#*to heal is to let the warmth sink in

[hoppipolla]

You don't have to force yourself to smile in front of me. Every time you joke, you're the one getting hurt.

KIMI TO NARA KOI WO SHITE MITE MO dir. Matsumoto Hana (2023)

[seekingthestars]

today i slept in a little and took my cat outside and read 115 pages in a new book and watched two movies and had a nice bath and i know that may not sound like much of a day but i just feel so content and quietly happy, it's really nice 🥹

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

* Includes primal, breeding, and scent kink • Logan’s dick is so big Reader struggles to take it 🫦 • oral sex (f receiving) • fingering • vaginal sex • Logan’s in beast mode but the fluff is definitely fluffing 💗 *

Tears bubbled in the corners of your eyes, your lips pressed into a frustrated pout. “It won’t fit,” you whimpered, your voice trembling in defeat. Logan’s broad shoulders curved over you like a shield, every muscle in his body tensed as he demanded restraint of himself.

In spite of how tightly your cunt was sucking at his tip, Logan knew he had to be gentle with you. If he forced himself any deeper, he’d absolutely cause you pain. And that was the last thing he wanted, especially since this was your first time with him…

It was something Logan had anticipated already. He knew he was big, with a thick girth that matched his length. Despite playing with your pussy through your clothes for the last ten minutes and getting you sopping wet, he was still met with resistance the moment he pushed his tip inside you.

“Shh, it’s okay honey,” Logan soothed you. “S’not your fault, alright?” He eased his hips back slowly, carefully removing his tip from your entrance. Logan swiped the pad of his thumb across your cheek, drying a frustrated tear before it could fall. “A tight little pussy’s nothing to cry about, angel,” he grinned reassuringly down at you, pulling you into his arms. “Just means we need to help her relax a little.”

Logan gently guided your back against the couch, sliding down to his knees beside you. One of his hands slid under your ass and down your left thigh, lifting your leg till it was draped over his broad shoulder. The smell of your cunt was intoxicating, stirring every animal instinct inside Logan that he knew he must keep in check. If he lost control, even for a moment, he might hurt you, or worse.

Logan’s self control was immaculate, a skill he’d been forced to acquire through generations of fucking women who didn’t share his strength, and certainly not his ability to heal from whatever consequences a rough fuck could cause.

“You smell like honey,” Logan murmured, nuzzling his nose into the soft warmth of your inner thigh. He used his fingers to delicately spread your lips apart, watching the slick collected there spread between them. Your scent grew stronger as Logan opened you up for himself, his primal need to claim you testing his sense of control. His eyes honed in on the wet cunt just inches from his mouth, dripping with copious, slippery cum. Logan could smell your fertility, the pheromones emitting from your body sending his animal instinct to breed into overdrive.

Logan nestled his head deeper between your thighs, his nose pressed against your bush. He breathed deeply the delicious cocktail of your sweat and cum gathered inside the coarse hair framing your pussy. Logan’s hands were now at his sides in fists, clenching so hard that his fingernails punctured the skin of his palms. He nuzzled into your bush, drawing another breath of your scent inside his nose. Parting his lips, Logan let his tongue dip between your labia, spreading them apart just as his fingers had before. Your thighs trembled around his head, breathy moans leaving your lips as Logan’s mouth explored you. Your fingers went to his hair, lacing in the thick brown strands and holding him in place.

Logan was in absolute bliss, delving his tongue between your folds, slurping loudly as he ate your cum. The animal inside him was finally being sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs, his teeth sinking ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, wide tongue padding soft against your clit.

Logan’s fingers joined his tongue, entering you easily as he continued to lap at your clit. Watching him work between your thighs, you felt your climax building. Logan pumped his fingers inside you at a brutal pace, the force of his hand meeting your cunt each time his fingers disappeared inside you making you wince. It hurt so good, too good, a feeling of absolute overwhelm that had fresh tears springing to your eyes. As the pressure inside you gave way to climax, tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. A carnal groan of relief poured from your lips as hot slick gushed over Logan’s tongue. He lapped and sucked your juices like a thirsty animal as they dripped down your thighs, chasing every drop as your cum soaked into the cushion beneath you.

His cock was leaking precum onto the floor, his tip red and aching, every instinct in Logan’s body silently screaming at him to fuck a baby into the nearest fertile womb. He slid your thigh off his shoulder but remained between your legs, rising to kneel on one knee as he tugged your hips forward to meet his. Logan’s face and chest were glistening with cum and sweat. He reached for the back of your neck, holding your head in place so your eyes would be on his when he entered you. You felt Logan’s tip press just inside your entrance, his forehead creasing as he willed himself not to selfishly take you as roughly as he wanted. “Alright, baby?” he asked, his voice a choked groan. You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip as Logan sank three inches inside you.

Your cunt accepted him with minimal resistance, till a slight sting caused you to wince and brought Logan to a pause. “Too much?” he panted down at you, and you quickly replied with a forceful “NO. Keep going Logan, please…”

He was trembling all over, the fight between his care for you and his animal need raging. With extreme effort to be gentle, Logan sank another three inches deeper inside you. The breath in your lungs burst out of you as Logan filled you, his hips stilling as he felt the smooth mound of your cervix against his tip. “Look at you, baby,” he murmured proudly. “Takin’ me so deep…I knew you could.”

Your heart skipped at his praise. Knowing Logan was pleased with you was addictive; you needed more. “I want to make you happy,” you uttered softly, your voice timid and small, needy tears gathering on your lashes. Logan grinned down at you, his voice a heady drug as he assured you “sweetheart, you already have…”

He drew his hips backward slowly, then carefully thrust just once inside you. Your whole body jerked at the impact, your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp punched out of you. Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls were milking him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip was wedged against.

Logan exhaled deeply, the scent of your cunt washing over you on his breath. “Can I get you pregnant?” he asked, his eyes boring deep into yours as his cock rested thick and throbbing inside you. Maybe his question would have been too much from anyone else. It was a request that held massive implications…the consequences unavoidable. But coming from Logan, a request to claim your womb as his was…deliciously tempting.

You nodded, watching the tension in Logan’s face soften as he confirmed your consent. It was all so much, so beautiful, his body over yours and inside you, the security you felt wrapped up in his warmth. Your lips quivered into a confident smile, fresh tears of submission and love trickling down your cheeks. “Fill me up,” you gently begged. “Make me yours, Logan. I already am…”

He closed his eyes a moment, the gnawing hunger inside him ready to tear both of you in half if he gave himself over to it. With his hands firmly clutching your shoulders, Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. A low growl left his lips as he surrendered to his need to breed you. Logan buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent as his hips propelled forward. He took you as gently as he could, big hands pressing your shoulders back as you arched against the couch. Your legs wrapped around Logan’s waist, ankles crossing behind his back. He rut his hips into yours, smearing the sweat along his happy trail against your belly. Logan’s cock disappeared inside you, his bush matted with your juices, squelching as your crotches met with each punch of his hips. He stroked you as deeply as you could take him, dragging his heavy cock back and forth within the snug grip of your cunt.

Logan growled your name against your ear as his hips stilled against you, the words on his lips fading into a breathy moan as he emptied his sperm between your walls. A metallic sound issued beside your shoulders where Logan held you. Tilting your head, you saw Logan’s claws extended, burrowed into the couch cushions beneath you. His breath punched from his lungs in bursts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tits.

Logan collapsed forward, taking care not to crush you beneath him. He held you close, swallowing you up in the curve of his chest, refusing to let go till he was certain the last of his seed had drained from his tip. Logan carefully removed his softening cock from inside you, a thick stream of semen leaking creamy and white from between your lips. He lifted you into his arms, letting you rest and recover, your ear pressed to his heartbeat. As your breathing slowed, Logan looked down to see you peacefully asleep. He placed a soft kiss in your hair, smiling contentedly, grateful to hold you as long as you rested, allowing Nature to take its course as his sperm made its way to your womb…

[azrielsrealmate]

who cares about you?

azriel x reader

summary: azriel comes home after a long mission, injured and in search for the comfort of his mate arms.

warnings: nudity(? injuries

word count: 2.5k

english isnt my fist language ladies🥶 soo forgive any possible mistake. To this point I don’t know if I should do maybe a masterlist? 👀

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation, the weariness of the night instantly forgotten as you cross the room to open the door. But the moment you do, that spark of enthusiasm is extinguished, replaced by a deep concern that stabs into you like a dagger, twisting and squeezing your heart.

Azriel stands there, his dark figure outlined against the dimness of the hallway, but it’s his condition that makes the air catch in your lungs. His shadows are agitated, swirling around him with a restlessness that reflects the turmoil within him—they don’t come to greet you as they usually do, they don’t disappear. The blood, mostly dried but still visible, runs from a wound on his brow, trailing down his face to his chin. The smell of iron, mixed with his own scent, is unmistakable. Anxiety has scarred, large hands, and it squeezes your stomach.

“Azriel...” you whisper, the anguish clear in your voice.

But the instant his honeyed eyes meet yours, his expression shifts. The sharp edges soften so as not to cut you, the intensity of his gaze mitigated by something far more tender. With a gentleness that contrasts with his appearance, he brings his hand to your cheek and cups it, his thumb tracing a soft path along your skin.

You lean into his touch, and your eyes flutter closed for just a fraction of a second, your own hand landing on his, as if you could keep that gentle touch there forever. The warmth of his hand is a balm, but not enough to quell the worry growing inside you.

Azriel steps forward, and you remain where you are, and you don’t know how you survived two weeks without seeing him, when the closeness you now share feels like oxygen, you’d suffocate if he stepped away.

You see the conflict in his gaze as you tilt your head back to look at him, the self-loathing he has for worrying you this way. Then, without warning, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your forehead as he opens his side of your bond, which had been closed for those two weeks. The touch of his lips is so soft that you barely feel it, but the intent is clear.

He was fine. He was here. And he doesn’t push you away, he doesn’t shut you out.

But you can’t bear to see him like this, broken, hurt. Ignoring the knot forming in your throat, you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a desperate hug. His reaction is immediate: a gasp of pain escapes his lips.

You pull away instantly, your brow furrowing into a grimace of anguish. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you lower them to your sides. But he doesn’t let you pull away any more than necessary, his hand still on your cheek, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that makes you tremble.

He sinks onto the edge of the bed, his body clearly exhausted, and you, without wasting a second, hurry to fetch a bucket of hot water and a cloth. The urgency to care for him, to heal each of his wounds, drives you beyond your own fatigue.

When you return to his side, cloth in hand, you prepare to clean the blood from his face, but Azriel, with that dexterity and strength that never seems to leave him, surprises you. Before you can react, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs pressed against his hips.

“Azriel,” you protest softly, but there’s no real force in your words. Not when his gaze is so close, when his hands keep you in the only place where both of you can breathe easily.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips. “Let me hold you... just for a moment.”

And even though you know you should be focused on tending to his wounds, on making sure he’s not more hurt than he appears, you surrender to the warmth of his body for a second.

The warmth of Azriel’s body, wrapped around yours, feels like you’re finally fitting a missing piece into a puzzle. His hands grip your hips as if he fears you might pull away from him at any moment, and the thought seems ridiculous in your mind, all you want is to let him hold you. But the wound on his brow, the dried blood staining his face, pulls you back to reality.

You’re torn between staying like this, lost in the safety of his embrace, and the urgency to tend to his wounds. The weight of the worry is so intense you can barely stand it. You slide a hand along his cheek, brushing aside a loose strand of his dark hair, and refocus on the task at hand.

“Let me clean this,” you whisper, lifting the warm, damp cloth to his face.

Azriel watches you, his dark eyes shining with a mix of emotions you can’t quite decipher. But he doesn’t resist; he simply stays still as you gently clean the blood from his brow, revealing the small but deep wound beneath. Each movement is slow, careful, as if you fear any additional pressure could cause him more pain. Though even if you did, he wouldn’t react.

He gently massages your hips, his hands appreciating the curve, and his eyes drop to your neck, lingering there, clean skin with no marks, the irrefutable proof that he’s been away for a while, because you always bore some hidden hickey or bite marks on your neck. Azriel was possessive, and he didn’t hide it. You could almost swear that he’s holding himself back from burying his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder.

It’s in that moment, as you slide the cloth along his skin with the utmost delicacy, that you feel a tug in your left shoulder. It’s barely noticeable at first, so you ignore it, but as you continue, the pain becomes sharper, a twinge that makes you catch your breath. You try to ignore it again, focusing on Azriel, but he notices. Of course, he notices.

His brow furrows, and the concern deepens in his features. His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer to his body. Just slightly. “What’s wrong with your arm?” His voice is low, but there’s no hiding the insistence in it.

“It’s nothing important,” you try to say, attempting to sound convincing as you avert your gaze, turning your attention back to his wound. But Azriel isn’t someone who accepts evasions, and before you can continue, his hand catches yours, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t hide the truth from him. “Training was a bit tougher today,” you confess, trying to sound nonchalant, but the worry in his face forces you to go on. “Gwyn threw a bad punch, and… well, my shoulder has been hurting since then.”

The shadow of a tense muscle appears in his jaw, and you can see him struggling to stay calm. His eyes darken with a mix of guilt and anger, not toward you, but toward the situation. His hand slides from your hip to your left shoulder, with a touch so gentle it almost breaks you completely. It had taken you a long time to accept his gentle touches without bursting into tears.

“You should have told me earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper as his fingers caress the sore area. “You could have hurt yourself more.”

You almost let out a sarcastic comment. When it’s him training you, you end up even more sore.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you choose to respond, your voice just as low, but he shakes his head before you can finish.

“I worry more if you don’t tell me.”

You fall silent, letting his words sink in, feeling the truth in them. But as the weight of his concern and the warmth of his touch envelop you, a spark of resistance ignites within you, a reminder that you’re not someone who simply stands by, even when it comes to him.

“Azriel…” you begin, but he interrupts you, his voice low but determined.

“Let me handle this,” he says, his gaze fixed on yours, and you can see the exhaustion behind his firmness, the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Yet, something in his tone, in the way he asks you to lean on him, provokes an unexpected reaction in you. It’s not just concern; it’s the guilt that seems to consume him, the need to do something, anything, to feel less powerless. It frustrates you, it’s not his duty to take care of you, especially not when you’re the one trying to take care of him.

“What if I don’t want to?” You respond softly, the challenge subtle but clear in your voice. Azriel blinks, the only sign of surprise he allows to show, but he doesn’t release his grip on your hips.

“Why should you carry everything? Why is it always you who has to protect me, who has to take care of everyone?” you continue, your words soft but laden with a weight you know he understands. He doesn’t just take care of you, he takes care of his entire family. And not just by protecting his Court—he’s always there for anyone who needs him. A solid rock you can lean on. “You worry so much about me, about everyone, but who worries about you, Azriel? Who takes care of you?”

The silence that follows is dense, heavy with unspoken emotions. Azriel lowers his gaze for a moment, his shadows fluttering restlessly around the two of you, around him, appearing from where they had hidden, only to disappear again. And you know, after long hours of studying their patterns, that his shadows are around him when they feel the need to protect him; they hide when he’s completely and utterly safe. When he lifts his head again, there’s something different in his eyes, something vulnerable that he rarely lets others see.

“I don’t know how,” he admits, turning his gaze away, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it.

It hurts to hear him say that, but it also fills you with a new determination, a need to show him that he’s not alone. Gently, you place your hand over his, the one still resting on your hip, and squeeze it firmly.

“Then we’ll learn together,” you say, and there’s a promise in those words, a promise that you won’t let him face this burden alone. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Azriel. You don’t have to be the shield and the sword all the time. Sometimes… sometimes it’s enough just to be you.”

The silence returns, but this time it’s different. It’s a silence filled with understanding, with a tacit agreement that both of you have reached. Azriel nods slightly, accepting the truth you’ve laid before him, though it’s still hard for him to let go of that control he values so much.

With a sigh, he leans forward, his forehead touching yours, and in that contact, you feel the tension in his body ease just a little. “I need you,” he murmurs, the confession a barely audible whisper between you, but it hits you with the force of a gale. “I need you more than I can bear sometimes.”

