Riorson didn’t do, it was argue with a woman who had the patience of a wyvern.

Instead, he decided to get your coffee, if only as a peace offering.

The moment he stepped into the hall, his shadows curled around his wrists, brushing against his skin as if reminding him they were still there, still watching. He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair as he made his way toward the kitchens, nodding briefly at a few passing guards who straightened immediately at his presence. It was still a strange thing, being King of Tyrrendor. He hadn’t wanted the title, hadn’t asked for it. But with the rebellion over and leadership needed, he’d taken it, just as he always had with every impossible responsibility thrown his way.

And then there was you.

His queen—his wife—his chaos.

If he had been born to rule, then you had been born to keep him on his toes.

By the time he reached the kitchens, the morning staff was already busy preparing breakfast for the fortress. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meats filled the air, but Xaden ignored it, his focus on the pot of coffee steaming by the counter.

“Morning, Your Majesty,” one of the older kitchen attendants greeted, bowing slightly before grabbing a mug. “Coffee?”

Xaden inclined his head. “For my wife.”

The woman hummed in understanding, a knowing smile on her face as she poured the dark liquid into a mug. “Ah, yes. The queen’s new decree.”

He sighed. “She told you about the no speaking before nine rule?”

The attendant chuckled. “Told us? She made us write it down.”

Xaden closed his eyes briefly, a slow, exasperated smirk pulling at his lips. Of course, you had.

By the time he returned to your chambers, the sun had risen higher, the golden light painting the walls in soft warmth. You were still curled up in bed, though now you were on your side, one arm tucked under your pillow, the other stretched lazily across where he had been lying earlier.

Xaden leaned against the doorframe for a second, just watching you. He wasn’t sure if you were awake or still half-asleep, but the way your fingers flexed slightly, as if reaching for him, made something in his chest tighten.

He made his way over to your side of the bed, setting the coffee on the bedside table before kneeling beside the mattress. He reached out, brushing his fingers over your forehead, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, he thought you were going to say something. But then—

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze, and in an instant, your hand shot up between you, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shh.”

Xaden blinked. Then scowled. “I brought you coffee.”

You let out a sleepy hum of approval, but your finger didn’t move from his lips. “Doesn’t mean you can talk yet.”

Xaden groaned, dragging a hand down his face before standing to grab the coffee. “You are insufferable,” he muttered as he held the mug out to you.

You grinned as you sat up, finally removing your hand from his mouth to take the cup. “And yet, you married me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, settling beside you on the edge of the bed. “Clearly, a lapse in judgment.”

You took a long sip of coffee, sighing dramatically at the taste. Then, with a slow, smug smile, you turned to him and whispered, “Love you, too.”

Xaden shook his head, draping an arm across the back of the bedframe. “This rule of yours—”

“Hmm?”

“The no talking before nine rule.”

You took another sip, feigning innocence. “What about it?”

His eyes darkened slightly as he tilted his head at you. “I will find a way to get around it.”

You smirked, leaning into his side. “Good luck, Your Majesty.”

Xaden narrowed his eyes, the challenge clear between you. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew one thing for certain:

He had won battles. He had fought wars.

But this?

This was a fight he was never going to win.

Three Months Later – The Dining Room

The dining hall of the Tyrrendor palace was buzzing with early morning energy, the long, polished wooden table lined with plates of fresh fruit, buttered toast, eggs, and meats. The air was thick with the rich scent of brewed coffee, mingling with the sharper notes of spiced tea and the occasional waft of warm honey from the pastries stacked near the centre. Sunlight streamed in through the towering arched windows, casting golden beams across the stone walls and illuminating the banners that hung from the ceiling—symbols of a rebellion-turned-kingdom.

The palace had settled into its newfound peace, and with it, so had its people.

But, as always, the morning meal was missing one key figure.

And today, the others had noticed.

Xaden was seated at the head of the table, a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand, the other drumming against the wood as he listened to the usual morning chatter—Sawyer and Ridoc were bickering over who had actually won their sparring match yesterday, Rhiannon was reading over a report Mira had handed her, and Cat and Maren were deep in conversation about something that involved a lot of eye-rolling.

Then, finally—

"Okay, seriously," Garrick set his fork down, levelling a look at Xaden. "Where the hell is your wife?"

That was all it took.

As if everyone had been waiting for someone else to bring it up, all eyes suddenly snapped to Xaden, their previous conversations instantly abandoned.

"Yeah," Imogen agreed, raising an eyebrow. "She hasn't been at breakfast for months."

"I thought maybe she was just sleeping in," Sloane added, tilting her head. "But at this point, is she even alive?"

"Or maybe she's just avoiding us?" Drake mused, his golden-brown skin practically glowing in the sunlight, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. "Should we be offended?"

"She wouldn't miss breakfast just to avoid us," Violet interjected, shaking her head. "She loves food too much."

"Maybe Xaden did something to piss her off," Ridoc suggested, elbowing Sawyer with a grin. "Like leaving his boots in the middle of the damn room—"

"I don’t leave my boots in the middle of the room," Xaden cut in flatly.

"Anymore," Bodhi murmured under his breath, earning a chuckle from Mira.

Xaden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd known this conversation was coming. He’d felt it looming for weeks.

And yet—

He still wasn’t sure how to explain the sheer stupidity of what had been going on in his own damn marriage for the past three months.

So, instead of easing them into it, he just—said it.

“She has a rule.”

A beat of silence. Then:

"A rule?" Aaric repeated, frowning. "What the hell does that mean?"

Xaden took a slow sip of his coffee, as if somehow, the caffeine would fortify him for what was about to come. “She refuses to acknowledge anyone before nine in the morning.”

Another pause.

Then—

"What."

Ridoc nearly choked on his eggs. “Wait—wait. You’re telling me she has refused to speak to anyone for three entire months before nine a.m.?”

“Yes.” Xaden took another sip. “Including me.”

Imogen let out a sharp bark of laughter, while Mira, sitting beside her, just sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "Gods, that is so on brand for her."

Cat tilted her head, considering. "That explains why every time I pass your rooms in the morning, I hear absolutely nothing."

“Oh, there’s plenty of noise,” Xaden muttered, shaking his head. “It’s just her shushing me the entire time.”

"You’re kidding," Sawyer said, eyes wide with amusement.

“I wish I was.”

Violet was just staring at Xaden now, her fork frozen mid-air. “That’s why she’s been skipping breakfast?”

"Apparently," he deadpanned.

Maren burst out laughing. “That is absurd.”

“Tell me about it,” Xaden muttered. “The first time she did it, I thought she was joking.”

