#all that just to be resolved with one kiss???

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

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

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

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

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

Word count: 16.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucien.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

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

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

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

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

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

But you had left.

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

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

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

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

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

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like her mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

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

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

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

But all you felt was emptiness.

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

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

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

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so he did.

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

-----

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

He barely even blinked.

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

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

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

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

“Az.”

Cassian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

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

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

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

And then, finally, he stood.

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

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

And he had caused it.

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

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

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

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

His room. Theirs.

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

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

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

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

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

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

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

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

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

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

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

And it terrified him.

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

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

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

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

But this?

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

So he did the only thing he could think of.

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

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

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

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

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

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

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

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

Azriel flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

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

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

No.

He refused to believe that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And those words shattered him completely.

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

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

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

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

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

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

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

So he stepped back.

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

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

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

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

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

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

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

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

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

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

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

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

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

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

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

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

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

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

But you weren’t wrong.

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

So he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretched between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How is she?”

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

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

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

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

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

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

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

He froze.

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

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

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

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

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

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

Your baby, broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more part left...

[anastasiayeh]

“Lost & Found”

When Task Force 141 needs a place to hide, you reluctantly let them in—only because they have a dog. What you don’t realize? The masked soldier, Ghost, is your long-lost high school sweetheart. As old feelings resurface, a long-awaited kiss is interrupted by a knock that could change everything.

A 141 x Reader Flirty & Fluffy Fic

The Knock That Changed Everything

The knock at your door nearly made you spill your tea.

It was late. Too late for visitors.

You crept toward the door, peeking through the peephole.

Four men. Big. Armed. Intimidating.

And a dog.

A massive, scruffy shepherd mix sat at their feet, wagging his tail.

Your common sense said nope, absolutely not.

Your dog-loving heart said open the door immediately.

Slowly, you cracked the door open, eyes darting between them. “…Hi?”

The tallest one, wearing a skull-patterned mask, nodded. “We need a place to stay.”

Your fingers clenched around the doorframe. “I… I don’t usually let strange men into my house.”

The mohawked one smirked. “We’re not strange, lass. We’re charming.”

You blinked at him. “You literally have a gun.”

Gaz grinned. “Think of it as an accessory.”

The dog whined.

Your resolve crumbled instantly.

“…Come in,” you muttered, stepping back.

Ghost let out a quiet sigh. Of course.

The Team vs. Your Shyness

You regretted it immediately.

They towered over you, their sheer presence making your little living room feel microscopic.

Soap stretched out on your couch like he owned it. “Cozy place, hen.”

“T-Thanks…” you mumbled, tugging at your sleeves.

Gaz shot you a charming smile. “Sorry for barging in. We won’t stay long.”

“I-It’s okay,” you stammered. “I mean, um—not okay, but—not bad either, I just—”

Price chuckled. “Breathe, love.”

You shut your mouth immediately, face heating up.

Ghost, still watching from the corner, muttered, “She’s always been like this.”

You blinked. “H-Have we met?”

Silence.

Ghost stiffened. Soap and Gaz both turned to him so fast.

“…No,” Ghost said, too quickly.

You frowned but got distracted by the dog pressing his cold nose into your palm.

Your whole demeanor shifted in an instant.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, crouching down. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The dog thumped his tail.

Soap smirked. “She’s smitten.”

Ghost crossed his arms. “Figures.”

You gasped dramatically, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I love him.”

Ghost muttered, “You only let us in because of the dog, didn’t you?”

You grinned. “Yup.”

Ghost sighed.

The Team vs. Your Hyper Side

At first, you were shy. Soft-spoken. Avoiding eye contact.

Then?

Gremlin mode activated.

Soap learned the hard way.

You poked his bicep, eyes narrowing. “Are these real?”

He choked on his drink. “What?”

“You heard me.” You poked again. “No way these are real.”

Soap grinned. “You wanna feel—”

Ghost smacked him before you could answer.

Gaz was dying. “Oh, I like her.”

You beamed. “Of course you do. I’m adorable.”

Ghost muttered, “That’s debatable.”

You gasped. “Rude.”

Before Ghost could reply, you flopped onto the floor beside Riley, hugging him dramatically. “You’re my favorite.”

Soap whistled. “That’s gotta sting, Lt.”

Ghost glared. “The dog doesn’t count.”

You pouted. “You sure?”

Ghost exhaled deeply.

Meanwhile, you cooed at Riley, whispering, “You’re my new boyfriend now.”

Ghost groaned. “For fuck’s sake—”

Soap wheezed. “Ghost, mate, she left you for the dog.”

Gaz smirked. “Tough luck.”

Ghost’s eye twitched.

Later that night, when the others were asleep, you found Ghost by the window, arms crossed.

You tilted your head. “Broody.”

He exhaled. “What?”

“You. Being all dark and mysterious.” You leaned against the wall. “You do this a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

You hummed. Then, before you could stop yourself—“Okay, real talk. I know you.”

Ghost tensed.

Your eyes flicked to his mask.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and pulled it off.

Your breath caught.

Brown eyes. Scarred brow. Familiar. Older. Sharper.

Memories crashed into you—secret kisses behind the school, whispered confessions, promises that had been left behind.

Your lips parted.

“…Simon?”

His throat bobbed. “Yeah, love.”

Silence.

Then—

You smirked. Slowly.

“So, let me get this straight.” You stepped closer, voice dropping. “You disappear for years. Show up unannounced. Invade my home. And you don’t expect me to flirt with you?”

Ghost exhaled sharply. “Christ…”

You grinned. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

Ghost hesitated.

Then—soft, low—“Yeah.”

Your heart flipped.

You bit your lip. “You always had a thing for me, huh?”

Ghost’s gaze dropped to your lips. “Still do.”

Your breath hitched.

Then—warm, rough—his fingers brushed against your jaw. Testing. Teasing.

You leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first—tentative, searching. Then?

Heat.

Years of unspoken words. Tension. Want.

His hands curled around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You tangled your fingers in his hoodie, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You were gone—completely lost in him.

Until—

A sharp knock on the door.

Ghost tensed.

You blinked. “…Are you expecting someone?”

The knock came again. *Hard

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

His kisses are so soft, so tender - you almost forget that this is a booty call.

A one night stand.

A one fuck fling.

But the way he's fucking you in missionary doesn't feel like a one night stand...it feels like he's making love to you.

He tucks his face into the side of your neck as he slowly rolls his hips, his cock stretching you out in a sweet way that brings tears of pleasure to your eyes. With each rut into you, his wings puff up behind him in a way that's more endearing than sexy. You can tell by his quirk's reaction that he's really enjoying it.

"God you feel good, birdie." Keigo sighs, planting a wet kiss to your jaw as his hips flex again. Your pussy flutters around him, pulling him in deeper of its own accord. "Fuuuuuck." He moans out and the sound is practically musical.

"Ah! Kei...you feel so good." You groan, enjoying the comfortable pace he's set. Your hips rise easily to meet him on his next thrust and he curses again under his breath.

"What was that?" You tease, unable to help yourself. He peaks up at you, his face scarlet. It's cute the way he blushes as he fucks you.

"I've just wanted to fuck you for so long - ever since I saw you at that press conference. This feels like a damn dream or something." He mutters softly. You reach up to softly stroke his wings. The feathers quiver beneath your gentle touch. You hadn't realized that the feeling had been mutual for so long. Ever since you'd interviewed him at the winter Hero Billboard press night, you hadn't stopped thinking about him. Those crimson wings and those deep golden eyes and the slim dip of his hips. After that night, it seemed like the two of you kept falling into the same orbit. Had that not been a coincidence? You had kept ending up together - at press events, galas, on air. It had all culminated tonight. After your press coverage of a resolved incident, he had asked you for a drink.

"Baby...keep touching my wings?"

Baby.

You ignore the pet name and stuff your fingers more fully into his feathers. They quiver and shake around your hand, but you continue to stroke and caress and give them love all the same. Keigo makes a soft keening noise in the back of his throat in response.

"You like that?"

"Fuck, birdie...I love it." He fucks you even more slowly, making each motion of his cock inside you feel intentional, thoughtful.

"Next time I'll take you out to dinner first." He says, lifting his body so he can hover over you. He presses a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your mouth. Your lips chase his as he pulls away, looking down at you through heavy golden eyes. It's funny how he's just as chatty in bed as he is in press interviews. "There's a great Italian spot by my place. We can make a night of it. Plus...the window behind my bed has a view you'll just love to look out when I take you from behind."

[linoxpudding]

Love That Remained- Bang Chan

summary: while your husband is on tour, something life shattering happens which leaves you both feeling shattered

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 2116 words

warnings: miscarriage, hospital setting, accident

a/n: based on this request

Masterlist

-

The Kids: Eldest Daughter (Juliana - 7 years old) and Youngest Daughter (Aera - 4 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted. No, exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word—you were completely drained, body and soul.

Between caring for Juliana, your seven-year-old, and Aera, your four-year-old, while being heavily pregnant, you could barely function. The constant need to be everything—mother, caretaker, wife—while Chan was away on tour was wearing you thin.

You missed him desperately. The weight of his absence was suffocating, even though you knew he was doing what he loved. Every night, the ache of missing him settled in your chest, only dulled slightly when you saw his face on FaceTime.

His mother noticed your fatigue immediately. She always did. You were visiting your in-laws' place for dinner when she brought it up.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently after dinner, “why don’t I take the kids for the night? You look like you need some rest.”

You hesitated, glancing at your daughters. Juliana was animatedly telling her grandfather a story, and Aera was already curling up against her auntie Hannah’s side, half-asleep.

A night alone. A full night of sleep. The thought was almost too tempting.

“…Are you sure?” you asked, voice filled with guilt.

His mother smiled warmly, touching your hand. “You need to take care of yourself too, honey. The baby needs you strong.”

Your resolve crumbled. You kissed your daughters goodnight, whispering reassurances that you’d be back in the morning. Then you set off for home. It was only a short drive. You didn’t even think about it—just another routine part of life.

Then, everything shattered.

Headlights. A sharp turn. Tires screeching. A deafening impact.

Pain exploded in your body. A scream made it past your lips before darkness swallowed you whole.

*********

On the other side of the world your husband, Chan, was grinning as he wiped sweat from his forehead, heart still racing from the concert. The stadium had been packed, the energy electric. Fans screamed his name, sang every word of every song, and for two and a half hours, he had been on top of the world.

But now, all he wanted was to see his girls. 

His adrenaline hadn’t settled, but there was only one thing on his mind—his nightly FaceTime with you and the kids. This was his favorite part of the night—seeing his daughters’ sleepy faces, hearing you whisper, I miss you before falling asleep with your phone still connected.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. Time zones were tricky. He knew you would fall asleep by the time he got back at his hotel, so immediately after the concert, he waited for your call.

But the call didn’t come. He frowned, glancing at the time. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you had put the girls to bed early.

Still, something gnawed at his chest.

He was about to text you when the dressing room door opened and Changbin and Felix entered.

Chan barely looked up. “One sec, just waiting for Y/N and the girls.”

Neither of them said anything.

The silence made Chan glance up.

Changbin looked pale. Felix’s lips were pressed together tightly, like he was holding back something.

Chan’s stomach dropped.

“What?”

Neither of them spoke. The room felt colder.

“Guys?” His voice wavered slightly. “What is it?”

Felix swallowed. Changbin shifted uncomfortably.

Chan laughed, though it was shaky. “What’s going on?”

Changbin and Felix looked at each other nervously. Changbin took a step closer, “Chan, sit down.”

Chan became worried, “Is something wrong with my parents? My siblings?” He didn’t even take your name or his daughters' names because his mind refuses to go there, there cannot be anything wrong with you or the kids, nope. He scoffed lightly. “Come on, why do you guys look like that?”

Nobody laughed. His heart dropped.

Changbin took a deep breath. “Chan, it’s Y/N.”

The world tilted. Chan sat frozen, breath caught in his throat.

“There was an accident.”

His stomach churned, nausea rising to his throat. “No.” His voice cracked.

Felix reached for him, but Chan jerked back.

“No.” Chan shook his head violently. “No, she—she was just with the kids. She was on her way home—”

Felix squeezed his shoulder. “Hyung—”

No, that wasn’t right. You had just texted him hours ago. You had dinner at his parents’ house. You were fine.

“Where are the kids?” Chan demanded, voice rising. “Were they—were they with her?”

“No. They’re with your parents.”

Chan exhaled sharply, his body sagging for a moment.

Then, his expression turned ice-cold, “Where is she now?”

A suffocating silence.

“Changbin.” His voice trembled.

Changbin looked down. “She’s in surgery.”

Chan’s hands curled into fists and his breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling unevenly, “Book me a flight. Now.”

Chan barely heard anything else. He was already moving.

*********

The flight felt endless. Chan sat in his seat, fists clenched, his foot bouncing violently against the floor. His mind refused to shut off.

You. The baby.

You. The baby.

His brain kept repeating the same words, the same images. You, lying in a hospital bed. You, unconscious. You, hurt. He should’ve been there. He should’ve been driving you home. He should’ve told you to wait until morning. He was supposed to protect you. He wasn’t supposed to be thousands of miles away while you were fighting for your life.

Tears burned at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.

He was praying silently. Please. Let them be okay. Please, God.

*********

The hospital was eerily quiet at this hour. Chan ran through the corridors, barely stopping to listen to the nurses directing him. His parents were standing near your room, eyes red and swollen.

His mother turned first. When she saw him, her face crumbled, and she reached for him, “Chris—”

“Where is she?” His voice barely worked, throat dry from the flight, from the panic that had been clawing at him for hours.

His father placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “She’s inside.” His voice cracked.

Chan didn’t wait. He pushed the door open. Then he saw you and the sight nearly broke him.

You were lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes surrounding you, your face unnaturally pale against the stark white sheets. The rhythmic beep of the monitors was the only indication that you were still there.

His stomach twisted violently.

“Baby?” His voice cracked as he took a shaky step forward.

You didn’t move. The hospital room felt suffocating.

“No,” he whispered, rushing to your bedside. “No, baby, please don’t do this.”

His hands shook as he reached for yours, wrapping his fingers around your smaller, colder ones.

“Wake up,” he pleaded, his breath hitching. “Please, baby. Please. You’re my world, you hear me? I don’t know how to be me without you.”

His vision blurred, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

“It’s us against the world, right?” His voice cracked as he cupped your face with one hand while his other was intertwined with yours. “Juliana and Aera need you… I need you.”

Silence. His shoulders trembled as he pressed his forehead against your hand, his body shaking with the force of his grief.

“Please. Please, wake up. Please, come back to me,” he sobbed.

Minutes turned into hours then he heard a soft sound. A quiet inhale.

“…Chan?”