The knot in your chest tightens, but instead of speaking, you decide to show him that you understand. Sliding your hands up to his neck, you bring his lips to yours in a soft kiss, but one loaded with all the emotions you don’t need to verbalize. Azriel responds with restrained urgency, as if that kiss were an anchor in the middle of a storm threatening to sweep him away.

When you finally pull apart, you stay there, looking at him, seeing the internal battle playing out in his eyes. Without saying another word, you move, sliding off his lap and pulling his hand to get him to stand with you. Although his brow furrows in confusion, he doesn’t resist.

You lead him to the bathroom, to the tub where the water is still warm. Without releasing his hand, you start undressing him, your fingers deftly undoing his clothes while his eyes remain fixed on you, a mix of surprise and something more shining in them. It’s not a gesture of desire, not now, but an act of care. Of showing him that he can let go, that it’s okay to trust you to be the one to take care of him for once.

Azriel doesn’t say anything, but he lets you proceed, his breathing uneven as you guide him into the tub, helping him into the water. Only then do you join him, carefully getting into the tub, sitting behind him, and pulling him toward you, his back against your chest, being mindful of his wings.

For a moment, both of you remain silent, the water enveloping you in a warm embrace, your hands gently caressing his arms as you feel his body finally begin to relax against yours. And then, in the safe haven you’ve created for him without even realizing it, Azriel lets all his barriers fall, resting his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes as a deep, almost relieved sigh escapes his lips.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur softly. “I’ve got you.”

[pseudowho]

The Silent Stars Go By

On the night of October 31st, Nanami Kento feels his death approaching. Knowing you are on the battlefield with him, and knowing he cannot die without showing you how he feels, he seeks you out...and subverts destiny.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, "last night on Earth" smut, truly desperate, frantic, semi-public, Shibuya ending rewrite

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento knew he was to die, on October 31st.

He was no arithmancer. A pragmatist at heart with a mathematical streak, he had, however, carried his barely living friend to safety, found the bodies of many others, punched a young man to death, and lived to tell the tale. The numbers divined great danger ahead, and, by the time a pink-feathered songbird had sung the perish song of Satoru Gojo, Kento could not deny the maths.

Kento could suddenly see no distant future for himself, as he once could. And yet between then, and now, there was one stark similarity; what future Nanami Kento did see, contained only you.

Behind his eyes flashed a montage of memory-- of midnight laughter-filled dinners at the Konbi. Of shielding you in battle, and you shielding him in return. Of you sitting on his lap, stitching his wounds with utmost care, before your reverse-cursed technique had fully developed. Of falling in love with you, and denying himself joy for believing he may give you none.

Being around you was agony. Being away from you was worse.

"I'll be heading underground," he had intoned to Nitta and Nobara, taking in their girlish features for the last time with a stab through his belly, "after I catch up with someone. Stay safe. Don't sacrifice yourself."

He was a hypocrite. He knew this. He would walk to the gallows, proud, if only he could take you in his arms and cry his love for you, first.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Looking out over the city, having heard Yuuji's cries for 'Nanamin' only a few minutes earlier, you did not know you were being desperately searched for by Kento. You had determined yourself to find and follow Yuuji, the boy without protection.

The night breeze whipped at you, unhindered by walls and trees, on the roof of one of Shibuya's tallest buildings. Turning to leave, you felt a familiar warmth approaching. The man you loved opened the stairwell door, squeaking on its pivot.

Missing his suit jacket and tie, with his sleeves rolled up, he thrummed with raw, uncontained power. Something feverish stormed within his eyes as he looked to you. His steps were slow, and considered. The quiet calm of his voice was deliberate, soft.

"Kento, what...what are you doing here? Is that blood? Oh god, you're bleeding-- let me heal you--"

"Stop. It isn't mine. Just listen for a moment."

"Isn't yours? Then one of the others? We should get them to Shoko--"

"--I need you to listen, now--"

"--we haven't got any time--"

"I love you." The air fell still; a puff of blossom in suspended animation. You had not realised you were holding your breath until Kento's steps caught up to you, and his hands grasped yours. A melancholic certainty rolled off him. Flicks of blond fell over his forehead, that fervour still gripping him; gripping you.

"I love you. You are the purest truth I know. The warmest light. Anything I am, and anything I could have been, is at your mercy, and always has been."

The gut-churning adrenaline you had felt for the fever-pitch of battle was suppressible, before Kento's impassioned promise. That dam broke inside you, and the terror and adoration and injustice heaved out of you in one great sob. You needed his body flush to yours. Public decency took a back seat. So many years of restraint and doubt slid away.

You looped your arms around Kento's neck, one hand grasping his shoulders, and the other sinking into the back of his hair. Kento almost broke, himself, but couldn't; not yet. He had to show you. Needed to show you.

You felt him pull your head away from his shoulder, and you resisted, until his fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head. You were nose to nose. You could feel his heart booming in his chest, fresh from a fight you had not witnessed.

"If this is my last chance," Kento whispered, his nose stroking yours, "will you let me take it?"

"...what...what do you know...that I don't? Kento--"

"Please." Kento growled, his teeth gritted. You felt the twitching contractions of his belly, his hardening cock pressing against you. You couldn't resist his need to control this, and take what he needed, even if you wanted to. Your breaths ached in your chest. Silent, glossy-eyed, you nodded.

Kento broke, possessing your lips in one shuddering kiss. His hands and body squeezed at your softly yielding hips, all-consuming, trying to overfill himself with any scrap of you he could take. He dominated the kiss completely, selflessly, as thoughtlessly altruistic as he had always been. He groaned, panting through the taste of you, his tongue sliding against yours. His cock wept inside his boxers-- it was all too much too much but not enough--

You mewled, little hands gripping onto his collar, sending thunder to Kento's core. Kento pulled away, cursing, feeling the need to know the scars that pleasure etched upon your skin. You were scorched by his touch, too pliable now to do anything but bend to his insistence.

In blood and brutality you sought each other, beacons in the night with stars as your witness. They looked on, disinterested, as if fate held any regard for the lives of mortals, over gods.

With time as his final remaining enemy, Kento pulled you to his lap, sitting with his back against the low wall overlooking the city. He knew for whom the bell tolled. He would see his duty done before the final chime, and he stared into you in your entirety. Though neither a painting nor an ivory box, he handled you with kid gloves.

You straddled his lap, unbuttoning his shirt, and he whispered, groaning and bucking up against your clothed sex as he watched your nimble fingers press his opened shirt apart. Running your hands in reverence down his bared chest and belly, he could not have loved you more than when he saw his own desperation reflected back at him.

In another life-- in any other world-- I--

He lifted you, enough for you to kick your jeans and underwear off, his teeth bared to feel your core press against his aching cock. He spoke through your kisses, a fractured sentence punctuated by his apologies.

"I didn't-- didn't prepare-- no protection-- I can't-- can't stop-- please don't make me stop." He begged, reaching down to hook his cock out. You silenced him with one hand wrapped around his rigid length, and Kento stilled with a hiss.

--take you to dinner first, I'd show you the world-- fill you with its beauty before I fill you with mine--

"Don't care--" You insisted against his neck, "--don't care...need to feel you." Kento almost sobbed with relief to feel you hold him, stroking the head of his cock between your glistening folds. You let his cockhead and slit catch over your clit, shivering, intoxicated by the way he watched you with one hand splayed across your belly, the other on your hip, and blown pupils. He bucked his hips, needy, full of baleful possession.

--and we'd have a Victorian glasshouse with a garden you'd love-- and you'd plant wildflowers while I do the laundry--

Grasping your hips with a snarl as you stroked his cockhead down, Kento impaled you downwards onto him, the moment his cock notched at your entrance. You squeaked, pussy clenching with the sudden blissful invasion, your squirming making you sink lower. Kento felt a telltale throb of impending orgasm in his belly, and he was certain if you clenched one more time--

Your pussy full to the brim, you instinctively bucked downwards. Feeling Kento belly-deep, his trembling fingers dropped to your clit, and you felt Kento's abs twitching beneath your splayed hands. Feeling two clever fingers bracketing your clit and rolling from side to side, you squeezed him, milking his cock and locking him inside you.

--all the late nights and early mornings and train rides and arguments in sickness and health for richer for poorer--

"--love you-- I love you too." You sobbed into his chest, loose and warm against him. Kento saw stars, coming with a shout, thick ropes of cum spurting into you. Looking up at the euphoric agony on his face, and his fingertips bruising your ass as they pinned you down around him, satisfied you spiritually, in a way so alien to you.

You rolled your hips, drinking down every part of him. The long, powerful contractions of his cock inside you, his stilted low moans, his gasps of pleasure as your tight gloved heat continued to stroke him. Starved for him, desperate for more, you rode Kento to frantic overstimulation.

--so unfair this is so unfair, die for you like you'd die for me like I'd die for you like you'd die for me--

You realised with a happy squirm that he hadn't yet removed his glasses or harness. With his shirt trapped against his shoulders, and his lens steamed, fucking upwards and thrashing his head from side to side beneath you, you couldn't stop yourself. You felt the fullness of his creamy load still plugged deeply inside you, and pushed hard against him. Kento cursed, paralyzing you with a hushed roar of agony, and a hand grasping your throat.

"--asked you to make love to me-- not kill me-- but shit, if this is how we go, just take me with you-- take me with you--"

His fingers had never left your clit, now rolling it insistently, until you were the one wriggling and desperate. Still being stuffed with his cock and cum made your pleasure three-dimensional, and Kento's half-hard length began to stir to life again, still high off the adrenaline of punching a man to death. He growled at you with gritted teeth.

"--beautiful...good girl...not done with you yet...shit, keep it in, keep it all in...take me with you...please--"

With half lidded eyes, you grasped Kento's forearm. His hand still braced you with exquisite tenderness around the throat, a necklace instead of a noose. His second hand worked frantically against your clit while you moaned and begged above him, still speared on his cock, feeling him lengthen and thicken again inside you. You whimpered and keened, and Kento committed you to memory, just like this. He would close his eyes in his final moment, and see you, breaking like spun sugar above him, no sweeter sound than his name on your lips.

--bake for you on Sundays, and the bread would always burn, because we'll be too busy--

Kento continued stroking you, pressing kisses onto your forehead as he guided you down from your high. Cautiously starting to roll his hips up again, he moaned at the slick sucks of his cock sliding through his cum and yours. Unthreading his shirt through his harness, Kento threw it to the ground, before lying you down on top of it.

Otherwise fully dressed, with dried stains of blood rusted over his chest and back, Kento bore over you like a vengeful god. Here to take his spoils, he still handled you like glass, resting your head on one of his planted forearms, with a hand under the small of your back to protect you from the floor.

"...I've wanted you for so long-- you don't even know--"

"I knew." Kento faltered. His anguish at leaving you for certain death sharpened, with the sudden knowledge of past chances untaken. His heart clenched, aching down his arms, steeling himself. He couldn't help but lean into your hand, cupping his jaw.

Nuzzling his nose to yours, Kento melted at your smile twinkling up at him. He smiled back, suddenly bashful, lopsided with crinkling eyes, before biting down on one lip and slamming his cock down into you. Your gasp shook through you, clawing into the harness across his chest and shoulders, hearing Kento swear with pleasure at the intensity of a second round.

Kento barely pulled out, wrapped in your arms and tight cunt. He almost spat with anger at the simultaneous need to savour you, and the need to leave, knowing he could not have both. Duty to you held the greater weight and, feeling another orgasm creep through his back and balls far too quickly, he slowed.

Completely engulfed by the enormity of him, you stared up at Kento, made submissive under his emotional insistence, the thick aching stretch of him sheathed inside you. Your back arched off the ground with a guttural moan when Kento slowed, dragging himself through your core from ball to tip in long, languid thrusts, the whole length of his cock glistening with gluey white seed.

He swore he could feel every ridge of you, the mind-altering bend of his cock as it moulded to the curve inside you. He needed you to carry the shape of him forever, an unremovable flesh-memory. Something had changed in him as you carded your fingers through his hair, whispering praises to him, to try to hold him together.

Kento looked drunk. His eyes were distant and hyperfocused all at once, his breaths and groans gruff, his voice gravelly with emotion as his mouth muffled against your shirt.

"--sorry, I...can't move my hands...hurt you, I--" Kento grasped your shirt between his teeth, ragging his head from side to side with a growl to lift it up over your breasts. He did the same to your bra, gripping the cups to yank your breasts free. They bounced out, full and peaked under his hot, frantic breaths.

Kento nosed at them, pulling his cock from you slowly, only to slam back into you with enough force to leave you writhing and whimpering. His mouth and nose played with your breasts, nudging, sucking and biting, hungry and obsessive. Something primal glimmered in his green glass-concealed eyes, as your mounds jiggled every time he fucked into you. The visual stimulus of you spread beneath him, your tight pussy slick with his cum, doe-eyed and completely willing, sent him spiralling towards his high.

"God I wish I--wish I could stay-- more than anything...cum with me, please please please--"

His thrusts became frantic, rough and sloppy with no warning. Kento's eyes darted from your face, to your breasts and pussy, and back again, drinking in the shock and ecstasy plastered over your face. You were trapped within the humid embrace of him, erotically overstimulated by his smell, his desperation, the constant stroke of his weeping cockhead against your spongy soft spot.

You didn't realise how close you were to orgasm until his position shifted, his trimmed honey-gold trail now rubbing against your clit. Clinging onto him, and rubbing upwards to meet his thrusts, you begged for Kento to help you. Your begging was Kento's last straw, and he gasped, his seed slugging out in lazy, creamy trickles against your overstuffed cervix and pussy.

Barely able to see straight, Kento kept rubbing his rigid pelvis against you, gruff and messy while you felt the drag of pleasure through you, softer than bare feet through hot sand. Kento whispered to you, sweat mingling on your foreheads pressed together; "...don't regret a thing...won't regret a minute-- wish this was different...deserve more..."

Panting in each others embrace, the dreadful horror of reality seeped back into you both. You could hear cries in the distance, the rumble of battles. You fought an unwinnable fight. Silent, and pensive, you jolted out of your reverie to hear Kento groan above you, reluctantly pulling his softening cock free. He knelt, dewy-eyed, watching the gluey drip of his cum from you, moaning and shivering as he held his half-hard cock, nudging the cum back inside with his tip.

The sudden emptiness almost made you weep. You felt the same terrible foreboding emanating from him as you had when he arrived on the rooftop. Kento smiled down at you, heartfelt and reassuring, pressing a folded pocket handkerchief to you before pulling your underwear back on over it. He kissed you delicately, from toe to knee while you giggled, before planting one lazy kiss and nuzzle onto your belly. You grasped his head there, scratching gently at his scalp with your fingernails.

"Stay with me, Kento. Just stay." You pressed, knowing in your gut that his decision was already made. His sigh creaked the leather of his harness with broad, corded tugs of his shoulders.

"They need help, underground. I'm one of the few First Grades available. It's only right that I go down there."

Kento's words, as always, rang with decisive finality. Before you could begin to talk again, he interrupted you smoothly.

"You will not come with me."

"You can't stop me."

"Shoko needs you. Your reverse cursed technique is second only to hers, and she's in need of support. It's the proper thing to do."

You squirmed with guilt, knowing you would choose to let Shoko suffer over Kento. Kento glowered down at you, stern, as if he hadn't just fallen apart inside you. You swallowed, a coil of doubt inside your belly.

"...don't be a hero, Kento." Kento frowned as if he didn't understand, and you insisted. "Don't be a hero. Get yourself out first. I mean it." Kento hesitated, looking out over the city lights, the breeze ruffling his mussed hair. He pulled his shirt back on, threading it under his harness.

"...alright." He lied. He paused. You both stood, sticky with each others' cum cooling between your legs. Nuzzling nose to nose, it felt so surreal to have to toss aside post-coital softness, in exchange for the cold embrace of battle.

"Go to Shoko," Kento whispered against your lips, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "and help her. Please. Do as I say."