Garrick arched an eyebrow. “And now?”

Xaden huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Now I fear for my life if I say anything before nine."

That sent everyone into a fit of laughter, even Sloane, who had been trying to remain unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight,” Ridoc said, wiping at his eyes. “Your wife, your literal queen, the most chaotic person in this entire damn kingdom—has implemented a law—"

"—not a law," Xaden corrected. "A rule."

"—has implemented a rule," Ridoc continued, grinning, "banning verbal interaction before nine in the morning—"

"—because she claims we all deprived her of sleep during the war," Mira finished, shaking her head.

“Correct.”

Sawyer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And you’ve just been letting this happen?”

Xaden gave him a flat look. "Do you want to go up against her before she’s had caffeine?"

Sawyer considered. Then nodded slowly. "Good point."

“I just—” Rhiannon gestured vaguely. “You’ve been married to her this entire time. You can’t talk to her in the morning either?”

“Oh no, I try,” Xaden said, exhaling heavily. “And every time, she just shushes me.”

"Every time?" Aaric asked, sceptical.

"Every. Time."

There was a moment of silence before Drake, voice entirely too amused, said, “That is hysterical.”

“I know.” Xaden groaned, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She wrote it down. Told the staff. Enforced it."

Bodhi looked like he was trying so hard not to laugh. “You’re whipped.”

Xaden shot him a glare. “I’d like to see you win against her.”

Bodhi immediately shut up.

“So what you’re saying,” Violet mused, sitting back in her chair, “is that we all have to wait until nine before we can see her?”

"Unless you want to be shushed into submission," Xaden muttered, taking another slow sip of coffee.

There was another beat of silence before Ridoc—because of course it was Ridoc—grinned. Xaden tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before running a hand through his hair. “She’s decided—and I quote—that breakfast is an optional social event that does not require her attendance if she is still in bed.”

Silence.

Then—

“You’re joking,” Ridoc said, blinking.

Xaden shook his head. “Nope.”

“She’s just… not coming?” Imogen asked, half-laughing, half-incredulous.

“Oh, she would come,” Xaden said, picking up his coffee again. “But apparently, I was the one that encouraged bad habits by bringing her coffee to bed every morning, and now, she refuses to leave until she’s had at least one cup.” He exhaled sharply. “So, if I don’t bring it to her, she stays in bed.”

A beat of silence followed his words.

And then—laughter.

It started with Ridoc, then Sawyer, then Imogen, until the whole damn table was either chuckling or grinning at Xaden’s predicament.

Mira, shaking her head, smiled. “That is impressively stubborn.”

“More like impressively brilliant,” Maren corrected, smirking.

Brennan let out a low whistle. “So, let me get this straight—you spoiled her by bringing her coffee, and now she won’t leave the bed until you continue to do so?”

Xaden gave his friend a withering look. “Apparently.”

Violet snorted. “You really should’ve seen that coming.”

“I didn’t think it would become a rule,” Xaden muttered, shaking his head. “I thought I was being nice.”

“That was your first mistake,” Rhiannon teased, smirking.

Xaden groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear, the next time she comes down here, I’m going to—”

But he didn’t get to finish that sentence.

Because at that moment, the dining hall doors creaked open, and there you were.

Hair slightly tousled from sleep, wrapped in one of Xaden’s oversized tunics, a steaming coffee mug in hand. You were still barefoot, walking like someone who had only just dragged themselves out of bed.

And the second you saw everyone staring at you?

You blinked. Then frowned.

Then, slowly, lifted the coffee mug to your lips and took a sip.

The room was silent.

Then Ridoc—because of course it was Ridoc—burst out laughing.

“WELL, WELL, WELL,” he drawled dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence!”

You narrowed your eyes at him before turning your glare to Xaden. “You told them, didn’t you?” Xaden, utterly unapologetic, simply leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Oh, absolutely.”

You groaned, rubbing your free hand over your face. “I hate you.”

Xaden smirked. “Love you, too.”

And as the table erupted into laughter once more, you took another long sip of coffee, rolled your eyes, and muttered,

“I should’ve stayed in bed.”

Xaden leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with barely concealed amusement as you stood there, barefoot, clutching your coffee mug like it was the only thing tethering you to life.

Then he checked the clock mounted on the wall behind you.

And laughed.

A deep, knowing, utterly infuriating laugh that had everyone at the table looking between the two of you in pure amusement. “Nine o’clock on the dot,” he said, shaking his head, grinning like a damn idiot. “You really weren’t kidding about that rule, huh?”

You scowled, lifting your coffee mug in warning. “I will throw this at you.”

That only made him laugh harder.

And that was when Ridoc, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, leaned over to Sawyer and whispered, “She probably sat outside the door with a timer.”

You snapped your gaze to him. “I heard that.”

Ridoc grinned. “Oh, I know.”

Xaden, still smirking, grabbed his own coffee and took a slow sip, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he met your glare. “So, now that it’s officially past nine, are we finally allowed to have a full conversation with Her Highness?”

You exhaled heavily, dramatically rolling your shoulders like the weight of an invisible burden had just been lifted.

Then you took another sip of coffee, sighed, and—without even looking at him—muttered,

“…I suppose.”

And that was it.

That was all it took for the entire table to lose it.

Ridoc nearly choked on his coffee, slamming a fist against his chest as he wheezed out, “I suppose—oh gods, she’s actually serious.” Sawyer grinned, shaking his head. “Three months and you still won’t let it go.” Imogen smirked, eyes flicking toward Xaden. “And yet, you still bring her coffee every morning.”

Xaden, utterly unbothered, took another slow sip from his mug before shrugging. “I’m not an idiot.”

That sent Ridoc into another fit of laughter. “No, but you are whipped.” Xaden didn’t even flinch. Just leaned forward, elbows braced against the table, and smirked. “And you’re single.” Ridoc, still laughing, immediately scowled. “Low blow, Riorson.”

You, despite still being half-asleep, beamed at that. “I taught him that.”

“Of course, you did,” Aaric muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Violet, clearly enjoying the spectacle, just shook her head, silver hair catching in the morning light. “I don’t know how he puts up with you.”

You turned, leveling her with a deadpan look. “You married Aaric.” Aaric scoffed, pressing a hand over his heart. “That’s offensive.” Violet, however, merely smirked. “Yeah, but I didn’t make a ‘no talking before nine’ rule.”

Brennan, still lounging in his chair, lifted a brow at you. “Yeah, about that—are we ever going to get an explanation?”

You, utterly unrepentant, took another slow sip of coffee before setting your mug down on the table with a click.