His head snapped up so fast his neck ached. His breath caught in his throat as he watched your eyes flutter open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, broken.

You blinked slowly, dazed, confused. Your lips parted, dry and cracked.

“The baby?” you whispered.

The world stopped. Chan felt his chest tighten painfully, his heart screaming at him, warning him. He already heard the bad news that shattered his world, hours ago from your doctor. The words slammed into Chan’s chest like a freight train.

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Your doctor entered, clipboard in hand.

Chan’s stomach plummeted.

The doctor’s expression was calm, but his eyes held sympathy. “Mrs. Bang, how are you feeling?”

You swallowed, glancing down at your hand still held tightly in Chan’s. “Weak,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But… my baby?”

The doctor sighed softly, stepping closer.

Chan’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said gently. “Due to the severity of the accident, you suffered a placental abruption. The trauma was too much for the baby to survive.”

Your breath hitched. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The doctor continued, his voice soft. “We did everything we could.”

Chan felt your entire body begin to tremble.

“No,” you whispered, your free hand pressing against your stomach as if you could somehow feel what had been lost.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated, his voice laced with sorrow.

Your breath hitched. A choked, heartbroken sob ripped from your throat, and Chan broke. Tears blurred his vision as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could. You sobbed against his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your body wracked with grief.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry—”

Chan cupped the back of your head, pressing his lips against your temple. His own tears fell freely, his body shaking as he held onto you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice shattered. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

You let out another sob, curling into him. “I should’ve been more careful—”

“No,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face. His hands framed your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept falling. “No, baby. This wasn’t your fault. Don’t carry this.”

Your lip trembled. “Chan—”

He shook his head, his own voice breaking. “We lost our baby. Together. You didn’t fail. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You pressed your forehead against his, sobs still wracking your body. His hands shook as he held you tighter, as if he could somehow shield you from this pain.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered.

You pulled back, eyes red, swollen.

“Chan—” your voice cracked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He let out a choked sound. “It wasn’t yours either.”

You broke again, burying your face in his chest. He held you as you sobbed, as your grief tore through you both.

“We were supposed to meet them,” you whispered, voice raw. “We were supposed to hold them.”

Chan let out a choked sound, his hands tightening around you,“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He pressed desperate kisses against your forehead, your hair, anywhere he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this.”

Your breath was shaky. “How?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know yet, but we would.”

Because he would never let go. Because you needed each other. Because even though the weight of grief was suffocating, crushing, unbearable—

You had to be brave. For Juliana. For Aera. For the family that still needed you. Chan held you even tighter, pressing his lips to your forehead, his tears mixing with yours.

“We have to be strong,” he whispered. “For them.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling against him.

“They don’t know yet,” you whispered, voice raw.

Chan closed his eyes. The thought of his children, so innocent, so full of love and joy—waiting for you both. Not knowing the storm that had just shattered your world. His heart ached.

“We’ll tell them together,” he murmured. “When you’re ready.”

You let out a small, broken sob, gripping his shirt like a lifeline. “I don’t know how to do this, Chan.”

His hands ran up and down your back, soothing, steady, even when he felt anything but steady.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “One day at a time.”

You nodded against his chest, but he could still feel the way your body trembled, the way grief clung to every breath. He exhaled shakily, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You’re not alone in this, baby. You’ll never be alone.”

Your arms tightened around him, your fingers digging into his back. “I love you,” you whispered, voice so fragile it nearly broke him all over again.

“I love you more,” he choked out.

For a while, you just held each other.

The hospital room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, the occasional sniffle, the weight of everything you had lost.

But outside, beyond these walls—two little children were waiting.

And no matter how shattered you both felt, no matter how much the loss threatened to pull you under, you had to keep going. For them. For your family. For the love that still remained.

-------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba

[biblical-chronicles]

Bad idea

__________________________________________

where Liam let's an 'I love you' slip out to his friend with benefits. [18+]

__________________________________________

You shouldn’t have come here.

You knew it before you even knocked, standing outside Liam’s flat, heart hammering in your chest like you were some lovesick idiot. Which—you weren’t. This wasn’t that.

It had never been that.

Just sex. Just a thing—something easy, something neither of you had to think too much about. No expectations, no morning after awkwardness. Just heat, hands, skin, and the way you fit together so fucking well that it was impossible to stop.

That was all.

But then he opened the door, and fuck, he looked good. Barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips, shirtless, hair a mess like he’d just woken up. His eyes dragged over you, slow and lazy, but you caught the flicker of something beneath the surface.

"Thought you said we should stop this," he muttered, leaning against the doorframe, like he wasn’t already reaching for you.

You swallowed, your resolve crumbling like it always did. "Are you gonna let me in or not?"

Liam just smirked before stepping aside, closing the door behind you.

The second it clicked shut, his hands were on you, everywhere, his mouth crashing against yours with that signature mix of hunger and frustration, like he hated how much he wanted you.

You hated it too.

His fingers fisted in your hair, tilting your head back as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping into your mouth. Your hands flattened against his chest, pushing for half a second—this is a bad idea, this is a bad fucking idea—but then he bit down on your bottom lip, and your knees just about buckled.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered, voice smug, rough with need.

You didn’t even bother with words. Just yanked him down, fingers threading into his hair, pulling, forcing another low, wrecked sound from his throat.

His hands slid down, grabbing your thighs, hoisting you up against him. Your back hit the door with a soft thud, legs wrapping around his waist, and fuck—he was already hard, pressing right against the heat between your thighs, rolling his hips just enough to make you feel it.

"You miss me, then?" he murmured against your skin, lips dragging over your jaw, your throat. His hands gripped your arse, tilting you just right, his breath hot against your ear. "’Cause I think you fuckin’ missed me."

You refused to give him the satisfaction of answering, but your body betrayed you, hips rocking against his in search of friction.

Liam laughed. "Yeah," he muttered, voice almost a growl. "Thought so."

His hands were yanking your shirt over your head, his mouth immediately covering every inch of skin he uncovered. He took his time, lazy, teasing, like he had all the patience in the world.

You didn’t.

"Bed. Now, please."

He grinned against your collarbone, nipping the skin just to hear you gasp before pulling back. "So fuckin’ bossy."

Still, he carried you through the flat, dropping you onto his mattress with zero grace, climbing over you before you could even think about making some smart remark.

It was always like this, because no matter how much you both swore this was casual, it never felt casual. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like he was starving.

The rest of your clothes were gone in seconds. And then his mouth was on you again, warm and insistent, lips brushing against your stomach, his breath teasing.

You shivered, anticipation winding through you as he kissed lower, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open beneath him. But instead of moving down, he reversed, dragging his lips back up, over your ribs, between the valley of your breasts.

You gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, sucking lightly before dragging his teeth over sensitive skin.

"Liam—" Your back arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair.

He hummed against you, moving to the other side, flicking his tongue over the hardened peak before sucking, slow and deep. "Missed these," he murmured, voice rough, reverent. "Missed you."

Your chest heaved beneath him, your heart pounding against his lips. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, tilting his chin up so you could kiss him. "Don’t stop, don’t—"

He groaned into your mouth, the sound low and desperate, his fingers tracing lower, teasing the inside of your thigh before slipping between your folds.

"You're soaked," he breathed, voice thick with something dangerous.

"You're just too good to me" you managed, breath hitching as his fingers found just the right spot, circling, pressing, teasing.

Liam smirked, dragging his lips over yours. "Flattery will get you everywhere, love."

Then his fingers sank inside you, slow and deep, curling just right, and your body arched into him again, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

"There it is," he murmured, watching you like you were the only thing in the world. "Let me hear you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he worked you open, fingers thrusting deep, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, teasing motions. You were already close, already trembling, already right on the edge.

But before you could fall, before he could finish what he started, he pulled away.

You whined, earning a dark chuckle from Liam.

"Relax, love," he murmured, shifting up, settling between your thighs. "I got you."

His body pressed against yours, as his hands framed your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest ache.

Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him into another kiss, slow and deep, drinking him in, kissing him like you meant it.

And maybe you did.

"Need you," you whispered against his lips, shifting beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Now."

His breath stuttered, and you felt the way his body shook as he reached between you, lining himself up, pressing the tip against your entrance.

"You sure?" His voice was quieter now, careful, gentle.

Instead of answering, you cupped his face, pulling him back down, kissing him slowly.

"Yes," you murmured, pressing your forehead against his.

He pushed in, slow and deep, stretching you open inch by inch, a strangled sound breaking from his throat as he filled you completely.

Your breath caught, fingers digging into his shoulders, body arching into his. "Oh, fuck—"

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling against yours. "Jesus, love—so fuckin’ perfect."

You gasped as he rolled his hips, shifting deeper, hitting just the right spot.

He quickly rolled them again, pushing deeper, stretching you open, and your head fell back, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

Liam swallowed it, his mouth crashing back against yours, all heat and desperation, tongue sliding against yours, lips parting, breathing each other in.

You kissed him back, messy and open-mouthed, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth before letting it go just to hear the way he groaned for you.

"Fuck, love," he rasped, hips snapping harder, deeper, his hands gripping your waist, holding you still beneath him so he could fuck into you properly.

You whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around him, needing him closer.

"More," you gasped against his mouth. "Please."

He growled, the sound vibrating through your chest as he obeyed, his thrusts gaining rhythm, hitting right there, sending pleasure spiraling through your core.

Your nails raked down his back, your hands tangling in his hair, yanking, dragging him back to your mouth, kissing him harder, deeper, your tongues desperately meeting each other.

The kisses turned sloppy, too much moaning, too much panting, spit slick between your lips, but neither of you cared.

His breath stuttered, a sharp fuck spilling into your mouth as your walls clenched around him, dragging him deeper.

"Liam," you gasped, sucking his tongue into your mouth, dragging him in, letting him own you.

"Yeah?" he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier, a little harder, his grip tightening like he couldn’t get close enough.

"Fuck—right there—"

"Yeah?"

You nodded frantically, meeting his thrusts, taking him deep, gasping against his lips, kissing him again and again, barely managing to keep up.

"Come for me, love," he whispered, voice shaking. "Come on, let me feel you."

You sobbed his name, the coil in your stomach snapping, waves of heat crashing over you, dragging you under, your body shaking beneath him.

Liam followed a second later, burying himself deep, hips stuttering, his entire body tensing,

"I love you."

It was barely a whisper, wrecked, raw, his forehead pressed against yours, breath unsteady, still moving inside you like he wanted to burn it into you.

Your heart stopped.

His grip on your waist tightened, like he already knew what he’d done.

But it was too late.

You heard it.

You felt it.

Your lips were still swollen, your breath still coming in gasps, but you somehow found your voice, your fingers sliding into his damp hair, gently pulling him back so you could see him.

His eyes were wide, uncertain, chest still heaving from the aftermath, but he didn’t take it back.

Instead, he just waited.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, a million thoughts racing through your head.

But the only thing that came out was—

"Say it again."

His throat bobbed again, and then, just like that, his hands slipped from your waist.

"Forget it."

The words were rushed, like he wanted them out before he could think about them. His jaw was tight, his breath still uneven, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

"What?" you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair, refusing to let him pull back fully.

Liam shook his head, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he ran a hand down his face. "I shouldn’t have—" He exhaled, a frustrated breath, voice thick with something he was trying to choke down. "This wasn’t—I wasn’t supposed to—"

He cut himself off with another shake of his head, like he hated himself for saying it, like he was angry with himself for slipping up, for feeling too much.

"You didn’t mean it?" you asked softly.

His whole body was tense, and for a moment, you thought he’d deny it, brush it off, tell you to leave it.

"I did." His voice was quieter this time, barely above a whisper. "That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?" He let out a hollow laugh, raking a hand through his hair before finally looking at you, eyes locking onto yours. "This was supposed to be easy. No strings. No—" His fingers flexed against your skin, like he couldn’t help but hold you even as he tried to push you away. "No this."

You felt the weight of it, the way he thought he’d ruined everything, the way he was already bracing for you to tell him this was a mistake.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, slow, careful, like you were feeling him in a new way.

"Liam," you murmured, watching how his jaw tensed just at the sound of his name on your lips. "I wanted this to stop."

His whole body stilled.

A beat of silence, thick, heavy, before he nodded stiffly. "Right. Yeah. I get it." His voice was flat, forced, like he was already shutting down.

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. "No." Your thumbs brushed along his cheekbones, voice softer now, but firm. "I wanted it to stop because I—" A breath. "Because I started feeling too much. Because I wanted more."

His brows drew together.

"I was scared," you admitted, throat tight. "Scared you didn’t want that. Scared I’d mess this up." Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in the feel of him.

Liam let out a shaky breath, something cracking in his expression. His hands tightened on your waist.

"And then you said it," you whispered, voice almost breaking, "and it wasn’t scary anymore."

His breath hitched.

"Say it again," you pleaded. "Please."

Liam exhaled, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on you tighter now, no hesitation.

"I love you."

Your chest ached with it, and you didn’t even realize you were smiling through the tears pricking at your eyes until Liam was grinning too, his hands slipping up your back, cradling you close, pressing soft, desperate kisses to your lips, to your cheeks, just everywhere he could.

"I love you," he said again, between kisses, between breaths, like he couldn’t stop now.

You laughed, running your fingers through his hair, kissing him back, deep and slow and full of everything you’d been too scared to say.

"I love you too." you murmured against his lips.

__________________________________________

so sorry for not uploading owt yesterday but here is a Liam story for me Liam nation, so hope you like it xx

I have a smilar request with Noel so might sit down to that too, love ya !!

[gallavichsreddie1128]

You’re Jealous? (Dean Winchester)

Description: Dean gets jealous of Jack

Word Count: 823

He glared at Jack, who took an interest in his wife, as he made her laugh about god knows what. Y/N was younger than Dean and that had always been an insecurity for him. He was looking at the reason why. Y/N was 30 and he was 40, Jack looked to be in his 20’s but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t realize that Jack would be better for her.

Jack could protect her a lot more than Dean could but he would never admit that out loud. He would just glare anytime that Jack talked to Y/N. Y/N hadn’t noticed Dean being shallow towards Jack, so she hadn’t questioned him. Sam was out at the store so it’s not like he could notice, nor did he ever, Cas was oblivious to the whole thing and sat confused with Y/N and Jack as they talked. It took one glance at Dean to see the glare upon his face but he wasn’t sure who it was towards. “Dean, are you okay?” He asked, pulling all the attention on him.

It would be nice if Cas could have walked over here and asked instead of calling attention to it. Y/N looked over at her husband who looked almost embarrassed by being called out. “Dean?” She questioned softly. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at her, “What?” He asked. “Cas asked if you were okay.” “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” But Y/N knew better. That was his way of trying to lie. Y/N sighed and excused herself from the table and went over to him. She pulled on his arm to get him to stand up before leading him to the bedroom. He smirked thinking that they were about to have sex but his smirk dropped when she turned to him with a concerned look.