"Promise you'll come back to me." You hushed into his kiss, beseeching him. He softened, deceptively reassuring, while hearing his clocktower chime.

"Always. I'm all yours. Always." Planting one lingering kiss to your forehead, you watched Kento's retreating back, his figure disappearing down the stairwell.

You wondered if you'd ever trust anyone other than Kento, over your own instincts.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Shoko was surprised to see you, her cigarette drooping as she raised her thick, dark eyebrows.

"Kento told me you wanted me." You insisted. Shoko shot Yaga one questioning look. Yaga shrugged, arms folded.

"We haven't spoken to Kento all evening." Shoko assured. You felt a flash of panicked rage in your gut, knowing he'd lied to you. Knowing he was taking himself to an unwinnable battle. You grabbed Shoko by the arm.

"Where are they? His team? Where is he?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was bloodied, missing an arm of his shirt, his vision obscured by the incessant bleed of a head wound. Pushing out of Dagon's domain, he knew he was exhausted, already skirting his limit. He felt a monstrous wave of Cursed energy, so much deadlier than his own.

A volcano-headed Curse approached him, its hand outstretched and hovering over Kento's abdomen. Naobito and Maki already smouldered in agony, and Kento felt the sickening weight of failure in his chest He had only a moment to protect himself, and he may have coated his body in Cursed-energy in its entirety, had he not filled his death-sentenced mind with thoughts of you.

He expected fire and flames...and felt you. When he protected his right half, you had arrived at the edge of a knife blade, and protected his left. The volcano-headed Curse faltered, stepping back with a scowl.

Kento looked down at you, knelt at his side in a braced position. His clock stopped chiming, in a moment of twisted fates reserved previously for the gods alone. He considered that you were, perhaps, a goddess, and he may be your vassal. You looked up at him, bristling with rage, and Kento's heart swelled.

"I'll tell you off later. For now...we have a fight to finish."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the end of the night, Itadori Yuuji had gained a brother and retained a beloved father figure. Nanami Kento cast his eyes over Choso with a hum of resignation, considering he may have another boy to look after, too. The patch-faced curse who may have been his executioner in another life, met its end. He witnessed an old friend who was not an old friend, cast a battle royale over the length of Japan.

Gazing in mute horror over the devastation left behind, Kento felt a hand slip into his own. His ears flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry--"

You laughed, your hands over your face. Kento's eyes glimmered with mirth. He plaited his fingers in yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling against them.

"My hero."

[connorsui]

“Believing in love”

Sylus x fem! reader

Synopsis: Amidst the dazzling lights of a futuristic city, you confront your fears of love

Genre/warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, soft sylus, reader who doesn't believe in the concept of love, emotional trauma, vulnerability, discussions of betrayal, past trauma for reader, sylus just wants to love you for you and nothing else, hurt/Comfort, emotional healing, small fluff, slow burn, hints of trust issues

Note: okaaayyyyyyy I went overboard this was originally going to be a short imagine ..like maybe five hundred words or less with the concept: “I don't believe in love” and “I'll show you what it can be” – I wasn't planning on this to be a full fledged one shot…but hey …I ain't gonna complain any further my brain is just doing its job ✨️

w.c: 1.8K

The city hums beneath you, a symphony of noise and light, but your mind is far from the chaos below. You keep your gaze fixed on the skyline, as if it holds the answers you can’t seem to find. Beside you, Sylus’ breath is ragged, his desperation barely concealed as he clings to your wrist. You can feel the tremble in his fingers despite the firmness of his grip, as though he’s trying to hold you together—or perhaps, to keep you from drifting away.

“Why do you always attempt to leave me? What is it that I’m doing wrong?” His voice is soft, almost pleading, a rare break in his usually stoic demeanor. He’s searching your face for something—anything—but you remain still, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

He clutches you tighter, not forcefully, but in a way that tells you he’s afraid you might vanish into the night, just like the countless times before. The emptiness in your silence gnaws at him, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

“Sweetheart…” His voice cracks, the word nearly lost in the wind. “I’m not one to beg, but if it means I’ll get an answer from you, then I’ll lower myself.”

You glance down as you hear the rustle of fabric, your eyes catching the sight of Sylus sinking to one knee. A proud man, reduced to pleading. The weight of his devotion presses down on you, suffocating in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I wish for an answer. Any answer from you.”

But still, you say nothing. The flood of emotions you’ve buried for so long stirs within you, threatening to overwhelm. The city lights blur in your vision, turning into a kaleidoscope of glowing orbs, and suddenly, your throat tightens. You want to speak, but the words are tangled in your chest, caught in the rising tide of emotion.

“It’s… it’s not that I wish to ignore everything you’ve done,” you start, your voice shaky and weak, barely audible over the rushing wind. “It doesn’t mean I hate you, or that you're not trying hard enough. I care for you. I do.”

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding against your ribs, as tears, hot and unrelenting, streak down your face.

“I want to love you, Sylus. I want to be near you every day, to feel what it means to love someone, to truly understand it. But I…” Your voice cracks, the word foreign on your tongue. Your chest tightens, the familiar sting of betrayal flashing in your mind, the memories you’ve fought so hard to suppress now rushing back in vivid detail.

Before you can break down any further, Sylus pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield from the world. His warmth seeps into you, steadying you amidst the storm inside.

“Shhh… it’s alright. Come here.”

His voice is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself relax in his hold. You breathe out slowly, though each exhale feels labored. Your chest rises and falls as you try to calm the sobs threatening to tear through you. His hands gently cradle your face as he wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his touch delicate but firm, as if assuring you he won’t let go.

“I’m scared…” Your words spill out between quiet gasps, your chest heaving as you finally let out the weight you’ve carried for so long. “I’m so scared, Sylus. I’ve loved before, countless times… and neither time was it ever given back.”

Sylus' embrace tightens, his chin resting atop your head as he rocks you gently. His voice, though calm, carries a raw edge of determination, as though he’s willing his words into reality.

“I can show you what it can be,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll show you what love should feel like, what it should be… No one in this entire city is more deserving of that than you.”

His hand rests against your back, moving in slow, soothing circles.

“I just need you to believe in me. let me show you that I can give you the love you’ve been searching for.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling into your chest, pushing against the wall you’ve built around your heart. For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the quiet murmur of the city below, and the cold wind that carries the scent of the night sky. Moonlight bathes the two of you, casting silver across the rooftop as if the world has stilled for this one moment.

And though the fear still lingers at the edges of your mind, something shifts within you. Perhaps it’s the warmth of his touch, or the sincerity in his voice. But for the first time, you allow yourself to believe in the possibility.

Yet he keeps himself steady, his grip tightens—not out of force, but from desperation, as if he’s holding on to more than just your body. He’s holding on to the very idea of you, of the two of you.

“I don’t need you to say you love me, not now, not in this hour, not tomorrow” he murmurs into your hair. “I just need you to trust that I will. That I already do.”

His words pierce through the walls you’ve spent so long building. The fortress around your heart cracks, letting in the first tendrils of warmth you’ve felt in ages. You try to push him away, afraid of being vulnerable, but his hold remains firm—not possessive, just secure. Safe.

“But Sylus—” you whisper between breaths, your voice breaking.

“I’m not like you. I don’t know how to—how to do this. Every time… I let someone in, they ripped pieces out of me until there was nothing left to give...so, even if you say you love me… what can I give you..when there's nothing? ”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His red eyes soften, the intensity that so often burned with dominance now a smoldering ember of understanding.

“You think there’s nothing left to give,” he murmurs, “but every broken piece of you is still yours to offer. And I’ll take them, even if they don’t fit together perfectly. I don’t care if you feel shattered. I’ll hold onto every fragment until you’re ready to trust me with the rest.”

Your chest heaves as you fight for control over your emotions, but the more you resist, the harder it becomes. Sylus’s steady gaze undoes you. How could someone like him—so powerful, so untouchable—look at you as if you were the most fragile thing in the universe?

“ — and yet there will be days you think I don’t know fear?” he continues, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t wonder every day if I’m enough for you? That I’ll lose you before you ever truly belonged to me?”

The vulnerability in his words makes you flinch. You’ve seen Sylus command entire fleets, face enemies without a trace of fear, and yet here he is, baring himself before you. It’s too much—too raw. But it’s also exactly what you needed to hear.

“I’m not a perfect man, and I won’t pretend I am," he adds. "But I will never stop trying for you. Not for a second or an hour or a day of my life"

His thumb brushes the last of your tears away, and for a moment, all that exists is the sound of the wind whipping around you, the lights of the city flickering beneath your feet, and the quiet hum of your hearts—one racing, the other steady.

You finally exhale, the weight of your emotions loosening its grip just enough for you to speak again.

“What if I’m broken?” you choke out. “What if there’s nothing left that is untouched for you to love?”

Sylus’s lips quirk into a sad but tender smile.

“It doesn't matter if any part of you is left …untouched ” he says softly. “When I mean I would love ..you ..I mean you .. Every part of you…that I have fallen in love with”

His words settle into you like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t realize were still bleeding. You’ve spent so long believing that love was something to fear, something that would eventually turn on you and leave you empty. But Sylus is showing you a different kind of love—one that doesn’t demand perfection but offers patience. One that doesn’t expect you to be whole but promises to stay, even when you’re not.

Your body, tense and guarded for so long, begins to relax in his arms. You close your eyes and lean into him fully for the first time, allowing yourself to be held—not because you’re weak, but because, for once, you don’t have to be strong.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped up in each other as the city continues its ceaseless rhythm below. The cold air bites at your skin, but neither of you care. Not when the warmth of Sylus’s embrace keeps the rest of the world at bay.

Eventually, you speak again, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than before.

“I don’t know how to let go” you admit.

Sylus shifts slightly, enough to look into your eyes again.

“And, you don’t have to,” he replies. “I’m not asking you to forget anything that has happened to you then or anything that has happened to you in the months or years away. I just wish for you to allow me to be part of your future.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away this time. Instead, you let the weight of his words sink in. He isn’t asking for grand promises or declarations. He’s asking for a chance—a chance to be the person you turn to, the one who stays when others would leave.

“Would you allow me?” Sylus asks softly, almost pleading.

“Can you let me in?”

There’s a long pause as the world around you holds its breath. Then, finally, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’ll try.”

And with that, the dam inside you breaks. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can learn to love again.

Sylus would show you how much you mean to him ..✨️

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ the man in the mirror . old man logan x gn!reader

a/n: very angsty. hurt/comfort short drabble for the 'mirror' prompt for logantober <3 (600 words)

he's hunched over the sink again, his once hulking form now looking strangely fragile. it's a sight he hates, a sight he loathes to see reflected in the mirror. his chest is bare, scars twisting down his form in a bitter reminder of how far he's fallen. of what's slowly being taken from him.

the faint clink of metal hitting porcelain catches your ear and you shuffle out of bed, a warmth spreading in your chest at the sight of him, he's home. but the warmth soon dissipates, replaced with a much heavier feeling upon seeing the bullets slowly drop into the sink.

he's struggling, something that was once so easy to do now so very difficult. you wince at the sight, knowing that it has always been painful enough for him never mind now.

there's no room for words in the small space of the bathroom, no room for words in logan's mind either. he's so tired, exhaustion eating his bones and stealing his breath from his lungs.

instead, you hesitantly step closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind. you press your lips to the rough skin of his back, closing your eyes as you nuzzle your cheek against him. it's a silent comfort, one to let him know you're there, you'll always be there.

logan doesn't flinch, his eyes stuck on himself in the mirror as sweat beads on his forehead. his wounds aren't healing. he can't keep doing this, he knows that. but he can't help it. no matter how hard he desperately tries to find peace or solace, trouble follows him like a beast stalking prey. it's not his fault.

it's not his fault.

you let your hands splay out across the skin of his chest, hoping that somehow if you hold him tighter he'll be able to heal, like you can fix him with your love alone. but your fingers trace across wounds that would once disappear, that now mark his skin with deep cruelty.

and all you can offer him is love.

but all he can focus on is the man in the mirror, if he can even still call him a man at all. a ghost who's past expiry, who's tired of facing himself in his own reflection.

with a shaky exhale, logan brings a hand to cover both of yours on his chest, eyes fluttering closed as he allows himself to feel you, to come back to the moment with you.

he's not dead yet. and with the moments he has left, he swears, he'll look after you the way you look after him. he'll protect you, offer you this same comfort while he still can.

his eyes open to meet his own in the mirror once more, now noting your smaller frame wrapped around his. he's not alone, not some suffering animal snarling in a bear trap in the middle of the woods waiting to die. he'll allow himself this one pleasure, you, a beacon calling him back to shore each time he's stolen by violent waves.

". . . let's go to bed, darlin'." his voice rumbles in his chest and back against you, giving your hand a gentle pat.

he's done looking at the man in the mirror. logan would much rather spend his time admiring you, committing every feature to memory in the hopes that he can hold the image of you close each time he's lost in that cataclysmic sea within his mind.

the man in the mirror can meet him at death's door, but he knows the vision of you will follow him long after he passes through that exit.

[glossysoap]

beta soap bites your hip hard trying to leave a scar. alphas price and simon forbid him from touching you until it heals. he falls to his knees with a whined moan when you pull down your waistband to show that while it doesn’t look much like a bite anymore it did very much scar

FUCKFUCKFUCK.

i’m fucking obsessed with the pathetic pup soap we’ve reduced him to in our dms 😭 so take some of that in these next few answers

18+, afab reader, marking, alphas teaming up to punish johnny, pup johnny. posting this then going to bed ✌🏼

the whole pack had been lazing after an especially long mating session, all sleep warm and snuggled together on your spacious bed that was lined with everyone’s clothes. a perfect nest.

you were sandwiched between their bulky, hairy bodies as you let the aftershocks of your orgasm rack through you. chests heaving and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. thighs damp from the wet cloth your alphas had cleaned you with before slipping back into their position in bed. your eyes are heavy as you snuggle into the chest of whoever was pressed against your front, their comforting scent filling your nose as you breathed in.

your sleeping arrangements varied by the day, or however everyone felt like sleeping. sometimes you would be sandwiched between the two alphas while soap and gaz would act as backpacks to the alphas, you in the middle of it all. other times you would be sandwiched between soap and gaz, with the two hulking alphas curling around the three of you.

regardless, just imagine that soap isn't cuddled up next to you for this specific situation.

you'd be burying your head in the hairy chest of whoever was in front of you, feeling your breath even out as his scent lulled you to sleep - when you felt the bed dip towards the end. someone was moving, probably just readjusting to be more comfortable.

you paid it no mind.

until you felt someone's hands brushing up against your legs as the bed dipped a bit more again, like someone was crawling up the bed.

your brows furrowed in your near sleep, moving to lift up your head and glance down but a heavy hand gently comes down on your head to keep you nuzzled in their chest.

"no need for your stirrin'," price's husky voice rumbles somewhere over you (you were so fucked out that he could've been on either side of you for all you knew) with all the commanding yet nurturing presence of the alpha he was. "get some rest, pup."

it was almost embarrassing how quickly you settled, nuzzling your face in the chest in front of you, feeling the warmth and inhaling the comforting scent.

you had just started sinking into the black nothingness of slumber when you felt the familiar feeling of a mouth latching onto your hip. all warm and wet and hungry. teeth nibbling at the soft skin, tongue tracing your stretch marks with a pleased hum.

a sleepy smile stretched across your lips as you reached down to pet the head of whoever was kissing your hip. you let out a sleepy chuckle as your hand finds the shaggy, mussed up mohawk that belongs to johnny.

“mmm, what’re you up to, baby?” you mumble sleepily, words feeling like lead in your mouth as you tried not to fall back asleep. he only hummed against your hip as he kept mouthing at the skin.

you felt a sharp sting at your hip. you gasped and winced in pain, head lifting from the warm chest in front of you to look down at your hip. he had sunk his teeth into your skin and drawn blood. his lips were stained with red and no doubt his teeth and tongue would look the same.