Then, you exhaled, stretched your arms over your head, and leaned forward slightly, voice low and deadly serious as you said,

“You deprived me of sleep during the revolution. All of you.” Your gaze swept over the entire table, accusations clear in your eyes. “I am catching up.”

Silence.

Then—

Sawyer burst out laughing. “You’re holding a grudge?”

You raised a brow. “Absolutely.”

Brennan, shaking his head, turned to Xaden. “And you’re okay with this?”

Xaden, still smirking, just shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Ridoc groaned. “Gods, you really are whipped.”

Xaden simply leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and smirked.

“Yeah.” His dark eyes flicked to you, amusement dancing across his features.

“And I don’t mind one bit.”

The laughter slowly died down as you exhaled sharply, setting your coffee mug down with a click. Then, pushing your chair back slightly, you leaned forward, levelling the entire table with a pointed look.

“You all think this is funny,” you started, voice calm—too calm. “Like I’m just being dramatic.”

Ridoc, still grinning, shrugged. “You are a little dramatic.”

You shot him a glare before continuing, “You do realize that during the revolution, you all made me a Major, right?”

The table went silent.

Xaden, to his credit, didn’t look surprised—he’d been there when it happened. But the rest of them?

Yeah, some of them definitely hadn’t considered that before.

“I was in charge of a whole damn division,” you continued, voice sharp now. “Which meant that every time something went wrong, every time one of you needed something, every time an order needed to be given, I was the one making the calls.” You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. “Which meant I was in bed at eleven—if I was lucky—because I was dealing with all of you. And then? I was back up at four in the morning because I was the one handling logistics with the rest of the continent.”

Sawyer winced. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you muttered.

Rhiannon frowned. “I mean, I knew you were handling a lot, but I didn’t realize…” You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not even the worst of it.” You flicked your gaze toward Xaden, who was watching you intently, his jaw tight. “Then came the cure for the Venin.”

Imogen frowned. “Right. We were all looking for—”

“No,” you cut in. “You were fighting. I was trying to locate things. I was the one chasing every lead, digging through archives, listening for rumours. And that meant I was getting woken up at any hour of the night whenever something came up that might help.”

Ridoc, who had finally stopped grinning, just stared at you. “Shit.”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back in your chair. “So yeah. Maybe I am being dramatic. But you know what? I earned it.”

Silence.

Then—

Xaden, still watching you carefully, leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“You’re tired,” he said simply.

You met his gaze, the exhaustion creeping into your voice now.

“I’m so tired.”

Violet, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke.

“You should’ve said something sooner.”

You gave her a look. “When? During the war? When everything was still falling apart?”

Violet frowned. “You still should’ve—”

“No.” Xaden’s voice cut in, sharp and unwavering.

You blinked, turning to look at him.

He was serious now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable in his expression.

“She did what she had to do,” he said simply. “And now? She’s doing what she needs to do.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, something heavy passing between you.

Then he leaned back in his chair, smirk creeping back onto his face.

“And if that means enforcing some stupid rule about not talking to her before nine?” He shrugged. “Then we all just have to deal with it.”

The table was silent.

Then—

Ridoc groaned.

You snorted, shaking your head as you took another sip of coffee. “At least one of you is finally catching up.” Xaden just smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t see the problem.”

Sawyer scoffed. “That’s because you’re the one benefiting from it.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

Rhiannon exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Okay, so let me get this straight—because we put you in charge during the war, and then you had to run around finding the cure, and then deal with logistics, and then deal with us, and then handle the entire continent—”

“—while also dating him,” Ridoc added, pointing at Xaden.

Rhiannon nodded. “—while dating him, now you’ve decided that you get to make arbitrary rules about how and when we’re allowed to talk to you?”

You grinned. “See? You do get it.”

She groaned, dropping her head onto the table. Imogen, who had been listening carefully, finally spoke. “Honestly?” She shrugged. “Sounds fair to me.” You pointed at her. “See? Thank you.”

Maren frowned. “So how long is this rule going to last?”

You blinked. “What?”

Maren gestured vaguely. “Like, are you going to keep this up for another three months? A year? Forever?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

The table erupted. Ridoc threw his head back with a groan, Sawyer muttered something about revolutionary nightmares, and Cat just shook her head with an amused smirk. Xaden? He just kept looking at you, his smirk deepening.

And then, before anyone else could get a word in—

Mira, who had been watching the chaos unfold with far too much amusement, leaned forward slightly, tilting her head. “Alright, I have to ask,” she said. “What happens if someone does try to talk to you before nine?”

The table stilled.

Then, slowly, all eyes turned to you.

You took another sip of coffee.

Set your mug down.

Tilted your head slightly.

And smiled.

“That,” you said, voice light and just a little too sweet, “is something you don’t want to find out.”

Silence.

And then—

Xaden laughed.

Long and deep and genuinely amused, shaking his head as he looked at you like you were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

The others?

Yeah, they definitely believed you.

It was far too early for this.

You stood outside the council chamber doors, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, seething. The ornate wooden doors loomed in front of you, the deep red banners of Tyrrendor hanging beside them, flickering slightly from the draft in the hallway.

Inside, you could already hear the low murmur of voices—serious, composed, and utterly unaware of the wrath they had just summoned. Beside you, Xaden stood with his hands behind his back, expression far too neutral. But you knew him—knew the slight twitch of his mouth, the amusement flickering behind those dark eyes.

The traitor.

“They requested you,” he reminded, tone maddeningly calm. “They requested me before nine,” you snapped. Xaden exhaled, shaking his head. “You do realize they’re a council, right?”

You turned to glare at him. “And do they realize that I made a rule?”

Xaden grinned. “I don’t think they care.”

Your scowl deepened. “Well, they’re about to.”

And with that, you shoved open the heavy doors and strode inside, not even bothering to look at the gathered officials as you stormed toward the table.

The conversation cut off immediately.

Ten council members, all dressed in the deep reds and blacks of Tyrrendor, turned to look at you—some confused, some mildly annoyed, none of them aware that they were about to regret everything.

You slammed your hands down on the polished table.

The sound echoed loudly through the chamber.

One of the councillors, an older man with greying hair, frowned at you. “General, we—”

“Do you know what time it is?” you demanded.

Silence.

A few exchanged wary glances.

“…It’s a council meeting,” another councillor offered, confused.

You inhaled sharply, barely restraining yourself. “It is before nine.”

More silence.

Then—

“…And?”

Your eye twitched.