“Dean, what’s going on?” She asked, softly. “I’m fine.” He tried to lie but as his wife she caught on. “Dean, I know when you’re lying.” She told him and he sighed, there was no way out of this. She took his hands, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” She gave him a small smile and he sighed in defeat. “It’s Jack.” She looked confused, “What did Jack do?” She asked, letting go of his hands and sitting on the bed. “He keeps making you laugh.” Y/N’s confused face kept on until she realized what he meant. She stood up from the bed, “Dean, are you really jealous of Jack?” She asked like it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “I-” “You, Dean Winchester, the sexiest man to ever live, are jealous?” She asked. He smirked at her words and walked closer to her, “That what you really think?” He asked seductively and she sighed.

She pushed him away and he looked confused. “Yes Dean but that does not mean we should have sex right now.” She told him. “Why not?” She looked at him like he was stupid, “Dean, this is an issue you have and it needs to be resolved.” He went to talk but she held up a finger, “Without sex.” He sighed, “I’m not jealous of Jack.” “Yes you are. Big deal that he makes me laugh, Dean.” She yelled. Dean hoped that Cas and Jack couldn’t hear them. “Only I should be making you laugh like that.” She rolled her eyes, “Gosh Dean, you sound like a teenager.” She said before sitting back on the bed.

“Why do you care so much about him making me laugh?” She asked him. He sat down next to her, “He’s young and can protect you better than I can.” She turned to him, “What?” “You heard me.” “Dean, I don’t care that he’s closer in age to me or that he can protect me better.” “So you agree that he can protect you better?” She nearly growled at him, “No, you think that but I don’t care. I love you, Dean, not him. I married you.” She said to him.

He looked down feeling stupid for this whole thing. He’s supposed to protect her and be a good husband, not a jealous and insecure one. “Hey.” He looked up at her, “It’s okay that you felt that way, it’s normal. But next time talk to me and don’t try to lie.” She tells him and he nods. She smiles and pulls him into a kiss. He kisses back softly and pulls her into his lap. She pulls away and chuckles, “We can’t have sex right now with those two in the living room. They will hear.” She tells him. He shrugged, “You think I care?” She laughs and gets off him. “No.” She says and leaves the room. Jack and Cas were playing Uno and acting like they didn’t hear the conversation. Dean walks out and looks at the two, “Dean, you have no reason to be jealous.” Jack says.

[redhrs]

Sharp Edges, Part 3 - Sylus x Reader

synopsis— With 24 hours to steal his brooch, you're trapped in a battle of wit and temptation. But Sylus isn't just guarding the prize— he's breaking your resolve, one touch at a time. inspired by Midnight Stealth.

word count— 3.5k~

warnings— 18+, smut, angst, slow burn, nsfw, drunk sex, hate sex, enemies to lovers, rivalry, dom!sylus, making out, aphrodisiac wine, fem!reader, reader is confident, teasing, edging, dry humping, unprotected sex, thigh fucking, choking, sylus is needy asf, reader is horny and lowkey desperate, rough sex, porn with plot, voyeurism

minors don't interact!

🎧 The Zone - The Weeknd

Sylus pins you down, wrists above head, his weight pressing you into the mattress. There’s no space left between you—you feel everything. The frantic hammering of his heart, the heat of his body searing into yours, the hardness of his erection softly grinding against your clit.

"This is what you wanted, right? To see how far l'll go?", he pants, his swollen lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Your wrists twist under his grip—you want to touch him so badly it aches.

“Sylus, please,” you whisper, the words spilling out like a plea. His fingers tighten around you as if he knows—knows how desperately you want to run your hands over him, to pull him closer, to feel him without restraint.

“Sylus, oh—Sylus,” he mocks your tone, his lips sucking at the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He’s getting on your nerves, and you’re really starting to hate him for it—but the burning anger tangles with the raw, insatiable desire boiling inside you, and it’s getting harder to tell one from the other.

“Fuck you,” you curse under your breath, your legs wrapping around his waist, desperate to feel more of him. He smirks, his voice low and taunting.

“I know you want to,” he mutters, one hand sneaking between your legs, his fingers teasing you through the fabric of your soaked panties. You whine, your back arching instinctively, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he presses you down harder, his body heavy with intent.

“Say it. Tell me how badly you want it.” Sylus lips brush over yours, his voice rough with need.

“I need you to fuck me right now,” You bite on his lower lip, “To show me how good you can make me feel.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Sylus’s resolve shatters. He crashes his lips to yours, taking what you’ve begged for, as he pushes your underwear to the side, plunging his long digits into you. Your hands, free from his grip, instantly roam over him. One tangles in his soft hair, the other drags down his back, beneath his shirt, nails scraping against his skin. He grunts, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’re so wet but I haven’t done anything yet,” You don’t even care anymore about the obscene moans and whimpers filling the room, “Are you sure you can take it? This is only the beginning, doll.” His fingers are moving at a faster pace, thrusting and curling inside you and all you can do is cry out his name in despair.

“Shut up and keep going” You bite on his Adam’s apple, sucking and teasing the sensitive skin of his neck. You never knew Sylus could be this vocal, and the sounds he’s making right now only fuel your hunger. You can’t wait to hear what other sweet, sinful noises you can draw from him.

“Such an impatient girl,” he adds a third finger and you arch, feeling the familiar heat building in your lower abdomen, your body responding to him with an intensity you didn’t know you were capable of.

“Sylus,” you breathe, gasping for air, the words spilling from you in a helpless whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers. I didn’t know you could be so bold.” He laughs.

“Wait until you see what I can do to you”, you cling to him as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Sylus moans as you seize his lips in a kiss so urgent and commanding, it leaves him dizzy. Your head tilts to deepen it, your tongue sliding against his, teeth biting his lip as he still fucks you with his fingers.

“What about you show me now?” Just when you’re about to come, Sylus removes his fingers, earning a cry of frustration from you.

“Why did you s—Mmffh” You couldn’t finish your sentence as he forcefully sinks his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself.

“I’d love to see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

Oh, you’ll show him. You’ll make him lose his sanity and leave him begging. “Is that so?” You push him hard enough for him to be completely on his back. “Strip.”

You watch him attentively, your eyes not missing the flex of his muscles as he moves to remove every piece of clothing. You’re dripping wet, the juices of your arousal slicking your thighs— you can’t believe he left you high like this.

You try not to gasp at the length and thickness of his member. You knew he was big when you felt it before, but now that you see it… It’s even bigger than what you imagined.

“Like what you see?” Sylus smirks, a proud smile on as he slowly strokes himself, his dark eyes never leaving yours. You bite your lip, your mouth watering at the view. You don’t answer, instead you slap his hand away and take his cock in your own. He lets out a soft whimper as your fingers wrap around him, your thumb teasing the tip where precum has already begun to bead. His lower abdomen flexes involuntarily at the sensation, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. You lean forward, ass perked up, not breaking eye contact.

Sylus props himself on his elbows, not wanting to miss a single second of the little show you’re putting on for him. “What’s the word?” You tease, his dick twitching as your breath mingle with the wetness of his tip.

“Fuck,” he moves his hips forward, urging you. You click your tongue.

“I fear that won’t work, Sylus. Use your words.” His face flushes, and you can tell he’s deciding whether to let go of that façade he wears so well—the one of the man always in control, knowing he has to drop it if he wants you.

Determined to make him break, you press wet kisses along his length, making sure he feels the way your tongue teasingly brushes over the vein beneath his skin. He shuts his eyes, one hand threading through his hair, tugging slightly in a vain attempt to keep his composure.

“Oh, God— Please, give it to me,” he groans, his voice trembling with desperation. You can almost feel the crack in his tone, a sound so satisfying it sends a thrill through you. Seeing him unravel, trembling under your touch, only makes you crave more.

“Good.” You smile against him, a mischievous glint in your eyes, before trailing slow, deliberate stripes with your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, savoring the taste of him. Sylus is so sensitive you thought. You spit onto your hand, your fingers tight around his base as you begin to stroke him slowly. When your soft lips wrap over his tip, a broken whimper escapes him. His head falls back, lost in pure bliss, his breath shallow and uneven. One of his hands finds its way to the back of your head, holding you there as if he’s trying to ground himself in the overwhelming pleasure. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to take all of him, but you’re more than halfway there, bobbing your head, your cheeks hollowed as your tongue teases his most sensitive spots. One hand glides along the areas you can’t reach, while the other keeps your hair out of the way.

“You— Fuck, you feel too good” Sylus has completely drowned in lust, not even able to restrain himself. He tugs on your hair, his hips thrusting into your mouth as you take him deep in your throat, the sounds of your saliva mixing with his precum echoing in the room. Tears well in your eyes, and you find yourself clenching around nothing, your own moans sending waves of pleasure through him. “You’re so beautiful— your pretty mouth, taking me so well,” His thrusts become more erratic, messier, you can tell he’s close. You need to stop now if you want to leave him miserable like you were, but his grip on you is too tight and the way you gag around him is all it takes to send him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck I —” Sylus pulls out just in time as he spills over himself, thick white ropes coating his skin while he strokes himself through his climax. You sit there, completely stunned by the sight before you—Sylus pleasuring himself, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he pants, looking at you like you’re the only one he wants in this world.

“Who would’ve thought the big boss from Onychinus would be such a needy mess in bed?” You finally speak, your voice slightly hoarse, as you lick the cum from his hand. He chuckles and pulls you into a kiss.

“Miss Hunter… I shall return the favor now. Let’s see who’s the most desperate between the two of us.” You don’t have a chance to respond before he pins you down again, his hands roaming with urgent need, pulling you closer as his lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting hungrily at every inch of your skin until he reaches your breasts. With effortless skill, he strips you of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your thong. Sylus pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of you, his gaze dark with appreciation.

“Stunning,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. His mouth is everywhere, tongue teasing and nibbling at your nipple while his thumb circles the other, leaving you restless.

“That feels good,” you exhale sharply, urging him to keep going. You feel him smile against your skin as he continues his slow ascent, his hands reaching the hem of your panties. His hands grip your tights, forcing them wide open as he looks at you, his teasing expression returning.

“Looks like these are ruined,” he chuckles, tearing your underwear off. “I’ll get you new ones, don’t worry.”

Your back arches instinctively as his tongue slips between your folds, dragging up your slit in long, languid strokes. He kisses and sucks at your clit, the heat of his breath only heightening the sensation, sending jolts of pleasure through you with each movement. The sight of him between your thighs, devouring you completely, makes something snap inside you. Lost in the moment, you grind against his face, your legs instinctively closing around him.

“Sylus, right there,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back as he slides two fingers inside you.

“You’re so sweet,” He rasps, “Gosh, I can’t get enough of you.” You feel yourself edging closer to release as Sylus finds that sweet spot inside you, his tongue flicking expertly at your clit, sending waves of pleasure that make you dizzy with sensitivity. “Come for me, Angel.”

And you do—your orgasm hits you like a wave, your juices coating his lips, chin, and cheeks. He doesn’t stop, his fingers continuing to work you through your high as he licks up every drop of your arousal. Sylus was hungry, devouring you like a starved man. You could see the way he was working himself up too, grinding against the mattress in an attempt to relieve the throbbing ache of his need.

“Sylus,” you sit up, pulling him close by the neck, your lips just a breath away, “Take me. I want you.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, his mouth gently meets yours in a slow, deep kiss that feels full of unspoken words. His hands pull you closer, guiding you to straddle him as you both move together, bodies pressed against each other with an intensity that’s soft yet consuming. The kiss is tender, the rhythm slow, as if you’re savoring every second, completely immersed in the connection between you.

“I’ve been waiting so long, to be able to touch you like this.” Sylus whispers, his lips brushing softly against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. The atmosphere, once charged with control and dominance, has shifted into something unexpectedly intimate. A strange, familiar feeling stirs inside of you, one that you can’t quite place but know all too well, as if it’s something you’ve felt before and yet can’t fully understand. Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his length, giving it a few strokes. Your foreheads press together, eyes locked as Sylus lifts you, aligning himself with your entrance. Your breaths mingle, both of you panting in anticipation of the pleasure that is about to overtake you. After what feels like an eternity, he slowly sinks into you, his thickness stretching you in a way that has both of you moaning in unison.

“Mhm— so tight,” Sylus groans, throwing his head back, hoping he won’t reach the edge too soon. But with every inch of him disappearing into you, your soft walls gripping him just right, he knows he won’t last long.

“You feel so good,” you gasp, gripping onto him as you begin to ride him at a slow, deliberate pace, giving both of you time to adjust. Sylus meets you halfway, his hands gripping your hips to lift you up, his patience beginning to fade. He leans into a kiss, urgent and sloppy, his self-control slipping with every passing second. Your thrusts grow deeper, harder, fingers digging into each other’s skin, tongues clashing in a frenzy.

“You’re perfect,” Sylus groans between kisses, sinking deeper into you with each movement. “I want to ruin you,” he mutters, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, his grip so strong you couldn’t escape him even if you tried.

“Ruin me,” you moan, your legs trembling as the frantic pace begins to take its toll. “Fuck me like you hate me— Sylus,” you struggle to form words, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Do with me as you please.”

Sylus feels like he’s going insane. He pins you down, his body hovering over yours as he pulls you by your thighs, realigning himself. “Is that what you want, baby? Want me to be rough on you?” He wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you whimper.

“I want it,” you admit shamelessly, pulling him deeper into you. He chuckles at your boldness, the grip on your neck tightening until your words are nothing more than a breathless whisper. This time, he moves without hesitation, his other hand pressing against your lower abdomen. The lack of oxygen makes you dizzy, the sharpness of the pleasure and the ache blurring together until it feels like you’re seeing stars. As he thrusts into you—fast, almost desperate—the world around you fades away, leaving only the frantic rhythm of your bodies colliding. Each stroke is deeper, sharper, pulling you further into the abyss of need. “I want more,” you cry out, your voice dripping with desire, sounding far more erotic than you intended.

“Want more?” Sylus growls, a dark chuckle escaping him before he flips you onto your stomach. He presses you down against the mattress, his grip firm, then he’s back at pounding into you from behind like he’s completely lost himself. “How do you like it now?” Sylus growls, his palm coming down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you cry out in pleasure. The impact is so intense you know you’ll be bruised by morning. “Are you satisfied? Answer me.” Another spank echoes through the room, leaving your skin burning.

“Yes—fuck,” you gasp, struggling to form a coherent sentence. The way he’s fucking you right now has you barely able to catch your breath. Sylus leans down, his chest pressing against your back as he continues his relentless pace.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” he murmurs against your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, leaving his mark. “Say it again for me, love.”