“johnny, what—” you try swatting him off but he just grips you tighter around your thighs. all the while, you feel weight shifting around you as the two alphas and the beta around you hear your pained hiss.

“johnny,” price warned, sitting up fully in bed. “soap.” he barked, using the betas callsign when johnny didn’t respond or obey. he fixed the beta with a glare, daring him to keep biting you and depriving you of your needed sleep. when johnny didn’t let go quick enough, the alpha reached down and got the betas neck in a scruff hold.

“johnny, heel.” simon warned as he sat up in bed as well, adding onto the reprimand that the other alpha had sent johnny’s way.

while the two alphas were busy reprimanding the beta, kyle had cuddled up next to you with his head nestled by your hips. his tongue worked to lap at the bite wound johnny left, soothing the broken skin and savoring the taste of your blood.

“try and go back to sleep, love.” kyle murmurs into your hip, his hands grazing your skin and doing wonders to draw you back to sleep. you plop your head back onto your pillow with a sigh and feel kyle climb up so he was cuddling you, his face buried into your neck and his arms wrapped around your middle.

meanwhile, both alphas has sandwiched johnny on the far side of the big bed, keeping his insatiable desires caged in. clearly the pup still had some energy left in him and the two alphas needed to tire him out proper.

soap was nestled between the two alphas, price’s chest to his back and simon’s chest pressed against johnny’s chest. john’s cock was buried in the betas still-slick hole, filling him up and keeping him still. well behaved. while the lieutenants hand was wrapped around johnny’s slick, throbbing cock and steadily stroking. rubbing the swollen tip teasingly, letting his cum spread along the length.

every stroke made johnny want to buck his hips into simon’s hand but price’s hands were keeping johnny’s ass planted on his cock - not to mention the alphas knot that was steadily swelling inside of the beta, keeping him attached.

it didn’t take much for either you or kyle to fall back asleep since you were so exhausted from the extensive mating session, your breathing leveling out.

you and kyle, the good pups, fell into a deep sleep at the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the pathetic whines from the other beta.

(….)

the time following the bite was pure torture for johnny. the two alphas had, for all intents and purposes, forbid him from touching you until it healed. they claimed it was to teach him a lesson in obedience, but whatever the reason for his punishment was, it was driving him crazy.

it drove him insane to see you every day and not be able to swoop you up into his arms or kiss your neck as you cooked. or nestle himself between your thighs and eat you out like a man starved. or push your legs up to your chest and ease his cock into your hungry cunt.

both of you were in the kitchen when he was able to touch you again, when it was fully healed.

you were standing by the stove, stirring some soup that was cooking when you heard him walking up behind you. you smiled, knowing that you were fully healed so he could touch you again. he hovered inches away from you, as if waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

you only nodded, letting him pull your waistband down a few inches to reveal the bite - and by god if he didn’t start drooling at the sight of it healed into a perfect scar.

“oh, fuck me, bonnie.”

he fell right onto his knees on the kitchen floor, pawing at your shorts as he stared up at you. wearing those big puppy eyes that were all glossed over with lust and desperation. he was waiting for you to give him even more permission.

you turned the stove off, set the wooden spoon down and put your full attention on the beta. you couldn’t help but smile and cup his cheek as you looked down at him.

“go on, johnny.” is all you’re able to get out before he’s scooping you up and setting you on the island. you lay back on your elbows as you watch him get to work, yanking down your shorts and panties in one fell swoop.

his big arms work to keep your legs spread as his mouth dives in, tongue darting out to lap at your juices and mouth closing around your clit.

the whole time he’s eating you out, he’s murmuring “m sorry”s and “missed you”s into your cunt.

[bookwormjust]

Slow healing (established relationship, Azriel’s mate)

You winced as the glass slipped from your hand, shattering on the floor. Without thinking, you knelt to clean it up, but a sharp pain shot through your palm as a shard embedded itself in your skin. Blood welled up immediately, and your heart sank. This was the third time this week you’d hurt yourself. And this time, you knew Azriel would see the blood.

Sure enough, he appeared almost instantly, his shadows curling protectively around you. His sharp intake of breath made your stomach twist. His eyes went wide with panic as he rushed forward, his hands gently gripping yours to inspect the wound. "You’re hurt," he muttered, his voice low but strained. 

“It’s just a small cut,” you said softly, trying to ease his worry. But you knew better. With your slow healing, even a minor injury like this would take days to fully close up, leaving you vulnerable in ways that the rest of the Fae never had to worry about. And Azriel hated that—hated that you weren’t healing as fast as everyone else, hated that you were always one step away from real harm. 

He cursed softly under his breath, his wings flaring out slightly, a sign of his growing tension. His hands, usually so gentle, were trembling as he pulled you to the sink and began cleaning the cut. "You can’t keep doing this," he whispered, though there was no anger in his voice, only fear. "You’re not like everyone else, love. You can’t heal quickly, and I—I can’t stand to see you like this."

You could feel the weight of his worry, the way it pressed down on him like a physical burden. He had always been overprotective, but ever since he realized that your healing regeneration was so much slower than others, his instinct to keep you safe had intensified. 

When you bumped into a piece of furniture or cut yourself while cooking, it was never just a small injury to him. He saw each bruise, each scratch, as a threat. And you couldn’t blame him. You knew how much he loved you, how deeply the bond ran between you. But it was suffocating sometimes, the way he hovered, his shadows constantly watching, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of danger.

"I’m fine, Azriel," you said, placing your hand over his, trying to calm him. But his eyes were stormy, and he shook his head.

"No," he replied firmly. "You’re not. Every time you get hurt, it’s worse because you don’t heal like the others. You could get an infection, or worse—" His voice broke, and his wings sagged as he lowered his head. "I just... I can’t lose you."

Your heart softened at the raw vulnerability in his words. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "You won’t lose me, Azriel. I promise you. But you can’t keep wrapping me in shadows every time something happens. I’m not fragile."

His hands tightened around yours, his shadows curling anxiously at your feet. "To me, you are. You don’t heal like we do, and it terrifies me."

You let out a breath, pulling him into a hug. His wings folded around you, creating a warm, protective cocoon. "I know you want to protect me," you whispered against his chest. "But I’m still here. I’ll be careful, I promise. Just... try to trust me a little."

Azriel exhaled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I’ll try. But don’t ask me to stop worrying. You’re too important to me."

And though you knew he’d never fully stop being overprotective, you also knew that no matter what, you’d always be safe in his arms—even when the world wasn’t.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Heaven High (logan)

Summary: Logan tells you how much he adores you.

WC: 1K

Warnings: angst

A/N; there was a mistake that I placed this under a fluff. I was mistaking it with another Logan fic that I have in the works. I apologize.

Read on Ao3!

Want to be tagged in future fics?

The quiet hum of the hospital room buzzed in your ears, a dull contrast to the chaos roaring in your heart. You laid still, eyes half-lidded, body fragile and weak. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound marking time, but you didn’t need to hear it to know the truth. Time was running out.

Logan sat by your side, his calloused hand wrapped around yours. His thumb absently traced circles over your skin, a soothing rhythm he had adopted without thinking, like he was trying to will your heart to beat a little longer. He didn’t say much; he never did when the silence felt this heavy. But you knew he was there. He always was.

“Logan…” you whispered, your voice a raspy shadow of what it once was. The simple act of speaking felt like it took more energy than you had left.

He turned his head toward you instantly, his expression softening at the sound of your voice. The fierce intensity he carried everywhere, the weight of the world he seemed to bear on his shoulders, faded for a moment as his gaze met yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning closer. His voice was gravelly, rough around the edges like everything about him, but there was warmth in it that only you ever really got to hear. “Don’t talk. Just rest.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but the effort was too much. “I don’t… have time to rest,” you murmured, your chest aching with the weight of what was coming. “Not anymore.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as if he could physically stop the truth from sinking in. He had fought for you—God, how he had fought—but not even the Wolverine could win this battle. His healing factor couldn’t heal you.

“You don’t get to talk like that,” he growled, though there was no real anger behind his words. Just pain. The kind of pain he couldn’t fix, and it was tearing him apart. “You’re not done yet.”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to summon the strength to push through, if only for him. The man who had been your rock, your shelter in the storm. The man who had loved you in ways he hadn’t thought he was capable of.

“I wish…” Your breath caught, and Logan immediately reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. “I wish I could stay longer. With you.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, as if holding you a little closer would keep you from slipping away. His brows furrowed, the strain of holding it together evident in the tense line of his mouth.

“You’re not leavin’ me yet,” he said, his voice low, almost desperate. “I’m not lettin’ you go.”

A tear slid down your cheek, the weight of your reality settling between the two of you like a shadow you couldn’t escape. You had been through so much together—more battles than either of you could count, more heartache than most could endure. But this? This was the fight Logan couldn’t win.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words breaking your heart as much as his. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had known him, you saw the crack in his armor. The Wolverine, unbreakable, unstoppable—shattered.

“Don’t say that,” he choked out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped your face. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask for this.”

You let out a soft, shaky breath, your hand reaching up weakly to cover his. His skin felt rough under your fingertips, but it was warm—comforting. You had always felt safe with him, even when the world around you had been anything but.

“I wish I could tell you… how much you’ve meant to me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “How much I love you.”

Logan closed his eyes, his forehead pressing gently against yours. He stayed like that, silent for a moment, as if trying to memorize the feel of you, the sound of your breath, the warmth of your skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy, filled with emotions he couldn’t contain any longer.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured, his voice raw, breaking. “I know. I’ve always known.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gazed up at him. Even now, even with the end so close, you couldn’t help but marvel at the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Good,” you breathed, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion pulling at you. “Because I adore you, Logan. I hope… I hope the heavens know how much.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he could hold you there with him just a little longer. He looked away for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to hear those words. But then he turned back, his voice a broken whisper as he leaned closer to you.

“They know,” he rasped, his lips brushing your temple. “And if they don’t… I’ll make sure they do.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, but you were too weak to wipe it away this time. You just stared up at him, your vision fading, but all you could see was him—the man who had been so much more than a hero to you. He had been your everything.

“Logan…”

“I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without you.”

You smiled weakly, your eyelids fluttering as the world grew dimmer. You wanted to say more, to tell him just how much he had saved you—how much his love had meant. But the words wouldn’t come. Your breath was shallow now, the end closer than ever.

Logan stayed there, holding you close, his own heart breaking as yours faltered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “More than I ever knew how to say.”

And as your eyes finally closed, you felt his lips press against your skin, his voice the last thing you heard before the darkness took you.

“I hope heaven knows how much I adore you too.”

[arjwrites]

crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were. 

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly. 

 It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps. 

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. 

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar. 

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” 

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you. 

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home. 

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up. 

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went. 

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be.  The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (13)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the elections distracted me! This should have been up ages ago 💙 Anyhow, look at our boy pout up there. Darling never stood a chance.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Darling gets closer to making her choice.

The holiday is already shaping up to be your most memorable one yet, and it’s only halfway done. 

Between all the commotion in the press about Ewan’s film, the lively spin-the-bottle game last night, and your… boys being more brazen in their affections, it doesn’t matter that you’re still half-limping and that one gorgeous blonde girl is testing the limits of your patience—Mallorca is one for the books.

Half of your vacation crew decided to head out into town for the afternoon, allowing you to see more of the local scene. Bethany, Phia, Luke, and Elliott have ventured off to see some shops moments prior, promising to rejoin the group with loads of goodies. So you walk the cobblestone streets with Tom and Freddie on either side, the lads promising to catch you should your ankle ‘betray you and make you faceplant on the street’. 

Because, as Freddie put it, they “can’t have the show’s rising star with a blow to her money-maker,” pertaining to your lovely face. 

You were able to finally remove your fracture boot that morning, after a long-distance call to your doctor, but you still have to slightly drag your left leg as you walk.

“Mate, if you could hurry up a little, maybe we can see more of the town,” Tom remarks with a cheeky smirk. He’s had an arm looped around yours the whole time, ever on the lookout. 

“Sure, let me just use my incredible powers of self-healing. Maybe we can check one of these souvenir shops if they’ve got a bionic leg on sale,” you deadpan, fighting hard to stifle a laugh. 

The fledgling weeks of spring bring a steady warmth to Mallorca. The sunlight is bright yet tempered as it casts its glow over the cobblestone streets, illuminating the quaint storefronts and cafes that line that town square. It’s a picture-perfect afternoon, so long as you don’t turn back to Ewan and Louise who are trailing a bit behind. 

But your curiosity wins over, and you see Ewan smiling politely as Louise gestures animatedly, completely absorbed in her tale. You immediately realise your mistake, a pang of something—guilt, longing, confusion… and jealousy, because who are you fooling—tightening in your chest. You quickly turn back to Tom and Freddie, who are too busy scheming to notice your reaction.

“So, do we let Ewan suffer, or do we intervene?” Tom asks, tilting his head toward the pair.

You can only shrug. “I think he’s handling it. It’s probably better to give them some space.” The truth is, you know Ewan well enough to sense when he’s at his wit’s end, and even though he looks like he’s about to throw in the towel, you don’t want to complicate things further. 

Who are you to deny Louise some quality time with your good buddy Ewan Mitchell? He is a stand-up guy, after all, and all of you are friends here. It’s a casual day out, nothing but a good time. 

And… you do need some time to let his confession sink in. He has given the power to you, and the only thing left to do would be to choose him.

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

So the choice should be easy, but why isn’t it?

Freddie smirks. “Space, you say? You mean you’re hoping he’ll finally snap and make a break for it?”

“Maybe,” you admit with a small smile. “Can you blame him?”

The three of you linger by a cafe, chatting to your heart’s delight. You catch sight of Ewan glancing your way, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Hey, he mouths, staring you down until Louise nudges him, and he has to shift his focus back to her. 

“Honestly, though,” Tom continues, “what’s the deal with him and Louise? He looks like he’s drowning over there.”

“Maybe she’s finally wearing him down,” you say, half-joking, but you’re aware of how often Ewan gives too much of himself sometimes, especially to someone like Louise. The boy’s just too sweet and polite to say no. 

“I give him five minutes before he either leaves or starts shouting for you,” Freddie chimes in, his eyes dancing behind his sunglasses. “It’s a safe bet.”

Before you can respond, Ewan’s voice rises above the clamour of the street. “Actually, that’s not what I meant—”

“I can’t believe you thought that!” Louise interrupts, playfully punching Ewan’s arm, her tone a mix of disbelief and enthusiasm. “But that’s what makes you so unique! You always see things differently.”

What’s unique is the expression Ewan sports as a reaction, akin to a deer about to be hit by a Jeep.

“Unique?” Ewan repeats, a note of incredulity in his voice. He shakes his head, his mouth falling open, like he’s trying to find the words. Louise leans in closer, mentioning something about how cute he looks when confused. 

Well, she’s not wrong there. You have to hand it to her—she’s persistent.

“Why are we just standing around?” Tom suddenly says. “Let’s get some drinks. We need to fuel up for the gossip you owe us.”

“I’m in,” you say a bit too quickly, desperate for a distraction. You motion toward a quaint nearby bar with a bustling atmosphere. It seems like the perfect refuge, far from the intensity of the current situation. The bartender greets you with a grin, and Tom takes charge, ordering a round of brightly-coloured cocktails that seem to match the vibe of the holiday. 

Tom gives you a sly look over his glass. “So here we are, eh?”

“Here we are,” you nod, sensing something coming round the corner. 

“My god, this cocktail is amazing!” Freddie gasps dramatically, oblivious to the look you and Tom are sharing. “I must know what’s in this… Is that gin and… and what?”

“I myself would rather know,” Tom begins, leaning forward, “about the truth behind all the drama. The are-they-or-aren’t-they of it all. My missus has also been bugging me about it. All she talks about is you and your Ewan.” 

Freddie’s grin is huge as he raises his glass. “Bloody hell, cheers to that then! I know there’s something brewing, but no one ever tells me the details. What is this, a fight to the death? May the best Targaryen win? Lucky girl you are.”

Tom snorts. “Or may the right man win. Which, to be honest, is not Matt in this scenario.”