Xaden, still standing near the door, had zero intention of helping you. If anything, you could feel his smug amusement. You turned back to the council. “I have one rule,” you said, voice low and deadly. “And this—” you gestured broadly at them, at the entire room, “—this is violating it.”

One of the younger councilors, a woman with sharp features, raised a brow. “You can’t seriously be—”

“I am serious,” you cut in, eyes flashing.

She hesitated.

The older councillor exhaled heavily. “This is important—”

“So was my sleep during the war,” you snapped. “Did I get any of that? No.” You levelled them with a glare. “But this? This is not life or death. This is a council meeting that could have been scheduled an hour later.”

Silence.

Then—

One of the more cautious members cleared their throat.

“…Would you like us to reschedule?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.”

Another awkward beat of silence.

Then the older councillor sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. The meeting will reconvene at nine.”

You beamed. “See? Now we’re learning.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and marched right back out of the chamber, passing Xaden without so much as a glance.

But as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, you heard it—

Xaden’s quiet, infuriatingly amused voice as he muttered,

“Gods help us all.”

You were still fuming as you stormed down the hallway, your boots clicking against the stone floors in sharp, purposeful strides. Xaden, of course, was strolling beside you, hands in his pockets, not helping at all.

“You know,” he mused, voice laced with amusement, “you could have just sat through the meeting like a normal person.”

You whipped around so fast he had to stop short to avoid running into you.

“Normal?” you repeated, eyes blazing. “You think I went through years of war, got forced into a leadership position, spent months barely surviving, and then finally clawed my way into some semblance of peace just to sit through a meeting before nine in the morning like a normal person?”

Xaden just blinked at you, his lips twitching. “Well, when you put it that way—”

You threw your hands up. “Exactly!”

He sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I fear for Tyrrendor.”

You scowled. “Tyrrendor is fine.”

“You’re literally refusing to lead before nine.”

“Exactly.”

Xaden snorted, finally breaking into a full grin.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing. Just—” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before trailing his fingers down your jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

You huffed. “And you love it.”

His grin turned wicked. “That’s the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back around and marching toward your chambers.

But just as you reached the door, Xaden’s shadows coiled around your waist, tugging you back against his chest.

You gasped, hands automatically gripping his forearms as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “you storming into that meeting like that?” His fingers dragged down your sides, slow and deliberate. “Kind of hot.”

Your breath hitched.

Damn him.

Damn his shadows.

Damn his stupid, unfair ability to make you melt in seconds.

You swallowed hard, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

“Then maybe,” you murmured, “you should take me back to bed.”

His eyes darkened.

And before you could so much as blink, he was picking you up, shadows wrapping around you both as he carried you straight back inside.

Seven Months Later

It was six in the godsdamned morning, and you were miserable.

The sky was still a deep shade of navy, the sun barely beginning to touch the horizon, casting long shadows through the narrow corridors of the ancient archive. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and dust, the quiet shuffle of boots against stone the only sound accompanying your group as you all trudged forward, each burdened with heavy books pulled from the archive’s deepest vaults.

You carried yours easily, arms wrapped around the worn leather covers, but your patience? That was hanging by a thread.

And everyone knew it.

No one dared speak to you. Not yet.

Well—no one except Drake.

“You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” he mused, glancing at you as he adjusted the stack of books in his grip. You huffed, keeping your gaze forward as the two of you walked ahead of the group. “If this mission wasn’t essential, I’d still be in bed.”

Drake chuckled. “Not exactly a morning person, huh?”

You shot him a sharp look. “I have a rule.”

His lips twitched. “Right. No full conversations before nine. I’ve heard the horror stories.” Behind you, someone snorted—probably Ridoc—but you ignored it, focusing instead on Drake as he continued, “So, what makes me special?”

You shrugged, stepping over a broken piece of stone in the hallway. “You don’t test me.”

Drake smirked. “Good to know.”

The sound of shuffling boots behind you grew louder as the rest of the squad followed, everyone weighed down by their own stacks of books.

“I don’t get it,” Sawyer muttered somewhere behind you. “She’s literally speaking to him.”

“She likes him better than us,” Ridoc stage-whispered.

Xaden sighed heavily. “It’s six in the morning. Leave it.”

“I’m just saying,” Ridoc continued, voice full of obnoxious curiosity, “she’s actually stringing full sentences together. And meanwhile, if I even look at her—”

“Ridoc.” Xaden’s voice was sharp, carrying warning.

You smirked but didn’t look back.

Drake nudged you slightly with his shoulder, lowering his voice. “You do realize this only makes them more dramatic about it, right?”

You sighed. “Let them suffer.”

Drake chuckled again, shaking his head as the two of you kept walking.

The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, the dim torchlight flickering against the old stone walls. The weight of the books in your arms wasn’t unbearable, but the company behind you? That was another story.

You could feel the squad’s frustration, the burning curiosity radiating off them like a second sun. None of them understood why Drake was exempt from your before-nine-AM silence policy, and they were losing their minds over it.

Ridoc, naturally, was the most offended.

“I’m just saying,” he whispered—not quietly enough, “Drake doesn’t even talk that much. How did he become the chosen one?”

“Because he doesn’t run his mouth before dawn,” Imogen muttered.

“Neither do I!” Ridoc protested.

“You literally are right now,” Cat pointed out.

A huff of annoyance came from Xaden’s direction, but he still hadn’t intervened—probably because he was as curious as the rest of them.

You ignored them all, keeping pace beside Drake. He, at least, had the decency not to comment on the growing tension behind you. Instead, he shifted his books slightly, glancing sideways at you.

“So, what’s the deal with this archive, anyway?”

You exhaled slowly, more than happy to focus on something other than the squad’s ongoing mutiny. “It holds some of the oldest texts on continent history. Half of them were locked away by Navarre, the other half buried in misinformation.”

Drake nodded. “And we’re searching for…?”

“Anything useful.”

Behind you, there was an exaggerated gasp.

“She’s explaining things to him,” Ridoc whisper-yelled.

“Oh my gods, let it go,” Sloane muttered.

“I won’t let it go! We used to be special!”

“You were never special,” Mira shot back.

A quiet snort escaped before you could stop it.

Drake’s lips twitched, but he didn’t comment.

Xaden, however, finally reached the end of his patience. “Enough.”

Silence fell instantly.

You could practically hear Ridoc’s pout.

Xaden sighed, and then his voice cut through the heavy air. “It’s six in the morning. She will not entertain your bullshit until nine. Deal with it.”

A weighted pause.

Then, softly—

“…But Drake—”

“Ridoc.”

Another silence.

Then, a defeated sigh.

“Fine.”