Your whole body trembles, your release creeping closer, tension coiling dangerously tight inside you. “Yes—yes, I’m so close—” Your words dissolve into a broken moan as you clench down around him, dragging a deep, sinful groan from Sylus, his own release chasing after yours.

You feel a shift in the rhythm—his thrusts growing messier, more desperate, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. You wish you could see his face right now. As if reading your mind, Sylus flips you onto your back, pressing his body flush against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, your legs locking around his waist, pulling him in deeper. Foreheads pressed together, you move in sync, chasing that intoxicating high. He’s beautiful, you think. His brows furrowed, eyes shut tight, lips parted as soft moans escape him—an expression of pure bliss you never thought you’d witness. Then it snaps. Pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves, so intense it borders on pain. All you can do is cry out his name, again and again, your body trembling beneath him. Sylus isn’t far behind—he comes just as hard, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips before they find yours in a desperate, breathless kiss, the two of you clinging to each other as you ride out your high together.

You both remain like this in silence, panting, your chests rising and falling in a mismatched rhythm as you struggle to catch your breath. You’re certain Sylus can hear the frantic beating of your heart—just as you can hear his. A strange wave of sadness and nostalgia washes over you, unexplainable yet impossible to ignore. And before you can process it, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close, pressing his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers comb gently through his hair, while your other hand traces absentminded patterns along his back, coming back to your senses in the warmth of his body.

“If this is how you hate,” he breaks the silence, his voice hushed and raspy, a stark contrast to the usual arrogance, “then hate me. With all your might.” He pulls you closer, holding you tighter as though the very idea of you slipping away terrifies him. Just as you’re about to speak, you feel his breath slow, his chest rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm. He’s asleep. You linger for a few moments, watching the rise and fall of his body, before quietly slipping out of his arms and into the shower.

The hot water soothes your worn-out body, easing the tension as it cascades over your skin. You replay everything that has happened, the weight of it all settling deep within you. You’re not sure how you’ll face Sylus tomorrow, your heart stirring with both anxiety and a sense of vulnerability. You wash your body and hair slowly, lost in thought, until you suddenly feel the warmth of arms encircling you from behind. You jump, startled.

“Sylus?” you gasp, your heart racing. His grip is firm, unyielding, as he pulls you gently against his chest.

“Thought you left,” he whispers. You try to turn, but you’re unable to break free from his embrace. You pause, torn between words. The vulnerability in his touch stirs something deep inside you, making you question everything. “Please, stay,” he pleads, his eyes locking with yours, full of a raw, unspoken longing. You nod quietly, feeling a lump form in your throat, your own words escaping you.

You finish the shower together in silence, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling around you both. When you step out, Sylus hands you one of his shirts, his movements calm and steady. He slips into bed first, wearing silky pants that match the top you’re now in. You join him, the cool sheets brushing against your skin as you settle beside him, the room filled with an almost tangible awkwardness. The air between you is quiet, but the tension feels different now—an unspoken understanding, something neither of you has the words for. Sylus pulls you closer, his warmth comforting against your own. A few hours ago, you thought you hated him. But now… now you’re confused, lost in a swirl of emotions you can’t fully make sense of. You’re still searching for answers, knowing there’s something important you’re missing.

“Sylus, you—”

“Don’t worry, the brooch is under your pillow,” he interrupts, a playful hint of mockery in his voice. You let out a tired sigh, too exhausted to play his games any longer. He’s smart, you know he understands exactly what’s going through your mind. But tonight, you’re willing to let it.

“You’ll get your answers eventually,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his forehead gently resting against yours. “But for now, just sleep in my arms, without a care in the world.”

You close your eyes, letting the soothing rhythm of his voice and the warmth of his embrace lull you to sleep. His cologne wraps around you, familiar and comforting, pulling you deeper into the calm. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, and before you know it, you’re drifting into a peaceful dream—one where it’s just the two of you lying together in a field of flowers, wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded by nothing but love and serenity.

note— So, this was the last part of Sharp Edges. It was my first time writing, and i’m honestly very glad and thankful that some people enjoyed it. I’ll continue doing my best, take care<3

do not copy, steal or translate my work! reblogs, likes and feedback highly appreciated!

@itsnotmelo @zozoparsnips @niiines999

[andy-15-07]

Javier Pena x CIA agent!f!reader

You and Javier in secret relationship that you two simply have great chemistry. You enter the meeting with bunch of military, DEI, CIA. Javier was siting with bunch in meeting as you simply listen and watch for General to speak. Then you glare one second at Javi, focus one what trying to do. After the meeting, Javi steps outside and smoke a cigarettes, you step in and talk to him. I know Javi is brave enough about taking down Cali. You got faith for him and if he needed help for you, he’ll called you. He kiss your knuckles that everything would be fine and love you dearly. Lots of hard work for you two would be brave.

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day)

Secrets in the Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2353 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The conference room was dimly lit by fluorescent bulbs, their harsh light clashing with the somber mood that filled the space. You, Y/N, a seasoned CIA agent known for your steely resolve and discreet efficiency, had entered the meeting with your head held high. Today’s session was critical—a joint briefing with high-ranking military officials, representatives from DEI, and fellow CIA operatives. It was a meeting where every word could mean the difference between success and disaster.

Seated at a long polished table were men and women in crisp uniforms and tailored suits. Among them, your eyes found Javier “Javi” Pena, his presence unmistakable even from across the room. Though you both had to keep your relationship strictly off the record, the subtle chemistry between you was palpable—a private language of glances and half-smiles that spoke of shared secrets and unyielding support.

As the meeting began, you took your seat quietly at the far end of the table, your posture poised and alert. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as the General prepared to address the assembled team. You allowed your eyes to drift around the room, taking in the determined expressions of your colleagues, until finally, the General cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the General began, his voice deep and commanding, “we are here today to discuss our coordinated efforts against the Cali cartel. Our intelligence indicates that their network is more deeply rooted than we previously believed, and every resource we have must be deployed to dismantle their operations.”

You listened intently, nodding slightly as he outlined the strategy. Every detail mattered—every contingency plan, every tactical adjustment. And through it all, your gaze kept finding Javi’s. He sat with a group of agents from various agencies, his expression stoic yet attentive. For a brief moment, as the General continued speaking, you caught a glimpse of determination in his eyes—a silent promise that he was as committed to taking down Cali as you were.

During a pause in the General’s briefing, you exchanged a fleeting, charged glance with Javi. For a single second, you allowed yourself a small, knowing glare—a reminder of the private bond you shared amid the public formality. You focused back on the presentation, but the warmth of that brief contact lingered, steadying your resolve.

The meeting carried on with intense dialogue. One agent from DEI interjected, “General, if we allocate additional assets to surveillance, we might pinpoint their key operational hubs faster.” Another CIA operative added, “We need to ensure our field agents are equipped with the latest intel. Communication channels must remain uncompromised at all costs.”

Throughout the debate, Javi leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through the technical jargon. “We know the Cali cartel isn’t just a network—it’s a living, breathing organization. Every move they make is calculated. We have to be even more precise. If we’re going in, we need to be in sync, like a well-oiled machine.” His words, delivered with his trademark mix of grit and conviction, resonated with everyone present.

You couldn’t help but smile at his passion. Despite the gravity of the situation, his confidence was a beacon of reassurance for you. Quietly, you made a mental note: if he ever needed extra support, he’d call you without hesitation—and you’d be there in a heartbeat.

Finally, after what felt like hours of planning and debate, the meeting began to wind down. The General wrapped up, “I trust that each one of you will execute your part with the utmost precision. We have one chance to dismantle this network—let’s not fail.” The room erupted in murmurs of assent and determined nods. As the participants filed out of the conference room, you could see the weight of responsibility in everyone’s eyes.

Once the room had emptied, you noticed Javi slipping quietly out the side door. With a practiced glance that masked your concern and affection, you followed him out into the cool night air.

Outside, the corridors were quiet. Javi stood under a flickering light near a set of stairs, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette he held between his fingers. His rugged face, usually set in a mask of stoic determination, now softened as he exhaled slowly. You approached him, your footsteps echoing softly in the near-empty hallway.

“Javi,” you said gently, stopping a few feet away, “you alright?”

He glanced over his shoulder, a small, tired smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hey, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. “Just needed a minute to clear my head. You know how these meetings get.”

You leaned against the wall next to him, keeping your tone casual but your eyes filled with concern. “I do. But you’re one of the bravest men I know. Taking down Cali isn’t easy—anyone would be feeling the pressure tonight.”

He took a slow drag on his cigarette, the embers flaring briefly. “I appreciate that,” he murmured. “I know the stakes, and sometimes it just gets… overwhelming. But knowing you’re out there, doing your part, it gives me strength.”

Your hand brushed lightly against his as you offered a quiet smile. “You’ve got to trust that we’re in this together, Javi. And if you ever need anything—backup, a shoulder, or just someone to listen—you know I’m just a call away.”

For a moment, the sound of distant city traffic and the soft hum of the building’s ventilation filled the silence between you. Then, with a tenderness that belied the harsh world you both inhabited, Javi stepped forward and gently lifted your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss onto your knuckles, his eyes conveying a promise that everything would be alright.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone earnest and resolute, “I love you. I promise, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll always call on you if I need help. And you’ll always be the one who reminds me why I fight.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with both love and pride. “And I love you, Javi. I believe in you—completely. We’re stronger together than apart, remember?”

He nodded, flicking the cigarette away and stubbing it out with a practiced motion. “I do. And we’re going to bring Cali down, one step at a time. But tonight, let’s just… breathe.”

The two of you stood there, the cool night air mingling with the warmth of your shared moment. You could hear the distant murmur of voices and footsteps, the busy world continuing on even as you both savored this small haven of quiet intimacy.

“Remember,” Javi added with a playful glint in his eyes, “when you’re in that meeting next time, I expect you to give me that look again. The one that says, ‘We’ve got this.’”

You chuckled softly. “You mean the glare you love so much? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get your daily dose.”

He laughed, the sound rough and genuine. “Good. Because I’m counting on it.”

Your conversation drifted into a mix of mission details and personal banter, each line of dialogue weaving a tapestry of trust and unspoken promises. You recalled recent operations, shared insights about the enemy’s movements, and even traded a few light-hearted jabs about whose briefing notes were better. All the while, the underlying tone was one of mutual respect and unwavering support.

“Y/N,” Javi said after a pause, his voice softening as he looked at you with sincere admiration, “I know I can be stubborn sometimes, and I appreciate that you never let me down—even when I’m too proud to ask for help.”

You reached up and gently touched his arm, your eyes meeting his. “We’re a team, Javi. You take on the danger, and I take care of the details. It doesn’t matter who carries the burden on any given day, as long as we carry it together.”

He smiled at that, a hint of vulnerability shining through his normally guarded demeanor. “I wish I could tell everyone how proud I am to have you in my corner. But you know the rules.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance of your secret relationship. “Our secret is safe, Javi. I trust you with my life—and I know you trust me with yours.”

In the stillness of that moment, the weight of your responsibilities melted away, replaced by the simple truth of your connection. The night was far from over, and there would be more meetings, more battles, and more sacrifices ahead. But for now, you both allowed yourselves a brief respite—a pause to appreciate the love that fueled your courage.

After a few more minutes of quiet dialogue—exchanging theories, recounting memories of past missions, and speculating about the future—Javi broke the silence. “I have to get back inside. There’s more work to be done today.”

You hesitated, reluctant to let him go, but you knew duty always called. “Alright, but promise me you’ll stay safe. And if you ever need to talk—or need me—don’t hesitate.”

He leaned in, capturing your gaze with his intense, unwavering eyes. “I promise, Y/N. I love you, and that means more than any mission ever will.”

He pressed one last soft kiss to your knuckles before turning and heading back into the building, leaving you with a lingering warmth in your hand and in your heart.

As you watched him disappear into the corridor, you whispered softly to yourself, “We’ll get through this together, Javi. Always.”

Later that evening, after the meeting had been fully disbanded and the adrenaline of the day had settled into a calm determination, you returned to your secure apartment. The city outside was alive with the hum of nighttime activity, but inside, you prepared for the next phase of your mission. Your mind kept drifting back to Javi’s words and the promise in his eyes—a beacon of hope in a world where danger was a constant companion.

Over the next few days, as intelligence reports and mission updates piled up, your secret relationship with Javi remained a quiet source of strength. In the brief moments between operations, you would exchange coded messages and subtle signals that only the two of you could understand. Every time your phone buzzed with a discreet “Javi check-in,” your heart skipped a beat—a reminder that in the midst of chaos, love was still your anchor.

One afternoon, as you were reviewing a detailed report on Cali’s latest movements, your secure line lit up with his familiar number. You answered immediately, your voice husky with anticipation.

“Y/N,” Javi’s voice came through, low and reassuring. “I need a favor. There’s a situation unfolding at one of our forward posts. I could really use your expertise on this.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you responded, “I’m on it, Javi. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Just hold tight, okay?”

“Thank you,” he replied, relief evident in his tone. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll keep you updated.”

Driving through the night to the designated location, you rehearsed the plan in your mind—an intricate blend of CIA precision and field experience honed over years of challenging missions. The weight of responsibility was immense, but so was the knowledge that you and Javi had each other’s backs, no matter what.

When you arrived at the site—a remote outpost near the border—Javi greeted you with a tired smile and a quick, affectionate hug that conveyed both gratitude and a silent promise to return safe. “You always know how to show up when it matters,” he whispered into your ear.

Together, you assessed the situation, your dialogue blending strategy with subtle, unspoken care. “We need to secure the perimeter and establish a communication line with headquarters,” you instructed the team. Javi nodded, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of shared understanding. Every command, every reassurance he offered to the team, was backed by the quiet strength you saw in him—the strength that made you believe that together, nothing was insurmountable.

Hours later, as the operation wound down and the immediate threat was contained, you found a quiet corner away from the chaos. Javi, looking a bit weathered but resolute, pulled you aside. “Y/N,” he said softly, “I couldn’t have done this without you. I know I’m not always the easiest person to work with, but you— you make me better.”

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. “Javi, we’re in this together. I trust you with everything I have, and I know you feel the same. We’re a team—on the field, and in life.”

He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped yours. “I do. I love you, Y/N. And I promise, no matter how hard the work gets, I’ll always come back to you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a hard-fought battle and the quiet resolve of those who had risked everything, you felt the truth of his words deep in your heart. Love, trust, and courage—they were the pillars upon which you both built your lives, even if the world around you was steeped in danger.