Freddie’s jaw drops in mock horror, clutching his chest. You may take the lad out of classical theatre for a while, but you can’t take classical theatre out of the lad. “Excuse me? Matt is a national treasure, he’s mature and reliable, and he throws a fabulous party. Might I mention how highly he speaks of you?”

Tom shoots him a scornful look. “Reliable. How riveting. Look, I love the guy, but Ewan’s practically half of her soul—”

You groan. “Can we not turn this into a debate? I’m actually trying to keep things simple now.”

“Simple,” Tom repeats, one blonde eyebrow arching. “Darling, nothing about this is simple, especially not since Ewan isn’t bound to that ridiculous PR setup anymore. Are you going to pretend that it doesn't change things?”

Freddie waves a finger. “It doesn’t have to change things. Matt’s good for her. I mean, they’re actually happy, and you need someone solid, love. Someone who isn’t going to fling you around emotionally, from the very little that I’ve heard.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Of course, you’d think that. You get all your goss from Liv and she basically adores Matt.”

Freddie clutches his glass defensively. “Well I know for a fact that Matt is fun! And steady! You don’t need fireworks all the time to make something work.”

“But fireworks are the whole point, you know?” Tom insists. “You can’t reduce a relationship to sensible compatibility and call it love.”

“Love can be practical too,” Freddie says, looking at you. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just…breathe? To not have to worry about how he’s going to handle things every other minute?”

You wince, half-convinced by Freddie’s logic, but then Tom’s voice cuts in, softer, more serious.

“Sure, she could breathe,” Tom says, “but let’s not forget who actually takes her breath away.”

It hits you, the truth you’ve been dancing around with both of them.

Freddie gives you a sidelong look. “Alright, love, confession time. Say Ewan was still bound to that PR relationship, do you really think you could have handled not being with him? Watching him essentially be with someone else?”

You swallow, glancing down at your drink. “It would have hurt, but I would have had to handle it.”

Tom keeps the interrogation going. “And now? What would you do if he does end up with someone else? Louise seems to have her claws in him.”

You let out a huff, your next words decisive. “Look, if she can take him that easily, then he’s all hers.” Because that would mean all those heartfelt phrases about being so in love with you aren’t true. 

That’s the reasonable part of you. The other, less savoury part wouldn’t hesitate to get your own claws in Louise if she swoops in to take your man, petty catfight style.

“But see! See here,” Freddie exclaims in glee, “We’re talking about Ewan and she’s already stressed. She needs a break from the drama, Tom, and Matt is like… an oasis.”

Tom rolls his eyes but doesn’t let it go. “Sure, an oasis that leaves her wishing she were somewhere else half the time.” He sighs, his voice softening. “Look, Matt’s lovely, but he’s not the one. He’s not the one who can turn your whole world upside down, and I know you two. I’ve seen you together, I’ve seen you apart, and trust me, you’re so much better together. Hell, it’s better for all of us too! I simply cannot deal with Ewan moping around again.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you consider his words. It’s almost dizzying, trying to compare the two men, as though they represent opposite sides of you, each offering something you desperately need. They’re both right, in different ways. With Matt, there’s a sense of stability that you haven’t felt before. He’s steady, he’s sweet, and he genuinely adores you despite all of the tangled strings that have bound you to Ewan. 

But with Ewan… you want him, love him, with an intensity that is almost all-consuming. It’s the kind they write songs about, the kind that drives hearts crazy. 

Freddie drops the dramatics, his voice sincere when he speaks again. “Darling, Tom’s got a point, but just… be honest with yourself. What do you really want? Because whatever you decide, it’s your heart on the line. And you know, we’re here for you, no matter who you choose.” And then, as if with the flick of a switch, he turns his flair back on. “God, you could choose me, just so you don’t have to deal with this dilemma of yours anymore!”

You let out a breathy laugh, all the tension you’re feeling dissipating. “I just might!”

Tom mirrors your laughter. “Now that’s a dangerous idea. But hey, life’s short, right? You don’t have to have it all figured out right this second.”

Freddie grins, raising a toast. “To being a beautiful mess.”

You clink your glass with theirs, watching in amusement as they both begin bickering again over who’s really the better choice. As the debate drifts over to which drink to order next, a quiet but unmistakable presence makes its way to your table. Ewan stands behind you, his hands resting on the back of your chair. 

“I’ve been looking for you guys,” he greets calmly. 

Freddie doesn’t hesitate to take a playful jab. “Ah, Ewan! All by your lonesome now? Where’s your lady?”

Ewan perches on the last empty chair on your table, catching your eyes. “My lady’s right here,” he smirks, and he says the words with such ease that your cheeks heat. Everyone would benefit from taking lessons in the Ewan Mitchell School of Charm. “Fancy a walk, darling?”

You quickly glance at Tom and Freddie, whose raised brows practically tell you that they’re going to be chattering about this as soon as you’re out of earshot. “Try not to miss me too much, boys,” you wink at them, letting Ewan help you out of your seat and whisk you away. He offers his arm to you for support, and the two of you fall into stride, allowing the buzz of Mallorca’s streets to fill the quiet between you.

“So,” he starts, “I sure hope Tom and Freddie didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you smile, your tone lowering as you decide to tease him a little. “We would have invited you over, but you seemed to have plenty of… entertainment yourself.” You playfully wag your eyebrows at him, and he makes a show of groaning and turning away.

“Don’t remind me, my darling,” he groans. “I was so close to faking an illness and making my escape.”

You chuckle at his apparent distress. “Poor Ewan. It must be so hard being adored by a beautiful girl, isn’t it? Wait, where is she again? Did you scare her off?”

“Phia came to my rescue. They went walking by the bay or something, I don’t know. And about being adored, it only matters to me if it’s by you.”

You’re about to lean into a joke and call his bluff, when he adds, “Well, you… and my mum.”

“I thought so,” you giggle, his eyes holding yours with a familiar sweetness. But then his gaze is snagged by something behind you. 

“Is it just me, or does that cat look suspiciously like Sansa?” Ewan points to the front display of a rustic souvenir shop, and you immediately see a plush black cat with curious amber eyes.

You gasp softly, your hand tightening around his bicep. “I did leave Sansa back with my neighbour in London, right?”

“Are you sure? She’s right there, darling,” he plays along, grinning. “I think I’d recognise my daughter when I see her.”

“Your daughter, huh? The most you have right now is visitation rights.”

“Wait here, baby,” he presses a kiss to your temple, leaving you leaning against the wall across the shop. He disappears inside, emerging just moments later, the little cat plushie already in his hands. His expression is tender as he passes it to you. “Here. Figured you could use a bit of home.”

You take the little black cat, heart swelling at the sweetness of his gesture. “Thank you, Ewan. She’s perfect.”

He’s all smiles, his dimples deepening as he nods in response. 

You hug plush Sansa to your chest. “Now I wish they also had whippet plushies, so I can give you a piece of home too…” 

Ewan’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, his gaze dropping as he gathers his thoughts. “Darling, I hope you won’t think I’m just trying to score brownie points here or something, given the current situation, but honestly…” He hesitates, but makes up his mind as his eyes meet yours. “If I wanted to feel at home, all I really need is… to be with you.”

Your breath catches, and your mind is too focused on what you’ve just heard that your hold loosens around plush Sansa, causing it to nearly stumble out of your hands. 

“Ewan,” you say softly, your voice laced with an affection you can’t quite dampen. “You don’t play fair, you know that?”

He chuckles, a little self-conscious, his hand reaching for yours. “You know me, darling, and you know how I feel about you.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the touch is light, almost reverent.

“So, no Sansa needed, huh?” you tease gently, trying to keep things light even as the weight of his words lingers. 

His smile returns, a little shy, a little playful. “You got that right. But maybe we don’t have to tell Sansa about this.”

You’re about to offer a witty rejoinder, when a cheerful shout slices through the air. “Ewan!” It’s Louise, her voice loud and undeniably eager, and you find yourself dropping Ewan’s hand. 

And either you’re not in her line of sight, or she just didn’t bother calling out to you too. What a delightful girl.

“Oh,” Louise finally acknowledges you. “That’s a nice… toy you’ve got there.”

“It’s a plushie actually,” you mutter dryly, wiggling plush Sansa in the air.

Ewan snorts at your deadpan expression, and much to Louise’s obvious annoyance, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against him. “I got it for her. It’s almost an exact replica of her cat, isn’t it, darling?”

Your eyes widen at his purposeful cheekiness. The lad has finally had enough of another girl trying to get a bite out of him. “Well, yeah…” you stumble on your words, “It does look like her.”

Louise pouts. “What a nice, friendly gesture.”

Ewan chuckles to himself, not letting her mood dampen his spirits. “I think it’s rather romantic.”

“Hold on,” Louise responds, appraising you with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you dating Matty?”

“Uhhh—”

“There you kids are!” Phia materialises out of thin air, an angel in disguise.

Oh, you could just kiss the very ground she walks on.

Everyone makes their way to the pool area the next afternoon, the group scattered all around the lush backyard of the villa.

Matt lingers outside your door, waiting for you to finish changing. He leans casually against the railing, his gaze drifting downstairs to Fabien and Elliott, who are hauling crates of beer toward the poolside. He whistles and shouts out a playful, “Save me some, lads!”

“Waiting on your woman, Romeo?” Elliott sings up at him.

Matt waves them away, spinning around to face your door. As he waits, his mind drifts back to a conversation he had with Liv the evening before. She’d seen right through him, spotting the quiet insecurities he tried to keep buried and urging him to go all in with you, to show you what he couldn’t quite put into words. And so, he decided he would; he’d pour everything into showing you just how much he cared.

He has the advantage in that he hasn’t hurt you the way Ewan has in the past, and he has absolutely no intention of doing so, not when being with you feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world. 

To him, you are like the human equivalent of a shot of espresso, a musical laugh, a jolt of positive inspiration. He’s always felt this, but one night, many nights ago, this effect that you have on him became amplified.

And suddenly, you are all he sees.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way, especially not after you finally open the door. You don a forest green bikini that leaves little to the imagination, with a sheer white wrap tied loosely around your waist. 

Matt lets out a low whistle, walking up to you with a slow, playful swagger. You roll your eyes at him when he unapologetically draws his gaze over your bare skin, but he can’t help it.

You look so ravishing that he wants to push you back inside the room. As stunning as your bikini is, it would look even better off.

To hell with the pool.

“What do you think?” 

He has roused from whatever grey temperament he was stuck in, now that he’s had his espresso. “I'm a goner. Absolutely done for.”

“Flatterer.” You shake your head at him, taking in his broad, bare torso. “Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smirks, his large hands kneading your waist. “I'm the luckiest man on the planet, and this is you after an accident, you say? My love, you're a vision in green.”

“You like the colour?”

“Mmm, if I didn't like you in it, I'd cause a fuss about how you're playing for the other team, my Alyna.” He swoops down and kisses the crook of your neck, the spot he is aware would tickle, eliciting a soft giggle out of you.

“I could never,” you say, swatting his arm. “They were just out of black bikinis at the shop.”

“Black... green... we both know you look the best without either of them on. I mean, we did establish that six times in one night, remem—”

“Matt!” you squeal, eyes wide and scandalised. He feels smug, because he made sure you would never forget that night. “You're such a dog. Come on, let's join the others. I can’t wait to finally dip my toes in the pool.”

He is one step ahead of you the whole time, paying special attention to your bad ankle. He knows he’s being too careful when you eye him strangely, but he doesn’t care. “I got you,” he says.

“I can walk, you know,” you huff. “I’d have been down here ten seconds ago if it wasn’t for you going all Mr. Protector.”

As you reach the final landing, Phia’s voice rings out, “Hands off my woman!”

“She’s got a point.” You tilt your head at Matt, lips pulling at the corners.

“Have I? I was just kidding,” she shakes her head, before mumbling under her breath. “I'm not Ewan.”

Matt huffs out in response, trying not to let it get to him. Phia takes your other arm, deaf to your protests. It’s silly, because they’re both aware that you can probably fend for yourself, but not if they have anything to say about it. 

Fabien, Elliott, and Harry are manning the grill out on the patio. Some of the ladies are cozying on their sun chairs. Ewan, Luke, and Freddie are smoking on a bench under a canopy. And Thom Yorke serenades the whole scene, the speakers emitting ambient music.

Matt’s always loved a good European excursion, but this one might be his favourite yet. Thanks to the girl who lets him fuss over her despite her feigned annoyance.

Your fingers dig tighter into his arm as the two of you lower into the pool. He relishes the moment and allows the ebb of the water to push him closer to his girl.

“Hold on to me.”

You roll your eyes, but wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway. “I'm fine, Matthew. My ankle’s almost healed back to normal.”

“Almost is the keyword there, my love. We can't take any chances. So... hold on to me, beautiful.” The late morning sun is a blanket comfort as you float on together, your laughter ringing out as he flaps an arm on the water and splashes your face. 

From the sidelines, Freddie lets out a loud, teasing whistle. Matt responds with a triumphant fist pump, turning to give him a cheeky grin. 

That might have been a mistake because his eyes landed on Ewan, seated comfortably to Freddie’s left, a cigarette burning low between his lips. His eyes are obscured by dark sunglasses, but he’s clearly surveying the scene unfolding in the pool with an air of nonchalance that doesn’t sit well with Matt. 

He would have expected Ewan to jump in the pool as well and make a show of laying a claim on you as he had before. But no. The younger lad just sits, and watches, the makings of a smirk pulling at his lips when Matt makes eye contact.

Since when has he been this self-assured? Perhaps you’re to credit for this renewed sense of confidence? 

Are you slipping away from him, and back into Ewan’s arms? 

Too many questions, and not even the pleasant haze of Spain can shake the anxiety out of him. 

But then, Liv strolls over, positioning herself in front of Ewan, blocking Matt’s view. She bums a cigarette from one of the guys, and as she turns, she gives Matt a subtle nod—a reminder of her advice from last night. Just show her, she’d said. Show her you’re all in.

Thank the heavens for Olivia.

Turning back to you, Matt softens, brushing a lock of hair from your face. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, feeling his doubts fade as you meet his gaze, eyes bright with laughter.

“Enjoying yourself there?” you ask sweetly.

“What’s not to enjoy?” he replies, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you glare like that before.”

“I was not glaring.”

“You so were, Matthew.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. Before you can react, he dips underwater, reemerging just inches from your thigh, where he plants a quick, teasing kiss that makes you yelp.

“Wha—Oh! Matt! Get up here!”

He surfaces, grinning, his arms winding around you again as he pulls you close. Your laughter mingles, echoing across the pool as the rest of the group cheers and jeers good-naturedly.

Just as Matt’s about to pull you in for another kiss, a loud shout breaks through the calm. 

“Cannonball!” Tom’s voice echoes from the villa, and before either of you can turn around, he comes barreling out, sprinting at full speed. With a triumphant yell, he launches himself off the edge, arms and legs splayed out like a human starfish.

The massive splash sends water arcing high, soaking you, Matt, and everyone within a ten-foot radius.

“Always one to ruin the moment, Tom,” Matt jokes.

“Had to make sure you two didn’t get too cosy,” Tom shoots back, swimming closer and clapping Matt on the shoulder. 

It’s all in good fun, sure, but then Matt catches Tom shoot a quick wink at Ewan, a flash of understanding passing between them.

So that’s how it’s going to be? Game on. 

It’s the penultimate day of the Mallorca trip and the group has rented boats to paddle out along the stunning coastline. Only 2 people are allowed per vessel and some pairs have already formed—Phia and Phoebe, Louise thankfully pulled away from Ewan by Bethany, Harry and Freddie…

And then there’s Ewan who strides over to you determinedly. Matt is a half-step behind, his expression expectant, but Ewan is quicker. “I’m with you today, darling,” he says, his tone leaving little room for question. His hand finds yours, warm and grounding.

Matt’s eyes flicker with disappointment but he’s never been one to kick up a fuss. He gives you a faint resigned shrug, then turns to Liv. “Guess that means you and I are a team then.”