You smirked, satisfied, as you and Drake reached the next doorway leading deeper into the archives.

Some battles just weren’t worth fighting.

But this one?

This one, you won.

Two Years Later – Morning Ruined

The sound of retching echoed in the bathroom, followed by a groan as you slumped against the cool porcelain of the sink. Your stomach hated you. Your entire existence felt like it was betraying you.

Morning sickness was vile.

A groggy shuffle of footsteps entered the room behind you, followed by the deep rumble of amusement.

“Oh, this is rich.”

You glared up at Xaden through the strands of hair stuck to your face. “Don’t.”

He smirked, leaning against the doorframe—infuriatingly shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was a mess, sticking up from sleep, but his eyes? Oh, they were full of mischief.

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, crossing his arms, “the baby is really committed to ruining your whole morning silence rule.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the sink. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you hate this.” He gestured vaguely at your current situation. “I just think it’s poetic justice.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Justice for what?”

Xaden hummed, tilting his head as if considering. “For all the times you’ve shushed me before nine. For all the years I’ve had to deal with your silent tyranny. Now, the universe—” he pointed at your stomach, “—has decided to humble you.”

You huffed, closing your eyes. “I hope this baby gets my attitude.”

Xaden scoffed. “You already have a mini version of you in there. I’d like to at least stand a chance in this household.”

Another wave of nausea hit, and you lurched forward, barely making it over the toilet before emptying what little remained in your stomach.

Xaden sighed, finally pushing off the doorframe. “Alright, alright. I’ve had my fun.”

You felt him kneel beside you, his warm hand sweeping your hair back from your face, fingers soothing against your scalp. Another hand rested on your lower back, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“You’re still an ass,” you muttered weakly.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah, but I’m your ass.”

You grumbled something incoherent, but as he helped you up, supporting your weight easily, you let yourself lean into him, exhaustion creeping in.

The baby was ruining your morning silence.

But if Xaden kept this up, you might just forgive them both. Xaden guided you out of the bathroom, keeping his arm firmly wrapped around your waist as you grumbled about your suffering. He was still smirking, of course. Thoroughly enjoying this.

The moment you hit the edge of the bed, you flopped down onto it, burying your face into the pillows. “I hate this.”

Xaden chuckled, sitting beside you. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” You rolled onto your back, glaring up at him. “I don’t get it. I was fine yesterday.”

He raised a brow. “You threw up twice yesterday.”

You scowled. “That’s not the point.”

Xaden hummed, clearly not taking you seriously. “Well, maybe you should tell the baby that.”

You groaned, draping an arm over your face. “I would if they weren’t actively ruining my life.”

He leaned down, pressing a palm against your stomach. “Hear that, little one? You’re ruining your mother’s life.”

You peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “You love this.”

He grinned. “A little, yeah.”

You huffed but didn’t stop him when he trailed his fingers along your stomach, his touch gentle. Even through your misery, there was something warm about the moment—something real.

Then, of course, he had to ruin it.

“You know,” he mused, stretching out beside you, “you’ll never get your silence back, right?”

You turned your head toward him slowly. “Excuse me?”

Xaden smirked, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Once the baby’s here? Silence is over. You’re going to have a very vocal alarm clock at all hours.”

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face. “Why are you like this?”

He laughed, tugging the pillow away so he could look at you. “I’m just preparing you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You get to wake up with them, then.”

His smirk wavered slightly. “We’ll see about that.” You rolled over, pressing your face into his chest. “You’re absolutely waking up with them.” Xaden sighed but wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Yeah, yeah.”

Silence settled over the room.

For a moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you’d get a little peace.

Then, Xaden pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “So, how long until you admit I was right?”

You smacked his chest.

The nausea struck hard.

One second, you were curled against Xaden’s chest, soaking in the rare moment of stillness. The next, your stomach flipped—a violent, churning sensation that had you gasping and clutching his arm.

Xaden stiffened immediately. “Shit—”

You barely had time to turn your head before your entire body rebelled. A horrible gag wrenched through you, your throat burning as you dry-heaved, your stomach twisting with the effort.

Xaden was already moving. One arm tightening around your back, the other reaching blindly toward the nightstand, where a metal basin sat just in case. He dragged it into your lap, his grip firm but careful as you hunched over it, heaving.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “Just breathe through it.”

You would’ve snapped at him if you weren’t so busy dying.

Tears burned your eyes as another wave of nausea ripped through you, but nothing came up. Just more gagging, more misery, more betrayal from the parasite growing inside you.

Xaden pressed his cheek against the top of your head, rubbing slow circles against your back. His touch was warm, grounding. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You slumped forward, chest heaving, utterly wrecked.

“I hate this,” you rasped.

“I know.” His lips pressed against your temple. “You’re doing so good.”

You groaned weakly, gripping his wrist. “I want to punch you.”

His chuckle was entirely too smug. “You can—once you’re done not dying.”

Another groan. Another shuddering breath. Your body finally relented, the nausea retreating just enough for you to collapse back against him, exhausted.

Xaden sighed, shifting you gently so he could tuck you against his chest. His fingers brushed against your clammy skin, soothing as he whispered, “You’re okay.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting him hold you.

After a long moment, he exhaled.

“…So does this mean you’re lifting the morning silence rule?”

You whimpered.

Six Months Later – A New Kind of Morning

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You lay propped up in bed, pillows supporting your back, as you gazed down at the tiny, sleeping figure nestled against your chest. Your three-day-old son, Liam, named in honour of Liam Mairi, his delicate features relaxed in peaceful slumber.

Xaden sat beside you, his dark eyes fixed on the baby with a mixture of awe and tenderness. His hand rested gently on your arm, grounding you in this new, shared reality.

As you traced a fingertip along Liam's soft cheek, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. The months of morning sickness, the upheaval of your cherished routines—all of it faded into insignificance compared to the weight of your son in your arms.

With a soft chuckle, you murmured, "I don't mind him disturbing my peace."

Xaden's gaze met yours, a slow smile spreading across his face. "No," he agreed, his voice low and filled with emotion. "Neither do I."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle breaths of the sleeping infant. In this moment, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the three of you cocooned in the quiet intimacy of new parenthood.

You leaned your head against Xaden's shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. Together, you watched over your son, the embodiment of your love and the beginning of a new chapter—one where morning silences were a thing of the past, but the promise of shared moments like this made every disturbance worthwhile.

Liam stirred against your chest, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft, sleepy whimper. You instinctively tightened your arms around him, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. His dark curls—so much like Xaden’s—tickled your lips.