As the night drew to a close and you finally returned to your apartment, you replayed every conversation, every glance shared with Javi, knowing that your secret relationship was the one beacon of hope in a turbulent world. And as you prepared for the next day’s challenges, you vowed that no matter what lay ahead, you and Javi would face it side by side—brave hearts in the shadows, united by duty and bound by love.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed you, you smiled softly at the memory of Javi’s gentle kiss on your knuckles, the whispered promise that everything would be alright. Despite the hard work, the secrets, and the ever-present danger, you knew that you had found something worth fighting for—a love that shone as brightly as the stars above, even in the darkest of times.

And as the new day dawned, with its fresh challenges and uncertain battles, you were ready—ready to take on the world with the strength of your convictions, the support of your secret love, and the unbreakable bond that held you both together, even in the shadows.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

10. | Hold Me Like a Grudge

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 7.8k words ⇾ tags/warning(s). canon x fem!oc pairing, smut, piv unprotected sex, public sex, oral (f!receiving), misogynistic language, murder/assassination/gun mention, angst ⇾ a/n. It's been hot minute since I've posted a chapter, so if you're still here, it's about to get exciting (and also ilysm for sticking around!) Only two more chapters and an epilogue to go! [ divider credit(s). barbed wire divider - @/wethairjoel ] Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

The FBI’s deal fresh in her mind, Win struggles to find a way to bring it up to Gator, while taking a chance to drive a wedge between him and Roy.  When Roy retaliates, Win nearly loses everything while Gator struggles with taking a life he hadn’t meant to.  The deal comes out, and Gator doesn’t take it well.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

As soon as the bar’s heavy back door thudded shut behind her, Win had a cigarette between her lips.  Cupping one hand against the chill wind, she quickly lit it and pocketed her lighter, letting her eyes slip shut as she breathed in the nicotine.  Ever since the feds had left, she’d been on edge, her stomach in knots as she agonized over how Gator might react if she told him about their plea deal.  When she told him.

She couldn’t afford not to.

The FBI was coming for Roy whether Gator decided to testify against him or not, and if he didn’t, the only way she’d be able to see him would be during visiting hours in a federal prison.  That is, if he’d even still want to see her by then…

Opening her eyes, she watched the cherry burn brighter before plucking the cigarette from her lips to exhale, finding Gator leaning against her car waiting for her.

“Hey,” she called, flicking her barely spent cigarette away and crossing the parking lot to him, shivering a little at the chill in the air.  “You didn’t have to wait out here, you could’ve met me at the house,” she said, pulling her coat closer and Gator pushed off the car to meet her.

“I know.  Just wanted to see ya a little sooner,” he said, a small grin playing at his lips as he pulled her closer.

Win pressed her face to his chest, squeezing her eyes shut.  Too many thoughts swirled through her head, too many questions, but she couldn’t seem to voice any of them, too afraid of everything changing and the words stuck in her throat, her resolve faltering.

“You okay?” Gator asked, pulling back to look down at her, tilting her face toward him and she nodded.

“Yeah, just a long day,” she sighed, offering him a weary smile.

“You can say that again,” Gator groaned, his hand warm on her cheek as his gaze trailed her face.  “Missed you, darlin’,” he breathed, not giving her a chance to regain her courage before his mouth was on hers and the rest of her doubts slipped away for the moment as she kissed him back, her arms wending around his neck.

“I missed you too,” she moaned against his lips, gasping as he spun her, pinning her against the car door.

Pressing his hips into her, his tongue delved deeper and Win opened her mouth wider for him, a whine catching in her throat as heat licked up her thighs to pool low in her gut, his hunger forcing all other thought from her head till all she could focus on was the ache pulsing between her legs and the way he tasted.

“Fuck,” she gasped, shuddering as she felt him harden against her and she clung desperately to his coat as his hands roamed her body greedily.  “Need you,” she breathed, her eyes seeking Gator’s beneath the bill of his hat, blown wide with want, and he nodded sharply, brooking no argument.

Glancing around the empty parking lot to make sure they were alone, he tugged her skirt up, practically tearing her panties in his haste to pull them down as she fumbled to unbuckle his belt and free his cock, relishing the groan he let out as she stroked him, feeling him harden fully in her hand.

Letting out a grunt as he hoisted her up, Gator pressed her firmly against the side of the car, hooking his arms under her legs to keep her in place and open for him.  The cold air against her dripping sex sent a chill through her and sent her bare legs pebbling, but she quickly forgot the cold as Gator bullied his throbbing head between her slick folds.

With a shuddering breath, he thrust deeper and Win bit her lip to stifle a moan.  “Fuck me, Gate–” she whispered, her voice hoarse with a desperation that surprised her, grasping at any excuse to keep from thinking, and Gator obliged, rutting into her faster, his brows knitting in concentration.

“Harder!” she begged, clutching at his coat like it was a lifeline.

Their eyes met as Gator’s hips snapped into hers and his thrusts grew rougher, shaking the frame of the car with each frantic rut.  Groaning low in his throat, he pressed his forehead to hers, knocking his hat loose, and Win saw her desperation reflected back at her in Gator’s eyes, his sharp breaths loud in her ears, nearly drowning out the pounding of her pulse.

“Fuck, please–” she cried, unable to form any other coherent words as warmth suffusing her, her pleasure hovering just on the brink of overflowing.

Gator nodded in response, gritting his teeth against the burning in his muscles.  “Cum for me, mama–” he grunted, and Win’s mouth fell open as her climax hit her.  Tears stung her eyes, catching in her lashes, and Gator’s mouth descended on hers, swallowing the rest of her cry as his thrusts grew as sloppy as his kiss.  Shuddering, he emptied himself inside her, her tight cunt milking him dry.

Gator’s head dropped to her shoulder as he stilled and they both fought to catch their breaths, too warm in the chill air.  Slipping out of her, he grunted as he let her down, helping her stand on wobbly legs to hastily tug her skirt back down.  

Win felt his spend drip down her leg, leaving a sticky mess against her inner thighs, but she didn’t bother gathering her half ripped panties from the ground as Gator tucked himself back into his boxers, his dick still wet with their combined fluids, and suddenly he was feeling the cold.

“C’mon, let’s get home and warm up,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, noticing the way Win was shivering too.

For a moment, she nearly blurted out the FBI’s offer, afraid the longer she waited, the harder it would be, but Gator’s words brought her up short – the casual way he’d called her place home – and she realized that hadn’t been the first time either.

Suddenly she knew how to drive a wedge deeper between him and Roy, and though the idea somewhat terrified her, she realized she’d never wanted anything more.

“Gator, move in with me.” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want—” he replied, only half listening as he pulled her car door open for her.

“Wait, say what?” he spluttered as her words finally caught up to him and he turned to gape at her, still not quite able to fully process what she’d said.

“I said, move in with me,” Win repeated, her heart lodging firmly in her throat as she waited for him to respond.

Gator blinked, his mouth twitching uncertainly.  “You– really?”

The question hung in the air between them and Win gave a small nod, biting her bottom lip.

“Yeah,” she breathed, studying his face.  “I mean, you’re pretty much there all the time anyway,” she added, shrugging away the tension.

For a second she didn’t think he was gunna answer, until a disbelieving grin pulled at his lips.  “Yeah, fuck yeah!” Gator gasped in a rush, his eyes lighting up before his lips crashed against Win’s, and a laugh bubbled up her throat as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Good,” she breathed, her head still spinning as he broke the kiss, relief clashing with the fear that squeezed stubbornly at her heart.

“I’ll start bringing my stuff over tomorrow,” he said, already making a mental list of all his worldly possessions.  “There’s really not all that much, I might be able to get it all in one trip if I take the truck–” he mused, lost in thought.

“Gator–” Win began, his enthusiasm sending a wave of affection through her, and along with it, a sudden need to put it into words.

“Yeah?” he asked, his focus swinging back to her.  

Though as soon as his eyes were on her again, her throat tightened and she froze up.

“I–uh, I–”

I love you.

Unable to make the words come, she shook herself.  “I’m getting cold,” she mumbled instead.

“Shit, yeah,” Gator huffed, his breath streaming in the air.  “Let’s get home,” he repeated, giving her a lopsided grin.

As soon as Win parked in the drive, Gator pulled in behind her, but she made no move to get out, her thoughts far away, and she subconsciously reached into her pocket, running her fingers over Agent Meyer’s business card, giving a jump when Gator knocked on her window.

“You comin’ princess, or you gunna stay out here all night?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he peered in at her and she gave herself a shake, pushing the thoughts aside.  The only thing she wanted to think about at the moment was the fact that Gator actually wanted to live with her.

“Yeah sorry, I got… distracted,” she said, pushing open her door and letting Gator help her out.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” he asked, pushing her door shut and slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the door.

“Getting warm,” Win answered, moving closer to his side.

“I had some thoughts about that myself,” Gator drawled, reaching into his pocket for his key–the spare he’d just happened to hold onto–and unlocking the door.

Before she could step inside, he’d swept her off her feet, scooping her up into his arms in one swift motion despite his injured arm.

“Gator!  What’re you doing?” she yelped, clinging to him instinctively.

“Carryin’ you over the threshold, what’d ya think?” he scoffed lightly, huffing a laugh as he carried her inside and kicking the door shut behind him.

“You’re supposed to do that after you’re married,” Win pointed out, though she made no move to try to escape his arms.

Gator shrugged, his lips twitching.  “Close enough,” he said, passing through the living room and heading straight to the bedroom, lowering her to the bed.

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” he instructed, stealing a kiss before straightening and striding to the bathroom.

“Where would I even go?” Win laughed, turning her head toward the door as she heard the shower turn on.

“I dunno, I just didn’t want ya to move,” Gator replied, shrugging off his leather jacket as he returned, leaving the water to warm up.

“Yeah?  Why’s that?”

Gator stopped at the foot of the bed.  “Cause I wanted to undress you,” he said, lifting her leg to ease her boot off.

“Aren’t you a gentleman,” Win teased, pushing up to her elbows to watch him press a kiss to her knee before sliding his hands up her thighs to work her skirt down.

“Only when you want me to be, darlin’,” Gator drawled, flashing her a grin.  “Now c’mere,” he grunted, tugging Win toward the edge of the bed.  Helping her up, he rid her of her top, taking a moment to admire her.  Tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, Win turned her face, leaning into his touch, his fingers leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.  For a moment it seemed as if he was about to say something, till he shook himself and gave Win’s ass a swat.  “Get in there and warm up, water should be hot by now.” 

Win wrinkled her nose at him, pinching his side as she stepped around him to head to the shower, leaving him silently kicking himself as he undressed to join her.

“You comin’ in, or you gunna stand out there all night, Deputy?” Win called, letting the water run over her face and hair, sighing as she began to thaw out.

“I’m comin’!” Gator huffed, yanking the curtain open to step into the tub, letting some of the steamy air out.

“Good, you’re just in time to wash my hair,” Win chuckled, handing him her shampoo.

“Alright, switch places with me,” he murmured, flattening himself against the wall so Win could slip past him, relishing the way her wet skin pressed against his.

“So, uh–” he began, pouring some of her sweet smelling shampoo into his hand, the water rolling down his back and shoulders.  “How many other guys have you lived with?” he asked, soaping up Win’s hair, filling the shower with that honey and apple scent that he’d come to love so much.

A soft moan left her lips as Gator’s fingers massaged her scalp.  “Gate, trust me, you have nothing to be jealous of,” she assured him, seeing through his attempt at nonchalance.

“M’not jealous,” he muttered, using some of her shampoo to wash his own hair, though he sounded more than a little defensive.

“Mhmm,” Win hummed, unconvinced.  “I mean, I’ve stayed with a few guys before, couch surfing or whatever, but I’ve never lived with a boyfriend or anything,” she explained.  “This is kind of a big deal for me,” she murmured, smiling softly when Gator’s arms wound round her middle, pulling her back against him.

“It’s kind of a big deal for me too,” he admitted and Win turned in his arms.

“Why didn’t you ever move out on your own?” she wondered and Gator shrugged, blinking water from his eyes.

“It was just… easier, I guess.  Dad wanted me around to help out, and he said one day the ranch would pass to me, so it just made sense.  Plus I didn’t hafta pay rent.”

Win nodded, reaching for the bar of soap to wash Gator’s chest, letting her fingers trail through his thick patch of hair and downward.  “Bet that hindered your love life a little,” she teased, earning a scoff from Gator.

“You’re never gunna let me live that down are you?” he grumbled.

“Nope, probably not.”

Gator rolled his eyes, but mirrored Win’s grin, taking the soap from her to return the favour.  

Once they’d finally rinsed off, the water was starting to cool and Gator could see Win starting to shiver again.

“Hold on, I’ll getcha a towel,” he offered, shutting off the water and stepping out of the tub to grab two clean towels.

“Gator, you’re dripping all over!” Win cried, somewhere between amused and exasperated, though her expression softened as he wrapped one of the fluffy towels around her and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her dry.  “Mm that’s better.  You’re so warm,” she sighed, pressing her cheek to his slick chest, not wanting to leave his embrace.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m dreamin’,” Gator murmured, and Win frowned, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Why’s that?” she asked gently, swearing his eyes swam for a moment before he squeezed them shut.

“Cause there’s no way a girl like you’d wanna keep wastin’ your time on me,” he whispered.

“Gator,” Win breathed, reaching up to take his face in her hands, his eyes reluctantly opening to fix on hers.  “I’m not wasting anything,” she exclaimed, a fierceness to her words.  “I misjudged you when we first met, but you surprised me.  And now… the thought of losing you–”  Her voice broke, cutting off, but Gator was quick to reassure her.

“You ain’t gunna lose me.”

“You promise?” Win whispered, holding Gator’s gaze and he nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her damp head.

“Course,” he breathed, clearing his throat.  “Now c’mon, let’s get to bed, I’m beat.”

By the time they dried off and climbed under the covers, Gator pulled Win against him, curling around her protectively, one arm draped over her waist.  It was barely five minutes and he was already out, his breathing slow and even.  

Win, however, found sleep elusive, and without Gator to distract her, her thoughts returned to the FBI’s deal, leaving her to wonder whether Gator would change his mind about leaving if he knew.

Jolting awake, the remnants of a nightmare fading from her consciousness, Win turned her head to find Gator still sound asleep next to her and she let out the breath she’d been holding, running her palm across her forehead to wipe the sheen of sweat from it.

Willing her pulse to slow, she glanced at the digital clock across the room and groaned.  It was much too early for her to be awake yet, though not far off from the time Gator usually woke, especially if he was going to stop by the ranch to pack before his shift.

Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and Gator stirred next to her, rolling toward her.  When she opened her eyes, however, she could see he was still asleep, his expression soft, and she carefully reached over to push the loose hair from his brow, letting her fingertips gently brush his warm skin.

At her touch, Gator’s eyelids fluttered and his nose wrinkled.  “What’re you doin’?” he mumbled, eyes and voice still heavy with sleep.