Liv rolls her eyes playfully, pushing her sunglasses up and swatting his arm. “Don’t sound so thrilled. But I promise I won’t make you row the entire time.”

Matt’s smile softens as he looks at her, his earlier disappointment slipping into something more relaxed. “Fine, but I’m claiming the right to judge your rowing skills.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent rower,” Liv insists, taking her spot at the front of the boat and casting a teasing glance at him. “You, on the other hand…we’ll see.”

As you and Ewan push off into the water, he throws a glance back at the others, and a spark of mischief lights his eyes. “Think they’ll survive?”

You laugh, settling across Ewan on the boat. “I think it’ll be a surprise if Tom’s boat doesn’t capsize.”

Soon enough, everyone’s boats are spaced out on the clear, serene waters, and there’s nothing but the occasional splash of oars, the birds squawking high above, and the warm glow of the horizon. Ewan rows steadily, having doggedly refused your offer to help, and every now and then, his eyes flick to you, a soft smile never leaving his lips. His gaze lingers, like he’s committing your image to memory.

As you watch the world, he watches his world.

“Feels like another reality out here, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice barely above a murmur.

You nod, watching the sunlight dance across the water. “It really does.” You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see Liv and Matt, already in animated conversation. “It’s nice to just… forget everything for a while.”

He smiles, tilting his head. “Anything specific you wanna forget?”

You smile back. “Everything, really. The pressures, the expectations… wondering what everyone thinks or wants.”

From a few metres away, Matt’s voice carries over the water, cutting through the quiet intimacy of the moment. “I’m just saying, Liv, you don’t have to prove anything. You can let me row.”

Liv laughs, her voice filled with playful defiance. “Matt, I am fully capable of handling this. Maybe it’s you who should be taking notes.”

“Oh, I’d hate to step on your expert skills,” Matt teases back, before throwing a glance your way, his gaze lingering a bit too long before he turns back to Liv, who seems blissfully unaware of his momentary distraction.

Ewan notices it too, and his grip on the oar tightens ever so slightly. But he says nothing, keeping his focus on you as he rows further along the shore.

He steers the boat around a small bend, his voice low. “They’re good together, don’t you think?”

You turn, following his gaze. It’s a simple, easy dynamic between them, one you know you’ve seen before, and for a moment, a pang of something unnameable twists in your chest.

“Yeah,” you murmur, a touch distracted.

Ewan catches your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “You seem… surprised. Or maybe… jealous?”

You laugh it off, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s just—”

But before you can finish, a sudden splash interrupts you. Harry’s boat has tipped over, both he and Freddie flailing in the water, their laughter filling the air as they try to right themselves.

Bethany, a few feet away, doubles over, her laughter carrying over the waves. “Oh my god, Freddie, I told you to sit still!”

Harry, sputtering as he surfaces, grins. “Guess I got too excited.”

“So I was wrong,” you turn to Ewan, smirking. “It’s not Tom who capsized.”

Ewan just laughs, then adds slyly, “Here I was wishing it would have been Matt.”

After the boats return to shore, you’re all tired and exhilarated, the sun higher in the sky as you make your way up the beach. But the peace is short-lived. Fans, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, begin to gather along the shore, their voices excited, cameras ready as they shout greetings and ask for photos. The relaxed energy shifts as each of you is drawn into the swirl of attention, questions flying as you try to keep up.

A fan steps in close, slightly shaking in her nerves. “You… and Ewan?” she asks, the question open-ended but its meaning clear.

You chuckle awkwardly, caught off guard, opting to just wrap an arm around her shoulders as she takes a selfie with you. 

But the fan is relentless, her attention shifting to Matt, who’s standing off to the side with Liv, his gaze directed toward you even as he signs another fan’s poster. “What about him?” she says, grinning.

Ewan’s arm slips around your waist protectively, pulling you closer. “She’s with me today,” he says confidently, not minding the possibility of this fan taking to the internet after this encounter, with proof of her ship actually being together.

Ewan doesn’t care; he has no reason to hide how much he wants you. Not anymore. If his fans want a crumb, as he often reads online about him, then he’s going to give them a whole feast. 

With you as the main course in the Ewan banquet.

As the day comes to a close, you find yourself resting all alone in your room, stealing the group introvert mantle right under Ewan’s nose. Everything that has happened during this vacation plays in your mind like a montage, and somehow, it all feels like it’s building up to a grand finale.

But before you can lose yourself completely in your thoughts, there’s a soft knock at your door.

You groan to yourself as you walk over, but your protest dies as you find Ewan standing there, holding something behind his back.

“Hey, you,” he greets you with a smirk that’s more mischievous than usual. “Got a minute?”

Your heart skips a beat — it’s always been that way with him, that instant flutter, even now after everything. “Sure. What’s up?” 

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, his grin widening at your raised brow. He steps into your room, pulling whatever he’s hiding behind his back.

When he finally reveals it, you blink, eyes widening. “You... bought these?” You can’t help but laugh.

Two brightly coloured superhero masks — one Spider-Man, the other Spider-Gwen.

“Yep, I saw a costume shop that had Carnaval masks… and these too, apparently,” Ewan says, looking pleased with himself. “I thought it would be fun. We’re getting away from the villa tonight. I figured we could use these. You know, masks for our incognito date night.”

It had taken one quick scroll on the internet for your group to discover that the paparazzi trailed everyone around town today, and Elliott even annoyingly revealed that he might have seen one or two of them lingering outside the villa’s premises. 

Vultures.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Wait, you’re serious? We’re wearing these to our… date? Wait, why are we going on a date?”

He shrugs with a playful glint in his eye. “Why not?”

You hesitate for a second. It’s such a ridiculous idea, but in the best possible way. He’s always had a way of pulling you out of your own head, making you feel like there’s no right or wrong way to just live in the moment. 

Or maybe he could propose anything—anything at all—and you’d be beside yourself if you refused. It’s how you and him ended up having copious amounts of…. casual lovemaking, months after breaking up.

“Okay,” you finally say, “but only if you promise not to laugh when I look completely ridiculous in it.”

“Never,” he says with mock solemnity, holding out the Spider-Gwen mask for you. “You’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

As you slink past the gates, the masks make you feel more than a little silly, but also oddly liberated. It’s like you’re in on another secret with him, something just for the two of you.

You look at him, smiling as you adjust the mask. “This is insane,” you say, your voice muffled behind the fabric.

Ewan smiles back, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. And it’s perfect.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just you practicing for an audition for yet another Spiderman reboot?”

He only playfully shoots air webs at you, his adorable pew-pew noises audible under his mask.

You chuckle softly, your heart warming at the sight of him. “So, what now? You’re just going to walk me through the streets like this?”

“Of course. You ready to go on the best secret date of your life?”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Lead the way, Spiderman.”

The walk isn’t long, just enough to enjoy the quiet of the night and the unexpected adventure of it all. When you finally arrive at the restaurant, you stop dead in your tracks, blinking up at the building in front of you. It’s perched on the edge of a cliff, offering a breathtaking view of the bay below. The warm glow of the restaurant spills out onto the street, and you’re immediately struck by how beautiful its facade is.

You look at Ewan, your surprise written all over your face. “This... this place looks amazing. How did you find it?”

“I have my ways,” he says, grinning. “Come on.”

He leads you up the stairs, and you both remove your masks as you enter, giggling to each other. You’re met with a homey, rustic atmosphere. There’s a dim light from lamps perched on the posts, the soft murmur of conversations, and the smell of fresh food in the air. It’s everything you didn’t realise you needed tonight—calm, peaceful, and more than a little romantic.

“I booked a private table for us,” Ewan says softly, glancing around for the waiter. 

The two of you are escorted to a table on the balcony, overlooking the bay. The moon reflects on the water, casting a silver glimmer over the scene. For a moment, you just sit there, both of you silent, taking it all in.

“Ewan, this is incredible,” you say, your voice quiet but full of admiration. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Ewan smiles, reaching across the table to take your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. And I promise this isn’t some ploy to get you to speed up your decision-making. I just… I just wanted you to have a night where you could forget about everything else.”

He leans back slightly, his eyes studying you with that gentle familiarity, like he’s waiting for you to say something more, but he doesn’t rush you.

You glance down at the simple sundress you’ve been wearing all day. You didn’t have time to change when Ewan mentioned the surprise evening out — there was no real thought given to a perfect outfit. And yet, as you sit here now, across from him in the warm candlelight, you don’t feel the usual self-consciousness you might’ve once felt. 

You feel more beautiful than you ever have before, because he sees you as the most beautiful person in the room. In any room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you say, looking at him. “How you make everything feel so…” You trail off, unable to find anything adequate. 

His lips curl into a knowing, half-smile. “I feel the same about you.”

And you might not know it yet, but this night is when you choose him. 

Under the unprecedented rainfall, later on, you will realise that you never truly had to choose.

It’s always been Ewan, all along. 

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

I have no notes. The red mirage is still at play as I type this. Please distract me in the comments 🥲

The next chapter wraps up this trip :) We also might have a bit of Liv's POV...

Then it's back to LA or London, depending on who darling opts to go with 💛

[meowzfordayz]

hashiras' first "I love you"

Author’s Note: a lil fluff for the sake of a lil fluff. 🤗 Kyojuro’s was inspired by @somelattes' should've known better... which you should totally read btw (read it and weep 😭💀).

hashiras’ first “I love you”

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,800

CW:  none

~faqs~

“I love you,” Gyomei whispers, confident that you’re asleep, “I love you and your steady breaths, the sensation of your fingers tugging on my happi, how I know your mood by listening to your footsteps…”

You grunt, rolling over at his confession, taking the blankets with you. He smiles.

“I love you,” as he curves his warm body around yours, “Thank you,” as he presses a kiss to the back of your head, “Thank you so much.”

You’re asleep, truly, but that doesn’t stop the blossom of red in your dreams, heartbeat quickening to keep up with Gyomei’s own longing, words on the tip of your tongue — if only you slept talked.

“And when you wake,” he murmurs, “I’ll be happy to tell you again.”

“I love you,” Obanai sighs, cheeks red and sour as he glares at his feet, “Alright?”

“Alright,” you quip, mimicking his actions with quiet chuckle.

It takes him a long moment to notice your teasing, signature scowl wrinkling his face when he finally realizes you’re copying his embarrassed disposition.

“Well don’t mock me and my love for you!” he hisses, arms crossing tightly, taking a decisive step back from your amused expression, “I’m being vulnerable, damn it!”

“I know, I know,” your hands raise in apologetic defense, mouth still quirked with endearment, “You’re just so…”

“So what?” he huffs.

“So grumpy when you’re in love!” you laugh loudly now, tugging at his wrists, adoration swelling in your chest when he doesn’t flinch or pull away from you, “And in case it wasn’t obvious, I love you too.”

“I love you!” Mitsuri exclaims, sleepy ascent of the sun interrupted by her pink cheeks and wide stare, “That’s why I always ask if we can watch the sunrise together! Because I figured, some day, I would have the courage to tell you! I love you!”

You nod slowly, early morning drowsiness muddling your comprehension, a glowing smile gradually replacing the tiredness of your face as her feelings sink through your skin.

“You love me?” you repeat softly.

“Is that so difficult to believe?” her head tilts, concern filling her gaze, “Of course I love you!”

A quiet exhale of laughter slips from your mouth, arms gentle and tender as you reach for her warmth, a satisfied hum vibrating against her earlobe when she accepts your embrace.

“It’s difficult to believe,” you admit, still in shock, body doing its best to memorize the curve and weight of her scent melting into you, “But I’d be the world’s biggest idiot to turn from your love.”

“So you love me too?” she grins, the faintest trace of fear catching on the end of her question.

“I do. I love you, Kanroji Mitsuri, I love you too.”

“I love you,” Shinobu admits, reluctance in her fingers as they grasp your elbow, gently moving your limb, “It’s a terrible feeling, to love someone, but I do.”

“Well I feel loved,” you remark wryly, eyebrow raising at her airy tone, wincing as she tests your range of motion, “Are you sure you aren’t pranking me? Going to laugh at me in five seconds, give or take?”

Sighing quietly, she shakes her head once, “I deserve that,” humming with dissatisfaction.

“What exactly is the point in telling me you love me if it’s such a burden to you?” you ask pointedly, “And how am I doing?”

“You’re healing slowly,” Shinobu reports, frowning when your jaw clenches, “But still healing. You’ll be alright.”

“And you? Will you be alright?”

“If you’re asking whether I’ll survive being in love with you,” she chuckles lowly, “Then of course. I’ll survive.”

“But will you be alright?” you repeat.

She lets your arm fall, gaze steady as she watches your expression twinge, “Do you love me?”

“Is that even appropriate?” you snort, “I’m your patient.”

“Every slayer is my patient. Who else am I supposed to love?”

“I do love you,” you say softly, pretenses dissipating as fatigue snakes up your spine, body haunching, “I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Kyojuro declares, watching loud tears drip down your cheeks, “How could I not return?”

“Well dying would certainly make returning difficult,” you sniffle, not quite processing his confession, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Ah, but I’ve been keeping this promise for ages!” he smiles wider, sadness softening the corners of his mouth, “I promise I love you.”

“Ages?” your eyes widen, “You-!”

“It’s hard to steal a moment for ourselves,” Kyojuro shrugs apologetically, “But I swear I wake up thinking about you.”

“And before you fall asleep?” you dare to ask, breath held in your shocked chest.

“I hear the color of your laughter,” he blushes, discomfort pricking at his fingertips, “How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” you scoff now, amusement brightening your tone as you point a wry finger at his nose, “If you’ve loved me for ages, then I’ve loved you for forever!”

“I love you,” Sanemi murmurs, catching your wrist as you turn to leave, cutting through your wall of anger with such a simple, delicate movement — such a painful, quiet admission.

“What does that even mean?” you snap, shuddering as his confession digs into your shoulder blades, “You hate everything.”

“I don’t,” he frowns slightly, clinging onto your fingers as he clings onto the hope that Maybe, maybe they won’t shake me off.

“Prove it,” you goad darkly, skin burning from his touch, unwilling to detach yourself even as you scowl in disbelief, “What else do you love?”

“I love the sunrise,” he begins carefully, tone level and gentle, unbearingly tender, “I love getting to see you smile,” smirking to himself, “As well as beating you up,” fixing a warm, welcoming grin on your astonished, unblinking eyes, “I love hearing you judge me, challenge me, worm your way into me,” shrugging as he traces your knuckles with the roughness of his thumb, “I love the scent of ginger, and the crackle of autumn, the fullness of a rainstorm, and how entranced you look.”

His intention to tease you utterly fails as his voice softens to an unknowing simmer, the intimacy of his grasp suddenly registering as you yank your hand to your chest.

“You’re forgetting something,” you whisper, stuck in the sinking of his stare.

“Of course,” Sanemi laughs lightly, stepping in, listening to your breaths — listening to how you don’t step away, “I love you.”

“And if I can’t say it back?” you venture.

He snorts, flicking your forehead with an unceremonious thwack, “That’s fine. My love has no deadline, no time limit, no strings. It just is.”

“I love you.”

Your eyebrows furrow, lips parting as you stare dumbfounded at Muichiro.

“Did you hear me?” his head tilts, “I said, I love you.”

“I heard you!” you hurriedly assure him, your fingers locking then unlocking then locking together, “You caught me off guard, is all.”

He smiles at that, that same warm smile that only you’ve seen — that same warm smile you’ve taken for granted, as though you didn’t know yourself to be the reason behind his rapid heartbeat and sweaty palms.

“So, what do you think?”

He hopes you don’t notice how his left pinky trembles, how his toes keep curling and uncurling, how terribly flustered his face is.

“As in, how do I feel?” you squeak.

“No. I mean. Yes, but also, what do you think about me loving you?”

“I think it’s great!” you blurt, breaths shortening as you reach instinctively for his hand, “I just really wasn’t expecting it!”

He almost asks Are you sure? searing regret beginning to root him into the ground (to swallow him whole, actually), when you make contact, grip clammy yet decisive.