Xaden watched the two of you with quiet intensity. He’d been doing that a lot—just staring, like he still couldn’t believe Liam was real.

You smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “You know he’s not going to disappear, right?”

Xaden huffed a soft laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “I know.” A pause. “I just—”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes flickered to Liam, still curled against your chest. His expression softened.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched.

Reaching for his hand, you laced your fingers through his and gave a small squeeze. “Well, you do.” You nudged your nose against Liam’s downy-soft hair. “And he’s perfect.”

Xaden exhaled, his thumb brushing absently over the back of your hand. “Yeah.” His lips quirked. “He is.”

Liam let out another soft noise, shifting slightly. His tiny fingers flexed against your skin before settling again.

You hummed, swaying slightly even though you were still lying down. “I don’t even mind him waking me up.”

Xaden snorted. “Bold statement. Let’s see if you still feel that way in a few weeks.”

You shot him a look. “Are you implying that I don’t have patience?”

He grinned. “I’m implying that you’ve threatened people for waking you up early.”

You gasped in mock offense. “That was before I had a baby.”

Xaden chuckled, leaning down until his face was level with yours. His voice dipped lower. “So, if I wake you up before nine now, you won’t kill me?”

You squinted at him. “...That depends.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Liam stirred again, this time with a tiny, contented sigh.

And just like that, everything else faded.

Xaden sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “We’re never getting silence again, are we?”

You smiled, tucking Liam even closer. “Not a chance.”

Three Years Later – The Next Generation of Chaos

The smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as you stood at the far counter, waiting for the pot to finish brewing. It was early—too early for anyone in your household to be this lively—but here you were, surrounded by a squad that didn’t seem to understand the concept of quiet mornings.

Liam, perched comfortably on the kitchen counter, kicked his little feet against the cabinets. His dark curls were a mess, his cheeks still flushed with sleep, but his sharp eyes were wide and alert, just like his father’s.

Xaden stood beside him, sipping his coffee, while Garrick and Violet leaned against the island. Ridoc, who never knew how to shut up, had taken it upon himself to be Liam’s personal entertainment for the morning.

“Alright, little shadowling,” Ridoc grinned, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “I have excellent jokes. Want to hear one?”

Liam didn’t even hesitate. He lifted one tiny hand, pressed a single finger to his lips, and went, “Shhh.”

The room froze.

Violet choked on her coffee, Garrick went rigid, and Xaden—who had been mid-sip—just stared at his son in stunned silence.

Ridoc blinked. “Uh—”

Liam, completely unfazed, turned his head slowly to face Ridoc. His little brows furrowed in something almost like disapproval.

“Too early,” he declared.

Silence.

Then—

Violet wheezed, setting her coffee down before she dropped it, while Garrick made an unholy noise of laughter. Xaden sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, but you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched at the edges. Ridoc, looking personally offended, gestured wildly at the toddler. “Are you kidding me? He’s you!” He whirled on you. “You corrupted him!”

You smirked, taking a slow sip of your coffee before raising a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Xaden finally broke, shaking his head as he ruffled Liam’s curls. “Can’t even be mad.”

Liam, clearly sensing that he’d won, turned back to his father and held out his arms expectantly. Xaden picked him up with ease, resting him against his hip while pressing a kiss to the side of his little head.

Ridoc crossed his arms. “You’re both terrible.”

Violet wiped tears from her eyes, still laughing. “This is perfect.”

Garrick clapped a hand on Ridoc’s shoulder. “Better get used to it, man.”

Ridoc groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “This kid is three. What’s he gonna be like at eighteen?”

Xaden met your gaze across the kitchen, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

You grinned.

“An absolute menace.”

Liam, still nestled comfortably on Xaden’s hip, let out a very deliberate sigh. Then—slowly, carefully—he lifted one tiny hand again, pressed his little finger to his lips, and gave a sharp, pointed…

"Shhh."

The entire kitchen went dead silent.

Ridoc, who had just opened his mouth to protest, snapped it shut. Violet pressed a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Garrick looked personally offended. And Xaden? Xaden just stood there, stone-faced, watching as his own three-year-old son silenced a roomful of trained warriors.

You, of course, were thrilled.

Hands on your hips, you grinned at your son. “Oh, that was beautiful.” Liam, still with his tiny finger pressed to his lips, nodded sagely. Ridoc threw his hands in the air. “Oh, come on! He can’t just—”

"Shhh."

Liam doubled down.

Eyes narrowed, expression severe.

Ridoc froze mid-rant. His mouth snapped shut so fast you swore you heard his teeth click together. You lost it, biting back laughter as Violet wheezed into her coffee. Garrick muttered, “I think we just got commanded.”

Xaden exhaled deeply, rubbing at his temples. Then, as if just accepting defeat, he looked down at Liam. “You do know you’re not in charge of the room, right?”

Liam turned his little head. Blink blink.

Then—

"Shhh."

Silence.

Complete. Utter. Silence.

Violet collapsed against the counter, shaking. Ridoc looked like he was about to combust. Garrick covered his face.

You, still completely delighted, crossed your arms. “I don’t know, babe. Seems like he’s very in charge.”

Xaden groaned, looking up at the ceiling as if begging for patience.

Liam, completely unaware that he’d just won the war, settled back against his father’s shoulder with a self-satisfied little hum.

And in that moment—watching every single person in this kitchen forced into silence by a three-year-old—you realized something.

Your son?

Was an absolute menace.

And you couldn’t be prouder. The room stayed eerily quiet for a full five seconds. Five. Whole. Seconds.

It was glorious.

You sipped your coffee, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Ridoc looking like he was going to explode. Violet was still wheezing, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face, while Garrick just stared at Liam like he was a newly discovered breed of predator.

And Xaden? Xaden was doing that thing where he rubbed a hand over his jaw, like he was trying very hard not to let amusement slip through the cracks of his carefully controlled expression.

Liam, nestled comfortably against his father’s shoulder, nodded to himself. As if pleased that order had finally been restored.

Then, as if summoned by the pure chaos that had unfolded, more footsteps echoed from the hall.

Imogen was the first to walk in, hair tied in a loose braid, her sharp gaze immediately flicking over all of you. She slowed mid-step, brows furrowing. “…Why is it so quiet?”

Bodhi followed right after her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “That’s what I wanna know.”

Then, just as Ridoc opened his mouth to finally tell them what had happened—

Liam, with the calm authority of someone twice his size, lifted his hand and pressed that tiny little finger to his lips.

"Shhh."

Ridoc made a sound so strangled it was almost inhuman.

Imogen froze.