“Just admiring you,” Win answered, her face warming at the admission.  “You look so peaceful.”

Gator let out a soft laugh.  “Look at you bein’ all sappy and shit,” he teased, cracking an eye, the corner of his lip rising.

“Shut up,” Win huffed, giving his chest a half hearted shove, but Gator caught her and pulled her closer, trapping her against his chest.

“Quit squirmin’ and c’mere,” he murmured, tucking his chin atop her head and Win couldn’t help but smile into his chest.

“Gator?” she breathed after a long moment, wondering if he’d fallen back to sleep, but he grunted in return and Win shifted so her voice wouldn’t be muffled.  “There’s something I need to talk to you about…” she began, her stomach twisting, and she quickly swallowed down the taste of bile at the back of her throat.

Gator let out a groan.  “S’too early to talk,” he whined, pressing his lips to hers to quiet her.

“Gator–” Win tried again between kisses, making a face as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips.  “Gator, your breath reeks,” she protested, managing to push him back, but his eyes darkened and he rolled atop her, pinning her to her back.

“Guess I’ll just hafta kiss elsewhere, then,” he drawled, radiating smugness as she squirmed beneath him.

“Gator, I’m serious,” Win argued, trying and failing to take control of the situation.  “C’mon, there’s something I–”  Her words faltered, cutting off abruptly as Gator lifted the hem of her oversized night shirt to press an open mouthed kiss to her hip, positioning himself between her legs.

“There’ll be plenty of time to talk later,” Gator said, kissing his way down her inner thigh.

“You’re such–an ass,” Win huffed, inhaling sharply halfway through as Gator’s lips wrapped around her clit before flicking it with his tongue.  He merely chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest and he’d soon driven all thoughts of the FBI’s deal from her mind, her head thrown back in bliss and hands tangled in the sheets.

When he crawled atop her to kiss her again as he sank into her tight heat, the taste of her still on his tongue, she didn’t have the strength to argue, giving in easily.  By the time they’d finished, Gator filling her just as his alarm went off, Win flopped back to the bed, spent, her chest heaving while he stood to silence the alarm and stretch.

“I could get used to this every morning,” he drawled, flashing her a smug grin as he pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes.

Win let out a tired huff and reached for a tissue to clean herself up.  “Don’t get too used to it, Deputy,” she said, though her lips quirked slightly.

“You liked it,” Gator retorted, pulling up his cargo pants and buckling on his belt before leaning over the bed to steal a quick peck to the lips and whisper in Win’s ear, “y’little slut.”

Before he could pull back, Win pinched his side and took advantage of his petulant yelp to grab the front of his t-shirt, holding him in place for a longer kiss.  When she finally released him, he wore a lopsided grin.

“See ya tonight, darlin’.”

As he left the room, a pep to his step, Win pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed, wondering if there’d ever be a good time to bring up what she needed to.

Back at the ranch, Gator grabbed a couple large trash bags on his way up to his room and began emptying his drawers unceremoniously into them, tossing his clothes into the bag in a messy heap, unconcerned with keeping them organized until he unpacked them.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

The sound of Roy’s voice behind him startled him, and Gator spun, finding his father standing in the doorway, watching him.

He hastily swallowed the nerves that had leapt into his throat, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, hating that his father often had that effect on him.  He bent to tie one of the bulging garbage bags before answering, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“I’m movin’ in with Win.”

Roy watched him for a long moment, his expression unchanged, save for a tightening around his eyes.

“You think that’s wise?”

Gator cleared his throat and shrugged, shifting his weight.  “I mean, I’m almost thirty.  You don’t expect me to live here forever,” he murmured, halfway between statement and question, not quite meeting Roy’s eyes.

“No,” Roy finally said, planting his hands on his hips, his form filling the doorway.  “I expect you to be married first—to a respectable girl—and for you to make a home for yourself, not go live in sin with the town tramp, in her shit-hole apartment,” he huffed.

Gator’s jaw flexed with the effort of holding his tongue, the urge to snap back in defense of Win nearly overtaking his better senses.  Instead, he took a breath and shook his head.  “Well, it’s my life,” he said, striding across the room to grab some sweaters from his closet.

Roy grunted, clearly not pleased by Gator’s response, but he didn’t argue.  “Well, that’s disappointing,” he replied and Gator winced.  “I still expect you to help out here,” he added.

“Yeah, I know,” Gator mumbled, tying up the second bag.  “I gotta go, I’ll get the rest later,” he mumbled, hoisting one of the bags over his shoulder before heading for the door, having to wait for Roy to step out of the way.

Roy merely watched him, waiting for his footsteps to recede down the stairwell before a frown marred his bluff features.  He’d not expected this turn of events, but it was clear the situation was more dire then he’d anticipated and if he didn’t break the hold Win had on his son soon, it might jeopardize everything he’d been working toward.

Knowing he needed to take drastic measures, Roy strode into Gator’s room and began searching–for what he wasn’t yet sure–but a hunch told him there had to be something he could use to his advantage.

The dresser was already empty and the desk mostly cleared off.  Crouching near the bed, Roy felt beneath it, finding Gator’s old laptop pushed out of the way.  Pulling it out and lifting the screen, he could barely believe his idiot son had left it logged in and unlocked.  A quick search of the files was all it took to find the leverage he needed, and a grim satisfaction filled him as he brought up a poorly hidden saved dashcam recording featuring Miss Lewis and a certain Sheriff’s Deputy in a rather compromising position.

“Gotcha,” he breathed.  

As much as he despised her, he had to admit Win looked damn good on her knees.

That night at work, Win couldn’t help but feel eyes on her, more than one patron giving her strange looks that ranged from appraisal to disgust.  And while she was no stranger to the occasional disapproving glance or wandering eye, the sheer amount of stares she was getting was starting to become unnerving.

“Is it just me, or are people staring more than usual?” she asked Beau in a hushed voice as she stood by the small window to the kitchen, catching a couple guys at the far end of the bar leering at her.

Beau frowned and leaned out the order window to look.  “I dunno hon, seems pretty normal to me.  You naturally draw attention wherever you go,” he chuckled, offering her an apologetic smile when she scowled.

“This feels different, B,” she insisted.  “It feels like they know something I don’t.”

“Well, I guess I don’t know it either,” he replied, nodding toward the man that had just approached the bar, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Win took a fortifying breath before turning to face him.  “What can I get for you?” she asked flatly, not even attempting to return his smile.

He looked her up and down a moment before answering, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar.  “You could do me the pleasure of your company,” he said, his brows raising expectantly.  “Show ya what it’s like to be with a real man,” he added, and Win fought the urge to roll her eyes at his line.

Looking him up and down in return, her lips curled in disgust, and she propped her hands on her hips.  “Nah, I’m good.”

The guy let out a short laugh, as if she’d made a joke.  “I bet you are,” he drawled, undeterred.

“Excuse me?” Win huffed, her eyes narrowing dangerously, but he didn’t notice the threat in her eyes.

He shrugged, smirking.  “I’m just sayin’, that mouth looks like it’s good for more than just sass-talkin’.”

Win’s brows rose, a little incredulous he’d gone that far, but his response didn’t throw her for long.  “Yeah?” she asked, tilting her head, the edge of her hair brushing her shoulder.  “What a coincidence, cause your mouth only looks like it’s good for gettin’ hit.”

That seemed to give him pause and he hesitated, wetting his lips,and a cold smile stretched across Win’s face.  “So why don’t you get outta here before I continue this conversation with my fist.”

The guy seemed to think twice about pressing his luck and pushed away from the bar with a scowl.  Win folded her arms over her chest as she watched him go, allowing herself a small smirk at the tiny victory.  Her relief was short lived, however, when one of the men at the end of the bar spoke up.

He looked vaguely familiar, one of those cocky frat boys she’d seen at some of the house parties she used to frequent before she started dating Gator.

“That’s cold, Lewis,” he called, adjusting his grimy ball cap.  “Thought you liked bein’ propositioned.”  He leaned back on his stool, watching her expectantly, just waiting to get a rise out of her.

“The fuck are you talkin’ ‘bout?” Win countered, an uneasy feeling bubbling in her gut, and her question only made the guy’s grin grow.

He laughed at something one of his friends said and brought the mouth of his bottle to his lips, taking a swig of beer before answering.  “I heard you won’t say no to suckin’ a cock in exchange for a favour,” he exclaimed, pausing for effect, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek for a moment.  “Or is that just when it comes to cops?”

Win’s mouth fell open, but no scathing rebuttal came.  Instead, white hot panic flooded her body.

How could they know about that?

“What, no snappy comeback?” he jeered, getting a laugh from his buddies.

Win swallowed, but her throat was dry.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think you should leave,” she said, hating how hoarse her voice sounded.

Unperturbed by her command, the guy leaned over the bar, his lidded eyes trained on Win’s, seeing right through her lie, and she could smell the beer on his breath.

“We all saw your little video, sweetheart.  You can stop playing dumb now,” he breathed, his brows furrowing in mock confusion.  “What I can’t figure out it is, why Tillman?  What’s that loser got that we don’t, huh?”

“HEY!  She said get out!  Or do I gotta get the bat?” Beau thundered, striding out of the kitchen to step in front of Win, towering threateningly over the guy and his buddies with a glare that made them hesitate.

“C’mon, we’re outta here,” one of them mumbled uneasily, and they all slunk toward the door, but Win barely noticed, hastily answering her phone on the second ring, expecting Gator.  

Her pulse thundered in her ears and it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t Gator’s voice on the other end of the line, but her friend, Lydia’s.

“Win?  Oh, thank God you answered!” she exclaimed.  “Have you seen–”

“Yeah, I just found out,” Win sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, already feeling a headache starting to form behind her eyes.

“I’ve already reported it, it’s getting taken down,” Lydia assured her.

“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure the whole town’s seen it already,” Win groaned.  “But thank you for taking care of it,” she added, not wanting her friend to think she wasn’t grateful.

“Of course,” Lydia said, growing quiet for a moment.  “You don’t think Gator…?” she asked hesitantly, but Win was quick to cut her off.

“No.  No, he wouldn’t have posted it,” she said firmly, a thought occurring to her that made her want to vomit.  “But I think I know who might’ve.”

Frankie, the bar’s namesake and owner, stuck his head out of his office to call for Win, an unreadable expression on his usually placid face.

“Shit, Lyds, I gotta go,” she murmured, quickly saying goodbye and taking a shaky breath before heading into his office.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked uncertainly and Frankie let out a weary sigh, gesturing her in further.

“Win, you know you’re one of my best bartenders, and frankly, I don’t usually give a damn about what any of yeh do outside of here, but…”  The old man shook his head, his thick white eyebrows drawing down, and Win braced herself; she could see where this was heading.

Frankie took a deep breath and lifted his head to look her in the eye.  “I’m sorry, Lewis, but I gotta let ya go.  This whole video business is–” he paused gesturing vaguely with his hand as if he didn’t know how to put it into words.  “I mean, what were you thinkin’?”

A flash of anger seared through Win and she let out an incredulous scoff.  “You’re kiddin’ me, right?” she muttered, her eyes rolling skyward as she planted her hands on her hips.  “I didn’t even know it was being recorded at the time, and I sure as hell didn’t want it posted for the fuckin’ world to see.  Some sick fuck violated my privacy on purpose,” she hissed.  “I’m the victim here, and you’re firing me?”

Frankie leaned back in his chair, looking uncomfortable.  “Well, that’s not all…” he muttered, earning a sharp look as Win waited to see what other excuses he had.

“I’ve just received some… complaints.”

Win’s brows rose.  “Complaints?  About what?”

“Well, and you know I don’t got no problem with  you throwin’ out anyone that gets too… rowdy, but you’ve been makin’ a lot of threats…”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Win muttered, bleating a humourless laugh.  

“And I–I can’t afford to have the Sheriff gettin’ involved.”

And there is it, Win thought, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.  Roy had orchestrated this, that much was certain.  Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been the one to send those assholes in specifically to get a rise out of her, all so he could then have an excuse to lean on Frankie to fire her.  And she’d played right into his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Win,” Frankie murmured helplessly.  He leaned forward to slide an unmarked envelope across the desk to her.  “Take this.  I know it doesn’t make up for it, but… it’s somethin’.”

Hastily wiping at her eyes, Win cleared her throat as she snatched the envelope from the desk, though her voice still came out in a thick croak.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Slipping the envelope in the back pocket of her jeans without looking inside, she pushed out of the office and grabbed her coat and keys before anyone could get a good look at her tear stained face, but Beau caught her as she strode through the kitchen toward the back door.

“What happened?”

“I got fired.”

Her friend’s mouth fell open, shock painting his features.  “For what?” he exclaimed, but Win shook her head.

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, I gotta go,” she said, needing to be anywhere else right then.

“Wait, Win, are you gunna be okay?” Beau called after her and she forced herself to flash him a watery smile as she pulled open the heavy back door, trying to reassure him.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.  Always am,” she insisted before slipping out into the chill night, the frigid air biting her face, but she was past caring.

Inside her car, she finally glanced at the contents of the envelope, unsurprised to see a stack of cash and a sob left her throat as she broke down, tears blurring her vision.  Gripping the steering wheel hard enough to whiten her knuckles, she let out a scream of frustration, needing to let it out before she burst.

Throwing her car in drive, she took off, bringing her phone to her ear.

Gator felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he lifted his rifle, bringing the scope to his eye.  He’d answer in a moment, but he had something he had to take care of first.

“Got you, fucker,” he breathed, lining up his shot.  Munch’s silhouette was visible through the thin curtains in the upstairs window of the house across the street.  Adjusting his grip, Gator released his breath and squeezed the trigger.  The bullet found its mark, spattering the curtains with his target’s brains and Gator lowered his rifle, squinting up at the window before glancing up and down the quiet street to make sure no one had seen anything.

Damn, but that was a good shot, he thought, a little surprised at how easy it’d been to take out the old assassin after all.

His phone began to vibrate again and he frowned, checking the screen.  “Jeeze babe, gimme a sec.  I’ll call ya back once I’m finished,” he muttered, pocketing his phone and heading across the street toward Munch’s car, parked by the curb.

Slipping on the slick layer of ice, he threw his arms out awkwardly, catching his balance as he rounded the trunk.  Crouching, he retrieved the tracker he’d placed the other day.  Slipping the little black box in his coat pocket, he happened to glance in the back seat and did a double take.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” he breathed, leaning in closer to the window to get a better look.  Sure enough, tucked behind the passenger seat was the duffel bag of cash Roy had given Munch.  “What a fuckin’ idiot,” Gator chuckled under his breath and tried the door handle.  Locked.  Glancing around, he smashed in the window with the butt of his rifle and winced at the noise.