“I… wasn’t sure if you loved anyone like that,” you explain gently, thoughts finally gathered, “If I could hold your attention in such a way… but I’m happy to know that I can. That I do.”

“So my love is a good thing?” he murmurs shyly.

You nod, returning the warmth in his timid smile as you dart in to peck his cheek, “Absolutely.”

“I love you,” Giyuu says simply, wind billowing though the sleeves of his haori as he rests a light palm on your shoulder, “Please remember that.”

How could I forget? you try to whisper, response caught in your throat as you close the distance between his nervous pulse and your shocked heartbeat, finally accepting the coolness of his embrace.

“Promise me?” his voice roughens, chin digging into the back of your neck, “I can’t bear to lose you.”

I can’t bear to be lost by you.

“I promise,” you manage to rasp, muscles relaxing into the awkwardness of his touch, “And Giyuu?”

He freezes at the lilt in your tone, eyes squeezing shut, fear blossoming in his stomach, yet unable to release you.

“I have always loved you.”

“I love you!” Tengen grins, pride expanding his chest as lightness fills his head, “I love you dearly and devotedly.”

“You love everyone,” you laugh casually, waving off his confession with a bright smile, your hair glistening in the afternoon sunshine, “I love you too, Uzui-san.”

“No, no, no,” his grin falters, jaw twitching, arms crossing, “I love you.”

“Okaaay,” you raise a curious eyebrow, stepsiding an overgrown shrub, still smiling, “You love Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma too.”

“Too,” he emphasizes exasperatedly, “As in, I love you. I love you too. I love you as well. I love only you.”

You huff, “You’re so complicated,” gesturing out at the path in front of you, “Unlike this trail, you confuse me immensely.”

“How do you feel about my wives?” he promptly switches tactics, unsure how to further convey his intent, odd nervousness swelling in his fingertips Must be the heat.

You blush faintly, voice quiet as you respond, “I enjoy their company.”

“And they enjoy your company!” he exclaims, nearly jumping with frustration.

“What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

“That I love you.”

You almost groan, believing the conversation to have returned to square one, when your eyes widen comically, pace halting completely as you stare accusingly—excitedly—at his expectant expression.

“You want to marry me.”

He nods immediately, “Well, eventually, yes.”

“You love me,” you whisper, pointing at yourself.

Looking quite pleased, and significantly less stressed now, Tengen nods again, “Indeed.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?!” you shriek indignantly, smacking his bicep, wincing as you accidentally hit his armband. 

“I did,” he shrieks back, poking at you with unavoidable speed, “I told you no fewer than seven times!!!!!”

[satoruhour]

a/n: i need college / uni bf!geto rn bc my hands hurt :( newly established relationship <3 0.9k, rich kid!suguru i guess? / tagging @crysugu @na-t0 @papersirens @hydrovillette

“didn’t i tell you not to go so hard on your essay?” geto gives you a small smile, countered by your cute pout in the dark room of your dorm. the way he lectures is gentle, having no bite to it because how would he ever dare to sink his teeth into something as sweet as you? he knows if he does, however, he just might become addicted to you. it’s clear already how the teeth is breaking skin and drawing blood just by the items in the room:

both your faces are illuminated by the fairy lights you begged suguru to buy — he gives in and buys it for you as always. it’s shown in the starbucks mug that cost ¥3300, the sanrio themed bed sheets that you’re now sitting on, the convenience store onigiris for you to store in your fridge.

“was rushin’ it before 2359, su, you know that…” you mumble more to yourself than your boyfriend, who’s staring at you as your eyes droop sheepishly to your connected hands. it’s not wrong that you could’ve started writing this essay a little earlier, cited your sources a little earlier, but you still managed to do it; at the expense of your hands. they ached and throbbed from the position they were in for the past few hours — at least you still had managed to submit it with two minutes to spare.

“but not to the point where your hands turn sore, my darling.” geto brings your hands to his lips to kiss, like the little gesture of love could magically heal you. it feels like it does. the tenderness of his touch, the roughness of his finger pads against your smoother skin, the thoughtfulness itself. you grunt a little in pain when suguru starts to massage the palm, digging his thumb in and dragging it up and down. he squeezes your hands, giving each finger its attention, wiggling the hands to loosen your muscles.

“you know,” you hum in response and look up from your flustered state to find him already staring at you, “my mom used to do this for me.”

“yeah?” you whisper, heart pounding in your ears. two and a half months in and geto suguru was already treating you like treasure, not at all what they say he is: conceited of his intelligence, rude, a know-it-all rich kid. sure, he was smart, he was rich, but he made it clear he had no interest in the industrial, business side of the family. geto was generally open about his past, his parents leaving the toxic world and giving their son an upbringing filled with unconditional love and openness. but people usually liked the juicier gossip; none of them had bothered to know geto for who he was.

“yeah.” geto brings you in via your hands, lips colliding clumsily against yours from the force and you both laugh softly, “said its been passed down in her family for the longest time.”

“it’s helping… a little,” you giggle, eyes memorising his eyes shone under fluorescent.

“is it now?” the warmth of his hand leave yours for a moment to tilt your head up, catching your lips properly this time as he moves slow. suguru takes his time with you, moving against you as his other hand still continues to massage. that was one thing he was good at too, multitasking; he plays with your hand, travelling over your fingers and stroking over each section and its nail bed and then pulling away teasingly while he continues to hypnotise you into a dance. you hear him hum into the kiss, exhaling through his nose as he now interlocks both hands.

“focus on the squeezes, baby,” geto suguru drives you insane, in that little silky voice of his and the slight lilt in his voice. you let him lead you, feeling the soft pressure of his hand as he brings them above your heads and leans forward. you make a small surprised sound as he brings you right down to lay flat on the bed, hovering over you whilst still giving those periodic squeezes, entirely at his mercy as his lips never stop. they come off to breathe for some air and you’re the same, flushed cheeks and swollen lips and geto lets out a shaky breath.

it’s only then when he lets go, caught in your trance. easily, he tugs you into his lap as he lays down, not sure if he could uphold his obsession if he was on top.

“is this really part of the massage process?” you ask, legs naturally going to either side of his hips as you lay on his chest. you smile to yourself when you realise how fast his heart’s beating. off to the side, geto finds your hand again: him with his left and you with your right and you tangle into each other with the choreography of a million sprouts in the wind. finger into finger and palm against palm.

“hmm…” geto feigns confusion, prompting you to turn your head towards him. you grin seeing his red cheeks, “nah, just deviating a little from the family recipe… is it working?”

“it was earlier but now? oh, no, not really.” geto’s eyes flutter close when you move forward just a bit to peck his lips. you twine your fingers with his; you’re getting good at this multitasking thing. “but wherever you are, i will always feel much better than i was.”

“good.” suguru mumbles with a lovesick smile, and he gives your connected hands a squeeze and a grin threatens to spread across his face when you squeeze back just as hard, “that’s… really good.”

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag XIV

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, mentions of violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

You gasped, stomach tight at the feel of the warmth that slid over your folds. Your leg—the good one—was being pushed back, knee bent and almost painfully close to your head. The healing one was resting on the bed, a hand gently massaging your thigh. The soft feel of those fingers were a stark contrast to the tight grip on your other leg, and you reached down to twist your own fingers into blond hair.

“JJ,” you breathed.

You were mindful of the fact that you weren’t alone in the house. It’s not like your parents were the lightest sleepers, but they knew Rafe wasn’t staying over, and so you didn’t feel like lying to them should you wake them up. JJ hummed against your mound, and the vibration against your skin made your toes curl. His hand slid up, straightening your leg a bit and pushing it back a tad more.

You shockingly liked the slight burn from the stretch.

Turning your head to the side, you stared at the window with half hooded eyes and parted lips. Your breathing was coming out in short uneven gasps, fighting the urge to let a moan escape. Sinking your teeth into your lip, an almost inaudible whine escaped when JJ repeatedly thrust his tongue into you. The rough texture against your insides made your back arch, making JJ hum and let your leg go.

It rested over his shoulder as his hand slid up your torso, pushing against your chest and pinning you down. Reaching up, you grabbed his hand, clinging to it as he ate you out, and you almost wished you’d told your father to leave the A/C on. Sweat was clinging to your frame, losing track of just how long JJ had been in between your legs.

Rafe hadn’t been by in two days.

You knew it was Ward’s doing, and for once, you found yourself grateful to the older man. You didn’t know the specifics of that conversation following the hospital visit, but you knew it involved Rafe spending less time around you—until he could get his shit together at least. This was the third week in a row where your boyfriend wasn’t with you every single day, and JJ took full advantage.

It was just hours earlier when he’d climbed into your room just as you were about to take a shower, startling you and forcing you to tell your mother you’d just bumped into the bed. He’d kissed you the moment you’d told him Rafe was at home, and you couldn’t swallow down your gratitude when he offered to help you in the shower.

While still a little sensitive and faintly bruised, your nose was pretty much better. Your knee on the other hand still needed weeks of recovery, and you could only imagine how much longer the process would be dragged out without physical therapy. Your therapist told you that you were doing good and that your recovery was right on track, something you’d been happy to relay to JJ as he peeled your towel off of you.

The teenager in question had long released his hold on your torso, fingers sinking into your soaking cunt. Your juices made a mess of his hand as he massaged your walls, curling his fingers into you and against you and making you reach out to grab your sheets. He added a second and then a third, and when he added a fourth, you grabbed his hair again.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, repeating yourself as he roughly fucked you with his hand. “F-fuck.”

The blond chuckled at that, his amusement at your torment evident. His mouth came down on you again, sucking on your clit and flattening his tongue against your folds. You could feel your legs starting to shake, and JJ cursed when you tightened your hold on his hair, grinding yourself against his face. Running his tongue over you a few more times, JJ turned his head to gently nip at the inside of your thigh just as he curled his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, and your breath hitched.

Spots danced in your vision as you came, JJ guiding you through it as he kissed and bit at your skin. You were making a mess of your sheets, coming all over his hand, and he hummed at the feel, leaning in and tasting you again. Your chest heaved as you continued to come—out of breath—and JJ was content to lap up all you had to offer while you came down.

When he lifted his head, your leg fell from his shoulder, and you felt like a noodle as he climbed over you. His lips were shiny, and when he kissed you, you tasted yourself on them. The kiss was gentle—sweet—so different from how he was just handling you, and your core buzzed with every movement of your thighs.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” he murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be gone before the sun is up.”

You should’ve said no. After all, it was risky, you knew that, but basking in the bliss of your orgasm and with JJ’s lips so close to yours, you couldn’t resist nodding. You wanted to spend the night with him, relaxing in your bed with your head on his chest. At your agreement, JJ stood up, and your gaze lowered.

“What about you?” you wondered, pointedly glancing at his evident arousal at the look of confusion on his face.

JJ chuckled at that, and you watched him search your drawer before pulling out a t-shirt. You pushed yourself upright as he neared you, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head. He kissed you again once you were dressed, still mindful of your nose, and you reached for his own shirt. He made a slight noise of protest, grabbing your hand.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured into the kiss. “Your knee is still healing.”

You rolled your eyes, appreciating the concern, but it wasn’t needed.

“I can still…”

Your smile faded as you glanced down, JJ’s shirt still in your hand as you’d started to lift it.

The bruising peeking from underneath was clear as day, and you blinked when JJ put his hand on yours. The sight took your breath away, having been some time since you were confronted with JJ’s own tumultuous home life. He’d been staying in your pool house so much that you had to guess he was hardly ever at home to experience his father’s abuse.

“What happened?” you finally wondered, voice quiet.

When he didn’t answer, you looked up, and JJ looked like he was going to tell you to forget about it before thinking better of it. With a small sigh, he took your hand into his.

“I crashed a bike he was trying to sell,” he shrugged, relaying the information like it was nothing. “He wasn’t too happy about that.”

You blinked at him, eyes wide.

“You…you what?” you gasped, reaching for him again. “Why didn’t you say any…?”

“I’m fine,” he assured you with a smile, and you shook your head.

“You’re not though! JJ, that looks really bad,” you whispered, pushing yourself towards the end of the bed.

JJ tried to stop you, but you pushed his hands away.

“I can walk, you know,” you lightly told him, making your way to your bathroom.

JJ was close behind, hands hovering around you.

“I know, but…if you don’t have to, you really shouldn’t.”

You searched your cabinet for some cream, facing him as soon as you found it. JJ looked like he wanted to protest, but with one look from you, he relented. With his help, you sat on the sink, JJ moving to stand between your legs as he reached behind his head to pull his shirt off. You couldn’t stop your small gasp as you took in the bruise in its entirety.

It covered so much of his chest and even part of his lower back.

You could see some faint scratches from the accident he hadn’t told you about, and your frown deepened, worried about what came from the accident and what came from his father. As you put the cream on his skin, ignoring his hiss, you wondered why he didn’t tell you.

You asked him.

“You’re already dealing with so much,” he said, and you looked up at him. “I was angry about Rafe, and I’d crashed it before I realized what was happening, and…”

You watched him swallow, eyes troubled.

“I hated that you were being put through his bullshit,” he roughly whispered. “I felt like…I don’t know…like… Like you shouldn’t be the only one hurting.”

Your heart sank at that, lips parting.

JJ scoffed.

“I kept egging him on…”

You softly sighed, gently brushing your fingers over his skin. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the dark coloring, and when you paused, you felt JJ’s hand on your cheek.

“How long?”

You didn’t need to elaborate.

“Too long.”

You didn’t know what to say funnily enough.

Your situation with Rafe was so similar but also just as different in many ways. Rafe was your boyfriend, someone with no familial ties to you whatsoever, fear and conditioning keeping you at his side. JJ’s abuser was his own father, and you didn’t want to imagine the turmoil he felt to remain so loyal and open to the person who raised him. The same person hurting him…

When he helped you back to your bed, you took his hands as you sat down. Glancing up at him, you leaned in, only breaking eye contact when your lips came in contact with his stomach. The skin tightened briefly beneath your touch, but the blond eventually relaxed. You kept your lips against the bruise, wishing you could kiss every single one away.

 “Your face looks much better,” Sarah commented, a smile on her face as she sat on your couch. “The last time I saw you, it still looked a little scary.”

Her chuckle was nervous, carefully watching you as you joined her.

“You sure you should be walking?”

You gave her a reassuring smile as you handed her the muffin your mother had baked.

“I can walk, Sarah, it’s fine,” you gently told her. “I just can’t be on it too much.”

She nodded at that, picking at the pastry. There was a look on her face like she had something on her mind, and you watched her shoulders heave.

“Rafe’s tied up with dad and business stuff,” she said. “You probably already know.”

“Yeah, he was here yesterday,” you let her know, swallowing at the memory of his hand on your throat as he fucked you against the couch. “He’s been tied up with Ward a lot recently, so there’s been a few times a week I don’t see him.”

Sarah hummed at that, taking another bite.

“You…don’t seem all that bothered by that,” she commented.

When you looked at her again, her blue gaze was on you, and you frowned slightly.

“I mean, we always spend so much time together. A day or two apart isn’t the end of the world, especially when it’s for a valid reason.”

Sarah slowly nodded at that, and again, you could tell that something was on her mind.

She finally voiced it.

“I never got the chance to talk about what JJ said at the hospital…”

Her demeanor suddenly made a lot more sense, and you let out a soft ‘ah’.

“Every time I visited you, your parents were around, or Rafe was around, and it just didn’t feel like the right time.”

You gave a light chuckle at that, supposing you agreed.

“I mean… that was crazy,” she scoffed. “I don’t even know why he would say that. Do you?”

You shook your head at her, wholly aware of the fact that the man in question was just upstairs in your bedroom.

“You know how JJ and Rafe are with each other,” was all you had to add.

Your words made her eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah, they fight and can’t stand each other, but JJ accused Rafe of hurting you. He’s an asshole, that I’ll never disagree with, but…” she glanced away, shaking her head. “You broke your nose.”

She frantically blinked.

“You fractured your knee,” she stressed. “I don’t understand why JJ would accuse Rafe of doing that.”