Bodhi blinked. Looked at Ridoc. Then looked at Liam. Then back to Ridoc.

And grinned. “Oh, this is good.” Ridoc whipped around to face him. “This is not good! I’m being silenced by a three-year-old!”Liam turned his head.

"Shhh."

Ridoc collapsed against the island, dragging his hands down his face. “I hate this kid.” Violet was dying at this point, bent over with laughter as Xaden simply sighed and adjusted Liam on his hip.

Imogen, to her credit, looked impressed. “I mean, that’s kinda terrifying.” Bodhi crossed his arms, still smirking. “Oh, absolutely. A menace in the making.”

“Don’t encourage him!” Ridoc threw his hands in the air. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” He pointed directly at you. “You created this. You.”

You raised an eyebrow, still entirely unbothered. “And?” Ridoc made a strangled noise. “And now I have to live with it!” Liam, clearly thrilled by all the attention, rested his chin on Xaden’s shoulder and grinned, looking far too proud of himself.

And then—just to really rub salt in the wound—he turned to you, little hand outstretched.

You immediately high-fived him. “That’s my boy.”

Ridoc groaned so dramatically it echoed through the whole kitchen.

And Xaden, looking between his equally chaotic wife and son, simply shook his head.

“My life,” he muttered, “is never going to be normal.”

Xaden had been through war. He had been through a revolution. He had battled Venin, trained reckless cadets, and had been crowned a king. And yet—somehow—the greatest challenge of his life…

Was this.

His three-year-old son was running the entire room. With one word.

"Shhh."

Liam had effectively silenced Ridoc, baffled Imogen, made Bodhi laugh, and had Violet on the verge of tears from how hard she was laughing. Meanwhile, you—his wife, the only person he had ever willingly let disrupt his life—were thriving.

You stood there, arms crossed, smirking in that infuriating way that told him you were far too pleased with the chaos you had created.

Xaden sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “So this is my life now.”

Violet, still grinning, wiped at her eyes. “You did marry her.”

“And had a child with her,” Imogen added, looking at Liam with something close to admiration.

Bodhi chuckled, elbowing Xaden. “Bet you thought ruling Tyrrendor was gonna be your hardest job.”

Ridoc, still sulking, muttered, “Should’ve thought harder.”

Xaden just stared at all of them, then down at Liam—who was currently leaning his head against his father’s shoulder, entirely unbothered by the chaos he had caused.

And that was when it hit him.

This wasn’t just some random habit Liam had picked up.

No.

This was you.

Liam had inherited your morning rule.

Your absolute refusal to engage in any conversation before you deemed it acceptable.

You had passed it down.

Xaden exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for half a second.

Then he turned his head and looked directly at you.

“…This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Your smirk widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Xaden groaned, resting his forehead against Liam’s tiny one. “I am so outnumbered.”

Liam, not understanding but clearly agreeing, hummed and patted his father’s cheek in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture. But when he turned his head again and caught Ridoc trying to open his mouth—

"Shhh."

Ridoc gave up entirely, throwing his head back and groaning to the ceiling.

And Xaden?

Xaden just accepted it.

His son was a menace. His wife was worse.

And his life was never going to be peaceful again.

Xaden had barely recovered from the realization that his wife and son had conspired—whether intentionally or not—to bring him to his knees with sheer silent tyranny when you spoke up again.

Casually. Too casually.

“So… do you think the second one is gonna be like this too?”

Silence.

Not because of Liam this time.

But because every single person in the room just stopped moving.

Xaden felt it immediately—the way everyone around him tensed, the sharp inhale from Violet, the way Ridoc’s jaw dropped. He could physically hear the way Bodhi snapped his neck to look at you.

Xaden’s grip on Liam instinctively tightened.

“…What?”

You, utterly unbothered as always, sipped your coffee. “You heard me.”

Ridoc, voice pitched an octave higher than normal, choked. “Second?” Violet gasped. “You’re pregnant?”

Xaden’s brain short-circuited. Because, no, you had not told him that. His wife—the mother of his already tiny tyrant—had just casually dropped this monumental piece of information in the middle of their morning routine.

Imogen wheeled around to face you, her sharp eyes wide. “You’re serious?” Bodhi looked offended. “And you didn’t tell us?” Sawyer laughed outright, running a hand through his hair. “I love her. I love how she just says things like it’s not a big deal.”

Rhiannon gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth before immediately smacking your arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You just grinned, far too pleased with yourself. “I just did.”

Xaden finally snapped himself out of it, his grip on Liam tightening as he turned to stare at you.

His wife.

His chaotic, insufferable, too-clever-for-her-own-good wife.

The mother of his children.

Children.

Plural.

“Oh,” he muttered, voice flat. “So that’s how I find out.”

You sipped your coffee again, completely unapologetic.

Ridoc, still looking betrayed, crossed his arms. “Unreal. Unreal.”

Bodhi snorted, clapping Xaden on the back. “Well, congrats, Dad.”

Xaden just exhaled deeply, looking down at the little menace still sitting in his arms. Liam, ever the stoic observer, blinked up at his father, clearly unconcerned with the absolute chaos unfolding around him.

Then, as if just now registering what had been said, Liam reached one tiny hand out—

And patted Xaden’s stomach.

As if confirming that there was, in fact, another one on the way.

Xaden groaned, running a hand down his face. “I am so outnumbered.”

And then—just to really cement how doomed he was—Liam turned to you.

“Mommy.”

His voice was sweet. Curious.

But then he lifted one tiny hand.

And pressed his finger to his lips.

"Shhh."

The room erupted.

A/N: SO like my finals are in 8 weeks so I wont be posting much BUT I am taking blurb requests for our fourth wing men Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[lilactwilights]

can’t stop thinking about frat gojo finally catching feelings…

it seems the world turns upside down when infamous frat bro, rich heir and resident fuckboy satoru gojo ends up settling down. 

there’s collective bewilderment that eventually lands into a generalized sense of skepticism because there’s no way him, of all damn people, chooses to waltz around campus with an all caps BOYFRIEND label slapped into his forehead, and so proudly at that.

it seems to come out of nowhere, too.

well, almost.

(you were discreet, just not enough)

you are no strangers. you have some friends in common and turns out people have seen you around him before, orbiting around each other at parties or academic endeavors at uni. you have been caught getting handsy in some dark corner of a party at least a handful of times or shamelessly exchanging spit in the least crowded places on campus in broad daylight.

a little more than a few people have seen you leave with him to god knows where, gingerly climbing up into his car as the party rages on or after you clock off at your part-time job on campus. they have caught you skipping up the stairs of whatever place together or inconspicuously walk towards the least visible bookshelves at an almost empty library, hand in hand.

more than one have noticed you disappear for a while, together, his arm snaked around your waist like it belongs in there and have witnessed you come back with a slight yet telling stagger in your step and gojo’s lazy yet smug million-dollar smile clueing anyone with two brain-cells on what your impromptu absence entailed.