No one came to investigate the commotion, but Gator’s pulse still pounded loud in his ears, his body vibrating with adrenaline.  He could think of a hundred different things he and Win could do with the money and he grinned as he set his rifle on the top of the car and reached inside.

“Thief!  THIEF!”

As soon as his hand closed around the bag, Gator felt something hit him and he flinched, hastily pulling the bag free and stumbling backwards to face his attacker–an angry gray haired woman, who if Gator’d been paying attention might’ve noticed was wearing the same fur-lined coat Munch had been.

“Ow!  Hey!” he exclaimed, lifting an arm to fend off another blow from her bag of oranges.  For as frail as she looked, she sure had a mean swing.

“Thief!  Get away!” she wailed again, several of her oranges flying loose to roll down the sidewalk as she grasped at the canvas bag, attempting to yank it away from him.

“Get off!” Gator growled, struggling with her for a moment before shoving her, gaping as she slipped on the ice and toppled backward, smacking her head on the curb with a sickening thud.

“Fuck–”  Gator’s breath came out in a shudder.

Blood began to pool darkly beneath the old woman’s head, her eyes open, but unseeing.

Swallowing the bile that rushed up his throat, Gator looked around wildly as he backed away, but the street remained empty.  With trembling fingers, he grabbed the gun from the roof of the car and took off down the sidewalk toward the alley he’d parked down, his phone vibrating insistently against his thigh as he ran.

Panting hard, he threw open the driver side door and scrambled inside, tossing the gun in the back seat.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought to calm his nerves, but all he could see was the alarmed look on the woman’s face as she stumbled backwards.

It was an accident!  It wasn’t my fault.  She slipped on the ice and fell, Gator told himself.  For some reason, her death bothered him more than taking out Munch had, and all he wanted was Win’s arms around him, holding him tight, her soothing voice in her ear.

Pulling his phone out to check his messages, a block of ice dropped to his gut when he saw how many missed calls he had, followed by an ominous text that made his blood run cold.

Gator where are you?  Why won’t you answer???  This is an emergency!  GET HERE ASAP

His heart lodged firmly in his throat, he pulled out of the alley and stepped on the gas, barreling through several stop signs on his way, all hope of the comfort he craved going out the window.

By the time Win heard Gator’s key in the door, she’d already smoked nearly an entire pack of Marlboros, and emptied a third of a bottle of whiskey.

“Win, what’s wrong?  Are you alright?  Are you hurt?” Gator exclaimed in a rush, barely getting through the door before he was across the room, taking her by the shoulders to look her over, frantically searching for injuries.

Win pushed him back with a scoff.  “Am I alright?  No, I’m not fucking alright!”

Gator frowned, taken aback by the scorn in her voice.  “What happened?” he demanded again.

“Where have you been, Gator?  Were you fuckin’ aware your little dash cam recording of us got fucking leaked?” she cried and he jerked back in surprise.

“What?  How?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Win exclaimed, throwing her hands up and beginning to pace—she could feel herself growing hysterical, but she was already too worked up to slow down.  “—But every fuckin’ creep in town has seen it and I lost my fucking job over it!”

“What?  You can’t be serious,” Gator exclaimed, but Win shook her head, desperately blinking away the fresh wave of tears that threatened to fall.

“Oh my God, Gator, you’re probably gunna be in hot water at work too, Jesus Christ—!” she swore, her voice cracking, and Gator caught her as she passed, pulling her into his arms—needing to hold her.

“Hey, hey baby, no!” he exclaimed, trying to calm her as she clutched at his jacket—needing to be held.  “Don’t worry ‘bout me, nothin’s gunna happen,” he murmured, but Win drew back with a frown.

“How can you know that?  Gator, this is serious.”

“Trust me, Win, I’ve got connections.  This’ll all go away,” Gator insisted.  “I’m the law, remember?” he asked, cocking a brow at her.

“Hell Win, I even took this bastard out earlier and it doesn’t even fuckin’ matter cause no one can touch me.  We make the rules around here,” he boasted, the words slipping out before he could stop them, though he was careful enough not to mention the old woman—that was an accident.

Win jerked back.

“You killed someone?” she gasped, her expression warping into one Gator didn’t like.

Gator’s not like Roy.  You sure about that?

Agent Meyer’s words echoed in Win’s ears and she swallowed down a wave of nausea.

What all had Gator been doing on his father’s orders?

Gator’s fingers bit into her arm, pulling her out of her thoughts.  

“Win, you don’t understand, he had it coming to him, this guy was bad news.  He’s the one who killed several of our guys, who did this–” Gator held up his cast “–and he threatened you!” he exclaimed, a desperate hitch to his voice, as if pleading for her to understand, to stop looking at him as if she didn’t know him.  “I had to put a stop to it.”

Win wet her lips, trying to process the information, still unsure how to feel.  Maybe he was right.  She could still remember the threatening aura she felt around the strange man that day he’d come to the bar, watching her.

Shaking her head, she ran a hand down her face, something Gator had said earlier catching in her thoughts.  “Gator, I’m scared for you.  You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not.”

He frowned.  “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, the FBI is onto you.”

Gator rolled his eyes, his face scrunching in disbelief.  “Those guys?” he scoffed, his lip curling.  “Those two idiots that showed up at the ranch a couple weeks ago?  They got nothing on us,” he insisted, but Win shook her head, grabbing Gator’s arms to get him to focus.

“They are building a case against Roy, against you, and soon they are going to raid the ranch.”

Gator gave a start, his brows furrowing in confusion.  “No, that’s– how d’you know that?” he demanded, confusion slowly shifting to suspicion.

This was it.  There was no turning back now.  

Win took a breath, steeling herself for Gator’s reaction.  “Because those two agents came to the bar the other night to talk to me.”

Gator stared at her.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Win wet her lips, a hot flash of panic searing through her.  “I tried to–”

Gator’s face tensed, his jaw flexing as if he was holding himself back from lashing out.  “The fuck did they want?”

“You,” Win breathed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.  “They want to make a deal with you.”

“What d’you mean?  What kind of deal?”

Win sucked in a breath.  “To testify against Roy, in exchange for federal immunity.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Gator scoffed, a conflicted look crossing his face.

“Because if you don’t take the deal, when they raid the ranch to arrest Roy, they’ll arrest you too,” she explained, needing him to understand the gravity of the situation.  “That means federal prison, Gator.”

Fear flickered in his eyes as she let it sink in and a tiny spark of hope flared in her chest, until he backed away, his eyes going hard.

“I can’t–” he breathed, brows pinching as he looked at her.  “You want me to betray my dad.”

Panic squeezed her throat, making it hard to breathe, but she shook her head desperately.  “I don’t want you to go to prison!  Gator, please!”

Win watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously, but then his face set, as if he’d made up his mind.  

“You don’t understand, Win.  It may have been easy for you to cut your dad out of your life, but I can’t do that.  He’s counting on me!”

Win’s mouth fell open.

“He’s probably the one who posted the video!” she cried, her voice raising as her anger boiled over.  “He’s been trying to break us up from the very beginning, or have you forgotten?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Gator huffed.  “I know he’s not your biggest fan and he’s been outspoken about his opinions, but he wouldn’t do that,” he argued and Win gaped at him in disbelief.

“You really don’t think he’d go that far when I’m willing to bet he’s done far worse?” she asked, not waiting for an answer.  “Think about it, Gator.  You were the only one to have a copy of that video and it just happened to get uploaded the day you told him you were moving out?  Where’s your laptop, huh, still at the ranch, where Roy could easily access it?” she pressed.

Gator went quiet, his gaze falling to the ground and Win was sure she had him.

“Is that why you asked me to move in with you?” he whispered.  “To get between me and my dad, to get me to turn against him?” Gator asked, and when his eyes found Win’s, the hurt in his gaze knocked the air from her lungs.

“No!  Gator, that’s not–!” she cried, grasping at any shred of hope that he’d believe her.  “I asked you to move in with me because I wanted to be with you, that’s all,” she insisted, though her voice wavered, and Gator’s expression hardened.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’,” he breathed, his words cutting through her.

“Gator, please.  Please just listen to me–” she tried again, desperate to get through to him.  She reached out to take his hand, but he pulled back as if burned, glaring at her outstretched hand.  

Swallowing a sob, Win pushed on, not ready to give up.  “He’ll set you up to take the fall and he won’t feel a shred of guilt over it.  You don’t have to go down for his crimes, Gator.  Can’t you see he’s just fucking using you?” she cried, her throat burning.

Gator scoffed softly.  “How’re you any different?” he asked, his voice hollow, and an incredulous huff left Win’s lips, his question leaving her speechless for a moment.

“Who’s the one that calls you a loser, and who’s the one that thinks you’re a winner?” she breathed, holding his gaze, though tears pricked her eyes, making her vision swim.

A sardonic grin twisted Gator’s lips as if she’d just told a cruel joke and he shook his head.  “My dad was right about you, Win, you’re nothin’ but a snake.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out her spare key.  “Here, I don’t need this,” he muttered, tossing it atop the counter.  It slid to a stop in front of her and Win flinched as if struck.

Turning away, Gator strode to the door.

“You lied.”

Win’s words brought him up short and he stopped, his hand on the doorknob, though he didn’t turn to look at her.

“You said I wouldn’t lose you,” she whispered.

Gator’s jaw tensed and he hesitated a moment longer before throwing open the door and glancing back.

“Guess that makes us both liars then.”

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @thecreelhouse @heartbreak-sandwich @girlwiththerubyslippers @sailorskunk

@cycat4077 @victorclays @professionalpromqueen @mayhem24-7forever

[sturnlace]

just one more - matt sturniolo

saying goodnight should be easy, but matt makes it impossible—especially when he keeps asking for just one more kiss. fluff, excessive kissing, playful teasing, soft and clingy matt

it starts with one kiss.

soft, slow, and lingering, like he’s trying to make it last forever. his hands rest gently on your waist, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of your (his) hoodie, warm against your skin. he hums contentedly as his lips move lazily against yours, not in any rush, like he has all the time in the world.

when he finally pulls back, you take a second to catch your breath, eyes fluttering open to find him already watching you with that familiar, love-struck look in his eyes.

you’re both already in bed, tangled together beneath the blankets, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand. it’s late, and exhaustion is settling into your bones, making your limbs feel heavy and warm.

"i’m tired," you murmur, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips.

matt doesn’t move.

instead, he leans back in, his nose brushing against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, then another, and another. each one is softer than the last, like he’s memorizing the way you feel, the way you taste, the way your lips part so easily for him every time.

"just one more," he whispers between kisses.

you let out a small laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him properly. "you said that twenty kisses ago."

he grins, unapologetic. "okay, but i mean it this time."

you arch an eyebrow, unconvinced. "do you?"

he hesitates for a second, his lips twitching like he’s fighting back a smile. "no," he admits, then kisses you again before you can call him out for it.

you try to act annoyed, but it’s hard when he’s kissing you like this, so soft and sweet, like he never wants to stop. his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, and you melt into him like you always do.

"matt," you sigh against his lips. "i’m really sleepy."

"mm, i know," he mumbles, but he doesn’t let go. instead, he trails his lips along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, pressing feather-light kisses against your skin. "just… one more."

you shiver at the feeling, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his hoodie. "you’re ridiculous."

"you love it," he says, voice muffled as he buries his face against your shoulder.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. "maybe."

he smiles against your skin, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands slide up your sides, his thumbs brushing gentle circles against your ribs. "so… one more?"

"matt," you groan, trying to sound stern, but your resolve is already crumbling.

he tilts his head, giving you the softest, most pleading look. "please?"

and how are you supposed to say no to that?

you sigh, feigning exasperation. "fine. but after that, we’re going to sleep."

"yeah, yeah," he mumbles, already leaning in.

except one more turns into two. then three. then four.

because matt is impossible. and you love it.

but at some point, exhaustion starts to creep in. you feel it in the way your eyelids grow heavier, in the way your body relaxes more against him, in the way your head naturally tilts into the crook of his neck. matt notices immediately, his hands stilling on your waist as he glances down at you.

"tired?" he asks softly, his voice quieter now, gentler.

you nod, your words slurring slightly as you mumble, "you wore me out with all your 'just one more' kisses."

he chuckles, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your temple. "sorry, baby."

"no, you’re not," you say sleepily.

he grins, adjusting his hold on you. "okay, maybe not. but you still love me."

"unfortunately," you tease, but the warmth in your voice gives you away.

he hums, pulling the blanket up over both of you before wrapping his arms around you again. his body is warm, solid, comforting, and the steady rhythm of his breathing is already lulling you to sleep.

"goodnight, baby," he whispers, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

you hum softly in response, too tired to say anything else.

and just before sleep fully takes over, you feel him press one last kiss to your shoulder.

because he really is impossible.

and you really, really love it.

[author-morgan]

@rigshak asked for a Brasidas paragraph and the words just kinda came (and you know I can't just write a single paragraph lol)

Brasidas x fem!Reader

The night is young, though Anthousa has already given you leave of the Porneion—a reprieve you’ll gladly take after the chaos that engulfed the city. Lighting lanterns and candles, you turn to pour a cup of wine but are taken aback by the Spartan general standing in the doorway—his dusty red cloak damp from the summer rains. “Brasidas,” you greet when he enters, barely able to hide your smile upon seeing him—unscathed by battle and handsome as he’s ever been. He’s only ever come for conversations in the past—to learn about the Monger’s dealings. His men were never so scrupulous, but Brasidas of Sparta is nothing if not honorable in every aspect of his life. But with the Monger dead, he must return to serve Lakonia elsewhere.

He says nothing, only strides forward and seizes your face in his callous hands. His grip is firm—that of a leader’s—but not unkind, and his thumbs run along your cheekbones, committing your face to memory. Brasidas. You aren’t sure if you’ve spoken his name aloud or if it is only a whisper on your tongue, lost to a sigh when he cranes down. You barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours—urgent and unyielding, as though he’s warred with himself over this moment since he first laid eyes on you all those months ago.

His kiss is raw, filled with longing. Your hands find purchase on his sides, drawing him closer. The scent of rain and sweat clings to him, mingling with myrrh and beeswax. Brasidas deepens the kiss, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts your head, demanding, taking more—just like a Spartan. He pulls away too soon, his breath ragged, and his lust-darkened eyes search yours to gauge whether he has overstepped. “I should have done that sooner,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint and regret.

Silence stretches between you for a long moment. The candle and lantern light casts golden shadows over his sharp features, catching the scars on his face and arms. You reach up, hand cupping his cheek, fingers carding through his beard. This night, sans armor, the warrior in him is softened into something almost tender. Almost. He is still Brasidas—unyielding, disciplined, just as the agoge and battle taught him to be—but now, there’s a glimmer in his tawny eyes, and it’s unbecoming of a Spartan general. “Then why didn’t you?” You ask.