Pretending like you had no idea why he would, you sighed.

“Did you ask him? I just… I don’t know, I just assumed it was because of his feelings about Rafe.”

Running her hand through her hair, Sarah sighed in frustration.

“Yeah, I did, and he just keeps saying to forget it…that he was mad. I know you guys hung out like twice, but I didn’t even think he cared about you like that. Not enough to accuse Rafe of something so horrible,” she mused. “You guys don’t even talk.”

Her face was pinched as she tried to make sense of it, and part of you felt bad for lying to her.

“Why would he say that?” she wondered more so to herself. “I can’t really imagine JJ going that far just because he hates Rafe, you know?”

You nodded, and she continued.

“…and you know more than anyone how much I hate you two together, but it’s just because you could do so much better. Rafe just can’t seem to get his shit together, and he treats you like a child, but I…” Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think I could ever think Rafe is capable of what JJ accused him of.”

Your eyes met hers at that, and she shrugged.

“God knows Rafe is such an asshole, but even I can’t imagine him hurting you like that.”

You pressed your lips together, taking in how upset the thought made Sarah, and you got it. They fought and hated each other at times, but from what you’d seen, that’s just how siblings were sometimes. You never once thought Sarah genuinely hated her brother. She loved him, and even if she didn’t like him most days, she’d never want to imagine he was way worse than what she already thought him to be.

“I think JJ was just worried. It’s like you said, I looked scary coming out of that room,” you chuckled. “…and it probably just got the best of him, and Rafe was an easy target.”

Sarah seemed to stew on that, and you briefly glanced up the stairs.

Her next words shocked you.

“Do you think he likes you or something?”

Your eyes were wide when you looked at her again.

“JJ?”

“Yeah,” she lightly said with a shrug. “Anybody could see that he did seem really concerned about you.”

That was the last thing you wanted to hear, because if anyone could see that, then that most definitely included Rafe.

“Worried enough to full blown attack Rafe? You two only talked like two or three times, but…I guess that’s enough to get a little crush.”

The blonde was smiling, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to return.

“Sarah,” you nervously warned, and she waved you off.

“I know, I know. You and Rafe, and…Rafe would lose his mind if he thought JJ liked you, but I can’t see why else he would react like he did. I do get it though,” she shrugged, leaning back. “You’re pretty, and you’re sweet, and you’re dating the guy he probably hates most in this world.”

Her words brought out a lot of emotions, and you couldn’t deny the way your chest bloomed at the idea of gushing over JJ with Sarah like he was your boyfriend instead of Rafe. You couldn’t though, and swallowing down those feelings, you rolled your eyes at her.

“I don’t think about JJ like that.”

“I know, I know,” she huffed. “You and Rafe, but I’m not going to pretend like I’d hate the idea. I’d definitely love it more than you with my brother, that’s for sure.”

Part if you wanted to tell Sarah the truth. God knows that you did, but it was too risky. While you suspected she wouldn’t care about you cheating on Rafe, she also knew you well, and wouldn’t believe you’d just decided to start sneaking around with JJ without an airtight valid reason. If you told Sarah about you and JJ, she’d know that something was seriously wrong with your relationship with her brother, and considering recent events like JJ’s accusation…

It was just too risky.

You pressed your forehead to your bed, nails dragging along your sheets as JJ pushed his cock into you. His chest was pressed to your back, forearms resting on either side of you and keeping you caged beneath him with every descent of his hips. His face was pressed into the place where your neck and shoulder met, peppering kisses along your skin as he fucked you, and you reached back to glide your fingers through his damp hair.

After showering with you, JJ hadn’t exactly been in a hurry to help dry you off, and you found out why when his lips had met the back of your neck. His hands on your waist had guided you towards your bed, his soft voice in your ear telling you to just relax. You hated being so limp beneath him, but you knew that JJ just wanted to be mindful of your knee.

He was comfortable between your parted legs, taking his time in thrusting into you, skin dragging against yours. Your toes curled as he stretched you out, and a shiver crawled up your spine as he pressed kisses along your shoulder. You really wanted to face him, but every time you tried, JJ warned you off.

“Relax, princess,” he lightly laughed against your skin. “Let me do all the work.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh on the tip of your tongue when a particularly forceful thrust made you gasp. He nipped at the skin of your neck as you moaned, eyes rolling as he plunged his cock into you. After taking a few deep breaths, you replied.

“Please, JJ,” you sighed, tone pleading.

He hummed at that, and you could feel the smirk on his lips.

“I think I like you when you’re needy.”

You pulled on his roots, making him hiss, but it quickly faded into a chuckle.

“I swear you’re only this bratty with me…”

You didn’t refute him, but a smile did dance along your lips as he pulled out of you. He was gentle in pushing you onto your back, and he softly tapped your right thigh as he climbed over you.

“Keep this leg down,” he warned.

His tone was mirthful, but you knew he was serious, and you gasped when he bent your other leg, pushing the head of his cock past your folds. He took his time in slipping into you again, and your back arched up towards him. The blond groaned at the tight grip around his cock, fitting snugly inside of you, and you reached up to clasp your hands behind his neck.

JJ held himself above you, one hand pressed into the mattress while the other kept your leg hooked on his hip. His blond hair hung onto his forehead, just as damp as it was before due to the thin layer of sweat that clung to his skin. Pulling him down, you lifted yourself slightly to brush your lips against his.

You could hear how wet you were, hear the sound of his cock disappearing into you, but even if you didn’t you could feel how wet you were. You were dripping around JJ, making a mess of your sheets, and as if reading your mind, he looked down to watch his cock go in and out of you. You were just about to reach down and touch yourself when you thought you heard the last thing you wanted to hear.

You froze beneath JJ, quietly telling him to stop.

“What?” he breathed, kissing your jaw.

He was still thrusting into you, and you turned your head towards the window. Heart dropping, you quickly and gently repeatedly hit JJ’s arm.

“I think I hear Rafe’s truck,” you gasped.

At that, the guy on top of you did stop, and in the silence, you confirmed that it was indeed the distinct sound of Rafe’s truck you heard pulling into the driveway.

You remained still for half a second more.

You sat up as soon as JJ got off of you, and you were quick to grab your T-shirt, pulling it on and limping a bit towards the window. You already knew it, but the sight of Rafe’s vehicle in your yard—confirming your suspicions—made your heart drop to your stomach. To make matters worse, any hope you had that JJ could sneak out while you let your boyfriend in were quickly crushed.

You could make out Topper in his passenger seat, and you didn’t doubt that Kelce was in attendance too.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, voice shaky.

You felt like you were going to be sick, and when you turned towards JJ, he’d already pulled his pants back on.

“Topper and Kelce are in his truck,” you choked out, and JJ met you halfway.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he reassured you. “I’ll hide, alright?”

It seemed the only option, and although you nodded, you wanted to throw up as you thought about what could happen if he was caught. You heard your phone vibrate then, no doubt Rafe telling you to let him in. You trembled at the sound, and JJ ran his hands over your temple and cheek.

“He won’t fine me,” he told you, kissing your face and lips. “If they’re with him he can’t plan on staying long.”

That did reassure you, and you nodded, telling yourself you only had to entertain him for a bit.

“Look, JJ…whatever you hear…”

You didn’t continue, and when you looked at his face, you noticed the way it clouded over. He seemed to understand where you were going with this, and after some time, he gave you a nod.

“You can’t come out no matter what. I don’t care what you hear—what he does, you cannot-.”

“I know,” he said, sounding unhappy with that, and you didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.

At JJ’s urging, you hurried downstairs as best as you could. You took deep breaths the entire way, fixing your face and repeatedly telling yourself everything would be fine. The guy you were cheating on your boyfriend with was currently hiding upstairs, and your volatile boyfriend was about to walk through the door…but everything would be fine. Your stomach twisted more and more the closer you got to the door, and when you finally opened it, you gave him a small smile.

“I thought that maybe you’d get your mother to get the door or something,” was how he greeted you. “You shouldn’t be on that leg unless you need to be.”

Swallowing down a sigh, you gave him a look.

“She’s asleep, Rafe, and I wasn’t expecting you to drop by at eleven at night.”

He nodded at that, leaning in to briefly kiss you on the lips.

“I know,” he huffed. “…but my dad has basically been keeping me hostage, and I’m going to Top’s tonight, and I haven’t had the chance to see you in like three days.”

When he brushed past you towards the stairs, your heart skipped a beat, and you quietly took his hand as he offered it. As he helped you back to your room, you thought to yourself that Rafe didn’t like being away from you, sure, but it was more than just about missing you. He never wanted you to get too comfortable with not having him around.

This unexpected drop in was to confirm you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

When you crossed the threshold to your bedroom, you glanced around. There was no sign of JJ, and you even noted that your bed had been straightened. Heat flooded to your cheeks as you recalled what you’d been doing there just moments before, and one glance towards the cracked bathroom door had you wondering if JJ was in there. You knew he’d be smarter than that, and as you sat on your bed, you realized that you were facing your closet.

The door now closed where it had once been partially open.

“You could’ve let me know you were coming,” you told Rafe. “I just would’ve left the door unlocked.”

Your boyfriend softly chuckled to himself, and it didn’t exactly sound humorous.

“So, you could know when to expect me…?”

His eyes bore into yours as he said that, and you sighed.

You wondered if he’d ever get over that night you’d slept at John B.’s, and you rolled your eyes.

“I have a still healing leg, Rafe. I’m not going anywhere, something I’m sure you took into account when…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe’s face twitched, and you swallowed down the rest of what you were going to say. He made his way towards you, towering over you, and you shrank away from his gaze as he looked down his nose at you.

“…and I’d do it again if it kept you bedridden for months.”

You swallowed at that.

“It’d be worth it to know where you are at all times and having you ready and waiting for me.”

You looked away from him at that, pushing back tears.

“Did you come to make me feel like shit for not being able to go anywhere or…?”

When you looked at him again, he was rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.

“Believe it or not, baby, I did miss looking at you,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your chin. “You know I like falling asleep to this face every night.”

His thumb brushed along your bottom lip, and he bent down to kiss you. This kiss wasn’t as brief as the previous one, and you were forced to move your mouth against his. When he deepened it, his hand circled around your neck, and you flinched, but not because of his fingers on your throat.

There was a spot on your neck that felt more sensitive than the rest.

You knew what it was, and you were relieved the lights were off.

“God, I’d fuck you, right now if Top and Kelce weren’t downstairs waiting on me,” he sighed the moment he pulled away.

You glanced at your closet as his lips moved to your jaw and then your neck. Rafe struggled to pull himself away, and when he did, you leaned into the hand that was on your cheek. He brushed his thumb over the skin, studying your face.

“Sarah told me she came by the other day to check in on you,” he told you.

At the mention of Sarah—and the reminder of that conversation—you blinked.

“Uh…yeah, she did. She didn’t stay long,” you confirmed, and you watched Rafe frown at you.

“Did she say something to you?”

Now, you frowned.

“Like what…?”

When you gave him a questioning look, Rafe merely raised an eyebrow at you. His thumb was still tracing circles into your skin, and you hated the way he drank you in. His blue eyes flitted over your features, taking in every shift, and by the time you evened out your expression, it was too late.

“You know I know you like an open book,” he said, making your shoulders sag. “Somethings bothering you.”

Yeah, the guy in your closet.

The reminder of that conversation about JJ forced you to unintentionally focus on the fact that the man in question was currently in your bedroom. It was a thought that made you want to throw up, and unfortunately, that wasn’t a feeling you were able to keep hiding. While impulsive, you knew JJ understood the severity of his and your current predicament and wouldn’t dare reveal himself. With that being said though, you couldn’t stomach the possibility of Rafe discovering him somehow.

However, that wasn’t the only thing bothering you, just what was currently bothering you, so a half truth spilled from your lips.

“She was just talking about…what happened at the hospital,” you slowly confessed.

The mention of the incident had Rafe’s jaw clenching, in turn also causing him to tighten his hold on your own face.

“Right,” he responded, tone clipped.

Rafe moved away from you, and you watched him poke at something on your dresser.

“JJ’s lucky my dad didn’t have him arrested,” you heard him sneer. “That Pogue is always looking for trouble.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to blame you, Rafe, that’s all.”

You heard your boyfriend scoff, and he shook his head. He turned around to face you, leaning back with his hands on your dresser as he stared you down.

“He probably has a little crush on you.”

His tone was mocking, and you raised your brows.

“He doesn’t know me,” you argued.

“He doesn’t need to. You talked…what…? Once?” he wondered, head tilted. “That’s more than enough for the likes of him.”

You remained silent.

“I mean, come on,” he dragged the word out. “You’re pretty, you’re rich, and you’re my girlfriend.”

Rafe softly laughed to himself.

“That last point alone is enough to have that Pogue wanting what he can’t have,” your boyfriend spat. “After all, why the fuck else would JJ Maybank of all people care if you fell down the stairs? Enough to want to fight me? He’s nothing to you.”

“Sarah and I aren’t exactly strangers, Rafe. She was worried, so it makes sense that he’d be worried too,” you shrugged.

Rafe pulled his lip between his teeth as he regarded you.

“So, that makes what he did okay?”

“No, I just think you’re trying to make it something it isn’t. JJ barely knows me, and what he does know is that I’m a spoiled Kook princess who’s dating Rafe Cameron. Call me crazy, but I don’t think I’m his type.”

What you were doing was the literal definition of gaslighting, and if Rafe wasn’t an abusive jerk, you might’ve felt bad about it.

“You’re the quickest way to get me to break his nose. You’re exactly his type.”

Rafe found himself funny, and you rolled your eyes, feeling uncomfortable with this conversation for obvious reasons. Your boyfriend decided that he’d kept Kelce and Topper waiting long enough, and when he approached you, you were prepared for the kiss. Rafe deeply inhaled when he pressed his lips to yours, hand resting on the back of your neck.

You made a slight noise of protest when his hold tightened.

When he pulled his lips away, he kept his nose touching yours, and his gaze was devoid of humor as he looked between your eyes.

“You should probably tell Sarah to watch her friend,” he whispered. “Next time he puts his hands on me, I just might break his neck. You think you can relay that?”

His thumb was painful against the front of your throat, and you gave him a shaky nod. You reached up to touch it when he roughly let you go, and he threw a comment over his shoulder as he left, telling you he might come back later to stay the night. Your fingers trembled against your skin, and you didn’t relax until you heard his truck start again.

The sound of it was gone completely when the closet door finally opened.

“I’m fine,” you breathed, JJ wasting no time and hurrying to kneel before you.

He turned on the lamp, and you hated how cold his eyes were as he inspected you.

“I told you, JJ, I’m fine,” you assured him, reaching for him.

His entire body was vibrating, and you knew it took everything he had to control himself.

“God, I hate him,” he breathed, pulling you into his arms.

You hugged him back, burying your face into his chest. You inhaled his scent, the smell and feel of him helping you calm down. Rafe’s presence had shaken the very atmosphere in the room, and you took deep breaths, JJ’s hands rubbing up and down your back.

“He said he might come back later,” you murmured.

“I know,” JJ exhaled. “I heard.”

“Maybe…maybe you should leave,” you said, looking up at him.

Rafe’s visit had spooked you, and you knew it was evident, but JJ didn’t seem as disturbed. A small smirk danced along his lips, and he brushed his hand over your cheek.

“Don’t worry,” he slowly leaned in, giving you a tentative kiss before deepening it. “I’ll be out of your room before he gets back.”

He kissed you again, and you shuddered when his hands slid along your thighs, dipping beneath your shirt.

“He insulted me…so now I really want to fuck his girlfriend,” he bit out against your lips, pushing you back and covering your frame with his own.

You couldn’t deny the effect those words had on you, hating how quickly your fear of Rafe started to fade at the sound of JJ’s playful tone.

“JJ,” you warned, but your tone was light, and he smiled into the kiss.

He tapped your right thigh, pushing your shirt up with his other hand, blue eyes glinting as he held your gaze.

“Keep this leg down.”

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

Masterlist | Send me ideas