(allegedly, there have been some sightings of both of you in casual strolls at the park, having dinner at a 24/7 place and sharing ice-cream down the riverside, but there’s no enough proof of all that, so to speak)

it doesn’t mean anything. 

because this is nothing more than routine for him, a fleeting adventure for the casual partner in turn and rich entertainment for the eager public consuming tabloids or spreading school gossip. 

you aren’t supposed to stay. you aren’t supposed to last more than a few weeks. if they do get a bit flexible and accept the possibility of whatever you share lasting months –as long as it is on and off, because there’s a past record of that— and even if there are considerably less reports of you two sneaking or hiding around dark in favor of casual sightings in less obscure places, you only become a full-fledged anomaly the moment talks about him referring to you as “his girl” to his team, his fellow frat bros —or whoever, really— start spreading about.

It seems the balance of the universe is a bit off when people notice his following list has decreased considerably and click on it only to find an inconceivable absence of all the usernames linked to whoever he had fucked previously. worse, he creates a whole ass story highlight with your initials and a damn stupid heart and daily spams his stories with every picture of you he seems to have on his gallery, which turn out to be many, for some reason.

or when, during a game, he happens to blow a kiss towards the section you are casually sitting at and seems to look for something after the winning score and practically disregards the trophy and the hands reaching for him in favor of holding you and spin you around, still sweaty and flushed and laughing in a picture-perfect shot that does make it to the school papers and the official university sports account.  

you quickly become the talk of campus. there’s a sentiment that seems to permeate every conversation beyond the usual mix of doubt, jealousy or surprise when you pass by with your hands entwined.

you are surprised when you finally understand it’s pity. 

because the truth is no one believes in satoru. no one believes ‘whatever you have’ will ever work out. why would he willingly tie himself down with anyone that’s not a supermodel or super-rich and throw away all the potential wildness associated with senior year is beyond everyone around you. 

he is not boyfriend material. his track record doesn’t help his case and men like him can never successfully commit at such a young age, less with someone that seems to be so different from him and move around circles he has never stepped foot into. 

within a few days, most people have decided this is an experimenting phase or a half-assed effort to appease the family that’s rumored to be on his ass for all his unsavory rendezvous. the public consensus seems to be that he will get bored and break up with you soon enough after whatever feeling or result he is after is finally on his grasp again. most are already feeling sorry for you, mocking your naivety or criticizing his heartless proceedings. sometimes all three at the same time.

it seems to affect you, somehow. you hate it, but there are days when all of it makes doubt rear its ugly head and the bitter taste of self-consciousness settles in your tongue. no matter how hard you try, you end up closing in yourself, avoiding the avid eyes eating you both up whenever you go out. 

but it’s hard to dwell on all of it when you see who the most fervent believer of your relationship is.

satoru doesn’t seem to be affected by anything. he doesn’t seem to listen to nasty words or ill-intentioned comments, only ever addressing them or shutting them down with a cold fury that only stems from whatever discomfort this provokes on you.

he has always been confident and self-assured and it’s so used to accomplish every single thing his mind has set into. success is on his nature. beyond the privileges and advantages life has gifted him with, satoru is a stubborn, passionate man. his pride is a driving force most of the time and he’ll be damned if the thing he is most proud about doesn’t work out.

because people out there aren’t privy to the late night conversations, the shared jokes and the cosmic compatibility the university blessed you both with. your paths were made to intertwine, he is sure of that. even if all of it started with a stolen kiss and sex that was supposed to be as casual and inconsequential as he was used to, there was no stopping the unexpected evolution of your shared time together. he can list all the things he liked and then loved about you and recount and pinpoint every single moment that lead him to realize that, as cheesy and mortifying as it sounds —or it sounded back then, for him—, you are meant to be.

he wrestled with that notion for months, agonized over the incipient feelings he was not familiar with and avoided even thinking about the implications of a reality he wanted so so hard to run from. but he has never been a coward. he was so close to give up something he hadn’t even tried to reach so he ultimately took a leap of faith. 

he jumped right into an abyss he had never been to but he decided you are worth the fall and whatever landing he is met with.

he knows damn well it was hard for you to trust his spiel and his promises about feelings and about trying and he swore himself that if there ever was the tiniest possibility of this ending in heartbreak it wouldn’t be because of him. 

so he learns and tries and fails sometimes and it’s so damn frustrating for him because he is not used to make mistakes but he has never been in a real relationship before so everything is new to him and so he is forced to take baby steps when all he wants to do is sprint.

he has stars in his eyes when he talks about all the plans he has for you both. he kisses you with hunger and reverence and whispers in your ear all the reassurances you never told him you needed to hear.  he gets overwhelmed when you fuck because, until the sweet heat and warmth of your body, he never knew how it was to mix the fire of primal lust and desperate hunger with the fuel of emotions and vulnerability of so many shared feelings. and god, it’s scary. but he has never felt more satisfied and happy in his life than when you are wrapped in each other during the afterglow. 

he gets a taste of insecurity and experiences scorching jealousy for the first time, because he never had the fear of losing anything or anyone at the hands of someone more understanding or compatible or soft or experienced with feelings than him. until you.

he soon finds out that you can push his buttons and pull at his most sensitive strings like no one has ever done. you hold a power over him and that is as infuriating and terrifying as it is exhilarating. he is forced to walk down a line with careful and measured steps, down a path that is as unknown as it is gratifying. he doesn’t know where it will lead or when it will end –if it even does– or if it will become steep or sinuous or keep being as calm as walk in the park you usually stroll at. 

people tell him he is not mature enough and that this is not meant to last or even be.

but satoru gojo, the infamous frat boy, rich heir and former fuckboy couldn’t give less of a fuck.

everything feels right when he is with you so he will cling to you as long as you will have him, which is hopefully forever.

(actually, he thinks he might be in love with you. but that’s a whole other thing. it might be too soon to address that one.) 

a/n: i LOVE frat gojo. i love when he is a manwhore but i also love to think of him after getting rehabilitated. he would be so WHIPPED because it’s the first time he experiences real feelings. he would be obsessed with his partner, actually. might kinda border on pathological for some and he might scare a few people with how intense he is but, hey, as long as they are both happy. we need more men devastatingly and pathetically whipped.