His jaw tenses, his hands still cradling your face, slip to your shoulder and neck, unwilling to let you go as if afeared you’ll somehow vanish—especially when he gives his answer. “Duty.” The word is sharp and decisive, but there’s a wavering in it, a hint at the battle he has fought within himself. One that has finally brought him to you. “Sparta comes first. It must.”

You almost laugh, having expected that answer, but it does little to quell the ache blooming in your chest. His lips part as though there is more he wants to say but cannot bring himself to. His honor has always set him apart from all the others. Even now, you know his honor wars with the longing—unacted on—between you. “But not tonight,” you murmur, almost a hopeful question, daring to trace the edge of his jaw, the raised scar on his cheekbone.

Brasidas’s eyes darken, and, for the first time, you see something akin to a crack form in his Spartan resolve. “No,” he exhales, the word heavy with surrender—desire. “Not tonight.” And then his lips find yours again, slower this time—carefully—and deeper, too. Tonight, he is a man savoring his first and last taste of something he knows he will never have again.

[Brasidas taglist: @balmacedapascal / @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @jadynchronicle / @kvitravn  / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok  / @qhbr2013 / @rigshak / @stormyblue90 / @tammym3903 / @thepreciouspurrsian ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Brasidas taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[concretejunglefm]

So human error had me accidentally posting this instead of drafting; however, I hope this fits even remotely what you were hoping for, anon 💕 I hope you don't mind that I added a little angst at the end for something extra 🫣

CW: mentions of grinding, nipple play, light choking.

WC: 2.5k.

NSFW below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Truthfully, Noah doesn't want to be here.

The moment he stepped through the door and realized this place was a strip club, he should’ve turned and walked back out immediately. But unfortunately, he didn’t.

Now, he’s stuck entertaining his friend, one he mentally chooses to exclude from his list of people to hang out with the next time he’s feeling stressed out and needs to unwind.

“Just a club soda for me, thanks,” he tells the waitress who happens to pass by them, which prompts his friend to roll his eyes and reach across, slapping him playfully on the chest.

“Come on, you’re here to have fun tonight.”

Noah grimaces at the thought. Watching girls dance half-naked and having a private lap dance isn’t exactly what he calls ‘fun.’ Even though the place is considered a high-end establishment, it’s simply not his scene, something obvious in the way his eyes constantly avoid looking at any of the dancers, offering only a brief nod and a forced smile of acknowledgement when they glance down at him when walking past.

“I think maybe I'm going to—”

“Ah, there she is!” Noah’s friend interrupts him as you approach, and all his plans about leaving vanish instantly when he locks eyes with you.

Like most of the dancers, you’re wearing something lacy, though it covers you enough to leave some areas to the imagination. Half of your face is obscured by a mask, like some of the others, presumably to conceal your identity and enhance the club’s allure. However, his eyes momentarily flicker to your lips and the shade of lipstick. Suddenly, he’s consumed by an intense desire to smudge it, to witness how your lips would appear plump and kiss-swollen.

He shakes his head, pushing those thoughts aside. After spending too much time in the studio, neglecting most of his needs, sexualizing the first woman he sees isn’t how he intends to resolve that issue. However, he can’t help but allow his eyes to wander back to you, this time more shyly, when he catches you actually moving towards him, your hand extending and resting upon his shoulder.

“Who’s your friend?”

Noah hadn’t caught the conversation between you and his friend, but his eyes widen almost comically when he raises his gaze to meet yours through the eye holes of your mask. “Noah…” he swallows, managing to utter the syllables of his name through a tightening throat.

“He’s been quite overworked lately. It seems he’s forgotten all about how to have some fun, if you know what I mean.” Noah shoots his friend a disapproving look, but your quick reach for his hand silences any protest.

“Well, I know a thing or two about helping with that,” you giggle, and it sounds smooth like honey, making his chest burst a little. He hesitates to follow you as you tug on his hand, a gentle indication for him to stand. He doesn’t want to slip away into some private room, which would make this encounter feel more seedy than it should be. Yet, he finds himself already completely enamored by you. Whether it’s the mystery of you hidden beneath the mask or the allure you generally radiate, he’s drawn to you as if there’s a magnetic pull keeping him from straying away.

“Have fun,” his friend calls out after him. Noah briefly glances back, finding himself almost on autopilot as he obediently follows you towards a private area near the club’s back.

When you’re alone in one of the private rooms, he falls into the seat you push him down into and slightly shifts, his nerves settling as he realizes you’re the only person he can now focus on.

“You don't have to do this.” Noah attempts to dismiss the offer, the dance, the opportunity to relax, or whatever is being presented to him at this moment, but your response is simply a scoff.

“Is this where you tell me that my dad loved me?” You roll your eyes, bracing yourself for the usual charade from a guy who expects to swoop in and ‘save’ you from this life. “Surprisingly, I have a great relationship with my family.” You move towards him, intending to settle down on his lap by straddling him, but pause before doing so.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant… I’ve never done this before,” Noah confesses, feeling the tip of his ears turn red. He lifts a hand to his neck, rubbing his palm against it, and shifts in his seat.

“Wait, really?” You don’t mean for the surprise to escape in your voice as it does, and you step back a little, placing your hands on your hips as you observe his awkward shifts and continued avoidance of your gaze.

“Yes, does that really surprise you?” He chuckles, but it’s slightly forced, and his eyes finally meet yours once more. He’s once again captivated by the allure that seems to draw him in. There’s an odd sense of familiarity that sends a warmth through his chest, though he can’t quite place it. The way you’re looking at him now certainly makes his stomach flip. He can’t tell if you’re pitying him or ready to make him prey, but he doesn’t care either way.

“No, it’s just… I’ve noticed your friend here quite frequently.” You chuckle and shake your head. “I suppose I anticipated the same from anyone he brings here.”

“So, this is your first time? I suppose that implies I should be gentle with you.” You purr, leaning forward, your hands returning to his shoulders as you squeeze them for stability before moving closer and twisting yourself to position your back to him.

Reaching behind you, you place your hands on his thighs, spreading them as you use them to maintain your balance. Slowly, you lower your ass down to meet his lap. “Let me know if you need me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” Noah says, his voice strained.

As you lower yourself and rub your covered ass against his crotch, he feels his cock instantly harden within his pants. He’s already worked up, but the proximity of you to him, the intoxicating scent, and the magnetic pull all combine to send his head spinning with arousal. Instinctively, his hands reach out and grasp you at your waist, stopping you.

“It happens to every guy you know,” you say with a laugh, making him realize that you felt it. In your line of work, it’s more of a compliment than a form of harassment.

“I know it’s just... it’s been a while.” he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You imagine that if you turned to look at him now, he might have a beetroot-colored face. Instead, you take his hands and begin to gently guide them up your sides.

“Well, we do offer other services here.” While your clientele has always been those who come for either a show or a personal release, you rarely cater to the latter. However, you can’t help but feel compelled when you have a man as handsome as Noah beneath you, as you do right now.

“No that’s... wait really?”

“Mhm,” you nod, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you feel his fingers gently caress your skin in circular motions.

Suddenly, he pulls you down onto his lap.

“You mentioned it’s been a while. Could I ask why?” you ask, allowing him to take the initiative slightly as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your bare stomach.

“Work.” He responds with a single word, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You deliberately press your hips down and grind your ass against his crotch.

“What do you do?”

“Music.” Another one-word answer, but you hear the groan he’s trying to suppress and choose to interpret it as a triumph. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio and…” he gasps as you roll your hips, brushing against his bulge and feeling the outline of his cock against you. Suddenly, you feel the heat rising in your own stomach, especially when his hands shift to your thighs, gripping you almost possessively to hold you against him. It makes you tremble and as you try to move, you hear him growl, “Don’t.”

He can’t release you yet, not when he’s already been feeling worked up and touch-starved. You’ve barely touched him, yet he’s experiencing an entirely new surge of desire.

Instead of moving, you gently rock your hips, circling them as your ass drags and grinds against his crotch. You listen to the change in his breath and feel how his cock twitches beneath you, confined within his pants. “Please?” you almost plead, and it results in a strained whimper from him, his fingers only pressing harder against your thighs.

“Noah, tell me what you need.” Your voice lowers, becoming soft and alluring as you lean back against his chest, turning your head and gently brushing your cherry red painted lips against the apple tattoo that covers his Adam’s apple.

Your breath, warm against his skin, sends a wave of goosebumps across him, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He can’t possibly be contemplating asking and accepting your offer, can he? It feels selfish to request anything from you, especially since you’re just a stranger. Nevertheless, he can’t deny that you’ve somehow worked your way beneath his skin, a mysterious stranger who calls themselves honey, or perhaps cherry, or pixie? He can’t quite recall the exchange between you and his friend during introductions, but he’s certain he feels an overwhelming desire to have you.

“You…” he whispers, his fingers finally releasing their grip on your thighs before they begin to slide, gliding along your inner thighs before ascending, stroking across your stomach and further up the exposed area of your torso, before slipping beneath the lace that covers your chest.

Your back arches against him as his hand palms at your breast, his fingers playfully teasing your nipples and producing a faint sound from you. Normally, you’d swiftly slap away a client who dared to behave this boldly, yet you find yourself leaning into his touch, yearning for more of it, more of him. His name slips from your lips as a soft whisper as you begin to grind against him once more, and your head rests on his shoulder, savoring the sensation of his fingers twisting your nipple.

Noah’s other hand raises higher, fingers light against your skin as they close around your neck and gently press, causing you to gasp; “Harder.” Your eyes roll back at the faint pressure he adds, his fingers pinching harder at your nipples as your hips rock and grind, almost desperately trying to soothe the ache between your thighs instead of focusing solely on relieving him. However, Noah doesn’t seem to mind; you hear the encouraging whispers from him against the side of your head.

“Show me how needy you are.”, “Do you like being touched like this?”, “Do you like your nipples being toyed with?”

The only sounds you make are soft moans, accompanied by faint “yeses” that gradually fade into breathless gasps as you intensify your grinding and whines steadily increase the closer you feel yourself approaching the edge.

Beneath you, Noah can feel his cock straining against the restrictive fabric of his pants, yearning for freedom and an even greater desire to be inside you. However, he knows that he can’t bring himself to request that of you, instead choosing to accept this arrangement, allowing you to satisfy him in exchange for your own pleasure.

As your soft pleas continue to fall from your lips, you feel the intense heat of your climax building up in your stomach, causing you to buck your hips desperately on Noah. In response, he lifts himself to meet you, and your bodies collide, sending a wave of pleasure over you, leaving your body trembling against him as he presses you firmly onto his lap. Grinding himself right against your ass, he emits a guttural sound, holding you tightly against him as his own body trembles, and his cock twitches in his pants beneath you.

“Did you just...?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice devoid of shame, which makes you laugh. It’s not a mocking laugh, and Noah feels the wave of embarrassment that had threatened to overwhelm him dissipate.

“I can’t deny that you’re not the first, but I must admit, I’m flattered.” You whisper, tilting your head and brushing your nose against the column of his neck. You’re almost reluctant to move, savoring the warmth of his presence against you and the delicate scent of his cologne that tickles your senses.

Unbeknownst to you, Noah shares your sentiments. He’s completely intoxicated and makes no effort to move you from his lap or even release his possessive grip on your throat and chest. When one of them sinks away, it’s the one on your chest, slowly descending to rest on your stomach, his thumb moving in gentle circles against your skin.

If any post-nut clarity should prompt him to leave, it hasn’t manifested yet.

You’re the first one to shift, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his chest and bending forward to adjust the strap of your heel. As you do, the lace from the lingerie you’re wearing rises up, which hangs further down your back than your front. Noah’s eyes briefly flicker down to the newly exposed skin, and a breath catches in his throat at the sight of a familiar tattoo.

You hear him say your name, your real name—not the stage name you use in this club—and it makes your head turn and your brow perk up.

Standing, you look down at him, taking him in properly as you begin to scan his familiar facial features. Granted, he was much younger when you knew him—a lot younger, with much longer hair—but a closer look reveals that his features still look the same—that same familiar Virginia boy you once knew.

“Noah?” You utter his name as if it’s your first realization, as if you hadn’t mentioned it just moments ago while grinding against him.

As he stands, you notice his height—he appears even taller and more imposing now, having grown out of his skinny boyhood.

Reaching out a hand towards your face, he hesitantly grasps the corner of the mask that obscures half of your face and lifts it, revealing the rest of it to him and recognition flashes across his eyes. “It’s you…” his voice softens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, threatening to break out into a smile as he feels the familiar thumping in his chest.

“Yes, it’s me,” you softly laugh, feeling the gentle touch of his knuckles against your cheek.

To Noah, everything becomes clear; the irresistible attraction, the magnetic pull, the way his mind constantly revolved around thoughts centered around you—a once mysterious stranger, when no one else here had caught his attention in that manner, it was because there was something profound, something that had always been there; you were the one who got away.

“Perhaps we should consider taking this reunion somewhere else.” You suggest, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Oh, Absolutely.”

[lvminisciel]

🤗🤗

ive just spent the last 6hrs goin thru every piece of media from 'the phantom of the opera' and all i can say is

WHY IS IT LIKE THATTT

why's the ending like that??? be it the one from broadway theatre dated back in 1988, or the musical in 1986, the movie from 2004, even in the original novel by Leroux himself, none of them ends with a closure of the phantom's acceptance..

i hvnt watch the 1925 silent film version tho; but so far i think i like the og novel version best

personally i spite the 2004 version so much as in tht one, christine clearly stated tht she's afraid of the phantom (as uttered in the song 'Twisted Every Way') while it's never been told that way in the novel/broadway/other versions

on the og novel tho, despite christine still married raoul in the end, he still returned to bury the phantom during his passing, the last thing phantom had asked before they parted. she fulfilled her promise, and put the ring(?) he gave her to be buried w/ him.. truly the best ending of all version me thinks

overall i loved the parallels of night & daylight imagery. of heaven & hell, beast & beauty. also the part where she said 'he sings inside my mind'? imo it can be interpreted in many ways

[spacedlexi]

the way the ericson group were at the outbreak just a bunch of troubled kids who made various mistakes or committed crimes and were judged by a system that punished and abandoned them instead of giving them the support and love they needed, are then nearly a decade later put into a situation where now they must judge a troubled child for the mistakes and crimes hes committed against them. and 5 to 3 vote them out 😭

[dangaer]

shi.n's amnesia later route is such an out of character experience bc wdym someone this cute shows me all the love they have for me and i dont healthily communicate with him that im feeling overwhelmed by it.

[wayfinderships]

Everytime I see M.elia I get overwhelmed by how gorgeous she is👉👈 I love her hair and eyes! And her wings! Especially those! With permission, I'd love to gently touch them! I bet they're really soft!